Heroes of the Fall - Page 16

AntiMatter101 · 03-29-2012, 12:29 PM

Frellon had been fighting all his life. While Carolinus liked to fight and win against overwhelming odds, Frellon was still no stranger to fighting multiple opponents. 3v3, after all, is just as fair as 1v1. The very first lesson when fighting in any kind of numbers is this:

Allways be aware of your surroundings.

Getting tossed through the air was disorienting, for sure. Now, however, he was back on the ground, where he belonged, and fighting Carolinus's kind of fight; where an attack could come from anywhere, at any time. This was the kind of situation where the difference between life and death lay in trusting your sheild-brother. However Frellon was alone here.

It was time to change that.

Frellon saw Faden's fall, and Jongo's failed assistance. He saw Dasque's assault end similarly to Faden's, yet Jongo still was occupied. There, thats where he was needed.

The trajectory of Frellons fight altered. No longer did he fight to reach Kalandor, now he fought to reach Faden and Dasque's side; together, he was certain, they could end this.

No sooner had he come to this conclusion than:

Quote:

Originally Posted by TheDarkDM

"Impressive. Perhaps I shall have to expend some effort, after all."

Without warning, the sand engulfing Frellon withdrew, only for a spear of black glass to come shooting up from beneath him. A blow of his sword saved Frellon from grievous injury, but instead of flying away the shards of glass rebounded against him, cutting long furrows in exposed flesh before reforming before him in a bloody, slashing blade. Above Faden and Dasque, a river of black sand came crashing down, exploding into impaling spikes they barely managed to dodge.

Frellon's fury at being injured did not dampen his reflexes. He easily parried the blade, and rolled to the side in order to avoid the next attack.

He felt a cool sense of satisfaction, a blade, of any shape or color, he could easily fend off. His movements steadily took him closer and closer to his goal.

A song carried on the wind, with the words, memmory surged, yet Frellon thrust back against it, being distracted now would serve to get him killed. Like that time he had sparred with Nieve, and the scent of flowers kept making his nose itch. NO! I have to keep focused!

He arrived at his siblings' side, still bleeding slightly from the myriad of cuts, ever so glad that he had found suitable chainmail before now. There was no time for formailities, the work of dodging and striking down the black spires that attempted to transfix them left no time for words. With all three of them at the task, however, it would hopefully prove somewhat easier.

shorewood · 03-29-2012, 12:38 PM

The river of the olm was coming into sight when a sprinting Amanda reached him. "Haramhold, the black sands have corrupted Kalandor and your siblings have engaged it in battle."

Pausing for a few scant second Haramhold shouts "Return to the Green MorningStar and make her ready to sail." before continuing toward the river. If we loose then perhaps we still can escape..

It seemed to Haramhold that it took an eternity to reach the river and as he looked over the battle fear clutched the god's heart. Jongo in the form of a great serpent was twined around Kalandor squeezing with a bone breaking force. His other siblings fought with equal intensity and desperation.

Holding forth the crystal of inner light Haramhold bellowed "Kalandor can you hear me?!?" the artifacts light piercing the sandstorm and casting shadows across the battle field "You are a child of Baz'Auran the creator, his divine essence brought you forth from the void. His light lives in you as it does all of his children. This foe is not worthy enough to possess one such as yourself, EXPEL THIS VILE ABOMINATION! EXPEL IT!."

All who gazed upon Haramhold could see his divine spark shine forth from the crystal in his hand. its light reminding those it touched what they were and more importantly who they were. For the gods which struggled they recalled if only briefly the white city and of the times of joy and of sorrow which accompanied it. Memories of the fall, and of unlocking their divine essence as they each ascended into god hood their own way.

And of what the black sand witnessed in its twisted mind naught but the darkness could know.

All of this lasted for no more than a heartbeat, but with any luck that is all it took to turn the tide of the battle.

Tectonic Robot · 03-29-2012, 07:00 PM

The work in the fields ground to a halt as Llassar, with a swipe of his shoe, broke another row of the hard wintry ground for planting. This was the fifth time today everyone had stopped to watch the one who was increasingly called the king of the soil, and productivity would have been low if it wasn't for the practical miracles he was doing. Lyra, the girl who had first found Llassar, scampered up to him and called out: "Uncle, oh uncle, how are you doing all these tricks?" And Llassar looked down at her sheepishly, and said, shrugging: "I don't know, little one! I just am!" And she said back to him, "Can you teach me, uncle? Pleeeeeaaase?" And he ruffled her hair and smiled and he said that he'd do it when there wasn't so much work to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The harvest had been looking good. Corn was beginning to rise already, tall and proud lines standing up as testament to their work. But Llassar felt a thumping in his chest, almost like a second heart; and he felt tremors throughout the ground, echoing from distant places. There were people who were starving and didn't know what to do, people who lacked the knowledge or means to farm for themselves. Llassar couldn't ignore the vibrations that felt as though they were coming from his own heart; and halfway through the summer, he called a meeting.

"I'm going away. I don't know where to, and I don't know when I'll be back, but I want you all to know that I'll always be thinking of you. And I will be back, I promise! The villagers begged him to stay; they could hardly imagine life without the lanky, friendly stranger they'd met not a year ago. But he was adamant; they would survive, even thrive, just fine without him, and he'd be sure to return!

The people were not calmed by his assertions. Their was talk of strong men and women becoming suddenly sick, of a racking cough and a high fever, but they realized that he had his heart set on leaving.

So, despite their pleas, Llassar departed their presence, and walked to a lonely, remote field, sitting on the edge of the forest. He sat in the still tilled soil, pushed his hands underneath in a loamy embrace, and asked it to take him where people needed his help. He sat there for three days, feeling the soil and it's life, until his body beat with rhythms of harvest. And he sat for three more days, breathing the air, feeling the sun, swaying in the breeze. He rose, and begin to walk through the corn. He walked for nine days, tirelessly trodding through the lush, green corn. As he walked, the green faded, and the corn became withered and brown. Still he pressed on, pushing aside leaf after leaf, until the corn faded entirely; he found himself in a barren, rocky wilderness. Looking around, he began to explore...

Erik Vale · 03-29-2012, 10:39 PM

Spoiler

A Divine Rage
Kalandor felt the light. It was his anouncer. While it was still in Haramhold's hands, he felt empowered. He felt himself. He didn't give in, he didn't flee. He sought adventure. He sourt danger. He would not give in.

His hand, already through the bars, begining the act of squeexing through, an act he could feel he shoulder begining, raised from it's position reaching towards the black webbing towards, that thing.. It rose in a much remembered action, tought by Analan as a last moment defence.

Learning's of a Young God
Kalandor sat at Analan's feet. He was a spirit of the hunt, and was assigned to Kalandor. He accomponied him almost constantly in some way or another.
One of Kalandor's favourite memories of him, was the first time they wen't into the 'Green Girdle', a series of forests to the south of the main area's that composed the white city.
What was that lessoned called.
Ah yes, 'What do you do first if you become lost in the woods?'
And the answer wasn't cry Baz'Auran.
Eventually, they got to the point where Analan taught him a rather useful thing.
What do you do when your confronted?
When you cant get a way?
And you have nothing?

"Well Kalandor? Do you have any answers for this one?"
Kalandor furrowed his brows.
"Well, I use my hand's I surpose. Maybe claws if I have time. Or a nearby rock?"
"Nope. No rocks. But what if it's skin is hard?"
"The only thing I can do. Try and dodge while crying for help."
"I thought you were more detirmined than that. Well, your young. Let me show you something."
And for the remainder of that day, Analan taught him, what Kalandor refered to as a panic strike.
He taught him to create a ball of will.
It took the entire day, but he succeded, he created a ball of will, and he projected it.
Frustrated and angry, afterwards he could only think poor tree.
The Tree had a hole in it, and soon after fell, broken in half, all the leaves blasted off.
It was something he was told not to do amounst his siblings. He didn't know why, but in the years after the fall, Kalandor had had to fall back on it.
Normally though, he wasn't this exhausted.

A Divine Rage
Leave them alone! And Get Out of MY MIND!
And he bundled all his anger, frustration and fear, and blasted it towards the beings spider form.

Raz_Fox · 03-29-2012, 11:38 PM

Gold

Fayruz opened her eyes, and found she was underwater. Everything above the river's surface was distorted, bright light and dark swirling shadows, and the only clear thing at all to her was Saven, struggling in the water beside her, hands locked around his own neck. There was a fire in her throat, that reminded her of Gamesha's hands wrapped around it - but he would not, he could not, not now, not now, he was changed, he wouldn't. How could Saven, then, have hurt her? How could her brother turn against them, wield the black sand to hurt her siblings?

Perhaps it was better not to get up. There was a fire raging within her, an insistent fear of the darkness flickering about her eyes, but her hands were cold, and her legs were heavy; the fire would be washed away in water, and she would not have to worry about pain, about her little brother hurting her in unimaginable ways, about how he could so casually murder everyone she cared about and loved. Getting up would hurt, and it would expose her to more pain.

Father, Father, why did you forsake her? She was Fayruz, she was weak, she did not want to hurt her brother, she did not want to have to fight him, to leave any of her beloved mortal loves vulnerable to harm. Saven, quiet, strong, selfless... Gamesha, yearning, loyal, hurt... Shyreza, bold, clever, innocent... Father, why did you let this happen? Why do you allow such pain? If Gamesha, brave young Gamesha, were already dead, there would be nothing she could do. No, better to let the river wash her away, to close her eyes and dream of painless days.

Then she heard it. A song, high and clear, cutting through the water as if it were the music of the stream, and oh, so sweet, so sweet that it broke Fayruz's broken, tired heart. "Fayruz, dearest sister, where are you? When will we be together again?" And she remembered. She remembered walks in the garden with her twin, and days spent playing duets, contests of musical creativity and concerts for the entire city; seeing her sister, her twin, with her dark hair and her bright eyes and her beautiful gowns, as she served at the hand of Baz'Auran. The fear she'd been holding in her heart, that her twin was gone, that Sonata who she loved so much had been lost to her completely, vanished like mist in the morning, replaced with a sense of joy and jubilation. If Sonata was alive... she had to get back up, if only to greet her sister one more time.

Fayruz forced herself out of the water, her hair spilling over her face, almost choking her as she tried to pull air into her lungs. She reached up with a trembling hand to pull the hair away from her face, and looked with dull yellow eyes at her younger brother, who was running past her scarlet-gold bard and her bleeding, broken knight. It was as if he were moving in a dream towards Fayruz, gliding over the hard rock and loose sand about the Olm.

And then light exploded in his hand

Pretty little doll-princess, up in her tower, a foolish little ring for daddy's finger, the know-nothing holding the cup, waiting for her chance to shine as brightly as her siblings, lost in her own adorations of him, lying to herself

Fallen, falling, father, please, I can't, I'm too weak, I am weak, can't help him, save me, please, please, save him, save me

Beaten, broken, bleeding, ribs cracking, pain, tight hands wrapped around her neck, squeezing, choking, heat, marches, pain, bruises, cracks and falls, cords biting into her skin, pain, pain, so much pain, like a fever burning out disease, a smith hammering metal into a blade, and it hurt so much

And light, water, rushing, constant, sunlight and starbright, slimy-sick darkness pouring into her and there was diamond meeting it, burning away, washing away, fire and water and purity, dragon's screams, and here comes the sun at dusk, down, touching earth

A flash of rainbow feathers, a burning eye, wings unfolded beneath the sun

Sunlight on the River

And a scarred face and a scared child and a frightened man and trapped men and trembling women and caves under dark and the lights of dawn and dusk and so many looking up, trying to touch, skin mottled and pocked and peeling away, for just a touch, just a scrap of flesh

For her

Because she was Fayruz and her people had chosen her and she burned and her hands were running red with blood and bright with sunlight and whiplashed with scars and burns and pure of death and her voice was raw and full of song

And it was better for the healer to die than to kill and best of all to purify

Fayruz straightened, and she turned, and it hurt to keep her eyes open because they were on fire, so bright and wide and clear. She saw herself turn in the water, and she was white and black and gold, caught flashing in her eyes, a gold so pure that it burned. And this was the mystery: that her voice, sweet and demure and as beautiful as the sun on the water, could be a glass knife that slid through the chaos of the battle, cutting it apart for one moment.

"You have hurt the ones I love. You are a dragon-curse, a river-sickness, a corruption, and I am the Dragonslayer and the Healer of the Mother, and the ones I love give me this power." She was on the shore, now, her white robes staining the dry rock, washing away black grains - she didn't remember walking through the river, but there she was, Sonata's song running in her ears, my sister is alive and I am alive and I am FAYRUZ. "And if you want to hurt them, you will have to kill me first." Another step, barely noticed, and another, and another, to where her black-and-white brother-sister had the struggling Kalandor in his-her coils.

She grasped his face gently with one pale hand, her long, dust-stained fingernails tracing a path down his cheek. And then she sang, and held him tight, and let the words that she didn't know burst forth. What rolled from her lips was not from the White City, it wasn't one of the creations of the orchestra, it was hers. It was sunlight and fever and love so great that she would see herself die before any of her siblings.

The sunlight in her hurt. It hurt so much, like reaching into a forge and pushing impurities out of a red blade with her bare fingers, except that her face was burning up and she would take that pain, she would bear it for him, for sweet little Kalandor, and all of her siblings. They didn't deserve pain. They didn't; she would take it. She would bear the fire in her, so hot and vivid, even if it burnt her from the inside-out, if it meant Kalandor would be healed. This was godhood, this was her power, this was what she could do, even if she would not wield a sword or use great magics.

GET OUT OF MY BROTHER.

Kasanip · 03-30-2012, 04:43 AM

Of Ecchr, Aria, the Hymmnoi and a sister's message

Spoiler

Ladorak · 03-30-2012, 04:01 PM

The Challenge

Despite the huge difference in their height and the shimmering helmet upon his head Khar Melkhan could still suddenly make out with perfect clarity the cold blue eyes of Carolinus. He saw reflected there only iron, this foe would break before he bent.

Then the helmet was gone, as was the rest of his white armour, and the Khar beheld a most insolent smile. Carolinus calmly walked backward, disappearing into the shadows of the canopy.

He moved quickly as soon as he was out of sight, circling to flank the Khar. The inky mass around Black Buttress spread out to obscure his form as he darted through what was left of the forest. He could hear the Khar crying out challenges but he did not care.

He broke from the treeline on the Khar's flank, the ruined landscape and shadowy veil doing much to aid in taking the Khar unaware. The spear darted out once, Carolinus ducked beneath a fallen tree. The tip hammered into it's bark, yet it did not break or even splinter. The effect on the Khar was that of hammering his spear into solid stone. It sent a unexpected and powerful jolt up his arms.

By the time he had recovered Carolinus had almost reached him. He took a great step backward, but his limp hindered him. Then it was too late.

Carolinus ran between the Khar's legs and leapt up. A black glass scythe arched upward, severing bone and flesh. Wounded now in both knees the Khar collapsed. Carolinus leapt clear of his plummeting body and shouted something entirely inaudible over the crashing titan.

He waited until the dust and settled and the noise desisted before he spoke again 'This fight is finished. I would have your surrender, not your life.'

Demidos · 04-02-2012, 01:45 AM

Before him stretched out a massive cavern, hundreds of feet around, but Aramar paid little heed -- in front of him towered a monstrous serpent, seemingly made of living fire. It rose up twenty, no thirty spans, easily dwarfing even the massive stalactites that loomed in the darkness above. Its eyes shone white from the white-hot heat they emitted. Its scales seemed to merge together, oozing with the heat of lava itself – the ground around its coiled body glowed a dull red, as if at any moment . Even as Aramar staggered to a sudden halt, the snake turned to face him.

“I am Aratak, the Flaming Serpent, the Fiery Scourge -- he who challenged the sun and lived. And who are you, youngling, to attack my servitors? I thought I had sent you to die, as I had ordered all those of your little band killed. Their death cries were most amusing – even their so called “warriors” wept before dying.”

At this even Aramar’s battle fury quavered. He remembered tales from the White City, tales of darker times, when even the sun had been consumed by a massive serpent, and only through his father’s intervention had the sun been restored. He knew that he looked on a creature that dwarfed his own abilities, god though he was, but at the last statement, he narrowed his eyes and moved forward while mentally projecting a call for aid, from any of his siblings, praying that one would be near.

I stand alone in the mountains, facing a monster out of legend. Come to me, brothers, sisters!

A constant stream of daggers of darkness appeared in his hands as he threw them towards the murderous creature, but they simply dissolved into aether as they came close to the creature’s fiery skin. The creature gave out a horrible laugh.

"You cannot harm me, child of Baz’Azuran. I have lived for millennia here, carving out my domain while you relaxed in the ease of the White City. My power is inconceivable. Only perhaps your father could save you, and it does not seem that he is listening. How careless."

And with that the serpent belched forth a blast of fire. The shadows around Aramar absorbed it, but only barely. The serpent looked surprised, but then laughed.

“I had almost forgotten – you are the one who they say cannot be touched. Your wards are impressive. I could break through them, with little effort, but I have a better idea.”

The serpent again breathed forth fire, but this time the fire became thicker as it surrounded Aramar, denser. It cooled, hardened – a shimmer appeared in the air around him, and Aramar stopped moving, frozen with an expression of utter horror on his cowled face.

“Now -- you are MINE.”

TheDarkDM · 04-02-2012, 05:55 AM

Victory On the Olm

Within the crushing coils of Jongo's monstrous form, he felt Kalandor's body shift. As his serpentine gaze warred with the yellow orbs of the puppeteer, Kalandor's face split into a smile revealing a wall of needle teeth.

"An admirable attempt, chaos god."

Jongo felt the cutting blades soon enough to escape, yet even so he suffered terrible lacerations as four spidery legs erupted from Kalandor's back, terrible pale mirrors of the Puppeteer's own form. As Jongo rebounded back into a defensive posture, he saw the bone white chitin spread across Kalandor's body, shearing through his clothing and leaving an armored monster behind.

"Would you care to try again?"

The beast that Kalandor had become rushed towards the serpentine form of Jongo, jagged blades flashing at him with incredible speed. Jongo bobbed and weaved, his form changing to accommodate this new dance, but with every second he was pushed further back.

Meanwhile, Faden landed far from Fayruz, his landing sending a cloud of dust into the air. No sooner had he ceased moving than the black sand was snaking around him, gripping at arms, legs, and neck. Though he struggled, he could not escape their hold, and as the sand's grip grew tighter he saw the blade form above him. It flew down, and space and time shifted just enough to keep it from him. Another blade, and again Faden shifted away. But this time, the blade had landed an inch closer, and as the tendrils of sand pulled his limbs further and further apart he found his ability to dodge quickly dissipating.

Dasque and Frellon moved to aid their brother, but as Frellon shattered the blade of black glass facing him he found it reforming into two. They stabbed forwards instantly, and through Frellon parried one he would have been skewered were it not for Dasque's quick work. Yet as they recovered, they found themselves facing three blades, then four, as every blade blocked or parried splintered into two. It seemed only a matter of time before the children of Baz'Auran were overwhelmed, before Haramhold crested the hill, pure light shining from his hand. Where it touched, the white carapace around Kalandor burned, turning blackened and twisted, the shock of it turning aside a blow that may have ended Jongo. Yet the assault continued, until Fayruz appeared before the raging monster, grasping its head with a sudden strength and joining her voice to the power to the Crystal of True Light.

Within the dream-time, the Weaver's battle with the Puppeteer raged on, and as the Weaver's strands of song and starlight rushed to restrain the monster black threads burst from the web above, shadow grappling light as the Weaver and the Puppeteer battled each other. Distracted as it was, the Puppeteer seemed not to notice Kalandor's struggle against his bonds, until the Weaver jumped away to regain his footing and the Puppeteer turned baleful eyes on the trapped god.

"And what do you think you are doing, morsel? Stay put!"

Pain lanced through Kalandor's consciousness, yet even as agony wrapped itself around him like a vise his grip held firm on the shadows outside his prison. But then, a finger slipped, and it seemed he would be forced back into his cell, were it not for the sudden light on the horizon. It burst within the strands of the dark web, scorching them from within, and the Puppeteer reeled back in shock. The pain vanished as Kalandor surged back into the breach that had opened ever wider, and the Weaver's tendrils flew past the brittle shadows to wrap around the Puppeteer. Yet even that seemed insufficient, as with a roar the demon spider rent a score of the song-threads holding it, trampling towards Kalandor.

"It seems you are more trouble than you are worth, morsel! I shall devour you, and be free of your weakness!"

The beast's maw opened, large enough to swallow Kalandor whole, only to freeze, it's sight far away. For the Puppeteer gazed into the fiery gold of Fayruz, and for a brief moment it was stunned. Kalandor knew then, knew that this was his one chance, and as foreign strength surged through him he thrust forth with all his will in a shout of defiance that echoed through the very dream-time, bursting forth from his lips in the real world in a whisper of true victory.

The Puppeteer screeched, a terrible sound filled with the hate and cruelty of ages, and in the dream-time its form exploded into black smoke as the web binding Kalandor shattered. Upon the Olm, Kalandor's hands flew to his head, the white chitin and bladed legs crumbling into dust, his eyes once again his. Kalandor screamed, and from his mouth flew an immense yellow light, more massive than his body should have been able to contain, that took the form of the demon spider in the skies above the Olm. The blades assailing Frellon and Dasque collapsed into sand, and Faden found himself free beneath a thin layer of dust. Surveying the assembled gods, the Puppeteer smiled, and in that smile they felt an inexplicable fear, the fear of an unknown shape looming on the horizon.

"Young fools. You contest with a power far greater than you can imagine. When you lie broken at the feet of your destroyer, you will know the battle today was immaterial, so much dust upon an uncaring wind. All of you are going to die."

The last word dissipated into a keening hiss as the figure of light sped away, trailing its noxious presence south. All who heard that hiss, even the gods, were assailed by a terrible pain lancing through their heads, and beyond their battleground the weak and the infirm collapsed, clawing their eyes, driven to madness by the accursed sound. Yet the sound was quick in passing, and as the sun once again pierced the miasma of the Puppeteer's departure they saw Kalandor lying naked and weeping upon the ground, and they knew that they had won.

The Challenge

Looking upon Carolinus with ruby eyes, the Khar drove the point of his spear into the ground and bowed his head. Despite the defeat, a deep laugh escaped his chest, and he looked on Carolinus without hatred.

"It seems, my lord Carolinus, that your puissance has not been exaggerated by your people. I yield, and gift unto you all I own save my panoply. Now that my honor has been defended, I must deliver the message I was charged to carry by my lord. The First People have dwelt too long beneath the shadowy confines of the mountains. We rise with the blood moon, to seize the power and glory we were promised by our creator at the beginning of the world. The Titans are rising, my lord, and we shall take the world of men under our dominion."

daelrog · 04-02-2012, 06:09 AM

Victory at the Olm?
Dasque stood up from a crouching position. She smiled, feeling another rare moment of respite. How weary she was. So much pain, so much carnage, so much corruption about her. The goddess of light's eyes scanned across her siblings, but rested on Kalandor, causing a deep scowl to rise, distorting her features.

"You. Weak, pathetic, arrogant fool!" She took three long strides to get closer, dropping her spear deliberately as she did so. "Your tears are not enough to repay what you've done Kalandor. You should be chained and gagged until we can be certain you're free of taint, and free of whatever lapse of all reason allowed that thing to take control of you."

She gave a heavy sigh. Dasque's eyes turned to Fayruz, the look on Dasque's face was sad. "Prepare your people for war Fayruz. We will need them to take up sword and shield as well."

Gengy · 04-02-2012, 07:31 AM

So. Beaten by a spider. Well. That won't make for a very good story. Jongo was on the ground, his winged snake form defeated, her crocogator* sliced in tatters, and even the brilliant idea of a part-monkey, part-rhinoceros was getting beat. By a spider.

Who was also his youngest brother. Sort of.

So here Jongo lay, battered, scraped, and in a great deal of pain. The chitinous creature stood over her, about ready to make the final blow. Jongo tried, just once more, to reach Kalandor.

"Goose. Tell the others..."

And then the sky opened and light rained down. The creature screamed, and fell back. It was Green Morningstar!

"Tell the others... Haramhold made a ship. AND I HELPED."

Shifting slowly, carefully, the Band of Chaos still ringing out it's weird music, Jongo took the form of a odd grey skinned creature. It had no nose, but did seem to have a dorsal fin. Still, it was two armed and two legged, if a bit on the bony side. There were scrapes and bruises along the back and the neck.

Jongo just lay there, and did not move. Not even when Kalandor screamed. Not when the yellow light exploded from his youngest sibling's body. Jongo only seemed to stir as the thing in the sky above the Olm spoke.

"Young fools. You contest with a power far greater than you can imagine. When you lie broken at the feet of your destroyer, you will know the battle today was immaterial, so much dust upon an uncaring wind. All of you are going to die."

Finally, Jongo moved, staring straight into the light. "Still... won. Today."

And then the keening hiss sound brought Jongo to sweet, sweet darkness. Only the amusing and concerned giggles of the Band of Chaos, now an armband wrapped multiple times around Jongo's grey skin, helped to send Jongo to sleep.

*

Spoiler

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jongo dreamed.

The first thing she saw was Rodney, more clearly and more at home in whatever place this was. It... felt safe here. There were aches, there were pains, but Jongo was free of those for now. Free of everything.

Jongo floated. Formless. Full of potential for everything.

And then a song was sung.

It was beautiful. It was dancing. It was joy. It was full of the rain and the sky, and best of all... Sonata. Little Iris. If Flower was the dusk, Iris was the dawn. They were two parts of the same coin, and Jongo adored both of them.

Sonata was a bit of a prankster, too. And Jongo watched as they pulled off a gag together, on poor Khalen-Fish. He just wasn't looking for that pie. And he sat down, ruining his robes.

Jongo laughed and laughed, and when Sonata gave her that look - that look that told Jongo that Sonata was annoyed and impressed - it only made Jongo laugh harder.

Beautiful memories. They soothed the pain some.

Jongo then thought about the Spire. The smooth, calm, rocky spire that he'd sat upon for who-knows-how long. She remembered every curve, every facet of it's surface.

And remembered the calm, careful, multi-colored glow of the symbol of chaos that he'd carved into it.

Jongo stared at that glow. More than the memories, it was soothing too.

Jongo smiled, and thought how nice it would be to just curl up on top of the Spire. To let the waters of the waves crash against it's surface, and listen to the silent rush as the currents ran past, only a few feet below the thin flat surface.

Near the Olm, Jongo's body twisted like it was changing. It melted, a bit like water, and Jongo let out a happy, sleepy, sound. The sound was echoed by the Band of Chaos. And soon, both Band and Jongo just... vanished.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some time later, Jongo woke, feeling great. Still sore, but otherwise great. The sound of the waves were so relaxing. The Band of Chaos was rather silent, and in the distance, Jongo could see the Great Rim of the Disk, and all the familiar stars in the sky.

"Duck, you're lucky you get to see this. Wait. Duck? Duck? Goose?" Jongo looked around. "Flower? Squid? Butterfly? Lakespittle? Amanda-dear? Not-a-woman?"

No one was here but her.

Her and the glow of the Symbol of Chaos below.

"...Jewely?"

Raz_Fox · 04-02-2012, 10:50 AM

The sun set, the song died, and Fayruz allowed herself to smile as she held her little brother tightly, resting his forehead against her own. "It's all right," she said, softly, almost brokenly. "It's gone. Hush now, quiet now..." She ran one hand through his hair, willing him to rest, to stop crying, to relax and accept her embrace.

She sighed and shuddered deeply as she heard Dasque - yes, that was Dasque, she would recognize her sister even if she'd changed into something strange and monstrous, never mind a simple halo and bright spear - reprimand Kalandor, threatening him, and then insisting on... on arming the Fayheran? That was too much for Fayruz, who had just seen their enemy, who had just had her little brother returned to her, who knew now that so much of her family was alive, who could hear the sound of running just beyond her family.

Fayruz began to laugh. She couldn't stop herself, it just bubbled out of her, a hoarse giggle that made her hug Kalandor all the tighter and look up at Dasque with wet golden eyes. Even as seventy Fayheran reached the site of the divine battle, slings and bows and glass-blades and stone-headed hammers held ready to defend their goddess, Fayruz said, through her choked laughs, "Did you think they weren't ready for war, sister? They... they have lived here for so long, where flesh-eating monsters came from the north, and the south, and... just because they don't fight each other anymore doesn't mean they forgot how to, just because they love me doesn't mean they won't protect me and mine."

"Fayruz!" There was honest distress in Shyreza's voice, and it made Fayruz turn from her sister to where Shyreza knelt over the prone, crimson-covered figure of... oh, Gamesha.

Fayruz looked back down at Kalandor, and then up at Dasque. "Dasque. Don't hurt Kalandor," she said, as she gently laid down the weeping god and stood, trembling. Gamesha needed her now.

Somewhere along the way, strong hands helped support her, bronzed hands, dark hands. All around her, the vanguard of the Fayheran tried to understand what had just happened, threatening her siblings, questioning her siblings, arrows nocked and blades naked - but then, she could hear Saven's low growl behind her, and the slackening of bowstrings. She could not bear to have her families come to blows, not now.

She knelt by Gamesha, who was still quietly chuckling to himself, and she took a deep breath, seeing a dark, bloody rib jutting from his chest. She leaned in as she pulled his leather breastplate away from the wound, and kissed him on his pain-twisted cheek. "This will hurt," she said, as she laid her hands upon his twisted, broken chest, and began to sing.

shorewood · 04-02-2012, 12:15 PM

The battle had ended, the cursed black sand driven away by Fayruz's splendor and grace. Haramhold retracted his will from the crystal of inner light and made his way to his siblings.

Dasque stood before Fayruz and Kalandor filled with holy light and fury.

Spoiler

"You should listen to our sister Dasque you might learn some wisdom if you do. You wish to chain the traveling god? Take away his freedom just as the black sand did? It seems to me that you have forgotten that Kalandor is the victim not the villain." Said Haramhold as he knelt beside his brother and sister.

"Dasque. Don't hurt Kalandor," Fayruz said, as she gently laid down the weeping god and stood, trembling. Gamesha needed her now.

Kneeling beside his weeping brother Haramhold did not need to consult the crystal of inner light to know what he could do to help. Removing the golden necklace which housed his artifact Haramhold placed it around Kalandor's neck. "It seems to me that you need this more than I do brother. It is the Crystal of Inner Light, let its guidance set you back on your path. Keep it for as long as you need to." Said Haramhold after which he looked up examining his surroundings "Where did Jongo go?"

Jade_Tarem · 04-02-2012, 01:22 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by shorewood

"Where did Jongo go?"

"Elsewhere." Faden got up slowly, bluish smoke still rising from beneath his robes, and he wondered if the leakage was truly analogous to bleeding - he could barely feel the gashes in his "body," and that wasn't good. He knew he could mend the robes and ribbons, but only time would restore his spark back to what it had been. He hadn't planned to test it like this, but it would be interesting to see how long the regeneration took. For now, he fed the tiniest trickle of power through Ego and Id. "But it looks like Jongo's own power caused him to vanish, rather than one last, spiteful trick from the puppeteer. I've no doubt Jongo will get back to us when she can."

Examining the tableau before him, Faden sighed inwardly. He would almost rather his siblings suspected him of being an over-the-top villain again than take out their frustrations on each other. He could only hope they would listen to him now. "Enough. Kalandor may or may not still be at risk, but this isn't the place to have this discussion. Whether the corruption lingers or not, he's more badly hurt than any of us and will need to heal, preferably under observation." Faden was no healer, although he'd learned the very basics from Tezzerin, but he suspected that any people that revered Fayruz as clearly as the inhabitants of the Olm did would have more than one caregiver.

Turning to Saven - Faden had no idea who any of these mortals were, but he seemed to be in charge at the moment - he asked, "I don't wish to be a demanding guest, but the fight is done. Would it be possible for us to avail ourselves of your hospitality? You have casualties to see to, of course, but some of us are injured, and the sooner the wounded are off the battleground, the better."

daelrog · 04-02-2012, 07:52 PM

Dasque turned to Haramhold. "Kalandor's weakness almost kills us all, and you give him a gift? It's not so simple as victim and villain, his actions could have cost us everything." She breathed in deeply, the scars the Disk had already inflicted upon her digging into her heart. "So he is the god of travelling? Let him bless my own journey then. What I need now is to find the others, not get lessons on compassion."

She started to walk away, taking up her spear again, knowing full well she might need it. Dasque stopped, and turned her head. "I'm sorry, but that monster's tried to rape me twice now, and I cannot forgive so easily."

Dasque headed off, towards the north...

Spoiler

THEChanger · 04-02-2012, 08:09 PM

"Dasque." The Weaver stepped back into the realm of the waking as Kalandor threw off the control of the demon, obviously exhausted. He had very nearly let his own demon have full control. Revaew-na was a part of him, but a part he needed to keep a very close eye on, it seemed. But right now, Dasque needed him. And so Revaew-na must be set aside for now. Family, as always, comes first. "You are right, of course. Kalandor was foolish, prideful. But none among us can honestly say we would have been able to resist this beast's command. It is powerful, more powerful than any of us alone. And if you leave now, it will find you, and it will destroy you utterly-or worse." The Weaver took a quick jog, and came beside Dasque. "And we will go, and that thing will pay for what it has done, to you and to our brother. But we need a plan first. We need to gather our respective resources, rest, heal, and when we are ready, we will bring the full fury of the light and dark against it. If you will not stay here, in the Olm, at least join me tonight in the Dream-time. It will not be able to touch you there. That I promise you. And in the morning, we can begin to plan our campaign."

AntiMatter101 · 04-02-2012, 08:12 PM

Frellon had kept his silence until now. Uncaring of his wounds, as he could see much worse on many of his siblings. He seemed to have nothing to add to the conversation. Yet at Dasque's words he was compelled to act; catching up to her.

"Dasque, wait! Please, do not judge Kalandor so quickly, he has yet to explain himself! If nothing else, we must at least hear out what he has to say, now that the creature is gone from him. What he knows might very well attone for his mistake."

"I want revenge on this creature as much as anyone, we all do. Would you not want to know more of this creature? So that we might better kill it the next time? Kalandor might have valuable information, he was in direct contact with it. Should we not hear out what he has to say upon his recovery?" He pauses. "I can understand the desire to seek out the others, if you still feel that way after you hear him out, I might even go with you; but you dishonor Kalandor if you refuse to even listen to his explanation."

Jade_Tarem · 04-02-2012, 09:25 PM

A Joyous Reunion

"Honor and compassion aren't the reasons you should stay." Faden snorts - an impressive feat considering he has no nostrils or sinuses. "I'll say it plainly, then. Dasque? Wandering off into the desert alone is a terrible idea, and I'm fairly sure that it's the same mistake Kalandor made. You say the monster has attacked you twice? This will give it a third chance. Besides..." Multicolored sprites swirled around him. "...I'm already searching for our siblings, if you'll recall, and the sprites have already located Khalen, Avyra, and Carolinus, and we all just heard from Sonata." He pauses and extends a hand, a bright gold sprite hovering over it. "And I already know where Shirvan is."

shorewood · 04-02-2012, 09:39 PM

Spoiler

Haramhold had to bite hit tongue to keep an angry retort in. He is family, you should sit down, shut up and be glad he is free. Haramhold thought thankful that he could control his mouth.

Picking his words carefully Haramhold forces himself to sound polite succeeding only partially "There is safety in numbers dear sister. I highly doubt the black sand will strike so soon after being defeated, especially if we stay together."

Spoiler

"The Weaver is quite right, and it may turn out that it was Kalandor's so called weakness which provides us the key to defeating this evil. So stay for the night, If you are so pressed for time then I will give you a ride in the Green MorningStar to where ever you wish to go. If the black sand is faster than her then it would have beaten you to your destination if you left this very moment." Haramhold smiled as pleasantly as he was capable of considering the situation.

daelrog · 04-02-2012, 09:44 PM

Now they worried. Now they chided her as a child. Is that what she was? She hated this place, and she hated what she perceived the others as now. Too afraid to punish Kalandor. Too afraid to take one step outside.

Nothing that the said was new to her, and she intended to dishonor Kalandor. She didn't want to fight the dark sands, she wanted to get away from it. She wanted to get far away, and away from these siblings who seemed to think they had won this day. They had not, and if Fayruz could laugh and think that her sling wielding, savage people were prepared for the war Dasque spoke of, then what use was she and her people? What use were any of them? Nothing gave her pause until Faden.

"I am not going into the desert, Faden. I am going to the sea, to land north of here. Where is my brother?"

Though she said 'brother', Faden knew she meant Shirvan.

AntiMatter101 · 04-02-2012, 10:10 PM

Frellon's words seemed to fall on deaf ears. He wasn't sure he liked being ingnored by his sibling. As if he didn't want to find the others as well! His eyes changed subtly, guarding his emotions, which none had seen him do in a long, long time.

He spoke a formal farewell, his voice notably flater than usual. "Guard yourself well then, sister. I can only hope that we meet under happier circumstances in the future." He inclined his head, not one iota more than what formal conduct demanded, and left the scene, turning on his heel and striding purpously to the GreenMorningstar, where his things still lay.

What a day!

OOC Note:

Spoiler

Jade_Tarem · 04-02-2012, 10:19 PM

Faden's eyes flared with amusement. "Hear me out. I have something I'd like to talk to everyone about that isn't even remotely related to Kalandor, so I'll make a deal with you. Stay at the Olm tonight, listen to what I have to say, and in the morning I'll take you to Shirvan directly. You'll get there much faster with my help, even after spending the night here." As if to reinforce his point, Pyra's shadow drifted over them - the roc had beat a hasty retreat when the black sand had attacked - a move that seemed cowardly but had ultimately prevented the monster from having one more puppet to throw at them. "You know how fast Pyra can move. Accept my offer and you'll get to Shirvan in just two days, instead of spending weeks hunting for him."

daelrog · 04-02-2012, 10:29 PM

"Fine. I'll listen to what you say, and then I leave this cursed spot on the morrow. Excuse me for the moment though. I want to be alone. You can fetch me with one of Fayruz's pets when you are ready to speak."

She moved to where she could find a tree, sit under its branches, and cry. How many years had she spent alone in the frozen wastes with only the light destroying her eyes, and a shadow-thing she had never fully discerned its true nature? How many scant seconds had she been in the desert before the beast attacked her? How many siblings took Kalandor's words to heart that Faden and she had been possessed, that somehow Kalandor was stronger than the two of them? How many more horrors lurked in Father's damned creation?

How had Father planted the seed of cold, calculated destruction in her, so not even her newfound light could cleanse it? She would never forgive him for the Dark Sands he made, and for the monster he made of her.

Raz_Fox · 04-02-2012, 11:36 PM

Agony was something that Gamesha was becoming very intimate with, more intimate than he'd ever been with a maiden. He could feel Fayruz's hot hands placed on his chest, fingers dancing across his blackening, blood-soaked skin, directing the bones beneath it to return to their former form, to knit themselves back together and leave only scars as memories. They were sweeter than the burning, blinding pain of bones ripping back through his skin, of skin reforming, of heat and fire ripping through his head.

Slowly, slowly, chill came to him. Cold extended from Fayruz's loving fingertips, allowing him to relax, taut and strained muscles becoming slack and loose. He glanced down at the crisscross of scars across his chest, grimacing. "Ruttin scorpion's bastard," he spat through his teeth, still grinning. Above him, Shyreza shook her head, earrings bright in the sunlight.

"Dragon or spider, there's little difference when a curse brings a noble lord low," she said, softly, and Gamesha winced. The smile slid off his face. That was something he didn't want to think about. All he wanted to do was beat on that wanderer, who tried to seduce his princess, who tried to kill her family and had nearly killed him dead. But the lady of the glassmines was right. Only a sin-mired man would blame another for his own weaknesses. Gamesha pulled himself to his feet, accepting the ready hand of young Aret.

And then the ruttin light-warrior who'd stood beside the empty-man called them all Fayruz's pets, and beside him Fayruz stiffened. Gamesha looked down at her, and saw something he'd never known: the pain of an arrow thrown by a careless sister, lies falling carelessly from the lips of someone you'd trusted, across her face unveiled. And something within him roared.

"Shebitch!" He snapped, after her retreating form, the damage to his throat making his voice sound like a salamander's hiss. "Until you can keep a ruttin civil tongue in your head for the lady who kept a brother's blood from being on your ruttin hands, we 'pets' won't suffer your ruttin presence here!" He could taste the frustration of the Fayheran who hadn't been there when their lady needed their protection all around him, and the fury of being mocked by a god who had not earned their respect. He could hear the grunts of assent, those who spat upon the ground and named her 'scorpion', those who yearned for a fight right here and now.

"Gamesha!" Saven's voice cut through the angry voices of the Fayheran. Gamesha looked over to where his blood-brother stood, by the empty-man god. "Our law is that the Household of the Goddess is welcome at the Olm... whether they be courteous or otherwise. Now, come. We have work to do; the battle has been won by the goddess of the Fayheran and her brothers." He gestured for the stretcher to be brought for the traveler-god, and Gamesha turned away, disgusted with the Household of the Goddess. The lech who'd fallen to Gamesha's sin, the empty-man who spoke clever and equally-empty words, the shebitch who cut the princess of the Fayheran in ways that Gamesha could barely protect her from, the vanishing changeling. The only true siblings were the smith and the warrior, who had acted as men of honor should, even if the smith had held light in his hand...

one day, Gam, you'll take...
...it hurts it hurts it hurts...
...sing me a song, pretty fool...
...it burns make it stop...
...light before his eyes...
...forge-heat and hammers...
...horns and bloodlust at night...
...blood mingled between palms...
...love her, Saven, not I, I don't...
...the beat of the hammer on heads...
...why does it still hurt in my...
...atone through blood, protect...

Gamesha shuddered. He would have to speak to someone about what he had seen in the light, half-delirious with the pain. Saven? Hefar? Fayruz? No, not Fayruz, one of the other two, his father or his brother.

The day was hot, but Gamesha felt cold, watching the Household of the Goddess split apart, like the tribes before the Olm, not knowing what was right to do.

TheDarkDM · 04-03-2012, 05:42 AM

Night set on the Olm, and in the night the shadows moved.

Beneath the fiery mountains of the West, the Forgeborn writhed in agony. Their anvils had fallen silent, their forges left cold, and in their burning hall they dreamed of ash. The darkness behind the moon sang to them, twining through body and soul. Soon, they would rise, and the world would burn.

Beneath the stone tombs of the North, the First People beat the drums of war. Their Khar had not returned, and upon his iron throne the Overlord of the Titans plotted. Even as he gazed upon the great mosaic that laid the world at his feet, war parties moved south. Khar Melkhan had failed, but in he place would rise a thousand blooded warriors, their steel hungry for conquest and glory.

Beneath the raging waves of the East, Kraken's bulk stirred, the shadow of his tendrilled form circling the island that sheltered Salus. With a crash of waves, his tentacles rose into the air, weaving ancient spells to birth the most dread storm ever seen by humankind.

Beneath the sandy crypts of the South, the Puppeteer reveled in the strife it had wrought. All around it spread the desolation of the black sand, and in the dead of night the winds that assailed the Olm carried the shrill laughter of its cruelty.

With the dawn came the cries, the whispered prayers and desperate pleading of those that swore fealty to the new gods. Frellon awoke before the dawn, as his tribe was assailed by a force beyond their comprehension or their ken. Stout prayers for strength in battle soon collapsed into wails for mercy, and as the sun rose he was surrounded by a susurrus of prayers for deliverance. Haramhold awoke to the scream of a wind undreamed, as his people cried out against a storm that threatened to topple hall and hovel alike. Their cries awoke their siblings, yet even in the dawning terror Fayruz slept.

She had collapsed in the night, the exhaustion of the battle and the healing that followed overwhelming even her divine constitution. Yet that night was unlike any other night, for in that night her dreams were tinged gold. She beheld a towering peak before her, reaching up so high as to blot out the very sky. So vast was the wall of rock that she could see nothing else to either side of her, and behind her crashed a sea of sunset hue. She turned, intent on seeking out the people who needed her so, only for a voice to come for her.

"Climb"

A single word, yet the purpose within it drove Fayruz to turn back towards the wall. It was sheer, unbroken rock, yet in her strange madness she did not care. Clinging to the few jagged edges that scarred the peak, Fayruz began to climb, pushing herself to the edge of exhaustion. Before long, her fingers left bloody trails where they had been torn, her shoes melted away, and she clung to the side of the mountain for dear life, the sea far below her yet the summit no closer to her sight. A twinge of doubt went through her, and suddenly she was falling, falling into darkness.

"You are not ready"

Fayruz awoke with a start, the memory of the dream seared into her mind.

Turn 2 Begins

Gengy · 04-03-2012, 10:48 AM

Turn 2 - Jongo, the Everchanging

Jongo did not know how long she sat, mystified, on the spire. It could not be very long. Leviathan never passed by, and his passing would have marked at least a week.

So it must have only been a day or two, that Jongo and the Band of Chaos conversed quietly together.

The first thing Jongo did was check his mindscape. Eighteen bright feelings of the Spark, all of them different. And the chilling cold feeling was missing. But Jongo knew it had been there. So. If they were all feelings of her siblings... that meant that - including Jongo - twenty of them were still confirmed to be alive.

Twenty.

Out of so many.

Father, the despair and disbelief came unbidden to Jongo's mind. Father had tried to protect them from this, he was sure. But it was still...

Still...

There were at least twenty of them. Maybe more. Twenty of them had survived. They were out there. Jongo examined the new ones.

One felt joyous and free, and laughed with the rain, but held the promise of tricky thunder should it be crossed. It had a great deal of potential, and the Band of Chaos heartily approved. Probably Iris. Sweet Iris.

Another was... an unusual feeling. It felt like the feeling Jongo got at a dinner table, when the whole family was there. Several parts amusing, one or two parts concerned, and the rest... safe. It was a full feeling. A feeling of happiness with the knowledge that, if there were problems in life, they could be worked through, together. It was stable, and whole, and, after a moment of watching this spark travel quickly all over the place, Jongo felt a little sick. The Band of Chaos did not much like this sibling.

And the last new spark that Jongo felt had her confused. If he had not already met Frellon, and known how Squid felt, Jongo would swear this Lion-hearted spark was Frellon. It was proud - regal - and it burned with such passion. Such life. It was so sure of itself, and Jongo could feel the conviction from here. The Band of Chaos giggled with glee, and Jongo felt even more sick. Whatever sibling this was, they were likely a complete grassblade, even more than CarolinusohdearsweetFather-it's Shirvan. It had to be.

Well.

Good.

I guess. Sighing, Jongo opened her eyes and shifted his body some. There were no aches, no pains. And... wait.

"What the heck am I?" Jongo looked down at the grey skin she now wore. Looked at the hands and feet; they had webbing between each of the dexterous fingers and toes. Jongo could feel the weight of the dorsal fin at his back, and oddly enough, there was still some hair on the top of her head.

This was too weird. Jongo had stared at the Ceiling for years upon years. There were several things that Jongo may have missed, but not many. But this form... it felt right. It felt unusually right.

And Jongo had no clue what it was.

It was aquatic, for sure. That much was true based on the webbing and the dorsal fin. But... Other than that, Jongo had no idea what this was.

How puzzling.

The Band of Chaos tooted a note of concern.

"Well, yes, I suppose you are right. Even if I don't know where to find that many kittens at once. But your main point is correct; we can't do anything about it now. So. Let's go see if Merilain is still around; if she is, maybe she or her mermaid friend will know what this is." A course of action decided, Jongo remembered another promise she'd made to the Air. So, instead of jumping in the water to test out this aquatic form, Jongo changed to an Albatross, and began to work his wings until the bird's form could lock in place in the air, and Jongo could study the wind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The traveled west, towards Salus. Someone there would be able to at least leave a message for Haramhold.

In between sessions of talking with the air - still air, air currents, warm air, cool air - Jongo and the Band of Chaos conspired together to figure out how in Jongo's name they had ended up back at the Spire.

Well, rather, the Band of Chaos seemed to know exactly how it had happened, but wasn't giving Jongo any hints.

Which was infuriatingly fun. It was like a guessing game, but with no yes or no answers. Invariably, Jongo tired or trying to figure it out, resolving to talk with Faden the next time she saw him.

And besides... the air whispered pleasingly, and was happy to have Jongo remember the promise he had made.

Erik Vale · 04-03-2012, 07:38 PM

The Wake of a Storm

Kalandor would rise early the next day, resting in bed as the events of the last evening, foggy through their haze of grief and pain, came to him, flowwing through his mind. He knew not how he came to the tent he was in, or how he came to wear the clothes he now wore, obviously having fallen into his fitful rest by then, the many days forced march having taken their toll.

The tent he had been asigned was a rough single person tent, and he would be unsurprised if he had a watcher, who had just now gone to tell the other gods he had awoken. The rough heshian let through a stream of light that brought Kalandor to a sitting position, his hand's resting against the scratchy blanket. He was unsure wether he should wait or wether he should exit the tent, and so entertained himself be looking at the weavings amoungst the tent, and slowly altering his form into something less battered, merely pale under his normal tan. He had himself don his old clothes, simply forming out of his skin as he removed the clothes that he had been given.

But there is simply only so much one can do before one must 'wake up'.
And so, Kalandor stood at the entrance of his tent, holding open the hesshian flap, gazing out, watching 'The Olm', waiting for his siblings.

THEChanger · 04-03-2012, 09:40 PM

The Weaver watched as his sister marched off, northward. This was not right, he felt. The children of Baz'Auran should stay with each other, strengthen each other. Not judge. Not abandon. Dasque used to be kind, understanding, or so The Weaver remembered. Had his memories of the White City become idolized? Or had the Fall changed Dasque so dramatically?

Whatever the case, The Weaver motioned for the other three to remain. Faden was too skilled in the art of deception, Frellon too hotheaded, and Haramhold had little skill with words. It seemed to The Weaver that the cool embrace of sleep might be what Dasque needed. So The Weaver followed, and sat beside his sister. He offered her a hand as she wept. He said nothing. Words, it had already been seen, were not what Dasque needed right now. She just needed someone to be with her. And perhaps, if she were willing, to listen.

daelrog · 04-03-2012, 09:44 PM

Dasque was found the next morning in a meditative state by Haramhold and the Weaver. She had not slept that night, resting her eyes the most she could hope for. However, she had not sat idly by during the night. As her tears streamed down she worked. Compelled by her inner light, compelled by her pride, she weaved and she crafted, she spun and she sculpted. Her base for this work of art was her own tears, her own sorrow and hopelessness the inspiration for her work. It was a dizzying pattern of circles, curved lines, and other dizzying shapes.

Most incredible of all, was that parts of it were moving, delicately shifting from some gusts of wind.

“Prime.” Dasque spoke the word before being asked. “Only a small bit, less than a percent I believe. It’s half of my own theories, but I ran out of adequate materials to work with.”

She opened her eyes, gazing at her own construct, held aloft by the air she wielded, a much more delicate application than the concentrated fury she unleashed fighting the Puppeteer. She was calm, resolute, but still not the Dasque he knew from the White City. There was still a sense of worry and despair about her. This was not simple meddling into knowledge as she was prone to do when they were young, but a desperate attempt to grab hold of some power of truth to defend herself, perhaps the others as well.

“I believe the artifact you gave the fool seemed to have some effect against this Puppeteer, in a way that sword and spear did not. The only question is what manner of tools will best destroy it.” A small curve within her design shimmered for a moment, as if answering her question, bringing a cold smile to Dasque. “Let us hear what Faden has to say before I depart.”

Spoiler

shorewood · 04-03-2012, 10:27 PM

As everyone settled down for the night to rest and recover from the battle Haramhold made his way to Green MorningStar to Amanda's relief. The exarch had been worried about the battle's outcome. So before Haramhold had time to steady his feet she flung herself at him and they both tumbled down onto the deck. Laughing in joy the two of them roll about the deck for a moment until Haramhold finally ends up on top looking down at his beautiful companion the soft red light of Jewely pulsating softly with her heartbeat.

The next second he was off her coughing in embarrassment. That was not proper. It would be unfair to take advantage of her that way Haramhold thought to himself. As Haramhold made some vague excuse about needing to check Green MorningStar's axillary crystal matrix and descended into the hold. Leaving a frustrated Amanda on the deck.

That night they dined with the common folk of the Fayheran. Telling tales of his adventures in founding Salus and the much more "exciting" ones with Jongo. Most of the people liked those stories unfortunately Haramhold had to be prompted by Amanda to tell them with her filling in much of the details. As he was much more interested in talking shop with the workers and craftsmen and even they thought that Haramhold was spending too much time on the subject.

They slept in a pair of tents provided by the Fayheran whom they thanked gladly. But Haramhold did not sleep peacefully. The cries and terrors of his people echoed through his dreams. A great storm was wreaking havoc across the country side growing stronger every day. Crops were beaten down in the field, roof's caved and once solid ground turned to muck and filth. As much as the god tried he could not shake himself from this nightmare but thankfully the dawn came.

As was Haramhold's custom he arose at dawn, quickly dressing himself and pulling the worst tangles out of his beard. Splashing cold water on his face Haramhold contemplated his dream and what it entailed for his people. It was then he sensed the weaving of someone's divine spark. One of his siblings was undertaking a great work and it was nearing completion.

Following his sense Haramhold found himself in front of Dasque's tent a place he was utterly surprised to be. The Weaver soon joined him and together they braved her tent.

Dasque sat crossed legged on the ground a spear of levitating by unseen tendrils of wind in front of her. The spears shaft was awash by intricate swirls and spirals and shapes that cannot be described by the tongues of man. It was truly a work of beauty and strength. Haramhold couldn't help but look it over with a critical eye. It was a good work a masterpiece even and Haramhold was saddened that his sister did not wish for his help in its creation. For although the spear was a great work as it was, no one will ever know what it could have been.

“I believe the artifact you gave the fool seemed to have some effect against this Puppeteer, in a way that sword and spear did not. The only question is what manner of tools will best destroy it.” A small curve within her design shimmered for a moment, as if answering her question, bringing a cold smile to Dasque. “Let us hear what Faden has to say before I depart.”

"Good morning to you Dasque. I hope you slept well" Haramhold asked tentatively.