GoldenCat/Tails04
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- - Back to A Dance of Angels
The Vorpal Blade
The day was growing late.
The cold air buffeted Vorpal deFay as she walked into the arena, once again.
The nobles in both sides clamored for her.
The blood of the yozi worshippers Selina had killed had mostly been washed away, with the exception of a great red smear on the wall where Vile had bounced Now, the audience threw rose petals, covering the ground... and the banners and styles of her opponent showed in front of her.
Slowly, a man riding a yellow-plated horse strode foward. With him, his troops... a mercenary captain and his best troops, in yellow leather, baring these bizarre curved blades... Vorpal remembers them from before. The Fangs of Sayla.
Now, the tournament got a referee.
Well, more of an slave auctioner trying to sell the tournament even higher.
She had Zebra-stripped hair, and dressed in a suit whose colors shifted between white and black constantly. "Annnnndddd she returns! The terror of Iranor, the beauty of the snow, the grand, powerful, utterly terrifying Paaaallleee Annngel! Will she continue to demolish her opponents? Will we see another slaughter like we have just seen?"
"And on the other corner, we have the contestants, these strange, exotic southern mercenaries! With their colorful style so out-of-place in the north, and their strange blades, they want to prove that everywhere, their skill is the same! I want a cheer for the... Fangs of Sayla!"
Selina de Windia: How come I didn't get a hot announcer? Selina thinks sourly.
But she shrugs and leans forward against the railing, at least appreciating the fact that she won't be fighting this time.
Maybe she'll fight some Iranorians she hates by pure chance.
???: ...and as the Dark Angel leans against the railing, many gazes from the audience - the male gazes, in particular - are diverted from the actual performance and fixate on the new sight presented for them.
For Selina's leotard is... rather thin, is it not?
Vorpal: Good grief.
Although Vorpal's mien is suitably dark and stern as she marches into the arena, her heavy slab of a sword resting on her shoulder, this is only the surface. Upon seeing the Guild's latest addition to the show, the Paaaaaallleeee Annnngel raises a mental hand over mental eyes and twists her mental mouth into a grimace.
As if this performance was not strange enough as it is. What's next - a troupe striking a victory fanfare with each foe we best?
Planting her free hand onto her hip, she observes her latest opponent...s. So they really did want to fight as an unit.
"You are a long way from home, southerners", she calls out over the cheer of the crowd. "Are you sure you want your spilled blood to warm the snows up here, in the frozen North?"
Selina de Windia: She growls under her breath and straightens up, directing a withering glance at the eyes that're on her.
There's a bigger and better pair down there, you fools.
Watch it instead.
Then she chuckles, and calls forth shadow to hide the details of her form in certain places, almost as if she was hiding in very convenient shade.
Chibi-Vorpy: (( {bonks her head to the table} Me and my big mouth))
Chibi-Vorpy: (( Yea, and you've got a good view from the above, too! {thrusts out her chest} ))
- The audience sighs. Why? Why are the most beautiful things the most transitory ones?
Why can't one stare at a rather pair of breasts barely hidden in what is barely a swimsuit for long?
Why is Venus so cruel?
Why, Venus, why?
Of course, as many picked up binoculars to try to see it, others readily diverted their gazes to the rather large woman at the center of the arena....
Fangs of Sayla: The captain looks at the Pale Angel, through the eyes of his draconic helmet, spear in hand. "We are mercenaries, Pale Angel. You should know. We have spilled our blood for less. We have lost companions for less. We have gained our scars in insurmountable odds. We have done so for our bread and butter - for all that is at stake here, we would bet our very souls."
Vorpal: Um.
Sensing the eyes focusing on her, Vorpal straightens and pulls her shoulders backwards, unconsciously. She even shifts her arms so that her elbows push her cloak a little further apart.
At this point, it probably should be mentioned that one of the more interesting side-effects of her body-strenghtening Charm is that it makes her entire form visibly firmer to watch and touch.
Her entire form.
"Your very souls?" The Pale Angel lets out a cold chuckle. "I like that. Bravery is the sign of a good warrior. I accept your offer."
Vorpal shifts her stance slightly, to present her side to the mercenaries, and raises her free arm from her hip and palm first at her foes. "I will claim your souls as my prize. Come at me."
Selina de Windia: Too bad for you little boys you'll never be touching any of that.
Only I get to do that. Selina thinks smugly. Though maybe not for awhile now...
Selina lets out a sigh at that possible fact, then looks to the challengers again. "Oh how unaware they are..." She says in a low voice.
Fangs of Sayla: They shiver.
Their very souls...
A snake of cold runs through the leader's spine. Vorpal can see it. Hesitation.
But also sees how they tame it, turning their blades to her... as their leader calls them to arms. "Very well, then! Let us see which will claim the prize, Pale Angel! We have fought monsters before... and you are simply one clad in deceit! Fangs of Sayla... charge!"
And so, they rush foward....
Vorpal: Deceit?
Vorpal smiles.
Oh, I am a monster. But not clad in deceit.
I have my weaknesses, but when it comes to battle, I am an honest monster, through and through.
Even as the mercenaries are closing in on her, the Pale Angel lifts her free hand - slowly, idly, as if she had all the time in the world - and rests it onto her sword's long handle.
Pale Angel... charge.
Fangs of Sayla: Their captain stands back, as of yet... as his soldiers rush foward. They are good, the Pale Angel has to give them that. They are well-trained, disciplined... their formations and techniques are strange, of course... and almost seem like a lack of tactics, but the Pale Angel knows well enough. And thus, five rush with their blades to the Pale Angel....
Selina de Windia: Now show them why they should fear you. Selina thinks with a little thrill of elation.
Even when you aren't trying to kill.
Vorpal: One glance of her experienced eye reveals that the incoming attacks are of no concern for Vorpal. It would be like striking a soulsteel statue - their exotic blades would only chip and dull, their hands would sting and tremble from the impact.
It would be so very humiliating for them, no?
She tightens her grip of the Betrayer's handle, matter-of-factly.
We cannot have that, can we now? Not with so brave mercenaries.
A sharp breath inwards. The mercenaries charge at her, and she meets them with a sudden swing. The great sword whooshes through the air flat first, a single swish horizon-wide and terrible in its power. The sheer force of the displaced air slams into her foes like an invisible wall. It tosses sands up and across the arena in a single great storm, all the way into the eyes of the spectators sitting opposite to her.
Fangs of Sayla: She is power!
A swath of her blade sends them through the air... like flies. The sound is thunderous, and it is like a grown man washing at a table full of toy soldiers, scattering them on the wind like autumn leaves... and so, four of them fly, crashing far away, the swords and helmets crashing down with metallic sounds... and only one remains.
All of them scattered, one remains, looking up at her... like a man who happens to be standing exactly at the window of a building that falls over him, wide-eyed, yet to understand how he survived... trembling, so alone before the large, scary woman...
... and the crowd goes wild!
And the announcer...
"Laaadddiiiesss and Geeennttlleemmaannn.... the inhuman, monstrous power of the PALE ANGEL!"
Vorpal: The Pale Angel smiles, sweetly, at the remaining man.
The gigantic sword has barely finished its first terrible swing when Vorpal already begins the new one. She reverses the weapon's momentum with sheer strength, muscling it to retrace the arch it had carved into the air an eyeblink ago. She takes a calm step forward, to bring herself into the range of more foes - earth seems to shake as she sets her boot down.
Dropping one hand to her side, she sends the Betrayer into a backhanded swing at the next batch of foes...
As a little compliment, she specifically leaves the man who had been lucky enough to avoid the first swing outside her second attack.
Fangs of Sayla: ... and another three more are swathed away like so much flies.
The earth shakes, and many of the audience seem to jump!
All scared... and frightened...
.. and thrilled...
And the one that survived is still confused... looking at Vorpal frightened, his eyes the size of saucers...
The one survivor still stands there. Paralysed.
And five of them, in the back, get their bows together. Far away from the Pale Angel... and on their commander's orders, let it fly! And as the bolts fly, the rest pick their swords and form a barrier of steel between the Pale Angel and the archers!
Selina de Windia: She's barely scratched the surface of her power, darlings.
Or at least, that is what Selina thinks. Cloaked in shadow, she watches with a faintly malevolent glee as her counterpart scythes through the company opposing her.
"Hee hee hee."
Vorpal: A wise change of strategy. There is no point wasting good men in close combat with a behemoth. Therefore, attack her from the range.
Vorpal nods a mental head in approval. Physically, however, she does not bat an eye. It would be a wise change of strategy, if they could attack her with something that could even tickle the behemoth's skin.
Fighting monsters, there is always that if ruining the plans.
The Pale Angel swings the sword once again back to her shoulder and drops the other hand onto her hip. She even takes a lazy step to the side to place herself between the survivor and the incoming missiles, just to be sure he won't be harmed - the fact that she just turned her back to an enemy does not seem to trouble her at all.
They are target arrows, she notes, specifically designed to penetrate armor. Yet even so it is not enough to touch her. She arches her back and stretches languidly, the arrows peppering her without effect. Wood shatters against her torso, iron tips twist and malform, splinters clatter to the ground at her feet. She steals a little glance over her shoulder at the survivor, to see how he is doing.
Are you awed yet? She seems to ask mentally, raising one eyebrow. Afraid? Does it give a thrill down your spine?
It seems to be aimed at the survivor, but the glance also happens to encompass the Dark Angel watching the one-sided battle from further back. The Pale Angel suppresses a smirk.
Fangs of Sayla: He certainly is. They all are.
Those are target arrows, with their tips made of shards of basalt. They should pierce the most thickly-armored men... but yet, they did not scratch her surface. It is still pure, shining soulsteel... how come? How come?
The survivor, Fakhar Sand, shivered.
She was truly a monster....
Him, alone in the center of the arena, was trembling.
The column of metal in front of Vorpal closed itself, like a chain wall.
They shivered as well... but they would not... let... her pass!
Vorpal: Finished already?
Vorpal shrugs and steps over the ruined arrows. Her hips swaying, her lips smiling, she walks towards the shield wall. There is no battle stance, no readying her weapon - she does not need it, not against a foe such as this.
Fear me.
Her boot touches the sand.
Be in awe of me.
Her chest rises with her inhaled breath.
Worship me.
And now she is within the striking distance of the shield wall. Her red eyes wide and intent, she hefts the giant sword and raises her low voice into a strange chant:
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
"And here it is, the foe he sought."
Suddenly, she seems to tense, like a cat before a leap, and then brings the sword around in a monstrous sweep at the men before her.
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
Fangs of Sayla: ... but no matter. The Vorpal sword went snicker-snack!
And that means that even a chain of metal edges in broken before her, contorted, broken metal falling away. And to those she fought, she was not a human anymore. Not a woman. She was a behemoth. A large, powerful, unstoppable juggernaut... and nothing they had could stop her.
They did not use shields... much. They moved like dragons, fast, flowing... but now, all of them took shields from their backs. This was their last stand... and they did not wish to end like their brothers on the floor, swords broken and contorted by Betrayer....
Vorpal: He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
Selina de Windia: "I said she was my superior in this." Selina mutters under her breath, watching Vorpal charge.
Perhaps her strength will be tested next, yes?
Chibi-Vorpy: (( Time to recreate some nordic mythology.^_^ Dragon of Earth, here I come! ))
Greymane: ((Kuuuuuuuuklaaaaaaa!))
Chibi-Vorpy: (( O_o; ))
Fangs of Sayla: The leader called for them.
"This is our last stand! You are the best! The best of the best of the fangs! All of you... worth a dozen men! Together.... we are two hundred and forty strong! Remember it! We are her scales! The Pale Angel may be a behemoth... but together...!" He raises a talisman. It shines, enveloping the army, the shape of a great golden dragon.... it is spirits. Pieces of spirits, into Yasal, forming a single great blessing.... "... so are we!" Their eyes shine with Yasal. Lesser spirits fill their weapons. It is a like a charge of ten thousand miniscule godlings as the archers point at her once again... and let their arrows fly, covered with golden sand....
and the three men in front of her rush foward, and a great flash of golden light envelop them all as they strike...
And the leader prepares his charge...
Vorpal: Oho?
Vorpal resist the impulse to suddenly frown. For all her bravado, she must not forget that these are still elite mercenaries and have to be watched carefully as such. The fact alone that they are still standing against her is worth of some small amount of respect.
Flicking her sword forth, she actually changes her stance. Instead of meeting all of it with a single giant sweep, she focuses on each attack separately. Her sword - suddenly lightning-swift - spins and dances, swatting at each of the arrows as they fly towards her. Then she turns her attention to the swordsmen, her movements quick as thought. Parry, cut, block, riposte - she whirls around a full circle - backhanded slash. Her sudden shift from pure power to raw skill is obvious.
Perhaps the Fangs will see it as something of a compliment.
One of them got through! Blessed or not, however, her armor's magic triumphs once again and the blade clashes harmlessly off her side. Still, it irks her - it was supposed not to get through without her permission.
I'm slipping, she thinks sourly as she swats each arrow with minute precision - one of the projectiles she bats away so hard that it embeds itself in the arena wall. The incoming attackers are dealt with much in the same way - an absent bash sends one of them collapsing to the ground like a stick house, another hurtles across the arena like an empty sack, the third flies several feet upwards, seemingly weightless and spinning wildly.
That one.
The one flying upwards is the one who managed to hit her.
Flipping her sword to one hand, she reaches out with the other. Not even looking, she grabs the mercenary mid-air as he falls within her reach. Hefting him by the throat, she bashes the listless man sharply against her armored torso. It does not matter that his shield gets caught between them - this one has earned himself some extra pain.
Fangs of Sayla: ... and he is sent flying away from her... with a large dent on his shield and armor.
A dent with the size and shape of a female breast.
And the audience learned that the rumors are true!
The Pale Angel's body is Made of Pain.
Selina de Windia: "...." Selina gazes down at that sight with a disbelieving look. "D...ah, guh..." She stammers, then shakes her head.
NOT TOUCHING THAT FOR AWHILE.
Chibi-Vorpy: ((...you wanna me wash first?))
Fangs of Sayla: ... and he is sent flying away from her... with large, twin dents on his shield and armor.
Dents of the size and shape of a female breast.
And the audience learned that the rumors are true!
The Pale Angel's body is Made of Pain.
Vorpal: Next!" she snaps, already turning away as the unconscious man clatters to the ground. Facing the archers and their commander, she hefts the sword with both hands once more. "Let us mop this up, shall we?"
Fangs of Sayla: ... they were sent scattering. Even with the blessing of power, the blade was incapable of going through her. It was sent flying... and the poor soldier got bashed against her... chest. It was a strange sight. But worse, was that as she broke their formation, she broke their power. The formation held the shape of the dragon, and it was broken. Now, their blessing was over... the blessing they had acumulated from so many godly gifts in their Yasal Crystals... but they still had tricks. With the last of the blessing, the archers pointed to the Pale Angel... and fired!
And the captain... he brought a crystal to his spear. Touching the tip of it. And the crystal melded with the spear, all of the favors with that god becoming the power in the spear... that changed, becoming like a dragon-spear of yellow rock, forming wings, a baroque, strange weapon....
And he charged towards the Pale Angel, his spear shining for one strike... but one strike that could break the fiercest steel!
Vorpal: Very well, very well, you have my respect already.
Vorpal gnashes her teeth - not so much with the effort of holding her foes at bay, but more because of the magic they are wasting for this battle. Valuable magic such as this would be useful for them in the future...
Therefore.
The Pale Angel whirls the sword around and jabs it into the ground. Gouging up a sizable chunk of sand and dirt, she hurls it into the path of the arrows with a sharp flick of her wrist. With any luck, it would be enough to push them off their target.
The leader is only a feet away with his spear, and Vorpal wastes no time. She spins on her heel to meet him and brings the sword down - at one point, the weapon is held high, and at the other, it has clashed down on the spear, an flash of black light dimming away in its wake.
There is a sudden swish of air just past her head. From the corner of her eye, she sees one of the arrows clatter to the ground.
It had almost gotten through.
Hrun.
Vorpal grits her teeth as she brings her sword around in a mighty swing at the leader. It is irritating - so irritating that she only barely remembers to hold back the force of her blow.
Fangs of Sayla: The leader, still brimming with the power invested in the lance, turns to parry it... moving fast, too fast. Like a spirit, like a God of War... at least, for precious, precious few seconds!
... and he parries, sparks flying, his horse moving foward, trying to compensate for the strength of the blow... and the leader looks at her, his spear still shining on his hand.... and inwardly, he is so, so glad he is still alive.
Sand, between them, watches in awe.
The Golden Dragon Blessed Death Formation is... broken...
The Pale Angel...
Vorpal: Their weapons clash together, and - amazingly - the Betrayer does not get through.
Vorpal raises her eyesbrows, slightly, over the trembling soulsteel pressing against the spear.
Oho.
"You know", she states with a surprisingly calm tone, "When fighting against buck ogres and the like, the Dragon-Blooded of the Realm never send their mortal troops up first. Instead, they gather the Exalted together into a separate unit to deal with the foes ordinary soldiers cannot hope to defeat. Otherwise, it would just be a waste of good men."
Flipping the sword once again around, the Pale Angel drops into a fighting stance... for the first time over the course of this battle.
"You should have come up front."
Fangs of Sayla: She is speaking the truth, and he knows!
He lost good men... but he thought they could... tire her down...
But no, she is as an Ogre. Only another can fight her.
And so, he rides to the end of the arena, and comes back, rushing straight to Vorpal, once again with all his might, extracting more from the already-breaking spear!
Coming from her back, as the arrows come from her front...
Vorpal: It is time to finish this.
Her eyes focused on the leader, she jabs the sword to the ground and leans behind it, using the broad slab of soulsteel as a shield against the incoming arrows. The horse thunders onwards, driving the rider and the spear closer and closer...
It is an odd sensation of deja-vu. Hadn't this happened with her first battle as well?
Vorpal sighs. She had even been planning to counter the attack with the same move she had used against the knight, but now she realizes that won't do. A battle or not, this is still a performance followed closely by hundreds of spectators. And audience does not like repetition.
So, as the spear closes in and Vorpal dances to the other side of the sword, she grabs the weapon by the handguard. She tilts the sword so that it goes into the spear's way and pushes the offending tip aside, then leaps - not to the side as she did the previous time, but up and foward, over the horse's head and towards the leader himself. Dragging the Betrayer with her, she makes a somersault in mid-air and whacks the flat of the sword squarely towards the man's head...
Fangs of Sayla: ... and then he is sent backwards, crashing on the ground, the spear falling away from him....
And the Fangs of Sayla's proud commander eats dirt.
And the audience?
More awed by the minute.
????: "Let this be a lesson, one and all! To strike the Pale Angel mounted... is to kiss the ground!"
Selina de Windia: Selina giggles as she watches the fight's conclusion.
My valkryie.
My heroine.
Her eyes seem to glow for a moment, witnessing it. But it quickly fades to nothing, and she continues to silently watch.
Vorpal: Vorpal lands lightly next to the fallen commander, her cloak fluttering down around her.
Oh, shut it, she wants to growl to the announcer, but manages to keep her mouth shut. Her irritation is rising by the minute. Even that blow did not connect the way it should have.
Ah, well.
Vorpal swings the Betrayer around in a quick arch - it passes so close the commander's head that he can feel the chill air gushing at his face. Lifting the weapon up, she points it at the archers.
And, she smiles.
There are many kinds of smiles. Some people smile because they want to tell you "I'm your friend." Other smile because they want to tell you "Oh, of course you can trust me.". Still others smile because they want to tell you "I'm not sure what to say, so I'll just smile"
Vorpal's smile is not like that.
Her smile tells you,
"Snicker-snack."
Fangs of Sayla: Snicker-Snack.
And blood drained from their faces.
Snicker-Snack.
And their eyes trembled.
Snicker-Snack.
And they let go of the bows, falling on the ground like discarded toys.
Snicker-Snack.
And the Captain decided it was not worth it to get up.
Snicker-Snack.
And Fakhar Sand, The One That Was Untouched, knelt down before the Pale Mistress of War and Death, his face that of a man who had an epiphany, who saw the truth about all.... as he removed his helmet, and let go of his blade at her feet. His captain was submitting to her... but he, he was changing loyalties. He would serve her, forever.
And the audience watched it, silently, recognizing the solemnty of this moment.
Vorpal: She watches it, the smile gone from her face. She lowers the sword, as it is not needed anymore.
She does not say a word - words are not needed, either. Everyone knows what is taking place here today, and that knowledge is enough.
She lifts her hand - fingers capable of crushing a coconut - and places it down, gently, onto Fakhar Sand's head. She holds it there, allowing her strength to radiate down her arm and fill him with knowledge and purpose.
You are mine.
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- - Back to A Dance of Angels
