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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FourthMovement|Fourth Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT [[ADanceOfAngels]] |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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| − | == Waltz Through a Barrage of Suffering ==
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| − | Their way was not easy.
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| − | Even after pushing through the fences of the Industrial District and into the emptyness that was now the blocks close to it, both Selina and Opal knew that they were close. Ghosts, many of them. Walking through seemingly-empty streets... so many dead, in this day, that one could barely even tell which were on the Bishop's service and which weren't.
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| − | And the closer the women got to the Sorcery, the more they felt the essence that poured from it in waves, and saw as it was shaped... in something ''terrifying. ''
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| − | '''Exceedingly Sublime Opal: ''' She extended her hand, and with a quick apology to the Dark Angel, and plucked a feather forth. Using the arcane connection from a freshly harvested bit of Sel, she plucked some of her own hair and wrapped it around it.
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| − | And so she fashioned a talisman from it. Very slip shot and it would probably dissolve after a day or so, but it did give her a general sense of Selina's direction and distance.
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "Stay behind me, but not too far." Selina says, then she steps into shadow...and doesn't step out. For a moment, her eyes might catch a vague disturbance in the pattern of essence, but that is soon gone. Into the next shadow.
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| − | Selina is in her true element now, gliding along through the alleyways and backstreets of the Boil as easily as she does in Nexus, with not a soul besides Opal to even have any clue she is there. The cobblestones do not announce her presence, the shadows do not fail her, light shuns her presence.
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| − | The Windian moves through diffuse darkness, flitting from one odd angle to another, till she comes to a nemissary leading a group of lesser dead in a patrol through a run down backstreet shrouded with mist from some unnamed source. Internal security. Selina reaches out with her dark essence, erasing the memories of her passage, and Opal's passage from their as of yet unaware minds, smothering even the suggestions beyond recall. And still, she moves on.
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| − | '''Exceedingly Sublime Opal: ''' For Opal, stealth was a matter of unhesitating grace of movement. The eye tended to catch unfluid, jerky movements, and even as moved behind Selina like a floating bit of white jetsome in a dark and forboding pond, she moved like a mouse through a field, attempting to evade the eyes of the dozen of raptors that saught her heart's blood.
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| − | A breeze through the grass, a brief glimmer upon a stone, she tried her utmost to remain unseen with Selina.
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| − | * They go through the patrols, and pass through an area of silence... a place even the ghosts avoid. Where Avian had fallen, crows and ravens dwell... and their sounds are like mourning.<br><br>Where Niremar had fallen... there is a distinct feel of something... ''unnatural''. An uneasyness that makes people just wish to move on. Something wrong, about the place... and warmer, but not in a good way.<br><br>Through the Red-Lantern, they avoid more patrols... closer to Highlane now. Seeing the energy wash out... in patterns almost discernible to the Abyssal and the Jadeborn now...<br><br>Of course, there are things here. A patrol of demons, immaterial lions of Jade, three of them, handled y ghosts patrolling the area, and moving closer and closer to the Red-Lantern District... and through it, the Industrial... but with no hurry.
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' ''We should hurry. ''
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| − | The thought prods her, but does not dictate her actions. Selina is a master at her trade, and masters never rush their efforts. Her eyes flicker to the spell rising up into the sky every so often, as she skirts the enemies on patrol, taking more roundabout routes in order to conserve her mystical power. Patterns of essence familiar and unfamiliar to her line them, as she pieces the puzzle together. Remembering some of the books she's beholden, scant though they have been.
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| − | As she passes the place where she fought Avian, a faint pang resonates through the assassin, but she suppresses it. The metal feathers are gone, of course, but the feeling remains.
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| − | For her, perhaps, it always will. Even monsters can have empathy.
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| − | '''Exceedingly Sublime Opal: ''' There was a tension here, in the air like a halted breath. She exhaled, though the night did not, and waited with its ominious and dreadful anticipation. This was not the unease on the unknown, of the dark, lurking horror that might or might not exist. Something was '''wrong''', a disorder in what should be. She glanced up toward the sky, and even the stars seemed to veil their ever winking eyes in causion, lest they be plucked out.
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| − | * The women cannot recognize the spell... they have never seen anything quite like it.<br><Br>Yet, they can know some things about it for sure. It is a very brutal spell. It is harnessing quite a deal of raw essence, and shaping it only slightly - subtle changes giving purpose and direction to a wave of force. Like a spell of attack, or some kind of countermagic... no, certainly some sort of countermagic. And yet... there is something else there. Patterns of essence that are meant to touch souls... and draw them out, within the attack.
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' As she nears the place, Selina becomes more watchful, and apparently the guard around the man thins. Not even dematerialized ghosts can Selina pick up more than sparsely.
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| − | ''This means he must be guarded personally. ''
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| − | ''And competantly. ''
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| − | Her pace slows just a bit, to provide the extra bit of care for her final approach. If he is in a building, it will be hard, but she can deal with that. If he is in the open, she can rush him swiftly and from behind...soon it will be answered either way.
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| − | ''No Zsofika then, a pity. ''
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| − | Selina snickers mentally, and keeps moving, a wraith of nothingness flitting ever closer to the Parishioner's position, noting occasionally the changes in the essence construct he is assembling.
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| − | '''Exceedingly Sublime Opal: ''' The hush reached in cresendo, as if awaiting the souls this spell, crafted with exquisite and terrible care, waited to reap is dreadful harvest. She tensed as she moved, though still as fluid as moonlight over silk.
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| − | ''I hope we have not taken too much upon ourselves by going this course. Wouldn't they expect us to strike, dispite our stealth? ''
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| − | She tried to banish such demoralizing thoughts, and keep them in an optimistic and forward thinking set. Maybe thats what all the arrogance and posturing was about. Perhaps the first step to victory was believing you could accomplish it.
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| − | * The misma... it was ghosts. Highlane was surrounded by the disembodied souls of many dead, few of them still existing as such - and those were more solid forms in the mist, moliated in the shape of dragons or demons.... and most of them, hovering closer to the the spell's center.... but many, on its fringes....<br><br>Opal feels it, even as Selina feels the dangers of the miasma.<br><br>She feels how the Ghosts are being broken down, for some reason. Now barely more than disconnect sensory inputs... she feels their beat. They scream for a moment, a moment where they dissolve more, and for that moment, they sense nothing. Opal senses this beat, and if she somehow could move in its time...<br><bR>And within, both see the great manor taken by the Parishioner, the Xeriff's manor. Bursting with essence, a pillar only the two women can see, quite a distance away... at the center of the miasma, the eye of the storm, and they can ''feel'' it ends around the house, the raw essence on it keeping the half-conscious ghosts away...
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| − | '''Exceedingly Sublime Opal: ''' It thrumbs with her heart beat, her flashing in her vision as it strobed through its constant, rapid pulse. Their pain overwhelmed them, making them... vunerable.
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| − | Her breath quickened as her heart began to match the beat and she began tapping her foot in time with the rhythem. Beat, step, pause. Beat, step, pause. Beat, step, pause. She nearly laughed, if the horrible irony of the act wouldn't break her heart.
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| − | And so, Opal began to dance between the heartbeats, keeping firm hold of the makeshift talismin she had made to keep track of the Dark Angel. Like a specter amoungst the mists, she swirled and stopped. Gracefully lept and stopped. Twirled around a post and stopped.
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' Selina stops for a moment, glancing back at the woman.
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| − | ''Just what possesses her? ''
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| − | No matter, she would watch and see. Perhaps, as she had earlier, Opal had figured something out which Selina herself had not considered. Or noticed.
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| − | ''If it does not get us both killed. ''
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| − | '''Exceedingly Sublime Opal: ''' She frowns a little, seeing Selina isn't catching on. She sighed a bit, and dipped low, and came close to Sel upon noticing this. Beat, step, pause.
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| − | The perfectly white woman came right up against Sel, and whispered in her ear, as gently as a lover, "It pulses with a beat. They are blind when it does. Dance with me, Dark Angel, let it hide you better than even the mightest of your charms." Her chest rose and felt a little with her exersion, her hair shimmering just a bit with the moisture of it.
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' Cloaked within her charms, Selina doubts. Stronger than her? Ghosts? Only a few were. Her mistress one. Her mistress' peers others. Some among the dead. Hide ''her'' better?
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| − | Perhaps. She would try.
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| − | ''The closer I can get, the better. ''
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| − | Selina moves in step with the Earth-fae, now. A dancer trained in the South, trained in the North, doing a dance she never before knew. Slowly realizing how Opal's beats time with the miasma of ghosts around her.
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| − | '''Exceedingly Sublime Opal: ''' She smiled to herself, as Sel began to dance with her. Like a pair of entrancing figures they moved, her leg sliding down the silky enterior of Selina's calf as she moved her leg so that it would touch the ground intime to catch her weight, for the pulses could come erraticly. A hand slipped down a curvacious torso to balance Selina's weight with her own. She lopped a delicutely muscular arm under Selina's, her flesh becoming flush with the exersion and the tense ominousness in the air.
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| − | Behind pillars the moved. Behind rubble and shambled street.
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| − | Lifting Selina, letting herself be lifted, dancing between the heartbeats.
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' Selina danced in tune, concentration mostly on the environment around them. It would be a sad thing to be discovered by a patrol around now, after getting so far.
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| − | ''And dancing. ''
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| − | The place which the Parishioner is at draws slowly nearer -- the deathknight can almost feel his presence intrude on the edges of her senses. So strong is the necromancy or sorcery he is practicing.
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| − | And all the better for her. She would prefer a different dance, but this is what the miasma entails.
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| − | * .... and so, they come outside of the Miasma.<br><br>And into Highlane.<Br><br>Named for a street which has become the butt of many jokes over the years, the highlane district is the small, wealthy neighborhood of the Boil. Built close to the wall on the western hillside, it separates itself from the rest of the city with a low marble wall. Easily scaled, even leapt over in places, the wall serves more as a boundary line and warning sign than a physical barrier. It speaks to those who pass it, telling them how much it knows who belongs on which side.<br><br>Only the most wealthy and powerful of the city can afford to live here. The property taxes on owning land in the highlane district are astronomical. Powerful political figures, savvy businessmen, wealthy madams, cunning criminal overlords, and the rare ‘golden miner,’ the one who managed to strike it rich, all share space in this separatist community. They have their own commercial business fronts present, often little more than channels from other businesses in the lower parts of the city, to ensure they can have best pick of the goods they desire. Home to the cities wealthy-elite, the houses on highlane district are grand affairs compared to the rest of the town. Big buildings on large lots, they often have several stories but tend to sprawl rather than climb, eating up great swaths of the hill side. Plazas or gardens surround them. White-washed fences separate the smallest while the larger estates have iron or stone barriers to keep the unwanted out. A few attempt to emulate the style of the cities more sophisticated neighbors, baring the windmill decorations common to Windia or the gleaming marble walls popular in Whiteshield. Yet even here, the touch of the cities dirty hands can be seen. The windmills never turn. The white marble is grayed by soot. The gardens must be maintained constantly or else they brown and wither.<br><br>There they stand, on a Highlane now quiet.. and so different than the rest of the city, even now..<br><br>On the shadows of a street, lamps obscured. Guards patrol the place close to the manor, sharp implements on their hands. A couple of demons stay there, as well as... ''something'' flying farther up. A great, great yard surrounds the manor, which has more plants than usual. Four stories high, the manor stands, a large space on its back, a great dome on its top.
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' She wonders, for a moment, if Barr would be here. Though Barr is not her concern.
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| − | ''Moon wants his blood, he can have it. ''
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| − | The Dark Angel squints from the protected place Opal and herself danced themselves into, and surveys the place a bit more closely. Looking at the demons, checking what kinds they are, if they are demons she has had experience against. There will be no time to check later, once the master of the house is dead or fighting.
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| − | And, casting a glance skyward, what that ''thing'' above is. Her sharp eyes cast about for all this, empowered as they are by the simple magics of darkness, to pierce all shrouds that lay in their way.
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| − | '''Exceedingly Sublime Opal: ''' Opal sees Selina glance up, and sees her observe her surrounding. The Dark Angel was exceedingly wise to take stock of her surroundings, and she thought it well to do so herself. Near to Selina, and protected by the power of her charm, her gazed with her colorless eyes and considered the foe they faced, and who would be the most dangerous.
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| − | * The two demons are metodies - armed and armored with fineries of iron. However, they seem stronger than usual... Metodies take on qualities of what they fight - those two must have chosen and fought strong entities before. Brass hair falls over their faces and horns, their milky pale faces of deep emerald eyes, as they walk in a strange way due to their cloven, hooved legs...<Br><br>And far up... is a strange creature. It is bone, it is clearly undead. Parts of ghosts, of bone, strange eyes that seem so alive, it is little more than a lookout - even though it seems like a part of something greater, and it is obvious to Opal in the way it interacts with ghostly flesh - it is supposedly able to interact with the Miasma in some way.
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| − | '''Exceedingly Sublime Opal: ''' All this, she converses with the Dark Angel in a soft voice, sharing information of what she knew about the probable mechanics of such a monstrosity, a few fingers placed upon her shoulder. She pointed out the demons, though Selina was probably familar with them, and discussed their probable power level. Finally, she comments.
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| − | "I might be able to throw a ward to keep the ghostly miasma from interacting with that machine, as well as those demons. However, if I include them, they'll be able to destroy it quickly. Where does my Lady want me?"
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "How quickly can they do this?" Selina asks in a hushed tone, so none of the sharper eared things can hear her. Damn the Parishioner for protecting himself like that. Spymasters were such cowards, worse than her own kind.
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| − | "And how easily? Knowing what you know of them."
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| − | '''Exceedingly Sublime Opal: ''' "They might be able to transform into something acidic and carode it. I can delay them, of course. I could, perhaps, set up two fields. One to ward the miasma, and one to ward the demons."
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "How quickly can you do that?" Selina asks again, looking at the guards more closely this time, as well as the ghostly thing perched on top of the mansion. She wondered if it could see essence flows, perhaps Opal might know.
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| − | "And that thing up there, I wonder what it can do."
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| − | '''Exceedingly Sublime Opal: ''' She turns her pale gaze upon it, and considers, turning the whole of her enormous intellect to puzzle over the possible powers and functions it could serve. She considered its essence flows for a long while, and frowns a bit in concentration. "My wards are made of Essence, so they probably cannot carrode them. However, nothing prevents them from eating through the ground, so it would have to be spherical." She says this as she considers, tapping a slender finger against the point of her perfect chin.
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| − | "Its the thing pulling the ghosts together. Into what purpose or design, I don't know. However, its also whats probably causing the miasma, if I had to theorise."
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "For whatever necromancy he is doing, I guess." Selina looks more closely at the mansion, trying to determine where she could get in with minimal trouble. Again, better to know now than find out on the fly later.
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| − | ''If it's even possible. ''
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| − | "Now how am I to time this so you don't give them away too soon, and I do not receive the wards' help when it's too late... It may take awhile for me to properly sneak up on him."
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| − | '''Exceedingly Sublime Opal: ''' "When you get up there and begin, I shall conjure the ward around you both. Within it, you will be protected. After that, the demons should go for you, if you are sufficiently showy. Once you do that, I shall hedge out the miasma and keep any more from reaching the machine. After that, I will attempt to assist you in your fight by deactivating your opponents key hearthstones. Will this suit?"
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "Excellent. You may have to strain a bit to hear combat, but if I do not kill him in one blow you most assuredly will."
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| − | With that, Selina looks about for the best approach point to the house, and then takes it, making sure to conceal herself the entire way. Keeping behind hedges, not daring to fly (yet -- that comes later). The window looks seductive...but he will know the instant she breaks it.
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| − | ''If it's not trapped with a ward. ''
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| − | '''Exceedingly Sublime Opal: ''' "Oh, a thought occurs. He might have tried lesser wards to keep certain beings out. Exalts are fairly immune to mortal versions, however, a freshly plucked feather might provide some insight as to whether something is protected. Just remember, it will probably have been modified to alert its maker when its essence pattern is disrupted."
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' Looking first to one side, than the other, Selina climbs in the window, making sure to step out onto the floor quietly. And staying alert to see if any changes in the magical pattern result from her passing through that portal.
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| − | '''Exceedingly Sublime Opal: ''' She waited patiently, idly wondering what it was like to be a woman of action. Then, she frowned a bit at her wish washing, and went back to thinking about the metaphysics of flower patterned green jade into the ecosystems of bee hives.
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| − | * She senses... nothing.<br><br>Absolutely nothing...<br><br>Except the pounding of sorcery within a few rooms. It is there. It is about to be done.<br><br>The rooms are lavish in this part of the house... and actually...<br><br>She sees women, naked, held by chains to the wall, unconscious, one sort of... crystallized?
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' Making sure no one can spot her, Selina examines the woman for a moment, wondering just what she's there for.
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| − | ''Perhaps she's a foci? ''
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| − | ''Or a container... ''
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| − | Really, in the end, what did it matter? She's going to kill the master of the house in a few moments. Unless the woman transforms into something horrible there is no reason for her to be concerned.
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| − | Still, she takes a second glance, before moving onward.
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| − | * Selina soon comes to the center of the manor.<br><br>Standing above, she looks at a great hall beneath... one that certainly held many a ball. She can almost hear the giggles now, the songs that reverberated in the room's acustics, the crystal implements that must have shone so... she feels the songs, as she hears the chant. She sees the shine, as it reflects the currents of essence.<Br><br>And in the middle of a great circle, with the image of what seems like the Boil in iron sand... and many... ''things'' rising beneath it... stands the Parishioner, wearing the mantle she remembers him with in the brief moment she had seen him before, chating, channeling this Celestial magic...
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' ''So, going to kill the Boil, are you? ''
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| − | It is a level of magic much more powerful than that which she has access to currently. Selina examines it, looking for signs that it would violently unravel should she stab the deathknight in the back while he is casting.
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| − | ''It wouldn't do to win the Boil with a stroke and then die in the backlash. ''
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| − | The Trance aids her in this, and she looks for any defenses of his own that would activate should she try to strike him down. One last check before the assault.
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| − | * There are few defenses that she can see.<br><br>Wards, that are actually quite inneffective against the Exalted.<br><br>There might be guards outside of the room... but aside from that... just the man there, working his sorcery....
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' '''''The Keeper is aware'''''
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| − | Her pupils don't slit, the Dragon is not allowed to surface. With ironclad control the Dark Angel steps into the room making no more noise than the dead. Darkness grows about her, muffling, misdirecting, easing whatever stray thought a mind dedicated to sorcery may put toward this last of frontiers for its security.
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| − | '''''The Keeper understands'''''
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| − | Dreamshard slips out, its blade not glinting even the slightest in that corpse-light, as its mistress manuevers around so that she may be behind the man before her assault. Turquoise eyes darken, till neither white nor iris can be discerned from the night black of the pupil.The darkness within her anima smothers, the air within it deadens, rendering sound and mystical signature unable escape the rapidly developing matrix of charms growing about her. Coiled like a snake about to strike, she pulls Dreamshard back, its edges aflame with necrotic energies that add a hungry luster to the Jade-alloyed steel.
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| − | '''''The Keeper has seen the enemy'''''
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| − | With one fluid motion, the woman behind the Parishioner uncoils and springs. Anima flares silently about and behind her to smother all traces of the assassin's passage as the hard metal spike of the fae-blade comes foward to pierce the other deathknight's heart.
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| − | * Dreamshard goes through him... eliciting a scream.<br><br>He screams as chaos goes through him... and makes the essence shatter in the same. The patterns of essence break, the iron sand explode to the walls, and the sorcery of the Sapphire Circle... begin to unweave.<br><br>On a moment, everything is too bright.<br><br>On a moment, everything is filled with color... as outside, Opal sees the manor explode in light, sending pieces flying... just as the ward is made, stopping any more to rise out, keeping Selina... and whatever else... inside.<br><br>The body in front of Selina is reduced almost to nothingness in front of the Dark Angel, taking the brunt of the energy... leaving her unscathed. Pieces of the roof are still falling, charred, mutated walls breaking, as the corpse falls...<br><br>And she is left with the feeling it was ''too easy''...
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| − | '''Exceedingly Sublime Opal: ''' Opal sees it, the sign she had been waiting for. As the essence unweave ends, pieces of the manor falling like rain everywhere around her, Essence flows from her fingers, palms together as she blossoms them out like a flower, causing an hemi-sphere of transparent, blue-tinted energy to encompass the building. Opal smiles to herself, no one would interupt the Dark Angel's fight now.
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| − | She turns her eyes to the device, and begins to well the energy up once more. Hopefully the demons would go for the pyre of burning essence, and try vainly to throw there heads against the wall of energy. Of course, she was not without her own defenses.
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| − | * Outside, they demons rush at the manor... just to stop at the ward. She sees the metodies unmaking their bodies in vitriol... for naught. She sees two demonesses jump at the building... and striking at the field.<br><br>And above, the flow of souls begins to swirls, like it formed great hands... all about to cup the undead machine above.
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' It ''was'' too easy, he didn't even make an attempt to stop her. Was her approach too quiet, or did he anticipate her?
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| − | ''Had to be the latter! ''
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| − | It was perfect, she realizes. Just as she said to Moon, only perhaps Barrs was only a distraction to draw Moon away from '''her'''.
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| − | Winds howl into existance about Selina as her anima banner springs to its usual height, and the gem at her throat begins to glow. She looks about, rapier-daiklave at ready, for something nasty to spring out at her. From the ceiling, the toppled walls, the floor. Everywhere.
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| − | ''I have to get out of here. ''
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| − | '''Exceedingly Sublime Opal: ''' She unleashes her second field, letting more of her Essence flow from her hands, eyes narrowed at the climax of the machine's purpose. She closed her eyes with a hiss as the explosion dazzled her for a moment, causing stars to flicker before her.
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| − | She poured all of her Essence into a field to surrond the machine, hedging all things of ghostly ether from making contact with it. She lets it flow from her fingertips, and again forms another shell of transparent, blue-tinged energy.
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| − | Once this was done, she considered for a moment. If the death of the Sorceror didn't destroy the construct, another might come and enact the spell. She was going to have to disable it in the near future.
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| − | '''Lamenting Parishioner of Maladies: '''<br><br> Clap.<br>
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| − | Clap.<br>
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| − | Clap.<br>
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| − | Clap.<br>
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| − | It echoes all throughout the room. The scent of incense begins to fill the air. Standing atop of Selina, on the second floor, he stands. Not as she had seen him before - now covered from head to toe in cloaks and... the armor.
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| − | Iron Tears had spoken of the armor. Annointed with his own blood as Solar, crafted by Alveua, marked with music by a soul of Malfeas, blessed to pain and defilement by the Blood Moon, by Selina's own husband. And the music was evident as he spoke, and she had seldom heard something so beautiful.
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| − | "Welcome, Dark Angel. You came a little earlier than I expected..."
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| − | "It would be more fun if that soell had gone off. Break the seals of the Boil and let ''suffering pour through this wretched hole! ''” He feels exulted for a moment, then quiets, and she can ''feel'' the smile within the mask. “But.... nonetheless, you came. The same little girl who killed Puppeteer. The thrill of the kill, rushing to it... so, so careless. So, so predictable.”
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| − | “And so welcome to my humble abode.”
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| − | * Outside, the ghosts whirled around the ward... testing it.<br><br>Once, twice, thrice, the spirit-hands forced themselves against it, only to hit the ward. The construct within howled, calling to the ghosts... and waiting for orders...
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' "Hmph." The sound seems to echo throughout the room as she looks up at the other Abyssal through her display of flash and fury. The black has faded from her eyes, and they are now cooler than a moment ago, more calculating. "This little girl has grown alot, Parishioner. If I am so predictable, perhaps you anticipated the vision you will receive like the dirty old man you are."
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| − | ''Tricks you may not have seen yet, unlike the other one I pulled earlier. ''
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| − | She snaps her fingers with her free hand, and a ripple of clensing darkness rushes through her, purifying her features. Beautifying them, beyond any mortal ken. Beyond even most goddesses and demons. The Dark Angel becomes a true being of the perilous night before the other Deathknight's eyes, resplendant in her shadows and her rushing winds, a figure of uttermost beauty that behooves any who behold her to turn their strikes. She raises her free hand and beckons with it, sword glittering in the light of her hearthstone, voice clear and fell.
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| − | ''"Dance with me." ''
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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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