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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FourthMovement|Fourth Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT [[ADanceOfAngels]] |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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| − | == Hymm of Innocent Suffering ==
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| − | '''Alexsei: ''' Still breathless, he watches as the Gate answers to his call, bringing all the poor souls away from the pains of this forced existence. He lets out a grateful prayer to the Maiden of Endings, thanking her profusely for the honor of being the catalyst to her will, and another for the desecrated souls of these children, that they might find peace in this new life.
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| − | His thoughts immediately turn to the wounded, and to Ryshassa and Alexander. He rushes to their side, Making certain they are not seriously harmed.
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| − | he gently takes Ryshassa by the shoulders, claiming back his weapon from her hand in a soft motion. his plants his violet eyes in hers, and he gently brushes a still glowing hand on her cheek, letting his proximity do what it can to calm her.
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| − | "It is over, belladonna." He finally says, his voice strained and almost out of breath. "They are gone, gone to the rest they have deserved, beyond the grasp of pain and fear, untoucheable for those that would harm them. They have left this world behind, Ryshassa... Now we must let them go, also." He turns out to the other end of the room, and to the weary soldiers that accompany them. "Many more lives hang by a thread, beloved." He gazes back at her once more, caressing her back gently. "Let the memories of those that passed here carry you forward. We have to find those responsible, and make sure they are not capable of doing such... atrocities again."
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| − | Taking a deep breath, he gives a respectuous bow to Alexander, raising his head in respect to the young prince. "A masterful display, majesty. If there are those that doubt of you still, I can say there is one here that you have managed to impress greatly." He presses a fist to his chest, a symbol of allegiance and loyalty, and gives an approving nod to the young heir of the Holyswords.
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| − | Still struggling to catch his breath, the Chosen of Saturn nods to the young prince, readjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "If you do not mind me saying, majesty, perhaps we should press forward. It would be bad form to let everyone down, and I am sure they are counting on us... We are not quite out of the woods yet."
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| − | '''Alexander: ''' Alex looks at Alexsei with eyes of disbelief... his worry at Ryshassa's lack of weight and struggle in his hands forgotten as he sees the gate. As he sees the light of Saturn bathing all around them... and leaving nothing bu falling corpses in its stead.
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| − | And yet, even after doing something like that... Alexsei congratulated him! Him!
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| − | "Same goes to you, Alexsei... and even, even more so... this was..."
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| − | "This is the second time you impress me. Nice habit.."
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| − | But as he finishes it, adrenaline still pumping, he turns around... to the Windian soldiers. One lady was dead, two heavily hurt... he runs to one of them, touching her, trying to take her wounds in his body...
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' In the silence that follows -- the silence that reflects the emptiness burrowing into Ryshassa's heart -- the healer collapses to her knees, Epilogue cradled limply in her hands.
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| − | Her eyes are too dry for weeping. But she hunches down, hugging the staff close to her breast, wrapping her arms around her shuddering body. Rocking back and forth. Whispering: "I'm sorry. You were right. I'm sorry."
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| − | But soon Alexsei returns to her side. Her beloved husband, her companion in this life and the last. The warmth of his touch, the comfort of his closeness seem to thaw her, slowly but surely, from the catatonic shock that had seized her. She relinquishes him his weapon, nodding slowly, quietly, as he speaks... not registering the words so much as how much his voice had always soothed her, even when she lacked the motivation with which to return the sentiment.
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| − | It takes a few moments, but with time, she gains enough composure to lift herself to her feet. Enough that the healer's mentality seizes her instinctively, as she notices Alexander running to the wounded on the ground. She forces her shaking legs to move. Alexsei has managed to perform his most sacred of duties -- but there are still living left to tend to. And that is her domain.
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| − | She joins the Prince, laying her hands on the second wounded soldier, to heal her much the same.
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| − | *Above, things are going... decently.<br><br>the flying ghosts taking more casualties than the elite warriors of Windia - by far.<br><br>But still, the bodies of those Ryshassa had sent to war fall from the sky...<br><br>Dorian is surrounded by lighting, picking it up like leaves on the wind about him and throwing them around...<br><br>And then, something comes running through the great halo around the Fort. Something that moves like a spider, no... like a scorpion. Legs of a scorpion, torso of a man, fully armored and wielding something... a chain?<br><Br>A chain that goes through three Windian soldiers, making blood rain above Alexander, Alexsei and Ryshassa...<br><Br>Three Windians fall, and Doran stands in front of the scorpion, narrowing his eyes, thunder forming a dragon about him...
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| − | '''Alexander: ''' Blood falls over him.
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| − | The choir gets louder... he can hear whatever it is coming closer, and closer...
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| − | And something. Something that looks really powerful, that scorpion, above...
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| − | The Prince turns to the soldiers with them, and to Alexsei.. his voice one of ultimate command, as if a god was speaking through him, "You press on, all of you." He looks up, "I will help Dorian!"
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| − | '''Alexsei: ''' He turns around to the young prince to voice his protest... But when he hears the tone of his voice, and the look in his eyes, Alexsei knows there is no changing his mind. He swallows back his words of disagreement, and forces himself to look at the young heir not like a teacher sees a student, but as a soldier sees a fellow soldier. His doubts quiet themselves slowly, and although he is worried about the wellbeing of Alexander, something in his demeanor makes him trust the young prince.
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| − | "I... very well, your majesty. May the Maidens and the Unconquered Sun watch over you... And you had better meet us later in one piece." He punctuates the last statement with a smile, and he bows to the young prince, before taking on a more grim expression once more.
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| − | HIs eyes fall on Ryshassa, and he nods slowly to his wife, offering her his hand. "We have to press forward, beloved. We cannot allow ourselves to falter now... Come with me, and let us see this through, dear belladonna." He smiles at her, keeping his hand outstretched towards her.
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Upon her forehead, Ryshassa's Caste Mark pulses golden, blending with the aura that briefly suffuses her skin. Phantasmal violet petals drift about her kneeling form, touch the ground and vanish. When she lifts her hands from the wounded soldier, ugly gashes forming on her skin where once they had marred her patient.
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| − | She straightens just as the strange scorpion-beast approaches, spraying gore and scattering winged corpses in its wake. ''So much death. Yet I must press on. Get a hold of yourself! '' Her lips set in a grim line as the Prince calls out his intentions to stay. She nods once, giving the Prince one last, lingering glance before taking Alexsei's proffered hand.
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| − | "I... I'm sorry for the trouble." She seems to want to say more, but shakes her head hastily. ''There will be time for apologies later. '' "Please be careful, Prince Alexander." The words are terse, but heartfelt.
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| − | With that, she nods towards her husband, summoning the Caduceus close to her side, and prepares herself to move.
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| − | * The lady smiles at Ryshassa, getting up... good as new... or almost!<br><br>"Thank you" She whispers, her wings twitching, still feeling part of the hurt... and trying to shake the memory out of her mind.<br><br>For all of them, the worst was what they saw, not how much they hurt... they looked at the 'children' on the ground, and felt... unsure to press on...
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| − | * Ryshassa returns the Windian woman's gratefulness with the first genuine smile she has managed in a while.<br><br>"You are welcome," she answers, inclining her head slightly as she stands poised between her husband and the golden staff. "I wish I could have done more -- but I must make sure to preserve what strength I have. I'm sure you understand."<br><br>Her face softens, even as the reflexive guilt descends upon her heart once more. ''I'm sorry... for all of you... I'm sorry I can never be enough. ''
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| − | '''Alexsei: ''' He nods in approval as Ryshassa gets back to her feet and decides to follow him. As he prepares to press on as the prince asked, however, he cannot fail but notice the soldiers accompanying them.
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| − | The horrors of the recent battles are finally taking their tolls on them, and the morale of the invading unit is going down... And with the prince pledginng to help Doran, it falls upon them to take care of the remaining troops. He knows, in this very moment, it is his resposibility to bolster them, to keep them in a fighting spirit...
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| − | Stepping forward and taking a deep breath, the funeral priest scans the remaining soldiers before clearing his throat.
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| − | "Soldiers of Windia, please heed me! As we speak, your leaders are fighting for the freedom of Whiteshield, to liberate this land from the plague that has gripped it. They are fighting for what they believe in, and they are giving their blood for this conviction..." He stares at them all, his violet irises flaring slightly as he walks in front of them, taking in their weary expressions...
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| − | "I am Alexsei Krauser. I am a funeral priest, and one who fights for those departed, and to release the dead still in the grip of foul magic binding them to this world... This is my reason to fight, my reason to lose blood here. What is yours, proud warriors of Windia? What is your reason to be here, to fight, to raise against the oppressors against all odds? Have you lost friends, family, to the invasion of these lands? Have you lost comrades in the skirmishes, or can you simply not fathom the idea of the enemy marching on Whiteshield's white lands?"
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| − | "Look deep inside you, troopers. Find what it is that keeps you fighting. Find your reason for being here, and embrace it, just like your commanders do! Keep it close to your heart, let its passionate fire keep you going when you falter! So not forget why you are here, children of the North... Be proud of what you are fighting for. Be proud, and raise your weapons in defiance, to show the enemy Windia and Whiteshield will bnever bow to the oppressors!"
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| − | "Now come, proud defenders of freedom! Stand with me, and let us send these foul desecrators away from our lands, and back to the pits that spawned them! Let us stand together, and show them the strength of the North!"
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| − | * They needed a leader, one who would not let them falter on the first place... but both leaders were high up, facing an enemy that was too strong for normal foes to beat. And it was on those moments that unlikely leaders flourished...<br><br>Alexsei's speech touches their hearts, makes them forget the horrific sights they had just seen, and renewed, the Soldiers prepare their weapons again. They had fought many things, and were brave and drilled, but something like that... was still too much, at least for those. The children, their cries... but it was past now. Now, they were reminded of what they had to do.<br><Br>And by Valencia, so they ''would! ''<br><br>Swords and spears in hand, they rush foward in formation, storming into the Fort... and meeting zombies within. But mere zombies are not enough to contend to them...<br><br>And from behind, Alexsei can see the winged soldiers rend the dead bodies..<br><br>And the choir getting louder and louder...
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| − | * Ryshassa stands proudly beside her husband as he, too, takes on the mantle of leader, inspiring the flagging troops to pick up their weapons and fight.<br><br>Neither she nor Alexsei are military trained; they have only their emotions, their convictions with which to encourage these warriors in the face of such atrocities. Nonethless, it fell to them, as Chosen among mortals, to bolster their courage and keep them focused on the goal ahead. For their enemies are anything but mortal, anything but understanding of morality -- and everything about exploiting fear, embodying nightmare, draining the hope of those who would oppose them.<br><br>It crosses her mind, then, that perhaps one or more among the enemy already knows something about her, understands her weaknesses enough to create such a twisted, cunning scenario for her to fall into. The possibility sends a shiver down her spine, a chill augmented by the mournful strains of the choir, approaching... ever... closer...<br><br>Her hand tightens on Alexsei's as the remaining soldiers charge further into the fort, heartened by his speech to greater feats of valor. "The Prince told us to move -- we must follow!" she urges, quelling the fluttering that rises in her stomach. "Those voices... whatever they are..."<br><br>She stops bothering to explain, pulling her husband forward with her towards the fray... and what lies beyond it.
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| − | '''Alexsei: ''' nods at his wife's urge, following her deeper into the Fort's structure, ready to face whatever lurks into its dark depths.
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| − | He makes sures the troops follow them, as they are now responsible for them, as their de facto leaders - one must be responsble for the man and woman under him, and he realizes that by bolstering them ro fight once more, himself and Ryshassa have become resposible to ensure they are not lead to a massacre.
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| − | * Alexsei and Ryshassa go foward, but the soldiers are even faster - flutters of wings, and an unlikely strong one kicks the door down, revealing the zombies on the other side.<br><br>Filling the entrance hall, it is hard to say how many, ten, pehaps... but soon the battle is joined, and the soldiers prove more than up to this fight...
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| − | * Ryshassa continues forward, and is enveloped by the crush of bodies in combat. Flashes of feathers, the glint of weapons, the stain of blood, rotting corpses and sweating soldiers roaring their battle cries, vying for the upper hand. Still holding onto Alexsei's hand, she weaves her way stubbornly past the thick of battle, towards the sound of the choir beyond. The Caduceus whirls about her in a protective arc, ready to protect her from any stray blows.
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| − | '''Alexsei: ''' Running forward behind his wife, Alexsei shoots a quick glance at the troops to try to evaluate how well they are doing against the zombies opposing their advance. Making certain they require no help against the unded horde, he rushes towards the door barring their way, quickly testing it and finding it, unsurprisingly enough, locked.<br><br>''No time for niceties. ''<br><br>Testing the door with his hand, the funeral priest then nods once to his wife before pulling back some more. taking a deep breath, he lets out a straightforward kick, seeking to bash the door open with the flat of his foot.
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| − | * The door crumbles under Alexsei's foot.... and the voices pour in.<br><br>The choir of laments and pain.<br><br>The voices of young boys, crying, crying ... in a choir of pain...<br><br>Their voices tell their story, of when they died, of how they died, of their pain, of their sorrow. Of how much they suffer for their faith, for their belief, of how much their suffer, never having knowing anything else....<br><br>And their suffering touches the Hearts of all who listen, making them stop, filling their hearts and souls with nothing but their sorrow... <br><br>And it touches Ryshassa and Alexsei. It touches their very souls. They cannot think. They can hardly move. They can only feel the sorrow... and feel tears stinging their eyes, as they understand the holy pain felt by the boys...<br><br>All around them some soldiers stop to fight, and kneel, crying. Some cry like they do. And others feel nothing, and try to cover for their comrades...
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| − | * Ryshassa shudders as the cries pour over her, hesitating in her tracks...<br><br>''...agony... despair... ''<br><br>''...this hymn is the voice of suffering. ''<br><br>She staggers against her husband for a moment, pressing her face against his shoulder, soaking his vestments with her tears. ''Not this... not... more... '' The sentiment echoes in Alexsei's mind, as she clutches him to her tightly, shivering with the burden of young hearts unsoothed. Just once more, to feel his warmth close, to gain strength from that comforting certainty... and then...<br><br>Ryshassa lifts her head, tears still coursing silently down her pale cheeks, and continues down the hall -- not rushing now, but walking steadily, mournfully, with the pace of a funeral procession. The lament of the choir looms closer, as the sounds of battle recede from behind...<br><br>...she must see for herself what it is that makes them weep.
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| − | '''Alexsei: ''' The door gives way under his foot... And then, he hears them, as if for the first time.
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| − | Their cries sunder his heart, claw at his soul. So many of them, so many caught in unrest... For a moment, the Chosen of Endings considers staying there, at the heart of the fort, to soothe the poor children of their eternal agonies... To do what he has been chosen to do, to keep them from suffering here in this world they do not belong in...
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| − | The tears of his beloved wife calls him back to the present. Others, yes, others are suffering... And many more will be if they do not press on, and go forward. Almost regretfully, Alexsei takes a step forward, then another, his steps echoing with the somber dirge of the cries of the damned - a funeral march, with the many voices replacing the coffin, and their own sorrow replacing that of the loved ones...
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| − | He presses forward, but he will not forget... his heart heavy with grief, he listens to their stories... He will bear their weight, for their pain is unheard outside of these dark walls...
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| − | ''I will find who did this to you, poor children of Creation. I will not forget. ''
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| − | *As Alexsei steps foward, he feels it coming.<br><br>Crossing the air, crossing Fate.<br><br>He should not see it, it should be a complete surprise... but a blessing and a curse of a Sidereal is to know the ending of all things, and all that is to come. As such, he feels the chain come to him... a weighted chain with a sharp shard in the end....
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| − | '''Alexsei: ''' The chain comes towards him, threatening to end him... To end them all.
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| − | Reflexively, the Chosen of Endings swallows the grief and hardens his expression, unwanting to disappear just yet - not before the source of all this desecration has been found. Letting his inner senses take over, he forces himself to feel the path of the chain, as it rips up the strands of Fate surrounding them. Delving into the broken strands, feeling their lengths, he forces himself to "see" the path the chain is taking, and where it will strike them. He instinctively pushes his wife out of the path he calculated, intent of strafing out of its way, also.
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| − | "Get down, Ryshassa! here it comes!"
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| − | *The greater hall of the Fort, the stairs spiraling upwards, where quiver of arrows and ammo for cannons should be, and where the commanding officers should meet to discuss plans amidst a siege...<br><br>There is a Chapel.<br><br>Above its altar, they stand. The souls of seven boys, moliated together into one entity of terrible angelic aesthetics, beautiful in an artistic sense and totally unsettling in any human sense. It hovers, wings made of their organs and seven mouths echoing together in a crystalline beautific face, singing, singing, singing their pain...<br><br>Below, two Nemessaries stand, in the bodies that once belonged to beautiful females, embalmed and looking like pale beauties, next to a priest... to whom the chain returns.<br><br>The marks of an Air-Aspected Dragon-Blooded are obvious in him. Tatoos cover his face, marking him to death and the thurible. Incense fills the room around him as the chain returns... swinging up for a moment, making the perfect picture of a scorpion's tail for a moment.<br><br>"Well, so you made it this far. I can see why. Celestial Chosen..."<br><br>The boys look down, look at those that come. They do not stop singing their grief.
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| − | * Ryshassa emerges into the Chapel, her eyes following the path of the chain that could very well have severed her husband in two, following it to the tattoed visage of the priest who stands awaiting him, flanked by nemissaries clad in the corpses of women... and above them...<bR><br>The priest's words barely pierce her awareness as she stares at the singing monstrosity, hovering on lumps of organs stretched unnaturally into wings. Seven young boys, their flesh and bone fused together into a form both aesthetic and horrifying, singing... singing their pain for the merciless whims of their creators. Her compassionate heart twists in pity, cries out in helpless sorrow for her inability to bring them peace with the warmth of her touch. She is, perhaps, one of the most advanced healers of her age... yet her abilities are useless in the face of such incomprehensible cruelty. <br><br>Never can she possibly understand what would drive a person to use the lives of innocents as tools, to deny them even the comfort of their final rest. She simply lacks the gaping hole in her heart that would allow her to disregard their suffering, the jagged shards of immorality that would make her entertained. She is disgusted -- and deep inside, underneath the gentle demeanor, the fragile tears, she is enraged. But it is a hopeless, futile anger, for she knows that no matter how she may rant or rage, it will not bring those children peace... it will not alter the nature of a man so obviously beyond compassion.<br><br>Slowly, deliberately, she lowers her gaze to meet that of the priest standing before them, her expression uncommonly hard, uncommonly cold. "And I assume you are responsible for these abominations," she pronounces.
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| − | * "No, actually...."<br><Br>A figure appears behind the altar, a ghost-blooded whose body is filled with writings... runes etched in all of its pasty skin. It wears the robes of a monk, a ashen hood pulled over his face.<br><br>"It was our god who made the crying boys. So the living knows how much they love him, and from that love, understand they should not fight him. But I am the one who made the cherubs... I understand you have broken my little masterpieces....?"<br><br>"I am no Necromancer."<br><br>The Dragon-Blooded speaks, stepping to the side, moving like a scorpion, a martial artist... and eyeing Alexsei's movements intently.<br><br>"I am Deras, the Crimson Chain. You are like my sifu." He looks at Alexsei, "He will probably love to know I have struck the death blow to one such as you... I have trained to fight your kind, knight of heaven."
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| − | '''Alexsei: ''' Blood trickles to the ground where the bladed chain hit him. He grits his teeth, grabbing his arm where the the sharp contraption tore his robes and gashed his skin, then observes the room with much disgust.
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| − | His eyes fall to the priest and the Ghost Blooded, and even though he manages to keep himself from rushing at them, a single emotion flares within him.
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| − | ''Rage. ''
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| − | Grabbing Epilogue with both hands, the staff breaking down once more at his silent command, Alexsei does not let his eyes leave those of the Dragon Blooded. "Indeed, we have. So you and your god are you are responsible for the atrocities that have been comitted here..." He struggles to keep his voice even, but the disdain filters through his words.
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| − | He lifts his eyes slightly, gazing at the twisted angel made out of those poor boys, singing their pains and misery with their multiple mouths... And he listens. He feels their grief, their torment. It echoes in his very soul, and he knows there is one thing he must do, before anything else.
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| − | Filling himself with the weeping essence of endings, he lets his consciousness touch those of the poor victims. And when his soul comes into contact with them, he calls on to them. "Prisoners in a cage of flesh, hear me out! We are the keys to your liberation, we bring forth the end of your torment! Please, o tormented ones, hear my call! Rise against the powers that bind you! Reach out and try to break free from your cage, and I shall help you break the walls that will set you free!"
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| − | Turning his gaze down at the priests and their nemissaries, he shifts the staff into an intricate kata, a serie of fluid movements that leave violet traces in the air.
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| − | A dance usually reserved for funerals.
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| − | "I am an agent of Endings, and what you have commited here is an aberration to the Patterns of Fate. In the name of Heaven, and by the powers Saturn has granted me, and by Her Will, I hereby pronounce this moment to be your Ending."
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| − | He shifts. The pain of the choirboys resonate within him, their plight filling him with the push he needs to go forward. He nods to Deras, acknowledging his challenge.
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| − | "The threads will be severed. Either yours or mine... That is for Saturn to decide."
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' "Love?" Ryshassa blinks once, twice, her expression severe and unchanging as she shifts her gaze to the Ghost-Blooded. "This is not love. This is manipulation. This is forcing souls into a form that they would not otherwise assume -- and using them to force a reaction that would not otherwise feel. If you believe this to be love, you are sadly, terribly deluded."
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| − | "But we are not here to talk. My beloved has proclaimed your end -- and I will do everything in my power to ensure he succeeds in his task."
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| − | '''Alexsei: ''' At his wife's words, he rushes towards Deras, intent on switly ending this conflict and liberating these poor, suffering souls...
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| − | Grabbing Epilogue by one of the middle sections, he forces the links to the left and right to spin quickly and precisely, describing an 8 shaped pattern often called "Left and Right Falling Star".
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| − | Aiming the dangerously flailing pieces of starmetal at Deras' limbs, he dashes forward, instrument of Saturn's judgement...
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| − | *The Priest swirls his chain about him, making it seem like the pincers of a scorpion for a moment.... two great ones, defending both his sides!<br><br>Only, the scorpion is more dangerous - he will have none of this. As Alexsei strikes and the pincers stop him, the chain twists in an improbable way, as the tail, stinging once to each of the strikes!<br><br>Piercing the Chosen of Ending’s body, rending his flesh, splattering his blood over the air... like a simple, fragile human.<br><br>Deras reins the chains back, a cocksure smile taking his face...<br><br>"I am on sensei's level now, I suppose..."<br><br>The blood from Alexsei's body splatters on his robes, splatters on the ground, and drips from his chains. He smiles, and turn devilishly to Ryshassa...<br><br>"And you... you die as well, chosen of the sun!"<br><br>Dripping with the blood of her husband, the chain comes straight to her chest....
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Alexsei falls back in a spray of blood, eviscerated by the stinging chain -- and Ryshassa's scream reverbrates through the chamber, piercing through the layers of mournful song, an eighth mouth stretched open in a wail of utter horror and despair.
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| − | But before she can fall to her knees before him, gather his limp. bloodsoaked body in her arms, Deras's chain comes hurtling at her, seeking to tear her apart as well. ''No... not now, NO! '' What pulses within her now, more than the adrenaline that suffuses her slender form, is a powerful and undeniable conviction to live. Live so that she can reach her husband -- live so she can lend to him every last ounce of warmth and vitality she can spare!
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| − | "You terrible bastard!" she cries at Deras, her face flushed with fury and determination, with desperation for the precious life that now dwindles upon the ground. The Caduceus swings before her, alerted by the approaching danger, singlemindedly intent on intercepting the path of the menacing chain. The golden staff -- her stalwart guardian -- moves as an extension of herself, resonates with the self-same grief and desperation that seizes its mistress, urging it on with unerring swiftness.
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| − | "You and your allies, your god, you may have desecrated children, shaped them to your liking like so much meat... brought to ruin a city once so beautiful and teeming with life for your own machinations -- but you will not take my husband from me!"
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| − | "You will '''not''' overcome my will to live -- and to save those who may yet be saved!"
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| − | * Ryshassa wastes no more time -- as soon as the Caduceus collides with the chain, she kneels upon the blood-soaked ground, pulling aside her gloves... and lays her hands upon Alexsei's still-warm body. She feels his heartbeat swiftly dwindling as his lifeblood pours out from under him.
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| − | | |
| − | ''Not yet, beloved. We have centuries ahead of us. You cannot die here. ''
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| − | | |
| − | Reverently, she lifts him to his lap. His body seems so much lighter, drained of so much life-fluid that her pristine white breeches are saturated with it. She embraces him fully, laying her pale, tear-stained cheek against his, and willfully accepts his pain. In its place, she offers nothing less than life itself. Her blood, her flesh, her wholeness. With every second that passes, wounds close rapidly upon his battered body and reopen upon hers, urging him away from the clinging embrace of death. Urging his heartbeat to strengthen, his breath to sing in his lungs, his body to rise newly rejuvenated.
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| − | | |
| − | And throughout all this, despite the immense severity of the wounds she now bears for him, she makes no sound, no motion but the rocking rhythm of her body as she nurses him back to health. ''Come back to me, Alexsei. Let us finish this together... my love... ''
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| − | | |
| − | *The Ghost-Blood sees Ryshassa renewing her beloved... but Deras took him out with a few blows - how muc hof a threat could they be now? Only denying the inevitable... but there was more. War raged outside, and a few soldiers were coming inside... but outside took precendence.<br><br>In a wave of the Monk's hand, the crying boys begun to lift upwards, flying towards the windows... and those outside. "Spread your lament. Go forth and spread your lament to those heretics that try to fight our forces outside!"<br><br>Three of the Windians push into the room, a spear and two rapiers on hand, dancing with the Nemessaries' staffs. Two parries, a cut on the Nemessary, a winged has its head bashed and falls to the floor.... <br><br>Deras takes his chain back, and smiles. "It seems I underestimated you, healer."<br><br>"I shall not do so once again."<br><Br>But as he readies his chain to strike again.... a great, thunderous roar is heard outside. The sound of something breaking... and Alexsei, with no choice but to look up from where he is, sees it... the Halo... falling down... coming towards them... as it goes through the roof of the Fort, exploding the Eastern part of the wall, and raining debris on all inside!<br><Br>The Dragon-Blooded sidesteps... avoiding all the falling debris as the Halo stops half-way over cutting its way through the Fort. Then, his anima begins to rise... to rise to great heights. a roaring dragon appears overhead as he sends his chains once again.... and by some illusion, they split, coming to both sides of Ryshassa... and as the tail, the head of the dragon comes down on her...
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| − | | |
| − | Ryshassa rises wearily to her feet, helping her husband stand -- just in time as a great crash from outside sends rock and debris raining over them all. She closes her eyes, trusting in her body's Essence augmented resilience... and as a great boulder descends upon her... it cracks, split in the middle as it strikes her neck, inflicting only minimum harm as the two fragments fall to either side of her.<br><Br>She hardly has time to raise her head before she finds herself assaulted by Deras's flurry of attacks. Her first reaction -- faced by three distinct blows that could very well be lethal -- is to twist her body aside in a last-ditch effort to lessen the severity of the blows. The motion is pure instinct, drawing not from any significant practice, but from a simple, stubborn will to survive.<br><br>As she moves, the Caduceus flashes into action to supplement her defense, suffused by a golden glow as her anima unfurls in full majesty. Jewel-toned butterfly wings burst forth from her back in a shower of phantasmal petals, casting sunset-shaded splashes of light upon the rubble-littered chamber. As the staff catches each blow, petals explode from the source of the impact, morphing into butterflies that flitter away and vanish in the blink of an eye.
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| − |
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| − | '''Alexsei: ''' Oblivion claims him.
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| − | | |
| − | The singing... powerful and sad, it claims him, and for a moment, he joins it. He becomes one with it, and his voice longs to soar with it, to sing of his pain and his losses.
| |
| − | | |
| − | but something, something calls down to him once more. It keeps him from wandering off, keeps him rooted to his body, firmly planted in Creation. A voice... Different from the other in the Choir. Yes, a voice... And finally, he understands...
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| − | | |
| − | ''Ryshassa. ''
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| − | | |
| − | Slowly, painfully, he opens his eyes... To find her cradling him in her arms. They are both soaked in his blood, and yet she maintained him alive, absorbing the damamge that would have killed him into herself. He smiles at her with cracked lips, but the reunion is short lived, as the room seems to come crashing down on them.
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| − |
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| − | Gathering as much energy as he can, the Chosen of Endings painfully rolls out of the way of the falling boulders that fill the room. He moves away from their falling path, and comes to a stop just in time to see Deras' assault on Ryshassa...
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| − | | |
| − | ''No... I must not... let this... happen. ''
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| − | | |
| − | Rising to his feet not without difficulty, he grabs Epilogue by one extremity and, dashing forwad once more, brings it down over his head, slamming it onto Deras while he is striking.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Dorian: ''' Outside, something flares.<br>
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| − | Very, very bright.<br>
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| − | A roar like that of an explosion can be heard...<Br>
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| − | And the chant of the Choir boys ends.
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| − | | |
| − | Dorian appears on the window, flaring with lighting, his long brown hair stained with blood.... and looking down on the corrupted Dragon-Blooded with eyes that explode like storms
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| − | | |
| − | "You. Stay. Away. From. Them!"
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| − | | |
| − | His hands begin to trail in the air then... as he begins to say words in the tongue of the Old Realm.<br>
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| − | Words that begin to change the world around him, making icy-blue symbols of power all around...
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| − | | |
| − | * The corrupt Dragon-Blooded swirls his chains once again, looking up, from the tattered, blood-stained clothes of the Krausers and to the dragon crackling with power overhead... "I have nearly killed them. Will need little more than a little slap to send them to immortality now... as I will for you!" he moves then, sending his chain hungrily towards Dorian!
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| − | | |
| − | '''Dorian: ''' The Dragon-Blooded moves by reflex, evading him by moving like flickering winds, freely and without thinking, an action without mind, born of one who had trained for a battle like that all his life. And who had geared even his arcane studies to this end...
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| − | | |
| − | And then, he releases.
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| − | | |
| − | As he finishes his incantation, he turns one palm towards the corrupted Dragon-Blooded... and it explodes as womb of ice, giving birth to a flock of birds... birds of prey, a swarm of them, flying towards Deras at blinding speed, becoming more and more like daggers as they go...
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| − | | |
| − | "You are a shame to the dragons, priest. Let go of their favor, and go preach in the underworld like the pale shade you are!"
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| − | | |
| − | * Deras twists his chain around to stop the flock... but all it does it touches some of them. Too many, too many for a chain to parry. He tries to move out of the way.... but there are too many. Too many of them, cutting through his flesh, daggers of ice, so cold, so cold... cutting through his flesh, spilling his blood as the break in the floor or in his flesh, and melt in the coldest water....
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| − | | |
| − | '''Alexsei: ''' Smiling gratefully at Doran's intervention, he turns back to the wounded Deras, taking a deep breath as he coils Epilogue arond his left arm.
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| − | | |
| − | "For all your efforts, desecrator... The windians prove more resilient. Their will is stronger than anything you, your masters, and your god can even hope of crushing."
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| − | | |
| − | One step forward, and he shifts his footing, prepared to strike...
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| − | | |
| − | "Whiteshield will rise from its ashes. It has never been abandonned. As for you and yours..."
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| − | | |
| − | He swiftly springs his arm forward, and with a great thunderous sound, the Starmetal Staff uncoils wickedly like a great sea snake seeking to plunge its poisonous fangs into the wounded Dragon Blooded...
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| − | | |
| − | "You will fall back in oblivion, and you will be forgotten."
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| − | | |
| − | *Hurt, he suddenly realises the battle is not going as it should... and tries to seek a way out. <br><br>He dodges then, trying to run, trying to get away somehow....
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| − | | |
| − | '''Alexander: ''' Deras falls, his whole body pierced, and now hurting by the touch of Endings. He staggers back, his eyes angry and challenging... and yet, his weapons has fallen, he has fallen, and his challenge is empty.
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| − | | |
| − | As he falls, the Windians finish dealing with the Nemessaries, and rush to look at the other rooms...
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| − | | |
| − | And Alexander shows on the window, his face shining in his own flames... and in his own rage.
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| − | | |
| − | The Necromancer was about to finish an incantation, spreading... something, in the room. A cut, a gaping hole in the fabric of Creation. Within... the Labyrinth. Its dark essence seems to fill the room, and yet, it is just in the cut... to where the monk intends to run.
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| − | | |
| − | "I felt their pain. I felt their pain. I still feel their pain. you bastard." The prince says, his eyes narrowing, exploding in liquid gold... "I can still feel it. I had to burn them. I had to burn them because of '''you! '''" He had seen Necromancy being worked before, by those who hunted him. It had to be him, trying to escape, it had to be, it had to be... a monk, and he could see flashes of monks in the memories the choir boys kept chanting in his mind... had to be... although he was unlike the monster that permeated it all. The monster. The Bishop.
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| − | | |
| − | The Prince had swore to kill him once. For now, he imagined the Ghost-Blooded was the Bishop as he dove down, burning in fury, wielding his sword in anger down to the necromancer....
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| − | | |
| − | He hears as the monk screams. Catching him in the middle of his light, the blade cuts deep within his body... and he screams. Blood splatters out of his body, dirtying Alexander's face and armor... as the prince watches, wide-eyed, to the man's last breaths...
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| − | | |
| − | ''Blood... ''<Br>
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| − | ''Screams... ''<br>
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| − | ''So this is what destroying a living thing is like...? ''<br>
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| − | ''No... killing... I... killed him. ''
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| − | | |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' As the Caduceus circles back towards her, Ryshassa claims it from the air with bloodied hands. She takes a deep breath, pressing her forehead against the scintillating gem cradled between the outstretched wings at its tip. Green light flickers upon her skin as the Hearthstone expends its stored life energy, knitting the most severe of her wounds in an eyeblink.
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| − | | |
| − | ''Nearly killed, you say? But now you are the one dying. '' She gazes down at Deras's crumpled form for a moment, her expression unreadable. She has the energy, the vitality remaining to help that dwindling life, as well. But she feels no pity for him, no remorse... only relief, that this nearly disastrous conflict had come to an end. The weariness is obvious on her strained, delicate features as she nods towards Alexander and Dorian, unspeakably grateful for their aid.
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| − | | |
| − | But the look of transfixed horror spreading over Alexander's face in the wake of his opponent's death softens the deep creases in her brow, fills her eyes with a depth of sympathy and sadness that triggers in her one of her most basic of instincts -- to comfort. Silently, mournfully, she extracts her lyre from its protective case, and begins -- without announcement, without fanfare, to play. A soothing lullaby rises over the rubble and carnage, over the scattered corpses and weapons stained with blood, wrapping itself gently and solemnly around those who survive to witness this hard-won victory like the arms of a mother claiming her son or daughter home from war.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Alexsei: ''' He sees the prince's desperate attack... and suddenly, it is all over. He smiles at Doran, at the soldiers, and at the young prince, who ended the chaos with his desperate action... Ryshassa's song rises to the air, and the comforting sound soothes his wounded body and his tourbled mind...
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| − | | |
| − | And then, he also sees Alexander's eyes, his livid expression speaking volumes about the aftermath of death, when the adrenaline comes down, and the truth seeks in...
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| − | | |
| − | Bringer of Endings.
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| − | | |
| − | Walking forward with a limp, Epilogue now an unbroken staff of Starmetal and silver, the funeral priest places a hand on Alexander's shoulder, nodding slowly to the young prince.
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| − | | |
| − | "You did what you had to, majesty. Endings, no matter what their nature, are always painful... But it is sometimes our responsibility to see to their completion. You have done well, Prince of Whiteshield.." He offers the young man a comforting smile, and bows his head slightly. "If you will excuse me, however... I have one last piece of business to take care of, before we can move on..."
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| − | | |
| − | His steps bring him towards where Deras has fallen. There surrounded by the fallen, by threads cut on both sides of the conflict, he kneels down before the Dragon Blooded. Silently, solemnly, surrounded by Ryshassa's song, he utters a prayer to the Maiden of Endings, for the safe passage of the souls of the children, of the Windian soldiers... And, as much as he despised their actions, of Deras, the monk, and their allies. His hand hovers over Deras' prostrate form, and he opens his eyes once more.
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| − | | |
| − | "Whiteshield will rise from its ashes..." he whispers, as if the fallen man would take the last words with him in the next life. "And it is time for you to go."
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| − | | |
| − | Gathering some of the last bits of power he kept in reserve, he lets his prayer extend forward in a wave of violet light, painlessly cutting Deras' thread, and making certain the sleep of all the fallen in this room would go about without ever being disrupted...
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| − | | |
| − | His duties done, he painfully rises to his feet again, limping towards the young prince once more... And towards his wife, to whom he owes his life.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Dorian: ''' Dorian touches down, and begins shouting orders. He looks at Alexsei, covered in his own blood, clothes all ripped, and calls for medical assistance on him, as he looks down on the fallen form of Deras...
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| − | | |
| − | "You heard a true priest. You will go to Oblivion. You will be forgotten." He smiles a bit then, "But you could have waited for the walking excrement to tell us what he knew before doing that. Not that I do not agree with the sentiment. Oh, and about sentiments..." His hand touches Ryshass's Lyre, and his head nods to the room where the zombies were, "Your music is wonderful, Ryshassa, but we have a few wounded who need more immediate attention than that..."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Alexander: ''' Alex smiles at Ryshass... and at Alexsei... touching the blood on his face, feeling it on his fingers...
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| − | | |
| − | "I... hope I did, Alexsei. Now, I think there is still some fighting up there... if you will excuse me..."
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| − | | |
| − | He flies away then, hoping he can still help some of the soldiers in the skies, hoping for more fighting, for more flames to drown out this feeling...
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| − | | |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' "Without a doubt," Ryshassa replies, nodding solemnly to Dorian as she brings her lullaby to an end with a flourish. The notes reverbrate in the air moments longer, a longing, wistful echo reminiscent of innocence lost... until once again all is blanketed in silence, but for the distant roar of battle up above.
| |
| − | | |
| − | She glances briefly at Alexsei, her gaze filled with a longing all their own -- to touch him, to hold him, to reaffirm for her aching, shaken heart the reality of his existence. It had been so close. Too close. The thought of losing him was so incomprehensible it had hardly crossed her mind until now. Her beloved had delivered her from a life of shame and servitude, shown her to her true calling, and remained inseperable from her ever since. If not for her healing gift... he...
| |
| − | | |
| − | Ryshassa swallows hard, then with visible effort pulls her attention away from her husband, striding purposefully towards the adjacent room to tend to the remaining wounded.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Dorian: ''' All the dead are at rest.
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| − | | |
| − | Dorian flies up, hoping the wounded will soon be better, or at rest as well... and watches the sky. The prince finished the last of battles... and now, it was all over. They had taken more losses than expected... faced heavier opposition than imagined... but now, it was over.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''In and done in less than twenty minutes. Who knows we could destroy so much, so fast. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | Somewhere in the distance, he could see the Spire. They would be gone before the enemies could even be warned of this, much less come close. And so would his generals. And the path was clear to the Spire... they knew the terrain, they had shaken its defenses.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Soon, they would strike, and soon, Whiteshield's wall to Windia would fall.
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| − | | |
| − | Or so he hoped.
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| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | ----
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| − | | |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FourthMovement|Fourth Movement]]
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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