Difference between revisions of "GoldenCat/CelebrationOfChaos"

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Celebration for Chaos

Selina exploded it. The gazebo, and one of the five geomantic nexus of the large summoning.

As she did so, the essence accumulated in it exploded forth – and what would be a swift summon was slowed considerably. The explosion was great, almost sending Selina to the floor even as the poison from Laken’s firefly still coursed through her veins. Pieces of people caught in the explosion fell together with pieces of the gazebo in a surreal rain, as infernal essence washed over the poisoned party, hurting them even worse.

Except for the ten people under Ryshassa’s aura, purged of any ailment in their blood, protected by the saintly Solar that shelters them in her light... and yet... all around her...

As the infernal essence washes over the property, the four redwood statues of the maidens... come to life.

Breaking out of their supports, the wood shifting in demonic ways, giving teeth and claws to the maidens... as they rush towards the people at the party. They are, after all, the sacrifice. Each and every one of their souls consecrated to Laken’s yozi master, to be sent to Malfeas as slaves and open the door for his daughter...

As Selina and Ryshassa see this, Alexsei rushes into Laken Knute’s redwood manor, violet glow all around him. Walking in the corridors of a manor that is almost as much in Malfeas as it is on Creation, now – labyrinthine in a way that no Mortal could find his way through, magical navigation the only thing allowing him to track his prey; Walls pulsing in bulging veins like a horrific living being.

He rushes within that monstruosity until he meets the servant from before, the willowly man, dressed in a loose-fitting clothing, like many robes falling, all in black and dark blue. His hair shines black under the moonlight, his eyes of a sea-green. He now displays eyes, all around his body and up to his neck, openly, barring Alexsei’s way. “You are... Alexsei, is it? Master tells me you are a Chosen of Saturn. He is currently busy trying to reach his daughter... and I will not let you disturb him. If you have any message for him, just tell me and I will be sure to say when I go deliver your head to him as a trophy.”

Alexsei: Slowly pushing back the spectacles on the bridge of his nose, the Chosen of Endings stares into the eyes of the servant, a slight smile on his face.

"I suppose I do deserve some punishment for not having caught on this little mascarade you and your master have brought upon us tonight, dear sir. It had been a pretty enjoyable reception, but I think the admission price was a tad... high."

Bringing Epilogue - his trusty starmetal staff - forward in a smooth, deliberate motion that fill the surroundings with harmonious chimes from the silver and bloodstone rings hanging at the tip, Alexsei lowers his head slightly, peering over the rim of his spectacles.

"As for your offer, I appreciate it, but I must kindly decline. The message I have to bring your master and his daughter, I need to give in person... In the name of the lady Saturn."

Violet eyes flash briefly, and the staff breaks into seven smaller sections, ready to help its wielder close a few more chapters in the great book of destiny.

Beherith: "It is a pity, then." He says, bringing a clawed hand over his face, the sea-green eye on the back of his hand gazing curiously at Alexsei in amusement. "Then, you shall die without ever saying it, Chosen." With that, his nails enlogated to turquoise claws, and he runs towards Alexsei....

Alexsei: The servant reacts swiftly, sending ripples in the web of fate as he rushes towards the Chosen of Saturn - warning the Sidereal of the coming attack.

I must make haste.

Attuning his senses to the great pattern of destiny in order to react to this swift assault, Alexsei brings the great staff behind his back once in order to give momentum to the attack, before swiping Epilogue forward in a great arc and aiming at the rushing servant.

Hmmm, correction. I have to make haste without getting myself killed in the process.

Beherith: The staff comes towards the devin, who moves his claws to brush it aside, moving with inhuman speed, each blink of all his eyes like a heartbeat of the universe as they allow him to see exactly where it is coming from... and try to stop it!

.. and fails, falling back, his eyes closing as the staff hits with its red light, growling.... "You... youuuu...."

"Die, Chosen of Endings, go be one with your patron!"

He says, coughing blood and leaping foward, falling swiftly in front of Alexsei, then raising in a cascade of blows!

Alexsei: It should have hit.

The counterattack was too fast, too sudden to be pushed aside. And yet, somewhere within the great pattern, a small tingle resonates. This destiny must not come to pass. It must be altered. It must be changed, rearranged.

Following the sting of warning that send a shiver down his spine, essence dances freely around his form, bathing the room in purple hues. It must not come to pass.

As if of its own accord, the staff meets each and every one of the servant's blows, halting their course and preventing them from reaching completion. Each sound of claw meeting starmetal brings forth a new ending, succesfully terminating a destiny that will never be.

Surrounding by the brilliant violet aura of his maiden, Alexsei quietly utters a prayer to Saturn, grateful to be allowed to go on and continue to fulfill his duties for a while longer. As his eyes flare through his spectacles, infinite starlights dancing inside the violet irises, Alexsei brings his weapon forward once more in a swift counterattack, the starmetal sliding off the claws like water running on a rock. Leaving his opponent no time to breathe, the funeral priest presseson with the attack, showering the servant with blows.

One more thread to cut, for the sake of Creation...

Beherith: The demon tries to push them away... but fails. Each and every time the staff hits one of his eyes, piercing it... the crystal blood filling the ground. All the empty eyes look wide then... as he falls down on the Chosen of Endings' feet.

His thread is cut.

Alexsei: Readjusting his spectacles, Alexsei gazes at the body of the loyal servant, falling heavily on the floor like a marionette whose strings has been severed.

He takes a deep breath, and briefly, bows his head to his fallen adversaray as Epilogue's sections become one, reforming a seemless, smooth surface of pure starmetal. Filled with the power of Endings, the funeral priest traces thesign of the Rising Smoke, closing his eyes for a few seconds.

May this end be swift, and the rebirth of a new cycle painless and smooth... May the purity of death cleanse the sins you may have commited in life.

Gently tapping the bottom of the purifying staff on the ground, Alexseireaopens his eyes, and stares deeply into the twisting corridors of the manor.

And now, my lord Knute, let us see what you have to say before you meet your destiny.

Laken Knute: In front of Alexsei, there is a great corridor. He feels Laken. Past it... deeper down in the manor. The body of the fallen demon begins to sink on the floor, and he feels.. and he knows... that the summoning has been stopped. The woman had done their part, and he was getting closer to Laken... ever so closer. He could feel the energies where he still tried his summon, presumably with a secondary, less efficient source of power...

Each step feels weird... how it feels. As if he was on the border of the world. One more step would take him outside of fate, but that step is not fowards, backwards or to the sides, but to outside reality. But it is just there. One step from the end of Fate, is where he is.

And so, after many steps, he gets to the door to Laken. a great brass door with the image of a green sun, a few steps up from the ground, looking even more majestic, leading to the chamber where magic is being worked...

Alexsei: For a moment, he stares at the great door leading to the lord of the Manse. Behind him, somewhere, somehow... The summoning has stopped, its energies diffused and disrupted by some unknown action. With a relieved smile and a nod, he stares at the great door once more, focusing his mind on the task ahead.

Lord Knute is a Chosen of the Unconquered Sun. An experienced one, at that. The odds might be favoring him, and seeing how the night's event proceeded, I have no trouble imagining that our host is one who is expert at shaping the odds to his advantage.

With a deliberate, decisive step, Alexsei walks forward, knowing full well that beyond this door, right outside of destiny, the ineviteblae resolution would come to be fulfilled.

There, one more thread would be severed.

Either Lord Knute's... Or his own.

Still Outside...

Selina de Windia: She swings her gaze to the other gazebo even as the explosion from the first buffets her nearly to the ground. But she keeps her balance -- if barely -- and brings more of her power to the surface, gathering the forces of annihilation in the cupped palm of her free left hand. The Dragon pushes again from shrouded corners of her mind, aching for release as its rage echoes throughout her being. Now, more then before, with the infernal essence washing over her in waves from the disrupted summoning circle.

One heartbeat, looking down at the destruction, and vague memory provides her the feel, scent, taste, of that essence. More would boil up with it, but things are happening too fast, and sheer need overrides the images.

Selina looses the crackling blast of Oblivion at the other gazebo with no hesitation, burning with the desire to kill the aberration who dares call himself a--

Demon-thing

• It is... much less dramatic now. There is still an explosion, but one that is much, much more weaker, enough to kill but not dismember those close to it, enough to get only wind and not a shockwave to Selina. No ammount of noticeable essence leak there, no more than what already fills the air.
  
  The two geomantic centers of convergence there blown, Selina feels the magic... weaken. The ritual is much weaker now, almost in the same degree of raw power of the magics she herself can command.

Ryshassa: Ryshassa's heart sings with joyous relief as the patients under her care recover with hardly an effort from her part, bathed in the golden, healing light that swells about her, expanding outward like the crescendo of a great symphony. For a moment, the expression on her face is rapt, ecstatic, that of a woman who has found her place in Creation, the very meaning of her existence -- she, Ryshassa, saintly healer of alabaster and gold, gathering the sick and suffering to her with the same tenderness and compassion as a mother would soothe a frightened child at her breast. In no other way could the gifts granted to her possibly be put to better use.

Thus enraptured, she casts her gaze out towards the other sick and frightened guests, beckoning them to partake of her touch, that which purifies the burning in their veins and shields them from further harm --

-- and then the explosion, swift and devastating, tearing through the gazebo and many of the surrounding guests, spilling malicious dark red Essence that only her golden aura seems to counteract. Ryshassa's eyes widen at the sight of the carnage, severed body parts flung uselessly into the air, lives she had yet to have the chance to save, only for them to end in violence. Deeply immersed as she is in her cause, her compassionate heart weeps for the lost even as she realizes the motive of the explosion -- to hinder the summoning of the lord's "daughter" for whom many innocent lives would have been sacrificed.

But not here -- not now, under her protection. No more carnage and death would stain her vision with helpless tears and the angry red of blood and malice, as long as she yet breathes.

"Do not fear," the healer intones, her oration both soothing and commanding, lending a certainty to the situation that the remaining guests can hold onto. She faces them, her gaze clear and resolute despite her tears, drawing their attention with the sheer force of her presence -- unabashedly the Chosen of the Unconquered Sun, a pillar of benevolent radiance in a sea of rising hell. "Trust in me and you will be safe from harm, as these few have done. For I have been born for this purpose -- to heal those who suffer without hope for relief. Everything I am is yours for the taking, if you will but step into my light. Believe in me!"

With the last words, she flings her arms wide, willing the purity of her compassion to enfold every last guest who heeds her call.

'Maidens': But even as she does so, the statues come to take their pleasure. 'Mars' takes off a Man's heart and eats it. 'Venus' uses a butcher knife from the barbecue to cleave on guest's manhood, proceeding up to his stomach and heart. 'Jupiter' takes off a woman's eyes, and watches as she lays dying, bleeding from the ermpty orbits, her soul going to Malfeas to be a plaything. And finally, 'Saturn' simply takes her sharp wooden hand through a man's heart, in elegant simplicity. But then, the second gazebo explodes. And they notice Selina, notice what she wants to do, and all rush towards her...

Ten more come to Ryshassa.... twenty of them now, all around her, bathing on her light... sending her their pain. Their poison. The mark of Malfeas burning itself off of them, leaving them free.. leaving their souls free of the threat of death and eternal slavery. So much poison within her veins... her veins begin to pulsate, and Ryshassa can feel the poison, eating her inside.. the poison of each and every one of them...

Selina de Windia: Anima banner leaping to its full level of display, the iconic dragon appears, coiling about Selina's body and eyeing the fray below with a malevolence unsuited to an unthinking image. The fine gown she's wearing becoming a bit frayed and tattered at the edges from the explosion of the gazebos. She does not heed the onrushing statues, focused as they are on her now.

The Windian makes a gesture with her free hand, sweeping it through the air in the direction of the summoning circle only she can behold -- fingers clawed as if to rip the infernal magic to shreds. Green essence, mixing with the black surrounding her arm, trails away from the motion and disappears.

...reappearing on the geomantic structure of the ritual, burrowing into it, widening the multitude of hair-thin cracks that appear like glowing spiderwebs now for all to see. Until the construct is ready to shatter.

• Ryshassa bites her lip against a cry of pain even she cannot harden herself against, as the poison ravaging those who touch her warm exposed flesh knives through her from within. From their flesh to hers, the toxins are transferred, searing her insides with internal wounds that send her staggering, but -- due to her heightened resistance -- the effect of the poison is neutralized as soon as the damage is done. Still, she knows very well she has expended much of her health, and she forces rationality to overcome her instinct for healing, if only for a moment.
  
  Far to the east, a manse of Wood that had belonged to Ryshassa's parents in the Realm, and to a life she had long left behind -- except for the verdant green hearthstone glittering at the setting suspended from her neck. It pulsates with an inner light, a sign of the life energy she had released into it the night before -- a habit she had taken on over her years of healing in Gethamane. She draws upon this precious reserve to soothe some the wounds eating at her insides, hoping it would be enough for her to save those who remain.
  
  The healer wills her gaze and posture not to belie any of her worry or fatigue. She would save all she can, with what strength remains at her disposal. But it would not do for her to die trying -- for then how would she know how many more she could heal and soothe in her centuries of lifetime? Even so, all innocent lives are dear to her, and she desperately desires to save every last one that trembles in pain before her.
  
  Her eyes scan the remaining wounded. How many more? She remains still, surrounded by the healed and saved, reaching out to those who remain. Two at a time, if she can, more, if her body can manage -- drawing the poison inward to be neutralized within her battered but determined form.

'Maidens': The shattered pentagram is pierced by the sigils of Selina countermagic, the essence patterns on green and black, mixing with the pure green of infernal sorcery... changing it, twisting it... until all the web of essence that forms the ritual explodes inward, breaking.

It is over. The ritual is no more.

The essence patterns are broken, its threat over. Forever.

The people are no more in danger to be sacrifices, as Ryshassa heals them... twenty more, out of the people she has already touched.... twenty more to bring relief to.

Furious, the 'Maidens' unfurls wings of wood and green fire, and dart towards Selina.

'Jupiter' comes behind her, where she cannot see.

'Mars' comes howling in front of her, one redwood arm becoming one great spear.

'Venus' comes with her butcher knife.

And finally, Saturn is swift with sword-hands...

Selina de Windia: Swerving out of the way of each and every one of the statues with shadowed grace, a faint afterimage trailing in the assassin's wake. Circling around in the air, Selina grows at them. She is wasting time. The Dragon's impatience fills her.

Rend

Not so much words, as desires. And finally, Selina surrenders to them. Anima crackling violently enough about her to mimic real lightning and thunder, the Windian hisses, body changing as the shadow about her grows deeper, obscuring her within a furious blaze of lightning and wind.

She lets the 'maidens' come on, heedless to her apparent danger.

Ryshassa: Ryshassa's head snaps up briefly as the environment around her seems to abruptly ...change, like a lyre string pulled far enough to snap. By some means, the dark ritual has ended, allowing her the time to heal the remaining afflicted at a less desperate pace. She reflects briefly on the cause of the ritual's end -- perhaps the lady Ausra, whose doings she could only guess at since the healing took up her attention, or her husband Alexsei, whom she could no longer see, but sense through the ring on her finger in the direction of the manse.

Even as her hands touch each patient in turn, her weary but determined face brightening at the sight of each and every guest restored to health, she feels a thread of worry worming its way into her consciousness. How would her beloved fare, alone against the wicked lord who caused all of this strife? And what of the lady -- if the patients were not her priority, she would aid her by any means possible, but Ausra herself seemed the dependable, efficient sort. It would be all right... surely it would...

Filled with these thoughts, worn down by her relentless healing efforts, her willpower begins to wane -- and with that, the golden glow of her anima, and the phantom glimmer of jeweled butterfly wings at her back become merely a memory.

No... I need more! I cannot... falter now...

The healer stumbles, but catches herself, her breathing more labored as she maintains a standing position with what grace she can muster in the vise of so much fatigue and pain. Be calm, Ryshassa, she berates herself, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Remember your training. Before the Unconquered Sun called to her, when she thought her fate would be little more than that of an educated slave in the Realm, she had been a stellar student of medicine. It is this relatively mundane knowledge she calls on now, to diagnose and neutralize -- or at the very least slow down -- the effects of the poison on the eight remaining guests, with what few herbs and tools she has brought with her on this escapade.

Selina de Windia: The vague figure within the storm of sound and fury is not aware. Merely...unable to do much in return. It moves again, dropping down in a blur, shadowy afterimage appearing behind it, dodgeing the spear, both of the sword hands with but a moment's diversion.

Not dodging the butcher's knife. Pale light shines from the eyes in that cloud of darkness, watching the Venus statue hurtle toward her.

• Ryshassa settles down on her knees now -- gratefully, though that much she did not make obvious in her bearing -- examining the next two wounded closest to her. Poison such as this she had read about only in theory, but it still gave her enough to work with in order to devise a method to combat it. It would have to be enough -- or she would try again and again, until her fingers bleed from the effort or her eyes blur with weariness even her stamina could not stave off. For her to leave a patient untended as long as she can yet move, and think, and breathe -- it is an impossibility to consider such an option. As mortals, these guests need her power and ability to survive. It is her chosen duty to care for them -- above and beyond even her concern for Alexsei, whose lifeline still registers warm and clear from the ring that marks their bond as husband and wife.
  
  She labors over the two patients, forcing herself not to glance towards the six who still choke and writhe in the throes of the poison. They... most likely... she might not be able to save them in time. Not with how long it would take to do what she must to cure the others. It rent at her weeping heart, the unfairness of that almost certain possibility. How could she choose, arbitrarily, who would live and who would die? What made these two, the other thirty or so, more worthy of living? Nothing, in her regard, except the fortune that she got to them first. In healing the poisoned guests, Ryshassa threw herself into the task hoping beyond hopes she could save them all, but one woman -- even Exalted -- could only give so much. And for her, it would never be enough so long as she must choose who to save.
  Bitter tears sting her eyes, but still Ryshassa smiles as she bends over the two before her, tending to them with the gentle sureness that has become her trademark. The clamor of a battle elsewhere in the clearing are jarring to her ears, but these, too, she must choose to shut out -- until her task is well and done.

Selina de Windia: As 'Venus' knife lands a shallow cut into the Dark Angel, Selina's free hand shoots out of the miasma of darkness before her, lightning crackling along its length, and seizes the statue's knife-hand with an odd ease. Her slim daiklave arrows at Venus, slashing downward to sever the thing's knife arm at the shoulder.

And then the anima breaks with a shuddering roar, revealing a Selina who looks markedly older than before -- lined skin, bun of hair now stark white as the rest billows behind her in the stiff wind. The only thing that doesn't seem to have aged are her eyes: clear pools of angry turquoise glare at the statue with unadulterated fury as her clawed hand holds fast to Venus' slender wrist.

'Maidens': 'Venus' is pierced, and infernal essence pours into Selina. The reamining three demons in possession of the redwood statues dart towards Selina then, in the same attack pattern, maddened eyes unfazed by her change...

Selina de Windia: The tattered long sleeves of her silken gown rustling as she moves to bring Dreamshard up, Selina once more evades all three of her assailents by dropping down and sideways. Even as she sidesteps them in the air, frost forms on the weapons they use to strike at her -- the Windian's anima banner radiating an intense cold as well as cutting winds. And now, she is on the ground again. A bit of blood soaks her gown, but she doesn't even seem to notice it.

There is no pain clouding her mind and dulling her responses any longer -- the beastial nature of the Dragon has subsumed any concern for her trivial wounds.

The woman exhales heavily, and it sounds as if a dragon of the north is venting its chill furnaces. Leaves touched by her breath freeze and crumble, and she prepares to attack her opponents once again.

'Maidens': As Selina dives, so tdo the fake maidens, falling and going straight to Selina's heart, hands of spear, sword and claw...

Selina de Windia: Gritting her teeth as the false maidens dive at her, Selina sinks down slightly, a predator ready to spring on its pursuers, breathing so heavily it seems like the undercurrent of a deep hiss. Then she uncoils, streaking up toward them with a few heavy beats of her red wings, to one side of them, grabbing the closest one and smashing it into the next two, hurling all three of them into the ground as she lets go of the first.

Just before they impact, her anima banner blazes up to a height seen only with her previous spellcasting, and the air and ground around them erupts with a thundering boom.

• As the 'maidens' fall Selina looks down... to see the Linowan nobility laying there, hurst and poisoned, still sheltered by Ryshassa's glow... as she tends to two others. Twenty-two alive in total, and close to fifty corpses all around. She had saved many... but many more fell. They all look up to her as a savior. And then, as Selina glides down, as another monster.
  
  All around, it is madness - some sort of malfean illusion, making everything seem... strange. The garden seem to stretch forever, menacing and dark - no true way out, now. Least not without the employ of magic, or maybe... not even with that.
  
  And, from within Laken's manor, essence pours...

Selina de Windia: Landing again, Selina raises her chin at the tangle of wood which used to be the false maidens, and turns toward the mansion. Whisps of white hair have come loose from her bun, but the assassin doesn't deign to notice, striding in her tattered gown -- leotard showing underneath it -- toward the open doorway.

"I'll lead this dance, Lord Knute!" She calls in a voice modulated by the elemental roar of a lesser dragon. Her anima banner wavers about her, then snaps up to its full potency again, lightning crackling over her form, wind almost edging out the shadow in filling out its dancing shape. Passing through the open portal, the beautiful assassin-turned-draconic-crone growls under her breath, eyes glinting as she searches out her next opponent.

• Ryshassa wipes her brow and quickly begins to replace her medical tools. She has done all she can now, for the two laid out before her and the others, both living and dead. For all those who still breathe, at least one other guest has passed on, their life stolen by poison or by one of the explosions which engulfed the gazebos in the clearing --
  
  -- which seems to have changed. More than just the fact the ritual circle has been broken. Ryshassa looks up gingerly, her porcelain pale face finally showing the strain of the healing feats she has wrought. The clearing is somehow altered, more sinister and forbidding to the eye, seeming to stretch out infinitely in all direcitons. The healer stands unsteadily -- giving the two patients a slight nod and smile, for even in strife her hospitality is not forgotten -- just as a much older, much more gaunt and chill-touched lady Ausra touches down on the ground. It could only be her, winged as she is and wearing the same clothing as the lady had worn so impeccably before everything had gone to hell.
  
  Ryshassa steps towards the woman uncertainly, her brow furrowed in concern. Before she can manage to formulate any sort of greeting, though, the lady-turned-crone calls out a booming challenge and charges through the doorway into the manse, crackling with defiant whips of energy.
  
  "Wait--!" she cries, looking reluctantly back at the guests, who look just as bewildered as she does, most likely. What use would she be within the manse, so damaged and drained from healing these people? And would they be safe outside?
  
  She scans the oddly extended clearing pensively, then grits her teeth -- no, they are the healthy ones now, and Alexsei could be in danger. Her place now is at his side -- regardless of what state she now suffers.
  
  With a last, forlorn glance back at the others, she plunges into the manse behind Ausra and hurries to catch up.

• Selina is thrown into chaos. Right becomes left, left becomes right. She goes through one, two, three, four corridors.... and there is more. She can swear she passed through this room before. And that one. And this other one. It is maddening. The whole place is a maze. No way out, no way out... no way to their dear host. Until she turns, and meets the healer, Ryshassa, dirty and wounded, but walking foward with determination...

• Ryshassa blinks in surprise at the sudden appearance of Ausra, who startles her by storming across her path seemingly at random -- lost, perhaps? She never gave a thought to the idea the manse was ensorcelled, but she had no need to think on such things, for her ring leads her as truly as her heart loves her husband.
  
  Not wanting to offend the... older? woman in any way, Ryshassa speaks simply. "Follow me if you wish to fight. Surely Alexsei will have found our lord Knute by now, and my husband and I are bonded, in more ways than one."
  
  She raises her hand so that the exquisitely crafted ring -- orichalcum and starmetal, intertwined -- catches the light, and pauses briefly to gauge a response.

Selina de Windia: Wandering...wandering for...how long? Not long. The irritation builds -- such a coward this Knute is, to hide from her so!

I will begin destroying his manor, wall by wall, if I do not--

And then she happens upon Ryshassa, remembering to stop out of the range of her anima banner, hears her words. She knows the way...? "Aye, I will." Selina purrs in a deep rumble, pleased at the prospect of being able to finally face the bastard who had poisoned her. "My...thanks, Lady Ryshassa." Selina grins then, a fanged grin, and steps in behind her -- at a safe distance of course.

• Ryshassa nods briefly, noting the distance the woman keeps between the two of them. Her anima is quite *alive*, and stepping in its midst would be unpleasant and perhaps even deadly in her state. That much is a good sign -- not the deadliness, but the fact Ausra keeps that consideration in mind.
  
  Of course, the winged lady's drastically changed apperance is a mystery to her, but this is a question to save for later.
  
  Called on by an urgent sense of worry that sends the blood pulsing faster through her veins, Ryshassa continues on her way with Ausra's sure, determined footsteps echoing behind her. The way is convoluted, of course, even with the beacon of Alexsei's closing presence leading her onward. Many dead ends and redoubled turns later, she comes to a final set of double doors, and touches their surface with a sense of finality -- and dread.
  
  "Behind here. This is where they are, lady Ausra. Prepare yourself if you must -- I will stay out of your way, for I have little strength to offer you now."

Inside, once again...

• As the doors open to Alexsei, he sees a a great brass room, pulsing with a sickly green light... power exhaling from it. Pure, raw power.

In the center, in a pillar of whitewood, several bodies... and Laken, blood-streaked face rising from the last one. Strange creatures, like emerald praying mantises, make a chirping, inhuman chant and wave thuribles in a circle, on the edges of the room.

Laken Knute: As Alexsei comes in, Laken looks up, wipping the blood from his mouth and smiling charmingly. “Did you come here all alone, brother? How wonderfully mad of you.” He rises, pasing around the altar where his victim shudders and dies upon, spilling their blood across the freely carved white wood, the thin trails of blood filling the lines and whorles till veins run through the whole.

“I must admit that I was doubtful when my daughter demanded the blood of a mere doctor, but when my agents learned of her true nature I realized the chance could not be passed. And you, oh Chosen of the Maidens, were an unexpected treat. Between you, your wife, and the stained soul of the Dynastic whore they tried to send to kill me, this night shall still be salvaged.”

He raises his hand and a droning fills the air. It comes from all sides, like a million voices humming at once. Suddenly, the 'candles' flickering in the garden loose their flame as thousands of golden insects detach themselves from the hedges and swarm towards the manor, and into Laken's waiting hand. “The still beating hearts of three Chosen. Surely you can imagine how much this will please my master. To bind you and bring you all to her. The pain that shall be visited upon you will be _epic_. They will write sonnets in Malfeans to tell the tale of your suffering. They will silence their bells and keep back the Wind with your screaming alone for years!”

The insects coat his arm untill it almost seems as though Laken wears a golden glove, his fist encased in a rough gauntlet of buzzing orchalcum while his caste mark, burning an acidic yellow, bleaming blinding upon his brow.

“COME BROTHER! Let us dance together again, shall we? And after, you and your wife will share a cage above my wifes bed as she rapes your winged whore into insanity!”

Alexsei: As he steps into the room, colored red and green with essence and blood, Alexsei stares deeply into Laken's eyes, his own stare a calm, resolute light that glow sligthly on the reflective glass of his spectacles.

"Good evening, my lord."

At the sight of the desecration the lord has been partaking in, Alexsei cannot help the feeling of desolation that creeps into his chest.

"The living are a sad, selfish lot at times, my lord Knute. It is something that I am saddened to observe, and confirm with the bloody celebration you held here today. I do not know of your wife or your daughter, and in this very moment... Their existence do not matter. You were willing to sacrifice these many to accomplish your sinister goal, and I do not believe you do realize what you have taken from these people tonight."

He smiles softly, an expression halfway between sadness and regret displaying on his gentle features. He takes one more step forward, the slow tingling of the rings at Epilogue's tip the only sound that breaks the heavy silence.

"Perhaps you are right, and I was foolish to come here on my own, my lord." He points the starmetal staff at the older man, and the precious alloy seems to sing, as if guided towards a greater purpose. "But whether you are right or not does not matter in this moment. I am a Chosen of Saturn, my dear lord - albeit a foolish one, for not having been able to identify the source of the danger until it was right in my face. But I am moer than ready to lay down my life for my duties, if I have to."

He gazes at him. Nothing else exists now. Only the task at hand. Only the End for the great desecretor.

"I shall have this one last dance with you, my Lord. Fight me, Chosen of the Unconquered Sun. Fight me, and let us close this night like it deserves to be.

And, letting the meaning of his words linger in the air, the charges forward with the full might of Saturn.

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