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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/SixthMovement|Sixth Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT [[ADanceOfAngels]] |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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| − | == The Battle of Spire ==
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| − | The 14th of Ascendant Air.
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| − | On the windian camp, they had no idea this day would enter history.
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| − | Valencia waited for her lookouts to tell her of the concentration of power in Spire before she struck. But the power gathered was even greater than she imagined – great enough to slip and kill her lookouts, and rush out of the Spire towards her camp with her eyes blind to it. The Army of Blood and Fire. Blind to it, but for the appearance of a Joybringer who came with the news that the General was coming. Sending divine lookouts this time, she could see. And prepare.
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| − | There was not a long time to get ready. Especially for what they had seen.
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| − | All of them, there, had seen undead. Zombies. Necromantic constructs. But never... that.
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| − | Never something like that.
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| − | Alexsei had, once upon a time, in the Necromantic siege of Sijan. But that had the power of Shadowlands taken to its extreme.But this... higher necromancy, until not so long the purview of the Deathlords alone... pouring out. As they watched the fields, they saw... the ground turned into shadows, like an ant nest had just been kicked... so many zombies. But not just them. Four whales, the bones of whiles sewn with souls above them all, flying with the singing of dead choir boys. Few smaller versions of them can be seen flying, the seraphim those who raided the forts had seen before... and the serpents, like caterpillars amidst the ants, the snakes of hands and steel, dripping with poison to be gushed in the air to the Windians.
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| − | What those in Thorns had seen, what the Sidereals had seen once and dreaded.
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| − | But only now, the North sees it.
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| − | The Dawn of a New Era. The Dawn of the Era of Deathknights.
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| − | The forces of House Silverstar, Durant and de Windia took the field then, after Gennadi was gone. To meet up with the General before they were backed into a corner. Knowing the others would come. And make sure the battle was in their terms. Had they waited, the General had came to camp at dusk, and the night would be his’. With the Windian Charge, they met at Noon.
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| − | At high noon, under no sun or moon, only an undifferentiated, white clouded sky, war raged.
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| − | Windian sorcerors rained fire from above. Meeting flying nemessaries – and cherubs – flying warriors fought. Two winged Warstriders helped them not to be hopelessly outmatched on the ground. Flying skeletons and raitons fly to meet the windians, the poison of the snakes fly up, as they try to ignore the pain and sorrow the singing brings them... and fight.
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| − | And amidst that, we find out heroes...
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| − | And it is about that time that the Angels are left, miles away from Spire... and finish their track to the Windian camp. Atop a mountain, they see the conflict raging... the skies burning. The anthill... Selina and Vorpal had seen them once. The army.. But it was still.... like the difference between seeing a weapon at a museum and seeing it in a battlefield. One thing was to see an army of undead on the shadowlands, with Red Ice as a backdrop. Whee it belonged.
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| − | But now, atop the mountain, precious miles away, they see it on the plains of Whiteshield, blighting the living land...
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| − | A view even greater than the Celebrant's small army....
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa is somewhere in the midst of this chaos, a slender, seemingly breakable flower amidst a rain of blood and steel, bone and viscera, feathers and scales.
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| − | She wears a pale lilac kimono top patterned with belladonna intertwined with snowdrops, the respectively purple and white blossoms dangling from spring green stems like butterflies unfolding from a chrysalis. Hakama pants in a gradient shade of purple cover her from the waist down, starting lighter at the top and growing darker as it reaches the bottom hem just an inch or two above her ankles, where sparse plum blossom embroidery dots the silken fabric like stars. Her hair is bound up in braids as usual, a fluttering purple bow tying the loose ends together into a neat crown.
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| − | Despite the beauty of her garments, there are already tears here and there, spatters of bright red that may or may not be hers. But her pale, delicate face -- for the moment -- is concentrated and calm. In her hands is her lyre, lacquered a pure, glittering white with belladonna inlays, the orichalcum strings shimmering with lines of Essence as she plays. The music is a soothing, sonorous ballad that serves, at least for the troops immediately surrounding her, to cancel out the sorrowful strains of the choir boys she keenly recognized from the previous raid.
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| − | Around her whirls the Caduceus, the serpent-twined, wing-crowned shaft of orichalcum that accompanies her more often than not, the green tsavorite gem pulsing warmly atop it with a constant, unbroken pattern. It darts about the space around her with single-minded purpose, intercepting each and any stray blows that dare to threaten its benevolent mistress.
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| − | '''Dorian: ''' Ryshassa had them shielded, but there came his response to her song.
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| − | Lighting whirled about Dorian, and he did his best to turn all enemies about Ryshassa into ashes. The Tierney scion shone in glory, the air filled with the scent of ozone, his feathers burning as soon as they left his wings...
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| − | He dare not disturb her - she was the reason his closer troops were not succumbing to sorrow.
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| − | If there was any way to make it louder...
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Pebbles and small stones clatter about, kicked loose by Ice's hooves as she dances back and forth. She is restless and eager, her nostrils flaring, a fire burning in her red eyes. The great heart beats almost audibly inside her chest. She can sense the scent of glorious death all the way from here, and she knows what it means. Soon, there will be battle. Soon, there will be war. The beast basks in the knowledge the way she basked not too long ago in the warmth of the spring water. Only barely can she hold herself in check, to keep herself from plunging head first into the fray for the sake of sheer, violent joy of it all.
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| − | "''Easy''", Vorpal mutters from atop her mount. Her voluminous cloak fluttering slightly in the air, the Ghost-Blooded holds the reins in one gloved hand and pulls down her hood with the other. Her snowy eyebrows move together as she squints at the spectacle of blood and death opening up before them. There is a strange sort of soberity about her as she stares at the Abyssal army, the small, idle part of her mind conjuring up images of filthy, poisonous sediment boiling up from the great black cauldron of void.
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| − | ''This is what our lords wish to happen. This is what we were made for. ''
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| − | "Aine", she says over her shoulder, her voice devoid of emotion. "Can your eyes see the General from here?"
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| − | '''The General: ''' As if to answer the Pale Angel, he makes himself known.
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| − | Standing atop the great red wolf, amidst the army, the General clenches his fist.
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| − | His anima flared, a dark fire, the bright colors dimmed, darkened...
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| − | It flared, a pillar of flame reaching up to heaven... and darkening it. It burns the clouds dark... and becomes a clawed hand. Great claws of fire piercing the blackened clouds, stains and cracks the color of an inferno as if there was only a bonfire atop of them... and then, the claws leave.
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| − | And a swarm of fiery bats come out from it, screeching, one for each enemy soldier, harmless, only serving as a remainder of their demise..
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| − | '''Iselsis: ''' Izabella beholds this and for the first time in her life feels her resolve starting to wither and give way to the impulse of saving herself.
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| − | ''This is no time to freak out now, Izabella, you've trained for this all your life, you can do this... I have to, I promised Faina... ''
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| − | She takes deep long breaths to calm herself, meanwhile doing up the scarf that had hung loosely around her shoulders until now. If she ever needed her security blanket, now was the time. And as she stands there, watching what goes on below she only mumbles one thing:
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| − | "I'm gonna need bigger guns..."
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "Tch", Vorpal's eyes narrow at the display of Abyssal power. "Never mind."
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| − | '''Gennadi: ''' "You could do with a bit more of a chest, yeah." Gennadi finishes his cigarette, flicking it through the air in a perfect spin to balance precariously on a breast. "Don't see how that's going to help you fight, though."
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| − | '''Iselsis: ''' She swats the thing away angrily.
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| − | "Gennadi, if there was ever a time for you to exercise some actual restraint and ''shut the fuck up'': this would be it."
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| − | She didn't sound like she was joking either. In fact she sounded rather on edge.
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| − | '''Valencia Silverstar: ''' It was not time to face the General yet, she had realized when the battle was joined. And it was not time now. Even if she could evenly match him, not something she knew as a surety, he has a bodyguard. And she does not. To fight him, would be to write the script which signifies the end of her story. And her story cannot end now, before this war is concluded, before someone else can protect Winlandia in her stead.
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| − | So the Silver Angel fights among her own troops for now, flickering in and out of the melee with her mobile reserve, putting out the fires where they are hottest. The General does not come forward to face her, as if he is waiting for something. Fair enough. So is she. Her warded iron armor reflects the little sunlight that filters through the clouds, her simple and elegant daiklave flashes through the air, opening wounds that do not bleed, cutting down creatures that cannot die and yet do anyway under her blows. The last hope Windia knows, delaying the inevitable so the ones it does not can save it and restore the conquered land.
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| − | '''Gennadi: ''' "I'm afraid all my restraint is reserved." His hands crisscross, emerald and sapphire strands trailing off into the distance tangling and untangling, knotting and unknotting, spun into a rope that Gennadi winds around forearm like a northern whaler tugging on a harpoon. "Feel free to ask me to tie you up after the fight." The banter is rather halfhearted, his own expression of nerves as he attempts to manage his opponent. Finally, the glowing strands fade away, and he begins to carve sharp sigils into the ground with his heel, a rough spiral set into the dirt around him.
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| − | '''Alexsei Krauser: ''' ''Again. ''<br>
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| − | Footsteps in the snow, marring the pristine white with a silent pressure.<br>
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| − | ''The Unease is growing - their voices not yet drowned. ''<br>
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| − | Gloved fingers slowly rub at an obsidian bead necklace, metal chiming softly in the cold air.<br>
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| − | ''Victims of circumstances, the fuel of yet another war. Weapons made of lives lost, Strength stolen from immortal Souls... ''<br>
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| − | The top of his jet-black hair is bound in a tied knot, the bottom half flailing in the howling wind like tendrils of ink. Violet eyes scan the distance from above the rim of round spectacles, lost beween the now and the then...
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| − | ''The dead are stirring. However, their cries are easily ignored. ''
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| − | The long ebony overcoat shields his body from the biting cold, while his wife's music shields his spirits from the grimness of the scene painting itself in their resolute minds. The coming tide would not be a gentle one, and he had spent every available moment preparing for this. Studying his various sources. Remembering images of the Black Chase. Scanning his knowledge for every possible advantage he, and the army, could get.
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| − | Silent, Alexsei Krauser stands like a raven's feather in pristine snow, his gaze dead ahead, searching for the enemy they would face - the enemy they would liberate.
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| − | ''Their cries are easily ignored... But to the one who would listen, they are nothing short of deafening. ''
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| − | '''Iselsis: ''' She looks at him then, different than she had before. He actually seemed to be doing something, though she hadn't the faintest clue what. Probably just prepping for the battle, which reminded her.
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| − | "I'd ask you what the hell you're doing, but I figure it's a good thing for everyone."
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| − | With that her wings materialize behind her, the clasps of her coat undoing to give way to them. She opens the front of her coat and takes out both guns, methodically checking both their cylinders before loading 6 bullets in each, making the patent rattling sound as she gives them a spin, briefly glowing with essence, then puts them away again.
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| − | Now she takes a single bullet out of her briefcase, which she focusses on intently, muttering some long forgotten prayer to the Sun under her breath. When it is done tongues of heatless flame roll around her fingers and the bullet, before leaving it shining gently. She then puts it into her pocket.
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| − | Then she seems to focus on the battle. Again muttering softly below her breath before closing her eyes as a slight breeze seems to ruffle her hair and coat.
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| − | "Well... I'm as ready as I'll ever be."
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' When she first sees it, it awes her. Selina has never seen armies of this type battle before. She was not at Thorns, though she felt the rumbles as much as any. There was no Juggernaut here, but the rest of that array made up for it. And then some.
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| − | ''So much... ''
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| − | The thrill of fear runs through her as she looks at the sprawling glory of it all.
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| − | ''I can die here. ''
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| − | She had not been as purely bred to war as the Pale Angel, had not been trained as she was. Had not commanded an army before. But it was part of her calling.
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| − | ''So much essence. ''
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| − | So much power.
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| − | The Dragon stirs. Deep within, and rises. The hunger thrums deep within like a great engine, and desires what she sees. '''He''' looks out through her eyes, for a fleeting second, and is pleased.
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| − | "Dear Izzzzabella." Selina hisses almost monitor-like, turquoise eyes wide as she looks over the scene ahead. "This is what we were born for. Killing the enemies of Windia. And devouring their worthless souls."
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| − | She hadn't been looking at the girl when she said it, but now she looks to Vorpal, the current of the battle still subduing her. To not be subdued would be to let a terrible joy and hunger control her, to seek the blood and essence of her enemies without thought to plan.
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| − | "What do you think we should do?"
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| − | '''Chibi-Vorpy: ''' "Let's kill 'em all!!"
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| − | '''Gennadi: ''' "Good. Then run. I'm calling a mutual friend of ours to clear myself some room... And I'd rather she not come whirling out of your soul." He winks, tossing the chain above him as it seperates into individual links, glittering edges and stripes of strange poisons collected from across the world. Strips of talismans and trackmarks where drugs have carefully been blended shine along his arm as he raised i, essence coaslescing in his hand as the wind begins to pick up. He offers one last wave and leer before the dust obscures his form in a cloud of blue, gold, and green.
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| − | '''Iselsis: ''' Her jaw drops.
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| − | First at her sister, then at Gennadi.
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| − | "You couldn't possibl-", she's cut off as he's obscured, and she's quite convinced he's not joking around this time. "Ya fucking '''lunatic'''!", she yells at the swirling winds before creating some of her own as her wings start swooping, kicking up dust as she takes off to a safe distance.
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| − | * On the skies, she appears.<br><br>The Parishioner's blessing to the General.<br><br>It was not just to deliver prisioners that the General walked into the Boil.<br><br>With wings of shadow, spiraling down from the clouds, she appears. The clouds shifting around her become dark birds, her childer. She, standing in her dark armor, wings on her feet, wings on her hands, shadow wings with a bleeding eye on each feather, and the face of a dragoness. Her childer begin to appear as she looks at Valencia. Seika, one of the souls of Erembour, the mistress of wings of the night.<br><br>It was a century ago she fought Valencia in those skies.<br><br>Claws of burning silver appear on her hands. She was prepared to face the one that banished her to Malfeas, again.<br><br>And Valencia knew, that every moment her attention was not diverted, the more of her dark birds she would call for this battle...
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| − | * Alexsei gets a good look at their army. Their war machines. The zombies were pretty much chaff. Numbers, bad for their sorcerers, mortals, and even god-bloods, nothing to them. Then, the Nemessaries and War Ghosts... mostly weak ones. They could not use Hungry Ghosts at this time. And then the War Machines.... the snakes were really, big artillery plataforms. They could be punched by the Warstriders. But the whales, the flying whales with the singing.... killing their morale. They were a threat.<br><br>And flew by the two in the back... four cocoons. For what had scarred Ryshassa so...<br><br>The cherubs. But they were not hatched yet, waiting for later...
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| − | '''Iselsis: ''' And as Izabella floats over the others her own shadowy, tainted winds pick up. Winds that still despite their taint mark her clearly as an air aspect Dragonblooded. And not just any air aspect of midling breeding, but one of the finest impeccable breeding. With the expenditure of her essence her anima builds up to a biting, whipping vortex of air. Enough for the tearing winds to sheer flesh from bone.
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| − | A storm was coming. And within it the demonic dragon blessed by the light would rage.
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| − | '''Alexsei Krauser: ''' And for a moment, he is almost taken aback by the sheer power of such an army. <br>
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| − | ''The Bishop's forces are showing their tremendous might - they will not concede any more terrain, it seems. ''<br>
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| − | For a moment he merely continues to observe the horrors lying ahead, and the various constructs ready for the great battle...<br>
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| − | ''There will be no redition. We will not be allowed to proced any further. Every bit we gain, we will have to fight for... Even in Sijan, I have not seen such assembled might... ''
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| − | He rubs the beads necklace in his hand absent-mindedly, already focusing essence about him to prepare himself for the trials ahead. He feels it inside him, the surge of energy granted to him by the Maiden of Endings, filling his very body, his thoughts, his beliefs.
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| − | ''A tremendous Might... And yet, Maidens willing, the people of Winlandia will prove stronger. ''
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| − | .
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "We'll have to alter the plan", Vorpal responds to Selina after a heartbeat of silence. She lowers her chin slightly, as if tucking her head between her shoulders in preparation to defy a strong wind about to gush her way. Her gaze is intent, her thoughts racing, her mind clicking down pieces onto the Gateway board with furious speed. "We can't ignore everything else and concentrate on the General alone. We will have to cut down the wings of this beast first before we can hope to stab its heart. Aine: you said you can blast several weaker enemies at once." Quickly she raises her hand, pointing at the whales floating high up on the skies. "Destroy those sacks. Stop the song. It is a weapon for shattering morale. Winlandians have candlewax to plug their ears with, but I won't count on it."
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| − | "Iselsis!" Her gaze flickers over to the demon-blooded woman. "You will go with her for now. Watch her back, make sure no-one attempting to stop her will get within the striking distance. However, keep an eye on where I am, too - I might have other missions for you. If you are the quickest of us, then it must be put to good use."
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| − | "And you, the Sidereal, you're -- ''bloody hell! ''" Her commanding voice degenerates into a snarl as she notices what Gennadi is doing. Ice prances back from his display of sorcery, her mien easily matched by that of her rider. "What are you doing?"
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| − | '''Iselsis: '''Izabella gives a sloppy salute to Vorpal in acknowledgement of her plan.
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| − | '''Gennadi: ''' "I'm going to teach a certain puppy to heel. Don't you concern yourself with my methods." The wind howls louder, and the links of chain can be seen tearing through the dust, sharp sparks and the acrid smell of ozone as they rend the air. The sound is almost like voices, almost like a shriek of triumph... "You wanted me to fight, and I'm fighting... so I suggest you get out of the way."
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| − | '''Fiona: ''' Fiona stands there, looking at the war. The chains rattle.
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| − | She lets herself be taken by fear, and counts to five.<br>
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| − | On five, she will say goodbye to the fear, and be herself again.
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| − | '''Valencia Silverstar: ''' There is no longer any recourse. She knows the demon waiting up there, creating more of its children. And she must face it. Alone. Valencia quickly gives overall command of the battle to her most capable and experienced senior subordinate, then heads off to face the monster in the sky.
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| − | A flare of silver, rising up and out of the din of the battlefield, moving too fast for the naked eye to see clearly, spears toward the demoness. A flash of Moonsilver-alloyed steel glitters within the display, striking out at the enemy, who is pushed up into the clouds. They both vanish.
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| − | '''Acelia: ''' Acelia, on the other hand, just do what she said she would!
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| − | ... she gawks, waiting fo the chance to hide behind the first tree she can see.
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "And the next time, you will ''inform'' me about your battle plans!" Vorpal hisses vehemently in return as Ice reluctantly backs further down from the Sidereal. "Fiona!" She extends her hand to the Solar sorceress, preparing to pull her into the saddle. "You are with me! Be ready to cast your spells at my order. Then I will keep you safe and get you to the safety behind our own lines."
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| − | '''Fiona: ''' She takes Vorpal's hand, jumping over Ice, happy she will be protected.
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| − | "My butterflies will cut them through, Pale Angel. You be sure."
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| − | Five was up. Fear was past.
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' One by one they come. The leaders of this terrifyingly glorious horde. Ryshassa has never seen them before. Only heard of them spoken by name perhaps, but little more.
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| − | Compared to them she is hardly a whisper, clothed merely in silk, not in blood-eyed black feathers, not in claws and bat wings, not in screeches and hisses fortelling of one's impending doom. Yet her fingers do not falter, caressing a lilt from the strings that settles over the nearby soldiers' psyches like a balm, shutting away the despair, the hopelessness, the vision the voices weave of the ever approaching maw of the Void that one can do nothing but bow to and await his ultimate fate. Frail and petite, she still stands firm against the tide of the dead -- and the troops who behold her humble determination stand with her.
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| − | Her voice rises in counterpoint to the comforting, ululating rhythm of the lyre accompaniment. The melody is wordless, yet somehow timeless, a song that inspires one to dream, to remember not the nightmares they now face, but the hopes and memories that keep them alive. Of home, of family and friends, of past and future achievements, of the beauty inherent in nature, of the indulgence of simple pleasures, all those things that they might wish to protect -- and return to, despite all odds.
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| − | She sings, and her notes paint the hues of the sunset, that awe-inspiring splash of colors across wintry skies, harvest gold and burnt orange and rose, periwinkle and lilac, deep twilight blue, violet. Who has not contemplated their existence, their dreams and their futures, beholding such a sight? It is the constancy of time one ponders, that ever turning cycle that humbles and brings an air of contemplation to many a mortal mind.
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| − | It is a reminder.
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| − | The darkness may come, but here it is still daylight. The darkness may come, but the sun will rise again. And the darkness need not be feared. Even in darkness there is beauty. There is hope. ''The only true end is one you shall not succumb to. Fight oblivion while blood still stirs in your veins! '' cries Ryshassa's heart through her voice and the strings.
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| − | '''Fiona: ''' Fiona begins to shine, and touches her caste mark. It is light, it is shadows.
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| − | The light makes the shadows deepen until they are solid.
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| − | Dust all about her and Vorpal, joining together in many spirals of shadows, deep, deep... solid.
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| − | Shining Obsidian, butterflies of shadow Obsidian about them, waiting for them moment to raze battallions with their wings.
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| − | Fiona smiles.
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "Yes, we will kill them for you, Pale Angel." Selina says with a sudden glee, that is harder and harder to hold back now. The greatcoat comes off, tossed behind her, far enough away that her anima will not damage it. "I will be back after so that we may deal with the commander."
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| − | ''is time now''
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| − | ''let free''
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| − | ''hunger for them''
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| − | Selina stills the nagging voice, now so familiar, and reaches down into herself. The anima banner flares into its full terrible glory, and she pushes it still farther as she changes. The grey clouds above begin to darken and swirl about her, lightning arcs over her, winds claw at the ground and things about her as her transformation begins. It is as if she is pulling all the light about her into her own body, even as the ebony dragon of her iconic display is sucked down as well. The thing merges with her closer, the surface of her consciousness suffused with its urges, warping her body with its presence. Within that light, Selina visibly ages, her fine features becoming those of an old woman, her body toughening beyond all mortal bounds.
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| − | ''The Void''
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| − | ''The VOID''
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| − | ''THE VOID''
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| − | '''''THE VOID'''''
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| − | The candence beats within her.
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| − | ''The false prophets will crumble before it''
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| − | When the light fades and the woman standing in that raging, empty anima looks to her sister, there is something of the beast in those slit-pupiled eyes. Governed by an intelligence, but closer to dominating her being than before. Then the gem at her throat glitters and her body reshapes as it had in the hot springs, then her beauty returns and more, though the age does not retreat.
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| − | '''''A thousand deaths to what cannot die'''''
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| − | Terrible and worshipful beyond measure, she beckons with a sharp-nailed, still-gloved hand to her sister, pointing at the dead whales. "'''''Come'''''." The voice is modulated, her own aged tone overlaying a deeper rumble. The wings behind her flex, unfold, she leaps into the air with an easy grace and is with her new speed, leaving a wake of displaced air and dispersed, rapidly fading darkness behind her.
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| − | '''Iselsis: ''' She mumbles "Showoff...", though her biting sarcasm seems rather dulled by the impressive display.
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| − | And then she does 'come'. Although her own might may be dwarfed by her big sister's she is still a raging storm or shadow, light and searing winds, which are drawn to her as her small frame flits around her sister, guarding her against attacks from all sides as she was told to do. Lightning arcs spring around her and thunder is heard as she follows Selina, then the screaming of the wind in the storm, or maybe the screaming of the twisted aspect of the dragon within her.
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| − | "For Winlandia!", she shouts through the noise at her sister as the two rush onwards towards the battle, her twin plasma repeaters at the ready.
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| − | Two of the De Windias fighting side by side once more, as it always should have been, and what a sight it must be to behold.
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| − | '''Alexsei Krauser: ''' A pleasant chime resonates for a moment, calm and soothing... The fabric of reality tears apart, and in a busrt of violet Epilogue comes forth, resting firmly in the hands of its owner.
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| − | | |
| − | For a moment his eyes are closed, Epilogue in one hand, while the bead necklace rests in the other, his hand cupped in front of himself like a gesture of offering. His head bows slowly, two strands of black hair brushing his face as he intones a prayer to Saturn.
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| − | ''A Blessing for those ripped from torpor; ''<br>
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| − | ''From the Gates of Lethe at the Journey's end. ''<br>
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| − | ''A sorrow's blade, punishes the defiler; ''<br>
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| − | ''Takes back the Souls from its greedy hand. ''
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| − | | |
| − | ''In Saturn's arms, find Blessed Slumber. ''
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| − | Violet tendrils finish envelopping him as he concludes his offering, sliding the necklace into his sleeve and bowing deeply to an unseen force, as the army of Undeath stirs...
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| − | ''I must go, Beloved. '' His voice echoes through his ring, to his wife performing close to him. ''The cries of the dead will drown our forces with their desperate pleas - but I will not abide it. ''
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| − | ''I will listen to their pleas, and grant them the conclusion they so desire. ''
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| − | ''I will meet you later, Belladonna. Be safe. ''
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| − | | |
| − | He nods once, but he does not pause. His eyes are filled with purpose as he approaches the two windina soldiers nearby him, bowing to them in respect for the taks they would soon accomplish.
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| − | "Take me to the Ones whose Torment Echoes in their Mournful Songs."
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| − | | |
| − | And as he readies himself to be carried away on their powerful wings, he is once again a provider of Endings, and of Beginnings. He is once again the instrument of Saturn's Will.
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| − | | |
| − | He is once again the Black Wing of Conclusion.
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' ''I will do my best'', Ryshassa's mind-voice replies through the link she shares with Alexsei. Even her song is colored briefly wistful, as her beloved steps away -- but moments later is swept into a heart-stirring refrain that speaks through music alone the love she has for her husband, and her hope for his safe return.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Cael: ''' Somewhere behind Ryshassa and Alexsei, Cael spreads his wings.
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| − | | |
| − | The wings are written into being as they spread, each feather a paean to flight scribed in meticulous golden text that shimmers with its own light. Long feathers, short feathers, a thousand feathers and a million brush strokes to bear him aloft.
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| − | | |
| − | The wings reach their fullest spread, each one as long as Cael is tall, each one grace and speed and power embodied, shinning with such brilliance as to turn the eyes and the arrows of those who might hurt him. Those who could beyond the glow, though would see the white coat he normally wore gold edged and shot through with texts of protection, as was his whole body, on the dreamlike edge between solidity and sigils.
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| − | | |
| − | Somewhere behind Ryhassa and Alexsei, Cael spreads his wings and rises up into the sky.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' As the animas of the other Exalts flare with their terrifying might all around her, Vorpal sits in the saddle silent and still. Her arms folded across her chest and her eyes downcast, she seems to be distracted by a stray thought, something random she is calmly mulling over in her mind as the others pour forth their Essence. Her dark and plain figure is a strange contrast to the clashing flicker of lights, of crackling thunder and howling winds that coil around the divinities close to her.
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| − | | |
| − | Finally, she seems to find the answer to her musings. Idly her lips curl up into a silent smile, which then splits into a pearly grin. With a careless whisk of hand she tosses Ice's reins around the great beast's neck, then removes first one boot and then the other from the stirrups. She stands up atop the back of the horse, voluminous battle dress billowing about her strong form and Fiona craddled at her feet. She straightens her back slowly, rising, swelling, unfurling, her power straining at the seams of her existence, filling the darkened skies with the weight of her black silhouette.
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| − | | |
| − | "Hunh", Vorpal chuckles and grins wickedly down at Fiona. "Let us go and save the land."
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| − | | |
| − | Her anima is like a clap of thunder as it blazes up around her, a bonfire of cold white flame bright like a frozen sun. For in order to use the power granted to her as a member of the terrible Dusk Caste, she has to announce her presence, to be acknowledged as the leader of her army. And this she does in the most efficient way possible, by pouring her power into her anima, by sending it gushing down the hillside in a freezing corona, a tidal wave of fear so powerful that it thickens the air and muffles the sounds of battle into a nightmarish muddle. Her arms still folded, Vorpal stands perfectly balanced as Ice's massive bulk explodes forth without a visible command. The beast and its two riders charge towards the thick of the battle, and the aura of pale fire and dark fear churns ahead of them as a herald of their arrival.
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| − | ''Hear me, you valiant souls who proudly call yourselves my allies! Hear me, you woeful things who seek to meet me in battle! Hear me, generals and footmen, peasants and lords! I am the spirit of victory! I am the avatar of death and demise! I am your nightmare, I am the answer to your prayers! I am the wild beating of your heart, the heat gushing in your veins, the glint of steel that will run you through and spill your blood to the ground! I am here today to put an '''end''' this battle, whether you liked it or not! ''
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| − | ''I am the Pale Angel, and this is my Brigade! ''
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| − | '''''Hear us roar! '''''
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| − | ----
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FifthMovement|Fifth Movement]]
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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