GoldenCat/ADanceOfChaosandShadows
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A Dance of Shadows and Chaos
Few hours after dusk, the ghosts came howling.
Hungry Ghosts, many, too many of them, crashing against the wards of the industrial district, breaking down the fences, trying to get in.... warded by thaumathurges, salted away, shot, exploded... everything the revolutionaires, now on the defensive, could throw at them.
The Child of Wyld Days heard them... and saw the golden light away in the district, and the sound of spells.
A wild party had begun.
Child of Wyld Days: "Dead things? Nearby?"
She could only smile, her warrior-aspect chomping at the metaphysical bit as the thought of an actual battle flooded into her mind. Eyes towards the light, she took a second to think about how to approach this.
I will have to quickly establish where I stand, lest I be attacked from both sides. Although... that in and of itself is tempting... Throwing aside that wonderful, if vaguely suicidal, thought, she delved into the shadows of the city, seeking to remain unnoticed before engaging her latest enemy.
- Walking in the shadows of the Industrial District, she saw the Hungry Ghosts attacking its fences... few thaumathurges still holding them up...
Child of Wyld Days: Eyes of brass shine.
Mind of essence and madness processes.
Thoughts of reason, fancy, terror, curiosity smash together, taking in the information given.
What... do we have here, hm?
- A little ways away...
There are not just feral ghosts there. Figures of shadow jump through the fence... only mortals, apparently, ignoring wards. But very well-trained mortals, moving like shadows in the night, with moves and grace. They fall inside the industrial district, four of them, and quickly scythe the thaumathurges. Drinking their blood, splattered in their blood...
The figures, each and every one beautiful in their own way, clad in garments that could only be made of shadows, begin to have patterns formed in their skin due to the blood. Intricate patterns, intricate scars in their flesh, making their eyes red. All that took but the moment it took for the Child to notice them, and they begin to move into the shadows and deeper in the district...
Child of Wyld Days: Oh! Now that.. . Her pace quickens. The shadows remain her ally, her covering, but she presses on ahead to try and keep up with these most unusual, most capable warriors, looking towards the spilt blood on the ground for but a moment on her way. Unconsiously, Owl and Serpent uncoil from around her arm, stiffening in anticipation of battle. The Snow Monkey herself takes on a vicious, sneering air; her Sword coming into its own as she seeks to purify it in the forge of battle. ... that, is the fight I am looking for!
In the name of the Wyld, in the name of the Child of Wyld Days... in the name of destruction, death, blood and fear... I accept your bodies as a proper and reasonable sacrifice.
There is no warning. There is no chance to react. There is only a sudden burst of prismatic light, followed by the leaping form of the Snow Monkey as she comes to rest in the middle of the four mortals.
"Hello."
A sudden twist of her arm sends her flexible warstaff screaming at the chest of one; with a grin and a twist, she aims the other end at another's face, the owl's-head lashing out as the weapon extends to shatter flesh and bone.
Oh, Prism! If you could see me now!
Beautiful Thorns of Carmine: They barely have time to blink. One is sent backwards by the blow, blood spilling everywhere. The sound of broken ones in a back alley, the broken body falling on the street. The other, a blue-haired woman, still had time to open her blood-red eyes wide before her face broke like a doll's and she fell on the ground, spasming.
Only two, a black-haired man and a girl brown-haired girl, both with short hair, had even time to lift the wicked, barbed long knives. They wielded them with professionalism and grace... one that paled before the Raksha in front of them.
Child of Wyld Days: With a twist, Snow Monkey brings herself to bear on the remaining two, Owl and Serpent at the blood-tipped ready. For a moment, she smiles, broadly, perhaps almost cockily. And then she aims a single, powerful strike at the man, an overhead swing that simply should not be coming in so quickly, considering the staff's size. What's worse is that she's focused on the girl, that doom-saying grin firmly in place.
"Your ally will die. You will talk." The unspoken consequences for refusal glitter in the raksha's eyes, like ice on a frozen corpse.
Beautiful Thorns of Carmine: The girl takes a step back, even as she holds the blade up.
"I am ready to die for my lord."
"I am ready to kill for my lord."
Another breath, and a blade flies towards Days' face, between the eyes of Brass...
Child of Wyld Days: Her defensive miracle guides her hands before she can even think about the attack, but she is a hair too late. The dagger hits her squarely between the eyes...
... and the miracle that is her body absolutely rejects the notion of such a weapon even harming it. The blade practically bounces off of the child's flesh, clattering to a stop in front of the would-be assassin. Days blinks... then chuckles.
"You're good."
Beautiful Thorns of Carmine: She breathes.
All she can do is breathe, heavily, looking up at Days with venom in her eyes.
"We are the Beautiful Thorns of Carmine. Death is our trade. Blood is our payment." The red runes begun to shine more on her face, the blood running in them... "We are not good, we are the best."
Fangs appear in her teeth as she bares them, backing away, her eyes narrowing at the Child
She closes them. And sees the Raksha coming.
A space between beats, and she had a chance!
A hand helping another, she shot towards the Child, to her neck, this time. Some place had to be soft. Some place had to let in Venom. She augmented her strike with all the strength of the blood-powered necromancy in her veins, and made a prayer to her god.
Child of Wyld Days: "I am sorry, but you are not going to like what I am about to do to you."
The light-gate of her virtuous defense miracle sends her fist rocketing into the path of the incoming strike, aiming to beat it aside, while Owl and Serpent coils around her arm and shoulder, waiting to be used yet again.
"... then again, no. I am not sorry."
Her next action is lighting-fast, precise... and dripping with a strange, vicious sort of essence. Her free hand takes the shape of a monkey's clawed hand, and she shoots it out at the woman's chest, not too much to harm... but to grasp at something that goes beyond the physical. Unseen, her Sword-maw coils around that outstretched arm, waiting for the perfect moment...
"Your courage. Your fight. Your very heart... I hunger for! GIVE YOURSELF!"
The maw strike, the fist strikes... and the raksha's hollow soul rejoices, for maybe a quick taste of man's dreams is on its way...
Beautiful Thorns of Carmine: .. and she loses it.
She screams, the dark-haired girl, her tomboyish hair wishing it could go over her face, but missing.... she screams, as she staggers backwards, and falls... and looking up at Days, devoid of something. Of the unearthly courage she had just before. She clutches her chest... shocked. As if she had just been born, what she was, in a sense. Feeling the shock of so much lost, and of seeing a new world... her blood-necromancy tatoos fading, as her eyes, still red, look up at Days...
Child of Wyld Days: "Now. As I was saying." The Child holds the re-extended Owl and Serpent in the girl's direction, expression calm and even, while her soul gleefully tears into the shreds of hope and dream that she had ripped from her victim. "I want to know one thing, and one thing only. Where are your main forces, and where are they moving to?" She waits, poised to finish the girl off once and for all.
It is best to have something to share with my allies... any scrap of knowledge can build a bridge of trust.
Beautiful Thorns of Carmine: "They are... moving here..."
She says, cringing, moving back until she is against a wall...
"They split... we are here to kill the resistance... while... the Parishioner lays a trap for the Dark Angel... killed Barr... set a trap for any of the crime syndicate who go looking for him too... ready to kill the Exalts... a... a part of them are around Highlane, waiting for the D-dark Angel... the rest... and the sheriff.... the god... they are coming here..."
"P-please..."
Child of Wyld Days: "You are going to die."
She lowers her staff, and her expression shifts to that of mild concern. "But it will not be by my hand. Tell me of this trap, quickly, then leave my sight lest I change my mind and tear your heart out with my bare hands."
That's it, girl... sow the fear. Make sure she doesn't forget for the rest of her life.
"Quickly, girl! My time is limited!"
Beautiful Thorns of Carmine: She shows relief for a moment... and then fear again. She breaths hard, trying to recall facts that seem to vanish from her memory and the tip of her tongue... "The... trap? W-well... my lord Parishioner knows the Dark Angel is too impulsive... he is casting a spell through a dummy... if it goes, the Boil will shake... monsters will come out, all the seals broken... if it fails, it is because she came, and he is ready for her..."
"With the ghosts here there is no chance of them going... and the I-Iron God's brother is coming... to kill them all... to kill his brother... we were just here to weaken the defenses before that..."
Child of Wyld Days: "Good. Now go." She hammers the owl-head of her staff into the ground, aiming to spark the spooked woman into flight. "Go, and pray that you and your allies never see me again, for I will bring nothing save death."
She does pause a moment, though, grin turning more carnal. "A shame we could not have met on better terms. I would have loved to sample your body... but such is life." She strikes the ground again. "Move."
Beautiful Thorns of Carmine: The girl's eyes go wide... and she runs, falling, only slowly recovering her former grace, vanishing into the night...
Not too far away, a pillar of red and violet light, tinted with gold, rises up the sky, and for a moment a woman appears, the image of one... one of silver and golden hair, one with an adamant blindfold, an emerald gag and sapphire blindfold, all bound in chains of nothingness... but that lasts but a single instant.
And father away a pale white anima hungs low, and Days recognizes it as Iria's....
Child of Wyld Days: "Time to move."
Leaving the scene of chaos and carnage, she melts into the shadows once again, Snow Monkey weaving her way towards Iria's unmistakable light. Light are her feet as she pads quickly along, nostrils flared and ears perked as she remains aware.
If what that woman said was true, then matters are about to become much, much worse in a short amount of time. I do love a fight, but there's nothing to be gained in a hopeless struggle.
I must warn who I can.
- As she passes, she sees a scene of the shadows of the Boil...
A man with a blade within a cane.
One of the Beautiful Thorns.
A fast and furious fight. The man wins, the slim blade of the cane severing a throat.The battle between Hemmlock's assassin guild and the Thorns was a desperate one. And every such victory counted.
Child of Wyld Days: She does not stop for long, although she admires such talent... and the act of the fight itself. Such things bring joy to her Sword, and it throbs within and beyond her pattern, still gorging itself on the assassin's courage and battle-will. Continue, continue, keep moving, don't stop. No distractions.
Iria: Amaranthyne, see thy comet flaming
It shook the walls of the district. Accompanied by the steady, rhythmic pounding of lance butts and sword hilts upon shields. A section of improvised drums.
Hear a heavenly voice declaiming
They were not singers. Tenors tried to be bass. Basses screeched in ear-bleeding fashion. Men and women, the pitch and tremor of their voices setting off one another in improper fashion. But what they lacked in talent, they made up for in spirit.
To the world below proclaiming
It was a song sung so often to the skies and into the face of danger that it had worn a groove into the paths of the world. Battle-hymn all mighty, whose words and spirits channeled heart and soul into something real.
Whiteshield shall be free!
The banner of garrison and the Family Luminati stood tall and proud over the line of soldiers. A shield of black iron graced the first. An angel wrapped with a halo of white roses the second. Duel-pennants waving, the staff-and-flag both radiated their own bright aura. They were the symbol of unity and command, the foci for the Essence born from the battle-hymn.
Shields locked and spears lowered, the soldiers only held back and blocked the streets, singing the ancient hymn that had carried Whiteshield through all ill fortune. This was not a battle they could fight with steel. This was a battle for others entirely.
No longer in human form, Iria stood out before her troops as a glowing figuring of ivory and celestial Essence. An ocean of dark figures swirled before her, the hungry ghosts hesitant to approach her light until some unseen force lashed them forward in a howling mass. Rolling and retreating like the tides though, they could only grow so close.
As the undead surged once more, Iria drew again on the strength radiating from the banner at her back and unleashed a torrent of golden-white rays from the inhuman eyes upon her wings. The dead screamed madly as their insubstantial bodies were torn asunder under the barrage and they fell back again. Soldiers cheered and raised their voices louder.
Silently under her breath, from a mouth that did not even seem to be there, the Captain cursed like a proper soldier. She could not keep this up forever. It was taking everything she had to maintain this shape, everything she had to keep the dead ay bay. The soldiers at her back were doing more to win this fight than they realized. But she made no attempt to let them know or show any signs of her own growing fatigue. She was keenly aware that every second here was another this city would spend alive. There was no relief coming to their rescue. This was there battle.
While thy star on high is beaming, the song rose again and the banner flared brighter. Iria drank from it desperately to maintain her own holy glow, readying herself to drive back another charge. Soldiers from the mountains teeming, With their spears and lances gleaming, Come to follow thee.
Child of Wyld Days: Such a lovely song... the emotions invested into it... the feelings, the hopes. Oh, if I could but taste that song one day... but that day is most certainly not today.
There was really no point to even attempting to hide her presence alny longer once she was within range of Iria's forces. Thus the Snow Monkey effortlessly leapt along the sides of a few buildings, gaining enough momentum to get within the area of defense without having to deal with those pesky soldiers who might shoot first and ask questions tenth.
For a moment, the Child was grace incarnate, a figure of perfect poise and balance... only for her casual, relaxed nature to seep back to the surface, tinged with a real and pressing concern. Ready to speak, she cleared her throat and smiled, grimly.
"Iria, lady of light... we have a situation on our hands."
Iria: "That has become rather apparent to me, madam fae." Iria answered through her teeth, not in anger but strain. Had this form the skin to sweat, she would have gleamed. The wave of ghostly bodies was falling back again, regrouping into its uneven lines again. Iria held back a breath of relief.
One of the great golden eyes upon her wings twisted to regard Days, star-like pupil dilated as it focused upon her. Catching her breath in the momentary pause, Iria's voice took on it's stern authorities tone again. "What news, wyld-born? Out with it quickly."
Child of Wyld Days: "Demanding, demanding. But I suppose now isn't the time to argue over small matters." She could only marvel at Iria's unusual form, odd even considering how many unique fae she'd seen in her short, active lifetime. "There seems to be traps waiting for both that 'Dark Angel;, as well as anyone looking for a... 'Barr'? There was a mention of a syndicate somewhere. Highlane is where this Angel's trap is waiting; more are coming to the area I just left. This dark one's trap seems to be an inescapable one... it is either step into it, or let some calamity befall this place."
Iria: The Exalted ones...
So, there yet went another of their hopes, born away on the backs of demi-god ego and bloodlust. Somehow, she was not surprised.
"I will dispatch a runner to find the pornographer Kadel in whatever hole hes hiding in. Perhaps he can get a messenger to them in time to warn them." The six-pointed eye twisted away from Days as the ghostly horde let out another of it's chilling battle cries and began to pour through the narrow streets again.
All six of Iria's eyes, both human and inhuman, narrowed. "And perhaps not. I will not send my troops to their deaths attempting to fight through this and come to the Chosen's aid. It would be suicide. And we require you and the others here. There will be no rescue attempt until the rest of the city is safe. The Father and the Angel will have to fight their own battles." Then, as if an after thought, the Captain whispered. "May the Sun and Cetaris blessing see them through it and all of us."
Four eyes cracked open wide to unleash a stream of light into the dark mass roiling towards them, scrapping the wall of ghosts back across the ground and leaving ugly black vapors hissing between the paving stones.
Child of Wyld Days: "That is all fine and good, my lady of light---oh! One other thing!" With a finger upheld, the Child could not help but look mildly amused. "It seems that Iron Tears'... brother? Yes, his brother. He seems to be on his way here as well. I imagine this is an excessively bad thing, but the timing and the situation makes it quite exciting to hear about. A clash of gods and monsters! I could not have chosen a better conflict to lose myself in!"
Hm. Perhaps that glee should have been contained. Ah well, they know I'm raksha, so I can be afforded a degree of 'insanity'. Although this is going to be quite the battle to stand within!
Iria: As the constant stream of divine light poured out of the unhuman eyes raked across the narrow street and ranks of the dead, Iria's head snapped towards Days. "The Betrayer is coming here? "
She did not bother to berate the Fair One for withholding this news to the last nor for the excitement in the creatures voice. There was time and place for such things and just the same, it would have likely meant little to the fae even if this had been such.
"TWO RUNNERS! NOW!" her voice carried over the song and the shield wall split open to disgorge a pair of young women in the lightest armor one could possibly wear and still even call protection. The approached the two beings quickly, one casting hesitant glances at the monkey-girl beside the Captain, and took a knee.
"First. Message to the Glass Spider. Inform him an attempt is needed to reach the Chosen and warn them both are walking into a trap. Nature unknown. Strength unknown. Go." The first girl stood, slapped a palm against her chest, and rushed back through the lines.
"Second. Find lord Iron Tears or his captain with the Gears. Inform him his brother will be making a push upon the district soon. No other information available. Go." Repeating the motions of the first, the girl took one last glance towards Days before she too vanished into the chanting line of soldiers again.
Iria watched the Raksha closely, her voice husky and raw. "Do you bring any other good tidings, madam fae?"
Child of Wyld Days: She can only pause, seeming to actually ponder that question. Finally, with a 'ah!' and a smile, Days' hand came up.
"Well, that's it for the bad news, but I was wondering if you're the sort that like to share an ale and a bed after a long campaign. Not that I'm putting forth any offers."
She could not help but smile. "Yet, anyway."
Iria: As the mass of the dead turn back again, the eyes upon Irias wings snap closed sharply. "Yes." Comes the immediate, blunt answer. An answer that carries the weight of having been spoken a thousand times to a thousand different propositions. "Thats what I keep husband around for."
The almost featureless face continues to watch the fae and, for a moment, there is almost the impression of a weary but pleasant smile somewhere within the light. "Perhaps you should have a word with him though, madam fae. Tiomen is rather skilled in persuading me to try new things."
And then its gone and the impenetrable mask of iron rises again. "Thank you for bringing me this news, wyld-born. We will prepare as best we can. I suggest you go do the same."
There was an unspoken "Dismissed. " at the end of the sentence.
Child of Wyld Days: The Child simply bows, deeply and with a great deal of flair. "Very well! I suppose I shall see your runner off safely... it would be very bad for her to die and for the warning to be lost." She turns, starts walking... stops. The grins returns.
"And perhaps I will have a word with your husband one day after this glorious mess is over." Snow Monkey sneaks in a wink, then returns to the task at hand. With a jump, she tears off after the runner, almost running on all fours while trying her damndest to remain unheard and unseen.
- Days arrives before the runner, even.
He was found in the Dechil Industrial Link Facility, a factory normally involved in the mass-production of chains and specializing in heavy ship chains. And more than ever the great factory teems with fire and iron. It fills the air, as hammer touches the metal, as Iron Tears stands, as the Faceless God, his blessing carrying the currents of Iron... throughout the District. Blessing the Relentless Gears, blessing the District, blessing his people. But he does not stay still as he does so - as his hammer gives the final toches in repairing one of Chains of Duty's great maces...
Child of Wyld Days: Thus... she remains hidden.Perhaps to let the runner arrive and speak first. Perhaps to take time to quietly marvel at the factory. Perhaps to watch Iron Tears work as his innermost being demands he must. Nonetheless, she stays out of sight, a playful smile in place as visions of impending war dance in her head.
You are a fearsome, powerful one, Iron Tears. I have never had the chance to behold a god so closely, and you are a most unique and dangerous one... at least to me. Such stories I could wring out of this... no, no. I must focus on not dying first.
The Child licked her lips as she thought. A girl has to have her priorities in check.
- The runner comes, the heat making him sweat even more, almost falling...
"L... lord Iron Tears... I h-have a message from the Captain." He says, not letting things like catching your breath delay the message he must deliver. "Your brother is coming. Soon. He will be attacking the Industrial District soon. No other information available."
Iron Tears: The Faceless God turns... and then, the runner flinches. The red light on what passes for his eye watches the runner...
"He is coming...? How did you find out about this?"
Child of Wyld Days: "*Ahem*."
With a single, graceful step, she makes herself known. With a deep bow, she shows her proper respect to a powerful, if embattled, godling. And with a laugh... she reminds all present that she is still a sliver of the Wyld stabbed into the finger of Creation.
"I chanced upon a lovely young lady who I managed to... ah, extract that wonderful information from. It wasn't too difficult, and I was kind enough to not kill her along with her fellow allies for being so forthcoming." A pause. "You do have to tell me about this brother of yours, though, I can only imagine what he could be like, if you are iron... is he the flame of the forge? The dross melted away? Or is he the finished blade that kills?"
Iron Tears: The Faceless God stares at Days then... dismissing the runner.
And he cannot contain the fact that Days broke some of the pressure. "Kodak? Oh, he is the Earth. He is the Mines. He is my elder brother... the mines where we gather the minerals and ores that sustain the Industry. The god of miners." He sighs, as if the memory was painful... while still hgolding something in it... emotion?
"Unfortunately, he was never very good with people. He could never see even the miners as... as the force they were. So they turned to me. All the worship was on me. And he resented it. One day, he decided to show them fear by causing a great cave-in... but he did not realise it is not those days anymore. All he managed was to lose the little support he had from the miners. He went into seclusion then, and only our sister laying with him made him even keep his few blessings with the miners. But that seems to have only envenomed his mind. In obssession for us both..."
Child of Wyld Days: "Nothing like the hunger for power to make even the closest of blood-kin to turn on each other." Days... may be smiling, but it looks more as if it's a smile of amused familiarity; she's definitely seen this before. "But now dear Kodak is on the way here, and that means that a showdown is imminent. I would like to think you're more than ready to take him on, but having seen the situation on the streets, things are tense, and the enemy is not taking its chances with a single plan of attack." She then... approaches, getting within touching distance of Iron Tears. "As I have said before, I am your weapon. That is what I am, after all... a weapon to fear, a thing to covet. Thus, I am here. For this war, for this rebellion, for this fight, I am at your disposal. I only require one thing in return."
Iron Tears: The Iron God changes then... shedding the armor like bits and pieces of Iron, and looking now like a man again. A handsome older man covered by a slight tint of earth from the mines.... as he smiles at Days. "Thank you, Child of Wyld Days. You have my trust. And I shall use you. You shall be a weapon to destroy a god."
"Shall we prepare his welcome, then?"
Child of Wyld Days: Snow Monkey... can only grin, broadly.
"We shall, Iron Tears. We most certainly shall."
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- - Back to A Dance of Angels
