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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FirstMovement|First Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT [[ADanceOfAngels]] |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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| − | == Invincible Void Princess ==
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| − | In a ruined noble’s property, no more than a couple hours from Windia...
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| − | The Quicksilver Zephyr loooms above the field of battle, resplendent in the light of the noon, while its pilot comes down in a rain of wisdom, enveloping the Hierophant.... Nether Serpent coiling around him, moving on its own like a real serpent, spinning around itself so fast that the words are kept away, sticking to its scales while it spins, and, when it stops, releasing.
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| − | Once again a staff on the Hierophant’s hand, the stray words slicing the earth, the fountain, and the sunlight. And cutting away all of the six remaining visages, who fall to the ground lifeless. The monk turns around, trying hard to restrain his surprise... “Oh, another one... why is it that always, always, aaalllways these flock around him?”
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| − | Up along the mountain, the Vestal has her spine nearly crushed by a blow from yet another newcomer, who flares with the light of the moon, coughing blood over Selina as she stands on a three-way clinch with her, and shadowy figure that has tendrils like snakes...
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| − | <b>Alex Holysword:</b> Holding the handle of his blade tightly on his hand, Alex sees the newcomer throw the words of gold... and smile.
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| − | The light of the sun shone in him as well, and he could not think one so blessed would not be on their side. Flaring with power as he was, he vanished from the top of the sliced fountain, only a vague blur of light and feathers as he reappears in front of the Erimanthoy, heavenly sword at ready to slice the monstruosity in half!
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| − | <i>Otieno, I didn't forget.... </i>
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| − | The blade sears through the demon, and it is consumed by Solar flames before it has time to utter its last growl. The boy narrows his eyes, and dances, sword-fighting in the style of the south, his feathers filling the air as they crackle with the sunset, blidning the second Erimanthoy to his strike... that comes, ever so swift, the boy handling Ainerach as if it was so much as a wodden sword!
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| − | But, crafty, the Erimanthoy stops the blade on its claws, swathing it aside as it burns...
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| − | <b>Hierophant Clad in the Skin of Deceivers:</b> The Visages fall to the ground, lifeless. One of his demons, powerful as they were, cut down by a young man with so much effort as a hot knife through butter. And his own reserves of power waning, weakened by the supreme effort it took to survive the onslaught of words...
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| − | <i>They are powerful for whelps... and the newcomer... if he strikes once again, maybe I won't....</i>
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| − | With these thoughts, the Hierophant moves back, Serpent moving fluidly on his hands, still at ready to parry any strike that comes for him....
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> <i>Who in blazes is that?</i> Vorpal thinks, her red eyes focusing only for a heartbeat's time through the flickering streaks of her own Essence at the newcomer Solar who had bugged in to the fight so.
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| − | <i>Oh well. At least he seems to be the enemy of the Hierophant.</i>
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| − | Although the enemy of your enemy is not necessarily your friend, a momentary ally is always a welcome thing in the battlefield. A good commander adapts to the situation.
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| − | The enemy Abyssal seemed to be set on the defense for now, so Vorpal lets him be and spins around, turning the blinding-white flare of her blade against the war-ghosts.
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| − | Sheathed in a cold and white bonfire of her unique anima, the crucified angel of her banner shining in all of its terrible glory, the Ghost-Blooded once again dances through her foes. Either more capable or just more lucky than the monks slain just moments before, this time a single enemy is left standing, while all the others seem to explode into a crimson cloud, cut to shreds by the razor feathers of the Pale Angel's Charm...
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| − | Blood gushing in a river from her blazing caste mark, her cloak flapping around her lithe and powerful form, Vorpal spins back at her foes once more and drops into the defensive stance.
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| − | <b>Vestal of the Livid Lamasery:</b> The Vestal flows out of Selina’s hands, effortlessly, staggering backwards, blood covering her mouth, staggering unable to stand until she falls back against a tree. “You... you... brute! You... Lunar.... abomination... how... dare...” She coughs her own blood once again, and cries out, “Kill himkill himKILL HIM!”
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| − | “Bring him to me...”And as she calls for that, a strange shelled creature, some sort of multihued crustacean, forms on the forest behind her, a much too familiar face above it, to Moon... the same heart-shaped face, the same captivating smile. It’s not like the skimpy clothing of one of the Vestal’s slaves was ever something strange for her, being what she was... but yet, the way she stared. “Yes, mistress... I shall. Hi Moonie... it has been a while, darling.”
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| − | <b>Memories:</b> But as soon as the Vestal moves out of the way, the world dissolves for Moon, and Selina. As soon as she gets out of the way, and their eyes meet... everything dissolves, and for a moment, there is only the two of them.
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| − | <i>A glorious Twilight Queen, and the Great Hawk of the First Age...<br><br>The love. The battles. The Black Sword...<br><br>The clash of the Black Sword and the Golden Sword, breaking Creation when they met. The love between Sun and Moon, what the Hawk and the Twlight did together...<br><br>Together, they gave humans wings. Together, they changed the pattern of living beings to fit their desired aesthetics.<br><br>Together, they fell in the hands of their own companions....<br><br>An age of passion, love, creation, danger and despair goes through their eyes when they touch one another.</i><br><br>
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| − | And then, it is gone, and only a looming creature above them... and the dark creature behind Selina, looking at Moon with star-red eyes in a black maniquin’s face. In its body of Soulsteel, a thousand souls cry in agony.
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| − | The last movement. He meant to strike all three of them, but the foul creature survived.. but not for long. No... He still could act, one more ltime. His wings and eyes flaring in liquid gold, he took a step backward... and charged forward, all his strength behind the blade, intent in going <i>through</i> the Blood Ape....
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| − | ... And slashing through its fading form as the shining blade burns its blood and fur, falling to the ground as a dead ape, but instantly becoming simply foul dust, blown in the cold wind... as the Zenith stops, blade against the earth.
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| − | <b>Selina De Windia:</b> A few moments after Charmaine slides out of her grasp, the Windian's own anima blazes to its height, then past that. The ebon coils of her iconic dragon wrapping about her body as the thing's head rears over her own menacingly, Selina chuckles, the sound almost fleeting as her aura blazes so high that the sheer amount of power put into it cannot be contained any longer. The tentacles holding her back slowly come under the assault of that excess, searing lightning and shadow, overflowing from the deathknight's anima into whatever is touching her as she fixes Charmaine with a predatory grin.
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| − | "<i>I'm coming.</i>"
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| − | <b>Hierophant Clad in the Skin of Deceivers:</b> The Hierophant takes a step foward. He is outmatched, yes, but... he has a job to do. If things happen as they should, they will all be dead, soon. Those up on the mountain have no chance, none at all. He will kill those here. Or at least, make it so that blasted sword does nothing else. <i>Nothing</i>!
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| − | He begins the kata, once again. The movements like a snake, but one moving orderly like an Immaculate. His staff dissolves on his hand, becoming... liquid. A dark, ranscous liquid, holes on the ground at every drop that falls, hissing as they do, dark smoke rising... a liquid on the shapoe of a serpent, the purest venom of the Void... and then, he strikes. Fast as a striking serpent, he goes towards Vorpal, the snake jumping foward to dissolve her body in its poison...
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> She is... a terrible sight to behold, a being of primal, macabre beauty. The feminine curves of her body seeming to swell against the soulsteel and black leather of her attire, her chest rising and falling in the rhythm of her panting, every single inch of her is filled with sensual strength.
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| − | Blood flows in a hundred rivulets from her forehead, streaks of crimson painted down the virgin white canvas of her albino cheeks. The soulsteel in her hands moans aloud like a wounded creature, a famished beast, aware that there is nourishment to be found near by. Above her blazing sword, her eyes burn with a fire of their own, sultry, coaxing, willing someone to test their luck against her.
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| − | And when the Hierophant comes, she meets him readily, eagerly, baring her teeth into a delighted smile. Whoever would come out of their clash on top is irrelevant - it is the act itself that matters the most.
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| − | <b>Hierophant Clad in the Skin of Deceivers:</b> The serpent strikes, and no blade can stop it. It cuts the liquid in two, but there is no point, as it continues, unstopped, hitting the armor, marring it forever. They fnd each and every place where the armor opens, pass through its protection, and burn her, searing her pale flesh with the most acidic venom of the Void.... making the Pale Angel feel pain as she never felt before!
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| − | <b>Seventh Moon:</b> The feel of broken flesh beneath his fist vanishes suddenly, leaving him stoned for a heartbeat. One long enough to finally take notice of the black-winged woman before him. He hadn't even seen her, until she screamed at him. Something hauntingly familiar about her, in her voice. Then again, maybe he was just use to being screamed at.
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| − | "Tch," he sneers, the silvery light burning in his eyes twisting his face into a monstrous grimace. "You don't got shit from where I stand, lady."
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| − | Don't kill her? Someone else had told him the same thing before he left the Boil.
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| − | <i>And if you find her Seventh Moon, don't kill her. Bring her back to me. I have needs for her</i>
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| − | Yeah, great. "Wasn't gonna kill the bitch anyway," he spat, wheeling about to track the Vestal before she can slip away again, and falling right under the shadow of something large and ugly with something beautiful on top.
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| − | "SARAH!" his shout turns primal as Seventh Moon lunges towards the sick-skinned crustacean. A silver gleam follows in his wake, light bending and distorting into a great hound around the pair of violent eyes hovering above him. It doesn't matter. None of it matters.
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| − | <i>Sarah!</i>
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| − | Seventh Moon dashes under the bizarre creature, into it's shadow. His feet skid across the grass, then leave the ground as he pushes off and makes a grab for one of it's legs, fingers seeking purchace as he struggles to pull himself up it.
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| − | <b>Sarah:</b> He pulls himself up swiftly, falling on the back of the elephant-sized behemoth that came out of nowhere. A giant crustacean, like those one might find in the farthest west, seemingly covered in watered oil, then shining in a multitude of colors.... and, standing atop of it, Sarah looks at him, her eyes... there is recognition in them, no enmity, no hatred or rage, but yet.... "Moonie. I missed you.... but mistress wants you dead. I don't want to disobey her. I can't disobey my mistress..."
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| − | <b>Seventh Moon:</b> "Like hell you can't!" Seventh Moon snaps back, struggling to keep his feet on the creatures shell. Why was she speaking like this? He thrusts a hand towards her. "Come on babe, I'm getting you outta here."
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Time seems to slow down for her. She watches, almost with idle fascination, how the priest's poison slips past her defenses, its filthy blackness soiling the cold purity of her Essence as it approaches her, burning through her clothes, striking through the Black Queen's Vestments, sinking deep into her skin.
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| − | <i>Pain.</i>
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| − | A familiar feeling, that.
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| − | Never quite so intense before, though. She waits, with stoic disposition, as it bursts out as a wave from the spot where the priest struck her. It spreads through her system, scorching her insides like fire and leaving only scorched remains behind. It reaches her backbone and then begins to streak upwards, along the major nerves of her spine, shattering every single vertebra in its passing.
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| − | And then, finally, it hits her brain.
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| − | <i>Pain.</i>
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| − | It is like a white-hot hammer.
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| − | The time resumes its usual pace, and Vorpal gasps, blood - her own blood - gushing out from between her lips as she does so. "Swatting flies?" she grunts despite the obvious agony she is in, fixing the Hierophant with a smouldering gaze.
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| − | And suddenly she moves, forcing her battered body obey despite the wounds, unleashing the full fury of her white-streaking sword at the Hierophant.
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| − | <b>Hierophant Clad in the Skin of Deceivers:</b> "You still live." He states, somewhat surprised. "Few ever took the venom of Void's lake and survived."
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| − | Eyes close, sensing the incoming attacks. His time was running out. The newcomer could take him out, if only.... but he could try. One last time, he could try.... and maybe, even, suceed....
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| − | .... or not.
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| − | <i>I could not stop her. I could not disarm the boy.</i>
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| − | Soulsteel passes through him, his blood splashing on the ground.... his dark robes ragged by the power of ther blows.
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| − | <i>I could not...</i>
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| − | <i>Now, the Visage...</i>
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| − | He coughs his own blood. his staff falls to the ground. And then, with knowledge of his failure, the Hierophant falls to the ground, lifeless. Suddenly, everything down there goes quiet.
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| − | <b>Sarah:</b> She steps back, fearful. "No.... you weren't there with me. When they did... things... to me. I called for you, and you weren't there... but mistress was. All I needed to do was what she wanted, and it stopped hurting... when I do all she wishes, everything is good. And she wants you dead, Moonie.... I'm... sorry."
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| − | <b>Seventh Moon:</b> Did things to her. To Sarah, who wouldn't hurt a soul. Sarah whose smile could calm a storm. Now she was shit, what was she? Empty? Her eyes were so devoid of anything. No love or life or humor. He felt helpless and angry. Who the fuck did they think they were to do this to his woman?!
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| − | "No!" Moon shouted, shaking a fist in the air, the rage burning in his breast flaring into the anima around him, the ghostly hound fleshing into a full silver-blue light. "NO! I've always been there for you! Then she took you! She stole you, and I couldn't find you! I looked and I couldn't find you..." Seventh Moon sucks in a deep breath. He holds his hands to her, pleading. "Sarah, please. Do you think I'd let you go that easy? Do you think I'd let her hurt you if I could stop it?"
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| − | <b>Sarah:</b> "You weren't there...."
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| − | Sarah says, looking away... still a bit of the old Sarah, still some feeling on her eyes, not wanting to meet Moon's."I called and called for you. And you weren't there... she was. Mistress...?" She asks, looking down where the Vestal is, clutching her back... wanting an answer, something... but nothing comes. The Vestal simply smiles, and takes a cord on her hand... "Thanks... Fiona." The vestal says, opening it.... and being engulfed in purple mists that come out of it, engulfing her and taking her away from the area.... making her vanish.
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| − | As she vanishes, she turns to the big soulsteel statue "Don't... kill the Dark... pretty. She is the Black Winged... the one we need."
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| − | And then she vanishes, but the soulsteel monster simply prepares its serpents once again. "No. Not the only one." Its monotonous, tone estates with a voice that is a choir of many...
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| − | "<i>Mistress!!!</i>" Sarah cries out, but nothing answers her...
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| − | ... until the same mists reach out, making her vanish with them. Leaving only the behemoth, that tries to shook Moon out of it, and the giant statue in front of Selina....
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| − | <b>Selina De Windia:</b> "Children never fight their own battles." Selina states, facing the statue as she picks her daiklave out of the ground, anima raging about her. "You'll have to do." And then the assassin moves, flowing into her attack against the statue.
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| − | The edges of her weapon begin to glow darkly with death essence as she lunges at her new opponent, air rushing past her, around her, lightning arcing over her body and weapon as the sheath of void about its slender blade strengthens more and more, till it seems to burn.
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| − | <b>Cael:</b> He watched his words peel off the Heirophant, warded by the perfect puissence of the Abyssal
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| − | Watched the swift, brutal exchange of blows between him and the Pale Angel, and then there was just the Angel in front of him.
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| − | Light warred with dark, as their two animas raged around them, filling the air with blazing glory and black nightmares
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| − | "Greetings, Pale Angel." he says simply, white greatcoat flapping in the breeze.
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> <i>Huff. Huff.</i>
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| − | Vorpal looks up from the bloody remains of the Hierophant, at this new Solar who had arrived in the middle of the fight.
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| − | <i>So one battle ends and another begins.</i>
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| − | Unlike the first fight, this next battle would not be of violence, but of will and wit. Even though every move she makes sends a wave of agony through her being, she slowly forces herself to stand a little straighter, willing the bleeding of her polluted wound to stop. She would really have to clean it up afterwards, but for now, she only would need to look strong, strong before this man.
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| − | But then again, wasn't that what she had always done? Turn the strong side towards the world around her.
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| − | "I'm going to hear a very good explanation", she replies, after taking a strategic moment to unnerve the Solar with a silent glare. "And I'm going to hear it now."
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| − | <b>Cael:</b> He takes her glaze without flinching, a smile crossing over his face. He lets his eye briefly wander over her figure, though it takes in her armamants as well as her looks before it returns to her face. He pauses briefly, to let her know he is answering in spite of her demand, rather than because of.
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| − | "As you wish, Pale Angel."
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| − | "I am Cael Pattona, Captain of the Quicksilver Zephyr, and I am here to help the Crown Prince and his companions."
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| − | <b>Visage of a Thousand Demises:</b> The rapier comes to it. The rapier barely scratches its surface, and as Selina gets close, she sees the many faces, wailing, crying, wanting release....
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| − | "You cannot hurt me, Dark Angel. Nothing can. I am the Void. The Malfeans guide me. You cannot hurt me, you cannot triumph."
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| − | The serpents rise, coming out of his forearms, the red stars on his eyes fixing her form... "But you... there is little reason to keep you. You are simply a menace. To be corrected."
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| − | And then, the snakes jump towards her once again....
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| − | <b>Selina De Windia:</b> Turquoise eyes widening at the sudden assault, Selina's body disappears into a mist of darkness as the tentacles strike through it, reappearing 5 yards to the side and back. "Indeed?"
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| − | <b>Alex Holysword:</b> The boy gets up, his blade moving in an arc and falling over his shoulder, at rest.
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| − | <i>Who is he...?</i>
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| − | Alex begins to ask, but, looking up... a creature, a giant creature. And Selina is up there!
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| − | Hoping Vorpal will do the talking for him, trusting the stranger inherently due to his Solar nature, he leaps in the air, suffused in Solar glory, ready to strike any that will harm one of his companions...
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Fu." Vorpal gives the Solar a slanted smile, lifting a hand to her hip and shifting her weight to one foot -- and being careful about suppressing the urge to wince. He was a handsom trickster, this one, but then again, good looks had an all too common habit of appearing in the company of a cocky tongue.
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| − | "Well, act on your words then", she says, throwing a glance up at the battle that is still being waged uphill, seeing the prince fly towards it "See if you can help them."
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| − | <b>Seventh Moon:</b> He realizes only too late what is happening. "NO!" Even as her body is already fading into the mist, Seventh Moon dives towards Sarah O'reily, arms outstretched, fingers grasping desperately. He feels something on his finger tips through the gloves. The silk of the immodest outfit she wears, the caress of her hair on his hands. Gone. All gone and the Lunar plows through the last wisps of purple cloud that linger where she once stood.
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| − | Seventh Moon lands on hands and knees, head bowed and teeth clenched tightly, ragged hair falling down over his face as he stares at the single strand of golden hair caught on his glove. Above him, the silver hound lifts it's head in a silent howl.
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| − | "NO!" his fists slam against the shuddering ground bellow him. "No, no, no! <i>You son of a bitch!</i>"
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| − | His head snaps up with a rumbling snarl. Clawing and skidding across the back of the crab, Seventh Moon reaches the edge of it's head and grasps tight on the ridged edge above it's face, jerking to a stop at the edge as he peers over the side. He watches the black winged woman strike at the statue, watches her blow scrape harmlessly off it's body. Someone, something, had to punished for what was done to Sarah, for stealing her from him again. That thing was as good as anyone.
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| − | Gripping the edges the shell, Seventh Moon plants his feet and leaps from the edge of the giant crustacean. Bone and skin and muscle begin to twist and grow as the wind whips against him. Silver-blue hair sprouts across his body, muscle bulges and ripples down his arms. Misshappen and horribly for a moment, his face stretches outward before refining itself into a gray-furred muzzle. By the time Seventh Moon crashes into the back of the statue, the change is complete and a seven foot monster of fur and muscle snakes an arm around the statues neck and holds on tightly, bringing an upraised fist smashing into the back of it's head.
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| − | <b>Visage of A Thousand Demises:</b> The statue is unfazed, not even turning back. "Useless."
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| − | He turns without a word, white coat flapping as he starts to run toward the fight.
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| − | <b>Cael:</b> He runs through the orchard, leaves drifting to the floor around him, and then suddenly he is running up the leaves, up into the branches of the trees and then along the tops of the trees, his feet flowing. He isnt as fast as Alex, but he'll be there soon...
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| − | <b>Selina De Windia:</b> Putting the results of her last attack together with what the Lunar just managed to do made the assassin come to her decision.
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| − | <i>So, hitting him doesn't work?</i>
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| − | Hopping a step backward from the advancing statue, Selina leaps into air with a tremendous push of her legs right as her feet return to the ground, up and away from the statue. As she streaks into the heavens with her aura burning about her form, she whips Dreamshard around to her front, pointing at the sky. The weapon's blade seems to flicker with an odd radiance, as if all the dreams of the world lay hidden within.
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| − | "Strike with all your power, and you cannot touch me." She calls down at her opponent, wings making a single beat as her weapon's glow becomes brighter, almost audiable. As if a hundred children are screaming at once. Shrieking crying laughing, dreams and nightmares bending under her will as she points the weapon down at her opponent. "I am <b>invincible,</b> <i>I am<b> immortal, you cannot harm me.</b></i>" Her voice echos down below.
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| − | And then the wyld energy inside the daiklave focuses...on somewhere. Inside the statue. Warping, twisting, changing. The dreams of a hundred fae shrieking into the statue's very being for a split moment, before guttering out.
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| − | <b>Visage of A Thousand Demises:</b> The Wyld energies envelop the creature, that simply stands there... immutable? The Wyld touches it, tweaks it... and hurts it. Marring the Soulsteel perfection, breaking, twisting the souls.
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| − | "Hmmm.... " It says, only a slight tinge of pain on the voice "Wyld. Did not expect a Deathknight to wield it. Well, something to remember, next time." It says on its monotonous voice, the wails of a thousand others coming from it... and then, it sees the golden wings, coming up. "Not both of them...not both at once. Not when I am not properly warded against that black-winged corruptor."
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| − | With a gesture, the statue sinks on the ground, the beheoth vanishing, probably recalled by its handler.... and then, suddenly, it's all silent.
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| − | <b>Alex Holysword:</b> Alexander recognizes the statue, the Soulsteel construct... against his father, on that night....
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| − | "That... that is...!"
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| − | But then, it sinks into the ground.... and vanishes from sight. Leaving only Selina, high in the air, thankfully safe... and a newcomer. A monster? No....
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| − | <i>The Great Hawk... we meet again.</i>
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| − | The recognition flashes on his eyes, and he remembers.... one of the companions he once had to fight against.
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| − | <b>Cael:</b> And, as his feet touch the ground, Cael gives the last jump, coming to the necromantic clearing with them all....
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| − | <b>Seventh Moon:</b> The Lunar takes another swing at the statue, but it's more gesture and frustration than intent, then jumps away from the statue before it sinks into the earth.
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| − | | |
| − | "After all this..." he breaths, nostrils flaring as he glares at the barren patch of grass the statue once stood, great shoulders rising and falling, hands clenching in helpless frustration. "After all this crap"
| |
| − | | |
| − | His ears twitch at the sound of Alexes voice, his nose suddenly filled with the scent of cleanliness and blood that had been his companion for weeks. Seventh Moon lifts his head and looks down at the little white prince. He almost wants to laugh, but instead he sinks onto his knees. For all the size and weight of the beastman, he suddenly seems very, very small as a wreaking sob passes through him and damp tears streak across his fur.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Heh You," he coughs a half laugh, looking up at Alex. "Have got a lot of shit to answer for."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> Cael stops his running, gradually drifting to the ground on one of the last leaves of the trees, stepping off it as it kisses the blasted ground.
| |
| − | | |
| − | His gleaming white greatcoat flaps lightly, black silk shirt and trousers visble beneath. White hair frames a hansome face, a slight tan betraying a slightly mongrel heritage, the ring within ring sign of an eclipse cast burning on his forehead.
| |
| − | | |
| − | His eyes scan the clearing, eyeing the Dark Angel with some suspicion, wondering where she fits into all this, watching for the Prince's reaction to the tablueax before him.
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Alex Holysword:</b> "Me?" He asks the beastman, the effort he makes to supress the voice screaming, wanting to take him over too much for him to even be afraid of the engine of destruction in front of him... "I... know you?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>Of course you do. From long, long ago.</i>
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Seventh Moon:</b> "Feh, naw, but I met your teacher once..." Seventh Moon wipes irritably at the tears on his face, then curls his lips into what passes as a smile. "Kinda... he punched me once. I punched him back. Y'know, good times?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | He was babbling a little and didn't like it, but it was hard to control himself. Part of him wanted to rush the little silver-haired figure and hug him. Part of him wanted to scream and beat the little scrag into the dirt. His eyes flash back and forth from anger to relief. How do you react to a person whose mere existence ruined your life, but you need to keep safe?
| |
| − | | |
| − | Seventh Moon did it by laughing, a harsh barking sound that slowly soothed into more familiar ringing tones as he willed his body back into it's proper form. Yeah, laugh at him, HA! The very idea of you!
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Listen," he said with a tight grin, the look no more comforting for sitting on a human face as it did on a hound. "Ya gotta come with me. Gotta back home."
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Selina De Windia:</b> Descending from the heavens on her midnight wings, Selina wipes the blood from her caste mark off of her face and pulls her bangs out of her eyes, the wind whipping them about at that altitude along with the rest of her long pale blonde hair.
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| − | | |
| − | <i>That...isn't going to work next time.</i>
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| − | | |
| − | Which makes the prospects of a next time unpleasant. She shrugs it off as her wings beat a final time and her booted feet touch the ground as she sheats her thin daiklave and looks at the newcomers.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>A Lunar and a Solar, mmm?</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>And me not even in any kind of disguise.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | Selina dusts her leotard off, then her long gloves, looking about to see where she dropped her greatcoat.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Alex Holysword:</b> <i>'Kinda... punched me once. I punched him back.'</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>Otieno... from when he went to... and fought a... hound... oh...</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | "You.... you are Seventh Moon. You are Seventh Moon!" He says, his face broadening into a smile.... why, he couldn't quite say. I mean, yes, he fought with his sisters, yes, he was a scoundrel, he led the crime, but... but.... he's from Whiteshield. He was the biggest scondrel from The <i>Boil</i>, from <b>Whiteshield</b>!
| |
| − | | |
| − | Then, he turns around, to the other newcomer. Somehow, they seemed... alike. "And you....?"
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> Cael watches the dusting with interest out of the corner of one eye, paying far more attention to the Lunar and the Solar, trying to read the spill of emotions playing over their faces.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>Seventh Moon? He didnt know that name</i> He shrugs to himself.
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| − | | |
| − | "I am Cael Pattona. I am here on behalf of a friend of yours, to offer my aid to you and your companions, Crown Prince Alexander."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Seventh Moon:</b> Alexes reaction wipes the grin from his face. Above him, the silver hound tips it's head to the side and paws at the air.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>Well, shit. Guess I'm famous. First I heard of it.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | Of course, if the prince had really heard anything, really knew anything, his reaction wouldn't have been quite so joyful. But he was, grinning like Moon was the Smiling Lover come to give him a freebie. It made the Lunar forgive him a little.
| |
| − | | |
| − | He turned his eyes to the other man and watches him carefully. Cael, was it? Name rang a bell, vaguely, but didn't make his skin crawl like a name linked to danger would. Said e was here to help the prince. That was nice of him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "What friends?" he demanded suddenly, rising back to his feet.
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Alex Holysword:</b> "A friend?!?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>One of the gods of Whiteshield? Has to be, has to be, simply _has_ to be!</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | Smiling even broader now... feeling surrounded by people who come to help, and that don't seem as treatening... or enigmatic... as those before, "Well then, my pleasure to meet you, lord Pattona. I am deeply grateful for your help down there."
| |
| − | | |
| − | He says, sparing him all the pleasantries of a noble, then looks around, seeing the looming First Age ship above them..."That... is that magnificent thing... yours?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> He has a large grin on his face. "That is the Quicksilver Zephyr, I am her captain, Prince. And do not trouble yourself over the help down there...I wish that I could have done more than simply distract the Heirophant, but then, the Pale Angel did dispatch him rather quickly soon after."
| |
| − | | |
| − | He hums a small tune to himself, one of the favourite melodies of Sweet Melody, testing to see if the prince has a flicker of recognition.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Seventh Moon:</b> "<i>What friend,</i>" he repeated sternly, taking a step towards the man.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>I didn't come this far ta have some twiddler swoop in and drag his sparkly ass somewhere else.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Alex Holysword:</b> "That..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | He recognizes the tone, of course. She would come to his home. Her servants would teach Carina how to sing... so long ago, they did..... she barely ever gave them the benefit of her music directly, only to the whole city - not even they were worthy of it, outside of Heaven. But her favorites would play for them, as she talked to his parents... Sweet Melody....
| |
| − | | |
| − | "That... Sweet Melody called you? She is still alive?'
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>Or whole? Or whatever you say of gods...?</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Cael:</b> Cael nods "She is alive still, Prince. And it was she who asked me to give what aid I might to you. And who travels with you."
| |
| − | | |
| − | He turns to the Lunar "That friend." he raises one of his hands slightly toward him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Selina De Windia:</b> Finding her discarded greatcoat off near a tree, Selina picks it up and shakes it out, to make sure nothing crawled into it during the fight. Then she folds it up, anima lessening into nothing, drapes it over one arm, and walks over to the trio of male Exalts, curious at what they're talking about.
| |
| − | | |
| − | And then she remembers.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Ah, Alex? The Vestal said that Fiore is fine, and still dreams about you. Or something." Selina finishes, shrugging at the name. She'd never met this Fiona. Probably another of Charmaine's pets.
| |
| − | | |
| − | === Conversations with Dead People ===
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal watches them both go, feeling a vague pang of annoyance at the ease this Cael runs up the leaves. "Show-off", she mutters, wiping blood of her castemark from her face with an absent swipe of her hand.
| |
| − | | |
| − | For a moment, she considers snapping at Alex and tell him how stupid it is to go waving the very thing these enemies were after at their noses in a fight, but then again, the Dark Angel is there, too. It should turn out fine.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Vorpal, on the other hand, has something else to do.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Dropping to one knee, leaning on her quietly whimpering Daiklave for support, Vorpal taps at the Hierophant's severed head several times with a single finger. "Hey. Wake up."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Hierophant Clad in the Skin of Deceivers:</b> "Hmmmm....?" The head speaks, eyes opening up, now fully oily-black, like two windows to the endless night... "Oh. So you did survive to the end. Not very well, I see..." The corpse grins at the stains in Vorpal's armor, marring the perfect soulsteel form...
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Aye, it's very difficult to get rid of me", Vorpal responds evenly, careful to keep the pain from being evident in her voice. "Feeling up to a little bit of interrogation?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Hierophant Clad in the Skin of Deceivers:</b> "What choice do I have?" The head asks, looking up at the sky as the Arcanoi fades, the blood not even dry still dripping out of the body. "So, I have just died, haven't I? You didn't even wait for the body to cool down..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "You'll have plenty of time to sleep later", Vorpal says in almost conversational tones. "Assuming, of course, that I won't chop your head completely off and take it with me as a trophy when I go..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | Pausing for a moment, she shifts her weight a little and asks: "So what does the Bishop plan to do with that weapon? What is its purpose?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Hierophant Clad in the Skin of Deceivers:</b> "Like that would make any difference. Take my head, burn my body, it won't change the fact I will be there, Pale Angel. I will be there when you turn around, whispering in your opponent's ears. I will be there to seee when the north falls down into chaos, and then into oblivion." he chuckles.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "The blade? Oh, for one... it is pehaps the most powerful weapon against the Underworld ever forged. A really good asset to have to bring down his stray apostles. But, of course... mostly, it, Whiteshield, the family... they are trophies. Something he wants to see burned, he wants to see tarnished. My lords are very found of this place.... in their own way, of course."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Hmmm?" Vorpal's red eyes glint in the depths of her hood as she tilts her head slightly. "A trophy he wants so badly that he is willing to dispatch numerous deathknights in the middle of a military campaign merely to get his hands on it? Yeah, right." She chuckles darkly, her smile eerie underneath the castemark blood still tarnishing her face.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "How many is he willing to send anyways? The entire lowest tier of his elite guard, several high-ranking ghosts, at least two deathknights... Who is coming next?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Oh, and..." she adds as an afterthought, "This is the part where you can start gnawing at my morale with the dreary tales of your military might."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Hierophant Clad in the Skin of Deceivers:</b> "I never said it was only that, now, did I?" The body twitches some, trying to laugh. "More than you can handle. More than any of you can. And soon, very soon, enough to draw the north into chaos. The Celebrant's elite troops are razing the countryside, as you very well know. Meant to keep Windia and its neighbors occupied... but the city of winds didn't feel like playing. The little birds hid from their predators inside their high walls, offering their eggs for the taking. And far as I know... she is quite enjoying that, the Celebrant. Oh, yes...."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "...like so", Vorpal nods, making a point of taking it all with a straight face. Below the surface, however, her experience as a military commander works, juggling the details in her mind, placing the pieces onto the board one by one.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Where is your army, then? How much time do we still have to say our prayers?" No point trying to be tricky about that question.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Hierophant Clad in the Skin of Deceivers:</b> "Little more... When the year reaches the apex of winter, the cold that can chill bones and freeze rain, the Labyrinth will open up, Whiteshield as its gate. And the stalemate in the Northeast shall break in blood and bone..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> <i>Now that was a straight answer.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | Straight enough to take even Vorpal by surprise. If he is speaking the truth, of course.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Anything else you'd like to tell us? Any last words for Dark Angel? A parting to say for Vestal?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Hierophant Clad in the Skin of Deceivers:</b> "I will be there to greet you, when the Labyrinth's gates are torn open. I will be there to greet you, if you survive that long. Somehow, though... I really doubt so. Serpent's venom runs deeper than your flesh, Pale Angel. And anything else... I will tell them when the time comes."
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "I told you - I'm difficult to get rid of", Vorpal counters, her eyes smouldering for a moment, before the fire is subsided by a philosophical shrug. "But I guess everyone needs something to believe in. If it pleases you, old man."
| |
| − | | |
| − | She throws a quick glance over her shoulder, to see how the events are progressing up on the hillside. Then she turns back to the corpse once more. She leans a little closer, plotting the sky from the Hierophant to see, much the Arcanoi illusion just moments ago. Instead of singing glory for the Bishop, however, this vision is that of a walking dead woman in the fields of war. "One more thing", she says, softly. "You recognized me when we began to fight. Why?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Hierophant Clad in the Skin of Deceivers:</b> "Because I realised who you are. Twice damned, as Abyssal and Solar. Twice damned, walking together with those you destroyed, and those who destroyed you."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Crimson Blade on Virgin Snow.... did not change so much, now." He chuckles, the void in his weyes widening, looking at something.... inside Vorpal.... "Now, are you so hard to get rid of, Pale Angel?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | And as he asks, he begins to.... melt? The eyes falling from its sockets, the face burning from within in fetid black flame....
| |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Sore loser, aren't you?" Vorpal coughs as she stumbles backwards from the smouldering corpse, feeling the poison moving through her flesh. Even as her own Essence flares up to counteract the effect, the venom works quicker still, and the world around her begins to spin.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>Oh... damn.</i> It is a dry, even thought rather than an alarmed one. Few things can cause quite as much of panic as feeling a deadly poison working its way through your flesh, but the nihilistic attitude of a Ghost-Blooded takes the worst edge away even from that.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>You're...</i> her addled thoughts struggle to work even as her limbs cease to obey her and she falls to the ground.
| |
| − | | |
| − | <i>You're not going to get... the last laugh, you know.</i>
| |
| − | | |
| − | And then, she knows only blackness... for a while.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ----
| |
| − | | |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FirstMovement|First Movement]]
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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