GoldenCat/Tails06
- - Back to Eighth Movement
- - Back to A Dance of Angels
Food Fight!
Fights! Violence! Glamour! Essence!
As they came back, the Dark Angel fought, for the crowd's amazement!
But yet!
The Mercenaries seemed... gone, most of them. Even if this was the fourth day of constant smackdown, even the ones there seemed... strangely silent, and more serious than usual! What could have happened? Those are questions to ponder as the Angels walk back from their rounds for this day, in the increasingly cold weather of Amber Post! As snow falls outside, they find themselves in the warmth of lavish dining room assigned to them, with their respective... satellites!
Cesta or DeSiri - whoever was responsible for it - did give them quite a lavish feast of Northern products - mostly herd-meat and river-fish - it was... quite a good care for them. But for some reason, the Dark Angel had the nagging feeling she would have been billed! Pehaps because they are money-grubbing Guild representatives, who knows?
Bronze Butterfly: "Man, what a collection... who knew so many weird mercs existed to begin with?" The butterfly asks, almost pouting for the warmth. If she could just open the window, it was too closed and firey in there! Some cold doesn't hurt anyone! "So, what do we do next? As soon as you kick the ass of every last one of them, that is?"
Aghar: "Every last one of them... rar, rar, optimist, aren't ya, girlie?" Aghar's face is halfway covered with a rather large mountain goat leg, roasted whole for his privilege, and held as a little chicken leg. His free hand holds a mug of ale the size of Vorpal's head. "ALWAYS more. Maybe not near 'ere but a good Merc gotta know when to close up shop!"
Vorpal: If Vorpal hears the Dark Angel's new apprentice's question, she chooses to ignore it. Sitting in the other side of the table, surrounded by her own court of followers, she has paused her meal for a second to stare grimly out of the window. Aghar's voice, however, makes her turn her gaze back to the table and flash a soft and slanted smile. "It took them four whole days to realize they were biting more than they could chew. Just for that, I'm willing to give them compliments for their intelligence and let them go."
Selina de Windia: "By then, we hope the Guild has managed to get all the matters of money together." Selina replies smoothly, looking at the food arrayed before them. Which she will not be paying for. In fact, she is going to have to visit whoever set up every extragent bit, and tell them that she is very graciously pleased with their gifts.
It's not as if there's a person here who can refuse me to my face.
Aghar: "Shoulda have given 'um the look and saved yerself four days, ya know."
He finishes munching on the leg, drowning it with enough beer from the mug to make the Dark Angel tipsy in one swoop. "Ya should see the look, darlin'. Made a whole company run from 'er once. 'k, we did have the high ground, but still. It's a sight!"
Vorpal: Vorpal lets out a low chuckle and places the goblet she had been just lifting back onto the table. "Where was that one anyway? The campaign at the Barons of Frost?"
Aghar: "Yar. It was... what was their name, 'gain? Pretty boy DeVriers company?" He begins laughing them, very, very loud. "I swear I saw him wet that pretty dress of his' then! Ah..." He sighs, now a little less cheerful... "If all of the Baron's forces had been that easy."
Vorpal: The Pale Angel takes the chance and does not make a move to protect herself when the droplets of beer, chicken and spittle begin to fly from Aghar's guffawing maw. Amazingly enough, she survives the onslaught unscathed.
"Steel Runners", she snickers wickedly. "I remember their name because it amused me then. They ran well enough."
But then she, too, sobers at the memory of the battles fought... and perhaps, comrades lost. "Remember Duncan? The first one to die when that volley was shot."
Selina de Windia: Selina listens to the play between those two, and realizes she really has nothing to say. Their trade is fighting and death. Her's is death alone. Telling stories about how she tore a satrap to pieces in his most guarded fortress without anyone noticing for hours or poisoned a king, would not get them ready to talk to her. And her apprentice need not hear more tales then she already has, of her teacher.
So instead, she toys with some of the food before her, wondering if some idiot is going to try to poison them again. It will be a dark day in hell if that happens again.
Maybe I was wrong to do such a thing.
Maybe.
Vorpal: They say love can make you particularly sensitive to the significant others moods. Perhaps this is true or not, but Vorpal seems to sense Selina's reluctance to talk. Looking at the Dark Angel across the table, the Ghost-Blooded inquires softly: "We're leaving you out, aren't we?"
Selina de Windia: Selina frowns. "Stories from my trade are not something discussed over the dinner table. Especially the way I do business."
She doesn't bother looking at Butterfly. Well, the girl couldn't do what she does, doesn't have the monster in her. Isn't a monster. So she'll be a more pleasant sort of assassin, at least.
Aghar: "Duncan, yeah... poor guy. Was so frickin' annoying... but damn. Boy deserved better. If he wasn't chargin' then..." Aghar shakes his head, drowning in a little more of beer.... "Aw, girl. You think war in the cold was pleasant? We're talkin' about blood 'n' guts here, girl. Hmmm, blood." He licks his lips, then munches a bit on the leg.... and then gives the Dark Angel a toothy grin with meat in it. "Didja know my home tribe was cannibal?"
Vorpal: Vorpal lets out a half-humorous snort at that. "She thinks she is better than we are", she comments to Aghar with a slight nod of her head. "You don't understand why soldiers always swap tales like these, do you?"
She is about to add something more, but decides to sit back instead, to witness the reaction to Aghar's comment about cannibalism. This tended to have an... effect on people...
Bronze Butterfly: ".... yuck." Immedtiatly, the Butterfly puts down her food. "... that is disgusting, Aghar!"
"Simply disgusting! You Barbarians..."
Selina de Windia: "Perhaps not entirely. Or maybe not as you understand it." Selina admits, then taking a small bite of the meat before her, cutting it with her fork and knife.
Aghar's comment doesn't really phase her. She does, afterall, want to eat Arad the Hunter someday. From all his legends...he richly deserves it.
And his fool wolves.
I'll roast them over a fire and hold a feast with them.
"Don't, Butterfly. Barbarians enjoy watching civilized folk blanch at their customs." She cuts another bite of meat off of her portion, swallows it after chewing just a tad, and shrugs.
Vorpal: Vorpal chuckles deep down in her throat.
"You're no fun, Aine", she says and leans her cheek against her knuckles, her eyes glittering.
Kalevi: "We don't. Not as much as you'd think, anyway," a familiar raspy voice floated over Selina's shoulder, followed a moment later by a blade-tipped chain. It swerved down in front of the Dark Angel and speared into a roasted pheasant, dragging it back through the air and into Kalevi's waiting hand. The mercenary had come in through the kitchen door behind the table. "Hell, we don't give you half a thought most the time."
Helping himself to a seat, Kalevi slumped into a comfortable position and ripped off a bite from the little game bird in his hands. Grease-fat glistened in his beard as he chewed. "Sorry I'm late. I had some personal business to deal with."
Vorpal: The food in front of Vorpal seems to turn almost instantly sour to her.
Who invited him in here?
"It wouldn't have anything to do with the sudden disappearance of all those mercenaries, would it?" she asks nonchalantly while cutting herself a new piece from the river fish.
Selina de Windia: "In other words, your tribe doesn't, or perhaps the few others you know. Spare me. I have beheld enough barbarians boasting about killing human sheep to know better." Selina replies acidly, turning around to behold him. "And steal my food again, mercenary, and I'll sate my appetite upon you."
Kalevi: "Mmm? Oh, them?" he said, ripping the tiny wing from the game bird and gesturing with it dismissively. "They haven't vanished. They're all outside waiting to rush in. Seems they were none to happy about the dark one breaking the rules."
Crunching through thin bird bone as he ground the wing down between his teeth, Kalevi did not seem overly concerned about the news he was breaking to them. "That's why I came through the back, since they wouldn't let me through the front. And why I stole your meal, though I apologize for that, dark one. I just thought it would be gone to waste soon enough anyway."
Selina de Windia: "Oh, so they're either going to all quit on us or try to kill me." Selina has had enough. Scooting the chair back, she stands to her feet. "The man was losing anyway. I'm going to show them why no one makes me waste my time and escapes regret." The Abyssal growls, bit of rumble evident.
Bronze Butterfly: "You did break the rules. See, if it was me, I would backstab him when no one was looking." She nods, sagely. "I suppose I will need to learn how to show off some more?"
Vorpal: "Och, brilliant", Vorpal mutters, pressing the palm of her hand diagonally over one red eye. "Now she's spreading bad influence on younglings, too."
After a moment, she looks up at the Dark Angel. "Need help on this?"
Aghar: Finishing his meal, Aghar points square at the center of Kalevi's face with the large goat-leg bone-club he was left with. He did not like the man much more than Vorpal did, and that he called himself a Barbarian as well came almost as an insult! "'ctually, thought it'd loosen the girl up some. Seen us soldiers know how to rumble too."
"So, watcha gonna do? Go and rough 'um all at once? Dun think we got the mojo to do dat."
Selina de Windia: "Twenty. Jade. Talents." Selina growls again, looking balefully at the front door. "Divided up. And still they complain at this. "
"I don't need help blowing chaff down the hall." Her pupils slit to thin lines. "If they have a more moderate protest in mind, mercenary, tell me now. Before I do something that'll make them beg me to pay them in bits of worthless shells instead."
Vorpal: "Don't underestimate her", Vorpal turns her head over to Aghar, her tone surprisingly serious. "If anything, her greatest problem will lie in keeping them alive."
Arguin Cesta: "Oh, truly?" Comes a voice from the door, far, far from amused.
"Exalted do no posses limitless energy... and for all I hear the Dark Angel used quite a bit of it in many of her battles. Am I to suppose she will survive?" The voice is cold, as he walks in, sitting on the far head of the table. "You have turned quite a bit of profit. I am disappointed to see you throw it to the wind with such a childish stunt."
"I do believe you have some sort of plan to turn this around?"
Kalevi: "No, no. Near as I could tell from all the talk, they're only trying to decide the best way to come in for an attack. Half want to lay an ambush, the other half seem inclined to just break down the door." he paused to belch, then shook his head with a disdainful chuckle. "Idiots are spending more time fighting over which way to try kill you than they are establishing a plan for either."
Selina de Windia: "Of course I do." Selina says simply, calming herself as she reaches down, deep, tugging the strings holding back the monster. A white light begins to appear about her, obscuring her form. Just before it's gone, she says the following bit. "I'm going to speak to them in the only language they understand."
Vorpal: Oddly quiet, Vorpal cuts another piece of the fish for herself and dips it into the sauce. Her eyebrows are set in an irritated scowl that is aimed at no-one in particular.
Bronze Butterfly: "... money?"
Vorpal: Vorpal coughs abruptly, almost managing to throw the food across the table. Her shoulders shuddering, she reaches for the goblet.
Kalevi: "They know other languages. It's why the poor dead bastards are out there," Kalevi risks to say, but does so quietly and keeps his attention mostly turned on ripping the pilfered game bird to pieces.
Selina de Windia: "Honor? They're sellswords and killers. Money? They got the damn money." Comes the rumble as the light fades. It's no different than Vorpal has seen before, though Selina doesn't have any of the essence of lust in her as she usually does. The crone-Selina, looking as bad tempered and angry as Selina in her worst days, stands there with arms crossed over her chest. Beauty gone (though not quite to ugliness) to age and physical power, and a good deal of temper.
"If one of you has a better idea, now's the time to go tell them why it's best they get back to their quarters."
Arguin Cesta: Cesta pops a grape on his mouth, looking throughouly unflipped by her change.
And waits.
Kalevi: Silent for a moment, Kalevi seems to loose his appetite if at Selina's words or at the sight of her haggish new form is anyone's guess and disinterestedly tosses whats left of the pheasant onto the table. A low sound, like a growl and a sigh at once, comes out his throat as he yanks a cloth napkin from the table and uses it to wipe off his mouth.
"I already did, dark one. Most of them didn't care to listen to me. They're digging their own graves now. They'll just have to lay in them."
Vorpal: Vorpal drains the cup and sets it down onto the table. She throws a glance of quiet acknowledgement at Arguin Cesta, then looks up at Selina's display with unease and growing annoyance. But the Dark Angel had said she'd need no help on this one. Vorpal is, for once, intending to do her bidding.
She cannot help but to comment on that last part, however. "Those sellswords out there are scared, Aine. Scared people do stupid things, such as trying to kill beforehand someone who is sure to kill them on the arena if they try to fight you fairly."
Selina de Windia: "You are correct." Selina replies with the voice she'll have until she lets go of the spell. "But if they want my blood, going out and talking to them will only give them a chance to draw it."
"And neither is my magic based around anything but death, hate, lust, and pain. You work with the tools you have." Selina concludes, walking to the door. "They will fear me, and that will heel them." She throws it open, glaring outside.
Vorpal: Vorpal half-turns in her chair and throws one elbow over the back rest so that she can watch Selina go through the door. "Do anything stupid", she calls out after her, almost genially, "and I will have to wallop you over the head for a second time."
Selina de Windia: "You're such a dirty girl." Selina says with a rumbling chuckle, and then steps outside, making sure no one is waiting to wallop her with something else, first.
Vorpal: "Before you say anything", Vorpal says and turns back to Arduin Cesta, "Watching her try to pull off antics like this one after another and never learning from the last time has made me cynical. "
Chibi Selina (Hyrokkin): (oh yeah, lemme just pull out some crowd calming charms, right outta my ass, miss you're-still-a-solar)
Chibi-Vorpy: ((You've got Presence 5 and lots of suitable Charms. Do they work only when you want sex? >_>))
Chibi Selina (Hyrokkin): (actually yes. Or when they're afraid of me. But I can make that happen :D)
Arguin Cesta: "Very well, then." He lifts a cup of wine... "I will talk to the General and see if we can have less amateurish plans for the future. But by all means, go ahead."
"After all, it is not like things can get any worse."
... and just as he says so, the windows break in a thousand splinters, as three figures roll into the room. One a strong man, his appearance gritty and battered wielding twin, large knives in a reversed grip. Another a large, white man-tiger. Cesta looks at them, still sipping his wine, a slave removing a little sliver of glass from his cloth...
... as a cloud of salt appears behind the two men.
Vorpal: Vorpal hisses in annoyance as one of the glass shards tinkles into her goblet just when she is trying to pour herself another drink. She slaps the cup onto the table and raises her gaze at the assailants. "Keep. Me. Out. Of. This."
The Ghost-Blooded gestures at the doorway with her thumb. "She went that way."
Melmoth: "I said I would return, you little whores! I said I would return, Butterfly, Dark An... wait...."
The cloud takes a slightly human shape, shining like salt under the sun.
"Oh... um. Sorry, sorry. You do not mind if my servants kill the Butterfly, right?"
Bronze Butterfly: "... hey! Of course they do! The Pale Angel loves me! They know that without the Bronze Butterfly she would never be able to achieve her goals! And the guys... you know how they look up to me! Right, guys? Right? Riiight?"
Kalevi: "Not really," Kalevi said, his elbow bracing onto the table top and his cheek propping on one fist. He picked at the pheasant again, sparks leaping off his finger tips and singing the meat. He gave the three men a glance. "I haven't been contracted yet, so this isn't really any of my business. Just keep away from the table. And try not to bleed on the bread when they kill you."
Vorpal: Vorpal fixes the younger assassin with a very dry stare. "For that alone, Bee-Bee, I'm tempted to leave you to fight them all by yourself."
Selina de Windia: "I don't recommend you leave my apprentice high and dry unless you want me coming after you next." Selina says from outside the doorway.
Arguin Cesta: "Actually, I do." He says, picking some glass off his clothes, while the slave allows him to sip on some of the wine, "The ladies have a contract with me. And assuming the loud one manages to calm them down, I will have even more money. So no, I do not think I am happy with you killing any of them, Melmoth. Do us a favor and be gone."
Kalevi: The mercenary raised his head, casting a look towards the haggish figure in the doorway. "Payment for helping her?"
Melmoth: "Oh, dear Cesta... who do you think I am killing next? I have talked with people, an... oh! Dark Angel! So, both treacherous wenches are in one place! Step inside and meet your own assassination, girl... I got the best in the bussiness to fight. Your equals. No... your superiors! Nail? Stray?" On the man's brow, the mark of Dawn shines. On the tiger's brow, the mark of the Full Moon. And Melmoth takes a whip of golden and gems. "Now, can you come in, I don't want to ruin the doors. And I never liked that window anyway."
Arguin Cesta: Cesta looks at Kalevi... then looks at them... then back at Kalevi. His expression still unchanged, now that his beautiful pair of slaves have managed to remove the glass with his help, and given him back the chalice of wine. "Hmmm. A full Caravan Protection fee. Oh, but I will give a big extra if you kill one of those bozos. Do, however, try to keep Melmoth alive." He reclines on his chair. "Deity or not, I will need to make an example of someone tonight."
Narrator: The glass falls on the ground, and over them. The Solar, unshaven, moving his reversed-grip blades in a menacing configuration, watching the Abyssals with his eyes as slits "I have fought your kind before... your arrogance is simply the way to your fall."
The white tiger man, just smiles, calling them with his fingers... "It is not very honourable to do this, but you are villains! It is time you pay for all the blood you have spilt!"
And the god... the god awaits!
The glass fills the air.
Cold wind blows in.
Night in Amber Post.
Time for the dead.
Cesta still calmly sipping from his drink, the pair of slaves hiding as far behind him as their chains would allow, Aghar holding the big bone as if it was a mace... and the assassins in front of them. Well, mercenaries. Hired by Melmoth, the Salt God. The Solar shifts his blades, stepping down from the table, symbol of Night shining on his forehead... Well, hope you enjoyed the show. I am much more subtler than this, but Melmoths calling the show. And it is enough money to subvert a few principles... and you. Do not try to run, Abyssal... I have fought your kind before... I know your tricks...
To which the white tiger Lunar symply shrugs. Not very honorable, but ah.. you are Abyssals. I can smell death and evil in you. All the blood. Can bend honor a bit for that.. He stays on the table, walking slowly towards his prey... right in time to see Bronze Butterflys movements.
Butterfly is the first to act, pushing her chair away from the table, jumping back... and before the chair even hit the ground, she was already reaching for her knives, and sending a volley of them against the Lunar! ... who promptly grabs two of between his fingers... but a third one hits him, between shoulder and neck, drawing crimson blood on white fur... making him narrow his eyes at the Dragon-Blooded. That... was not nice. You tried to kill me. You tried to kill me. You tried to kill me!!!
The Lunar flies in a rage, roaring, becoming a towering white beast....
... crap. Is all Butterfly can say...
Kalevi: "Contract accepted."
Unlike the Butterfly, Kalevi doesn't rise, but draws his knees up to his chest and plants his feet against the edge of the table, his arms bracing on the chair bellow him. With a tremendous shove, he sends it flying across the room at the transforming tiger Lunar, a wave of side dishes and half-finished meals crashing down where Nail stood. The Son of the Storm had followed the thrust of his legs off his chair and landed crouched on his feet.
"You idiots had better hope that the faux-dark one or myself are the ones who kill you," he growled lowly. Kalevi crossed his arms before his face, his sleeves beginning to writhe. "Because what we'll do to you will seem kind compared to what the Angels will."
Of course, he wasn't about to try to take that damned moon-beast head on. He was confident, not suicidal. Spear-points glinting and crackling with hissing tendrils of lightening, a swarm of chains burst out of Kalevi's coat sleeves and swam through the air around him. They hovered a moment, then as one all four snapped to attention towards Nail and from four different directions at once, came thrusting in towards the Lunar.
Kalevi wasn't done just yet though. The chains acted with only a passing focus of his need. That left him to look towards his own protection.
The mercenary rose, his left arm dropping, as something considerably larger than a mere chain began to tumble link-by-link from his sleeve. Segregated shards of a blade, linked by whipcord bands of wire, tumbled for an endless second, pooling into a spiral onto the floor by his feet. Kalevi spread his fingers wide and the cord linking the shards suddenly snapped back upwards into his sleeve, drawing the pieces together tightly into the shape of a long, heavy blade of blue steel and bluer jade.
Donner-Rand, the sword that had struck Vorpal's wrist numb, all those years ago.
Vorpal: Today, however, Vorpal's wrist is just about to bend down to set the fork in her hand into a juicy piece of steak when the steak, the plate and the entire table underneath suddenly decide to go flying at the assassins.
The Pale Angel pauses, seeming suddenly out of place sitting in a chair in the middle of the room without a table to complete the picture. The fork hovers...
"Now you've done it, Kalevi", she mutters under her breath.
Nail: "Rrrowr... disohnorable... bastards!" The thing growls, moving lighting-quick to stop Kalevi's chains, intending to get them to rein the irritating little man closer... claws shining against chain in the candlelight!
Stray: Nail manages to catch most of the chains, but one goes in... drawing a little more blood. Still, Stray knew, they were mere scratches. And the Abyssal was still dining... the nerve. But the mercenary knew how to use his opponent's overconfidence against them! And so he walked calmly to the Pale Angel... and, swiftly, brought a knife to her neck. "Nothing personal, you see. But your terror ends now!"
Vorpal: The Pale Angel does not seem to have the presence of mind to get up when Stray approached her, and as his knife flashes forth, she seems to be completely unprepared for it.
For a split-second, things look grim indeed for the Pale Angel, but then comes an unexpected clink of metal and the assassin's knife halts inches away from the Ghost-Blooded's white throat.
Vorpal raises her red eyes, looking sourly at her would-be killer. Interposed between the knife and the Pale Angel's throat is a fork. Pale arcs of Essence sizzle up and down its metal length. "Nothing personal, but you just reached the end of my patience."
Aghar: They are unarmed. All the Pale Angel has, is a fork. But he... he is Aghar, the Son of Giants. He is a man who has never been unarmed. Once, he was truly unarmed. Completely, and surrounded by enemies. Ah, Jaur, he was a good horse. A mighty fine horse. A pity Aghar had to grab its corpse by its legs and beat his enemies to death with him. But at least, he knew, somewhere, Jaur felt vindicated on his killers by being the ultimate object of their bloody gory beating.
There are no horses here. But Aghar is nothing if not a resourceful mountain of a man.
And thus, putting his goat-leg club on his mouth, he picks the whole table from the ground, spilling their food all around, and with a mighty roar, brings it crashing down against the Lunar's tough head! He had faced big white tigers before. And there was a simple solution to them all - keep beating them until they stop moving!
The table hits, breaking in half, sending the Lunar flying through old Realm armor and shelves of books, nearly breaking a wall, roaring with pain! Aghar had hit him, and hit him good, Tiger-blood on the table. He turned to Bronze Butterfly, wetting his lips. "Hmmm, wonder if we'll have tiger meat tonight."
Vorpal: Vorpal's eyes do not break their contact with Stray's even for an instant, but her hands suddenly turn into a blur. She yanks her fork hand downwards, forcing the knife off her throat. Meanwhile, her free hand darts forth and grabs a good grip of Stray's worn monk-tunic. A powerful tug brings the assassin crashing against Vorpal's shoulder and the fork is ready to meet the challenge.
Trailing pale flames, the improvised tool of terror sweeps in a curving arch behind Stray's legs and towards his exposed buttocks.
Stray: Stray manages to stop the fork inches from his behind, backing away with a strange face... "Are you mad, woman? Are you that overconfident?!?"
Vorpal: "Not at all", Vorpal reponds, hiding her disappointment at the failed attack behind a dead-pan face, "I just do not have any respect for you."
Melmoth: "But... but those are your equals! Celestials! How... how can you act like that?!?"
Kalevi: "Those are Celestials," the mercenary chuckled raspily. "Those are not her equal."
Arguin Cesta: "It appears, my dear godling, that you have picked great Exalts in station indeed... but there are always those unfit for their stations. Alas, I am afraid you have gotten a batch the Angels will not recognize. I am afraid you are doomed to failure." He did not even look at Melmoth - instead he glared behind him, his glare enough to make the servants give up on being afraid of the fight, and come serve him once again, scuttling fallen food and drink for teir master...
Vorpal: "Let's skip with the philosophy, shall we?" Vorpal growls and twirls the terrible fork between her finges. "Come and die already. I want to get back to my food."
Selina de Windia: Where are all the...oh wait.
The mercenary hadn't mentioned they were not right outside the room. They weren't even off in the distance of the hallway. That changed everything Well then, they could wait.
Selina hears the beginnings of battle inside the dinner-hall, and decides it's a better idea to not let her apprentice die against...people like that. She draws Dreamshard and strides back into the room, the essence which Gennadi had so derisively termed 'the First Circle' infusing her form, taking her withered and strengthened appearance and shooting it back up to the level of beauty. And beyond. The gem gleams at her throat, and desire becomes her shield.
"Watch out." Her voice is silky amusement. "Because I had to do this, I won't be as nice as before."
Vorpal: A grimace of... pain flashes across Vorpal's face at the sound of that voice. She attempts to resist the temptation, but has no choice but to look over her shoulder at the beautiful devil filling the doorway.
"...you idiot", she whimpers, almost inaudibly.
Selina de Windia: Primed to spring on one of them, Selina...waits. Standing there, the door closed behind her after she drew it shut as she walked back into the room before. "Before we begin...I should say that while we're deathknights who kill people, right now, we're here to get an army to stop much worse people who want to enslave the entire North in undeath. And your gracious employer," She gestures to Melmoth. "Is simply angry at me because I made some side profit on stopping him from gouging normal people with something they need to live, and hurting the commerce of thousands more. This is all his little revenge scheme. So, how do you like being the tools of a petty, greedy small god? At least I mostly kill people who deserve it."
The corona about her flickers a bit. "But, if you still want to fight me, well..."
Stray: "May well be true. But so are you pawns of a Deathlord... and me, I am a mercenary."
"My rep would be ruined if I were to switch sides on my employer without him double-crossing me first..."
Selina de Windia: "Everyone takes a few setbacks once in awhile. Even I did." Selina says with growing impatience, the part of her that wants to rend and devour prodding her to do so. "So, you are saying you don't want to walk away, despite all that?"
Stray: "That is what I am saying, devourer." He says stoically, grim eyes meeting the Dark Angel's.
"We are the best, so are you. Bring it on..."
Selina de Windia: "Can't say I didn't try." Selina says, her tone a shrug, then springs at Stray with her weapon rushing forward, whistling through the air as she wraps the chill of the Void about it. Her anima flares higher, but no elaborate combo-sigil or effect lights the room.
Stray: Stray could have called upon his power to deflect the blow... but he believed himself able to stop it. But truly, the Dark Angel was insidious - an assasin's move, behind his defenses, a feint the likes no mortal could execute. And so he stumbles backwards, a large gash on his chest, clutching it as he looks at the Dark Angel... and knows he will not make the same mistake twice.
At least, this one was not goofing around.
Nail: The Lunar roared. The Butterfly was lost for a moment, and it focused on the most immediate target... the large man. Man almost as large as Nail. Man hurt Nail. Man Nail wants to kill. To crush. To eviscerate! And so, Nail rushes towards the Son of Giants, its claws breaking the table, rushing straight to the giant's heart....!
Aghar: Aghar had looked in the eye of death plenty of times.
As a survivor of Angel's End, he can even safely say he and death have quite a friendly relationship.
And when an angry, berserking Lunar - even one like that - charges towards him, Aghar notices the call of death. Images wish to show up on his mind, but he knows those images are Saturn's Taunt. Taunting him into making a mistake he does not. He smiles in the face of death. He laughs. He moves back, kicking a chair in front of the monster. And another. And a fried trout from the ground. He dances a dance of giant men of the mountain, throwing his legs to the air, and kicking all he can in front of the tiger!
He lived battle. He loved battle. And he did not underestimate his foe, who could rend him from limb to limb.
And that is why he picked his jug of ale, threw his legs up, and laughed!
... it was not enough, and the monster rent his furs, spilling his blood around!
"A tiger scar, to go with the Bull scar, the Yeddim scar, and the black-thing-General-killed scar! Ho!" Aghar called, drinking from his mug. It hurt. Like hell. His blood spilled on the food and on the thing's claws.
But damned if he'd give the thing the satisfaction.
Vorpal: Pride swells in the Pale Angel's chest at the sight of Aghar valiantly defending himself against a foe a mortal should not be able to match. His efforts are not quite enough, however, and familiar as she is with the jolly barbarian, she instantly sees through his bravado.
Aghar is hurt.
Vorpal's eyes narrow. A low growl rises from her throat as she reaches for the sword laying at her feet.
Stray: Stray clutched his chest, his own large gash. It was time to get serious.
"Melmoth, stop standing around and come help, damn you. It is your fight too, and you are enough of a god to whack the big laughing crazy of a mortal!" He grunts out, then closes his eyes... focusing. On all his tricks of the trade, all the manners in which he learned how to move... how to kill. For Stray is born and bred Mercenary, a killer trained by a great teacher. And it is like that that he rushes to the Dark Angel... afterimages of light closing in the air, as he strikes her five times, burning with speed!
Vorpal: "Mind", Vorpal snarls as she rises from the chair, the sword in hand, her eyes fixed on the raving Nail. "Even though I chose to pick up my sword, I still have no respect for you."
She stalks across the room towards her chosen prey, heedless of what is taking place around her. The blade sways gently in her grip with the rhythm of her footsteps, a wavering halo of pale flames blurring its lines. "You just made me angry."
And all of a sudden she launches herself forward, her anima exploding around her, her sword streaking in a blinding arc of pale fire at the Lunar. The flames still linger in the air when she twists her body in a full circle and hurls a second sweep at Nail, then a third and a fourth. The fading remnants of the fiery crescents flutter to the ground so much like pale feathers in her wake.
Stray: ... strays draws some of her blood. Of course, that is not how it should have gone. She should be dead. Fully, completely totally dead. Cut. But... she dodged... so alluringly... and he did not stop looking. He could not. It was hard not to. It was not because of that! He is a professional! He is one of the best! Of course he is not... he does not find her...
"... you are too hot." He says grudgingly, under clenched teeth.
Nail: Nail, thankfully, did not look at the Dark Angel's lust-enhanced self, thus saving all those present the view of a giant Beastman manhood that could rip even a woman like the Pale Angel in half if fully erect. Instead, it is focusing on killing the big man. But then, comes the pale woman with a big thing. A big whacking thing. He moves to grasp big whacking thing, but it moves too fast! He stops big whacking thing, and wishes to use it as toothpick! To big rests of big man from his teeth!
Vorpal: ...the first sweep cuts the Lunar's grasping claws off his arms and sends him hurtling upwards like a rag doll. He does not get far, however, for the sword is already coming down at him from the above with its second strike. Down the Lunar goes, but he never has a chance to hit the floor, for the blade is sweeping around for the third strike, this time slamming into him from the side. Nail has barely had the time to change his direction when Vorpal whirls her sword around in a full circle, the great blade smashing into him from the opposite side. The force of the blow is great enough to send him on a horizontal path across the room. He crashes into the far wall and through it, emerging outside the building in a billow of dust and broken stone. There he falls, a spinning, broken and lifeless thing, onto the courtyard.
Bronze Butterfly: The Butterfly finally lands, close to the Dark Angel... and on her hands, four knives between her fingers!
And she lets all fly, towards the Solar, each one for a vital place...
Vorpal: "Whoops", Vorpal mutters, withdrawing her sword from the final swing and staring at the hole she had made into the wall. "I wonder if the mercenaries saw that."
Snapping back to attention, she throws a glance over her shoulder at Stray, just as the remaining Exalt winces at the sting of the throwing knife. "Next. Your crime is harming the Dark Angel. Prepare to be punished."
Selina de Windia: "As you can see, I've gotten a little too powerful now." Selina says as she levels one hand at Stray, fingers splayed outward, relaxedly. Her voice is gleeful as she watches what's left of the Lunar sail out of the room and to the ground with peripheral vision. "I might have to fight a little hard!"
Then she lets loose a bolt of Void energy at Stray, the power gathering around her arm and crackling, through the air. And another, and another. And another, eating light and making it hard to see exactly where in the shadow the bolt is to precisely parry it. Four in all, in such a rapid succession that she is aiming and predicting his movements to dodge or parry the attacks before the first has even failed or succeeded in hitting the Solar.
Vorpal: Vorpal swings the sword onto her shoulder. Fortunately, she is far away enough from the imploding Exalt that she is spared from the splattering gore. "Well", she shrugs. "Never mind."
Melmoth: Melmoth observes as Stray is gutted by the knife... and then struck by the blasts, only his twin knives falling, his body turned to dust.... he watches it, in disbelief... "That... that is not fair."
Selina de Windia: "That was just a greeting! Even a Terrestrial can do that!" Selina tells the spirit as she walks back into the room, further inside. "Why are you wearing that expression, Melmoth? It looks like you weren't expecting us to be this strong."
Melmoth: "I... I... your enemies were Celestials! They should... they should be stronger!"
Arguin Cesta: One of the slaves scuttled for a little bit of the roast on the ground, a still-clean part, placing it on a fork... and their master eats, slowly, watching Melmoth... and leaning back on the chair, not worried in the least. "I told you, Melmoth."
Bronze Butterfly: "... hey! Terrestrials can do much more than that! You elitist!"
Selina de Windia: "I want my dinner." Selina growls, looking at her dinner splattered on the floor from the fight. The beautiful monster begins to pitch a fit. "I am not paying for this mess. No! No! NO!"
Arguin Cesta: "He is after you."
Bronze Butterfly: "Um, that is right. He is. He was just after me because I didn't want to kill you!"
It must be noted her tongue does not come even close to 'failed'
Vorpal: Vorpal sighs and presses a palm against her face. "Kalevi", she says, sternly, "never again clean the table like that when we are still eating."
Marching back to her chair, the Ghost-Blooded plops down and leans her sword against the handrest. "Enough of this already. Do you still have something to say, spirit?"
Kalevi: "Yes ma'am. Apologies, ma'am," the mercenary answered stiffly and quietly, his eyes locked on Selina just as they had been from the moment the Abyssal had returned to the room wearing a veil of darkness and lust.
Melmoth: "I... I... will have my revenge! You... just you wait!"
He says angrily, and then disappears, becoming insbstantial and letting his form sink....
Selina de Windia: "YOU'LL DO FOR A NICE APPETIZER." Selina yells, and strikes out with her rapier, the edges of it flaring with the kind of abyssal energy that particularly harms spirits. She sinks the weapon into the small god's retreating form. Rather like a steak knife at this point.
'Melmoth: The blade goes in... and starts to consume Melmoth! As the salt god screams, Selina drinks his essence, every last bit of it... of salty, salty, rich and flavorful essence!
And the Butterfly scoffs. "... man, you are just like a barbarian."
Selina de Windia: Selina sweeps her blade back into its sheath and takes a seat back at the table. Her old seat. And then grabs some nearby food and begins eating it. With utensils. While still in her form.
Vorpal: "Dress properly when you eat", Vorpal points out with a low voice, leaning back in her chair and resting her chin against her knuckles.
Kalevi: A napkin suddenly floats in front of Selina's face, somehow surviving the battle still clean and creased from being folded. Draped over one of his chins, Kalevi politely shakes it loose onto her lap. "You have a little... something on your face, dark one. I think it's salt god."
Selina de Windia: "It sure is." Selina wipes the little bit off of her chin, then continues eating. "I'm not going to out to deal with the rest of those clowns until I have more food in my stomach."
Selina quickly does exactly that. It's almost amazing how fast someone can eat, even properly, if they're hungry enough. Then she steps out of the monster, a dark light obscuring her as her form as it shifts back to normal. The aura of lust she does not lift. That will be sufficient protection when she deals with the muntineers.
"Enjoy the rest of your dinner." She tells them all, in a not so happy tone, and walks out the front door and down through the building to outside.
Vorpal: Vorpal shakes her head, brooding. "Someone bring me a cup of blood", she mumbles and waves her hand vaguely.
She would like to enjoy the rest of the dinner, yes, but there simply is no longer a table for them to eat from.
Vorpal shakes her head, brooding. "Someone bring me a cup of blood", she mumbles and waves her hand vaguely.
Mercenaries: The mercenaries are not terribly difficult to find. The night is strangely quite (particularly strange after the battle they had just been through) and Selina needed only follow the rumbling sound of dire discussion. There are a few look-outs posted around the small plaza of buildings the sell-swords had gathered in, soldiers on roof-tops with bows and a few others lounging around the mouth of the alley. None of them give the Windian any challenge when she comes. A few raise weapons, but the action is more instinctive than threatening. All of them stare, fear and desire painted on their faces.
It's almost against the odds when one of the soldiers breaks from the rest and goes running back down the alley, throwing looks at her over his shoulder the whole way. As Selina comes on, the rumbling of voices grows quiet and still.
Selina de Windia: "Hmpf." Selina sniffs quietly to herself, walking into the midst of them. Everything is her fault for some reason, all the time! "So, what exactly is your problem?" Her tone is grumpy, and not at all content.
Mercenaries: They ease back uncertainly as she walks into the middle of them, eyeing with distrustful stares. Faces watch her from every side, mostly aged and scarred. These are captains, leaders of their bands. There are few of the common soldiers about, save those who'd been stationed on look-out and now peer down from roof-tops or lurk on the shadow edges of the alleys.
After a moment of silence and wordless grumbling, one steps forward, a woman far older than Selina with graying hair and only one good eye. "You broke the rules! You interrupted a match! Tried to kill a man! And not one of those damned idiots like Pain and Suffering or whatever the hell they called themselves!"
A chorus of agreements follow, other voices raising to lend their supposed.
"How are we supposed to trust that?"
"... no reason to fight in some tournament anyway!"
"No if there is just as much a chance of her killing us there as in a real fight!"
"Your promises only hold when it's convenient for you?!"
Selina de Windia: Selina listens to all the complaints, lets them die down, and responds, just a bit quietly. "And why then, was that the only time I did it? Don't you think that's a bit odd I only do it with that one man?"
She doesn't exactly want to tell them just what that man made her feel. People should not be getting the idea deathknights have weaknesses.
"We've had some close fights, and nothing came of them. I wasn't aiding my partner, either. She was winning handily." Her voice is cold as ice now. "I was trying to kill him. Nothing more."
"And I would have tried whether it was in a fight, or I had met him on the street somewhere." Selina growls. "It has nothing to do with the tournament. Nothing at all."
Mercenaries: "That doesn't excuse it!"
"Thats not even an explanation!"
Other voices joined the complaints, until the woman out in front silenced them with a sharp gesture. She stared at Selina, one eye brown and the other yellowed with a veiny cataract. "You said yourself, he was loosing. He did no better than any other who've challenged the two of you. Worse than some. There was no threat in him. It was a random attempt at murder!"
"And if it wasn't, that means you had some personal grievance from beyond the arena to take out on him which had no business in there," she huffed, shaking her head. "It means either you're crazy or bloody-minded in vengeance, neither of which speak well on the agreement you and the other one made that victory over you in there assures you'll submit to custody."
Selina de Windia: "It was also an accident." Selina says slowly.
Mercenaries: "You accidentally leapt into the arena and tried to kill a man who'd already been beaten?" the woman answered, her voice asking as much as accusing.
Selina de Windia: "I lost control of myself." Selina replies with a tone that suggests she does not like the idea. "It is none of your business what triggered that, but suffice it to say, it pricked deep and it was not some personal grievance." She spits the last phrase out with enough venom to rival one of Elenna's poisons.
Mercenaries: "And if you 'loose control' of yourself again? If one of us pricks deep as well?" Another of the mercenaries demands from the edge of the crowd. "Are we supposed to walk barefoot and blindfolded over soft earth and only pray we dont step on broken bottle hidden in the path? I risk my life for money, but that doesn't mean I'm a fool for it!"
More agreements from the others, though the speaker himself was quick to fade back into the crowd. The woman out in front motioned the others to silence once more. "We've played by your rules girly and played square about it. Followed along with this little game of yours. But why should we if the rules don't apply to you as well? Will this sort of accident happen again?"
Selina de Windia: "Are you like him?" The Windian asks flatly. "It was specific to him, as far as I can tell. And now that it has happened once, I doubt that will happen again."
"But perhaps you should ask yourselves another question. A much more important one. Two, in fact."
Mercenaries: "Those being?"
Selina de Windia: "The first is something you may not have considered." Selina begins. "Did it ever occur to you that I did not promise to refrain from destroying those who deliver me to the Prophet and his ilk?" Her tone is dire, fell, deadly. "I will go quietly, it is true. But for daring to trifle such with my fate, when I escape and have killed him, I will return to avenge myself on you. "
"I did not promise not to do this. Nor shall I ever. And I would do the same even if we did not have this agreement. It is the price you pay to hunt me and succeed -- to attempt to cage the Dark Angel. You will get no easy money off of my slavery."
"Which is why I wonder often why you do not simply take my terms."
Mercenaries: A pause and the mercenary captains all traded glances. Whispers passed between them as well. The woman out in front took a step away to discus it with another scarred woman, dressed in a uniform similar to her own.
That if she lived, she would hunt down whomever turned her in was not something many had been unaware of. Lesser men and women had devoted their lives to acts of revenge.
That was not what the confused and hurried discussion that followed was about. At long last, a beardless young captain in red took the bold step to simply ask. "What terms?"
Selina de Windia: "Perhaps none who were aware told anyone else." Selina begins, tone just as flat as before now. "My terms are this: I pay you all alot of money for winter garrison in the Boil. Easy work, wintering. Possible campaigning should the war require it. Twenty jade talents or whatever that would be in silver talents, even divided among the lot of you, is good money for that kind of work. You will be under the command of Iria Lumanti of Whiteshield there. Should campaigning be necessary, then under the command of Valencia Silverstar. I cannot imagine why this would be objectionable, unless you enjoy Amber Post and the towns around it that much for the winter."
"This leads to my other question for you to ask yourselves: Just what cause do you think you would be supporting should you turn us in?" She asks proddingly. "Answer: the cause of the same people who have tried to wipe out and enslave Whiteshield, and are going for Windia next. Do not think this is only a clash of the titans which you can escape. The dead have forever. They can look over the ledger sheet and correct every obel, every bit, to their favor. And to the dead, their favor means your eternal servitude or worse."
Mercenaries: They listen, their rumbling restlessness growing quieter as she speaks. And they question, just as she asks them too. Each one, eyes growing distant as they turn their thoughts inward. Eyes growing intense as they trade glances with one another.
It's a hard thing, to appeal to the morality of a group of sell-swords, but Selina finds the one thread that runs through all of them, woven deep inside their hearts. She puts their position into a new light, one that dawns on their weathered faces one by one, as they realize that the one thing any of them love more than even money is being put under threat. Freedom. The freedom to choose who they serve and when. The freedom not to serve, if they so choose.
The dead offer them much, more than any of them could ever hope to see in their life times... but for what? Would they really be selling themselves to slavery for it? Would they really be signing their own death warrants to take it? Silently, they all seem to ask themselves that same question, each finding the answer for themselves.
Motion, and a short man in armor of aquamarine and shell steps forward. His broad face is tense, but resolute, as he bows it towards Selina's feet. "Officer Majenda Magar, known to my soldiers as Matty-Doo. This contract we was offered to hunt you, it had seemed the most profitable. It does not seem to be so no more. No papers was signed, so there is nothing to break. We are done with it. In the name of the Raiders of the Blue Crescent, I accept your offered contract. This one shall be your servant."
As he finished, another stepped forward, a northern man in black, who silently touched his fist to his mouth, then his heart, then kneeled before her. And another, and another. They came forward slowly, making gestures of acquiescence and obedience, until the entire plaza bowed to her. Even the soldiers on the rooftops and in the alleys set aside their arms to show their agreement.
Selina de Windia: On one hand, this is good. The tournament is practically over anyway. They could begin issuing scrip and making preparations to ship out.
On the other hand, I bet the Pale Angel is somehow going to be angry I did this.
- - Back to Eighth Movement
- - Back to A Dance of Angels
