Exalted: Orgiastic Triumph of the Chosen

[Kinkerhell]

The Raksha looks at Ivory Dawn and smirks. "That's all right, dear," she says, condescension dripping from her voice, "we'll make allowances for your deficiencies." Her voice turns businesslike. "The duels will happen one at a time, with one champion from your side fighting one of mine. When the loser goes down, there will be a brief pause will the next warrior steps up to take their place. Then combat may resume, until all one side or the other are fallen."

 

[HookerBoots]

The copper-haired dancer nodded, keeping her face smooth. "Very well, My Lady." She took a sliding step to the side, towards the others. "Please, allow us to determine who among us will fight first."

She had no idea what the new people on their side were capable of. The panther-woman was clearly strong, and the red-haired winged woman seemed to be quite able. But she also knew that while she herself was capable of keeping herself relatively unscathed in normal fights, she wasn't very tough, and couldn't inflict a lot of damage without wearing herself out quickly. Maybe Tri and Gunesh would have an idea of what order would be more advantageous for them.

Assuming there was one that was better.

 

[Kinkerhell]

Her wings withdrawn, Scarlet watched the interplay between the beautiful copper-haired woman and the Raksha. The duel actually didn't sound like too bad an idea to Scarlet. She could certainly account for one, maybe two of the cataphractoi before she was brought down, and those were better odds than she'd get in a straight fight, even in the fullness of her power.

When the copper-haired woman withdrew, Scarlet decided to go over and join her and her companions. Sheathing her swords, she stepped over the felled bodies of the Lintha and walked across the flagstones of the garden, the narrow spikes and slightly curved platforms of her glass heels tapping musically, and the faintest sounds of a slow, dirgelike tune whispering from her clothing to blend with the chiming clicks of her steps.

With her wings withdrawn and her swords away, Scarlet looked less like an avenging angel and more like a pretty young woman, except for the shining eyes. Her delicate features were apprehensive as she approached the group of people who'd charged into battle against the Raksha. Powerful as she was, she still got butterflies in her stomach when meeting new people. Drawing abreast of them, she dipped her head in greeting, but suddenly didn't know what to say, and her cheeks burned red with embarrassment.

 

[Armphid]

Tor blushed brightly as the young woman who'd flown down from the heavens and drenched the ground with the blood of those ugly looking men walked over to them and inclined her head. He'd never seen anyone so beautiful. The'd thought that when he met Cunning Starfire, and again with the woman who had that chain weapon, and now again. How many such women were in Creation? And what where they all doing here?

He looked at the girl, her every movement making music, and blushed even deeper, looking down at his feet. He clenched the sword and shield he'd stolen tighter in his grip. Damn it! He hadn't done anything! He hadn't even gotten a chance! He looked like a fool.

Triumphant Mantis did not look pleased, her lips set in a thin line. She didn't like it, or that Ivory Dawn had already agreed to it. But it was done and it was a bargain well made, sadly. The power of that raksha noble...it had frozen her in place and she'd felt terrified. She hadn't felt such fear since the Sun had touched her.

The lovely blond sighed and gave a slight curtsey to the pale beauty, "Welcome, lady. Your skill is quite fearsome and your beauty may surpass even that thing."

"Come now, dear," the otherworldly woman said, her voice a hymn sung by a thousand terrified voices, "it's fine to praise my pet, but don't lie. It ill becomes you, Resplendent Sun."

Gunesh was eying Cunning Starfire warily as the massive feline beast woman stalked over to them as well. "So, kid, you said you had a friend here." He had started reloading his flame piece while the discussion had been happening, just now finishing up. "Is it-"

"Me," Cunning Starfire's rich, sultry voice coming from behind those gleaming moonsilver teeth was surreal and sent a faint shiver through some of the group. "More than friends though."

The Dynast raised his eyebrows, "Really? And what does that mean exactly?"

To his regret, the warform Lunar smiled, showing far more vicious tooth than he was comfortable with. "You'll find out when yours finds you."

"When who what now?"

Triumphant Mantis shook her head, "Enough, Gunesh. We should decide our order before we are accused of stalling." The blond took a deep breath; the voice of the Unconquered Sun should not fear to place itself in harm's way, ever. "Here are my thoughts."

"I want to go first." Tor's voice was soft but firm. The youth had raised his head and was looking straight at the impossibly gorgeous Fair Folk noble. "Let me, please, lady."

Triumphant Mantis felt a smile on her lips despite their situation, "You're brave. But without armor and those weapons..." He wouldn't stand a chance, but she didn't want to say that.

The grungy, filth-caked peasant boy smiled grimly and gestured with the shield he'd taken to the scorched grass where the slain cataphract had been. "I went first there and it worked out all right."

Triumphant Mantis blinked. Then Gunesh let out a laugh and shook his head, "You can't win an argument like that, Tri. Let him go."

She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, "All right, be careful."

"Break him, my Tor," Cunning Starfire purred.

The young man walked several paces out away from the group. "Bring your first, Lady. But not your favorite, were I you."

 

[Kinkerhell]

Scarlet watches Tor face the Raksha and accept her challenge. She respects his conviction and admires his courage. She also knows that he's going to get beaten within an inch of his life, courage and conviction notwithstanding. She opens her mouth to speak, but still cannot find words. Instead, Scarlet reaches for her weapons and draws them in shimmering black-and-silver arcs, holding them low, her palms facing forward, the blades framing her lower body.

"When he- if he falls, I will take his place." Scarlet's voice is thick with anger. She clearly has a personal vendetta against the Fair Folk, something powerful and recent.

The Raksha Lady claps her hands delightedly and giggles, the sound like that a stream burbling over a legion of corpses. The hues of her eyes shift faster, literally glittering with excitement. "Oh, excellent. The pups have picked a champion!" she cooes. The Raksha step back and draw their swords, setting them point down and creating a semi-circle perhaps thirty feet across, with the Lady at their center. She gestures. "Irmael, you may have the honor of going first."

The cataphract at the right-hand end of the circle nods, his delicate, spun-crystal armor and shining golden sword, coupled with his beautiful, ethereal appearance giving him a deceptively fragile look. He steps into the empty space created by the Raksha, bows to his lady, then turns and gestures to Tor. With a mocking smile, he says, "Come on then, pup. Lets see what color you bleed."

 

[HookerBoots]

It was strange that the prospect of the young man they'd just met fighting one-on-one with one of the Fair Folk filled her with such anxiety. But it was so nerve-wracking to see the unarmored young man standing there, waiting for the well-armed and armored Raksha to approach to battle. It was terrible, the idea of just standing and watching her ally fall, only to be replaced by another. And another, and another.

Was it fear for herself, or for these people? It was hard to tell. Maybe it was both. Ivory Dawn's fingers nervously spun the hand needle around her finger, wishing it was made of iron instead of bronze. This wasn't how she'd expected the fight to go, and she wasn't sure if she wished she had been able to go first and fall, not having to watch her friends lose, one by one, or if she was glad she might have to be sliced into by those blades and the strange powers the Raksha had again.

 

[Armphid]

"Irmael," Tor repeated the fae's name as he strode forward into the killing field the courtyard had become. The assembled mortals had drawn back but not fled the area, save for a strong willed few, the rest staring with stark fear and wonder at the proceedings. He should know the thing's name in case it killed him.

At the taunt, the youth snorted, "I've spilled enough of it in work or war to know. It will spill; but at my choosing." The knight did not reply, simply smirking broader, holding his gleaming golden blade almost negligently in one delicate looking hand. All of it a lie; Tor knew. This thing was the most dangerous and lethal killer he had ever faced; it was stronger than him, faster than him, and far better equipped. It had every advantage.

But it thought him weak and stupid. Which was an advantage he would have to use. Fighting it with no armor and these weapons would mean his death. So...

Tor charged suddenly, his left arm swinging up and shield with it to hide his body from his languid foe. His right arm brought the stolen guard's sword sweeping in a flat arc, the blade gleaming in the fading sun. There was a chime like a temple bell as the faerie knight flicked his wrist and knocked the blow aside, "Too easy, pup!" The golden blade dove right and up, coming under the shield, "Let's see that blood now!"

It struck up along Tor's body as the shield was knocked aside and there was a strange sound, like that of an iron bell struck by a ringing crystal. In the moment of impact, for a split second perhaps, the whole of the boy was as though he were wrought of polished iron. Irmael snapped his wrist his wrist and brought the blade across Tor's face, and again the strange clang was heard; the raksha roaring as he twisted and brought the blade over into the side of Tor's head, only to be met by that sound of impossible steel instead of the meaty slither of severed flesh.

Irmael's face was no longer smug but furious, his eyes flashing as his easy victory seemed to have been stolen from him. "Magnificent bastard," he spat.

Triumphant Mantis blinked. "That's...amazing."

Cunning Starfire chuckled, the sound rolling deep in her warform's broad chest, "You have not seen his true mettle yet."

Tor's eyes never left Imrael, even as he shook his head. A brilliant sun burst blazed on his brow; a circle and eight rays and there were renewed cries of astonishment and fear from those mortals who had not fled but watched entranced. He heeded them not, "Now, we'll see that blood." He pushed the shield forward and to the astonishment of those watching, let it go at the same time that Irmael exploded into motion. The first blow struck the shield aside and sent it spinning through the air, the raksha's eyes going wide as Tor launched himself low, his arms reaching out and grabbing hold of the Fair One's right leg.

Red and orange light suddenly exploded from the former peasant and he seemed to grow larger and fiercer; the raksha knights not fighting all flinched and looked suddenly almost...afraid. Gold flickered through the reds and oranges, bathing the whole area in the light of the rising sun; bloody, new, and relentless. Tor's hair flew wildly in the torrent of his own Essence; the air around him grown so thick with it that as the dream-spun blade swung it seemed almost to catch on it, Imrael's face for a moment panicked before resuming fierce resolve. The Lady simply smiled and licked her lips as if savoring the power of the moment.

There was the sound of rippling cloth and torn flesh as the gleaming golden blade bit deep into Tor's shoulders, slicing across the strong youth's broad back. Bright red blood flew in a shining arc to splatter on the white lattice of the party pavilions and the dusky green of the courtyard grass. Tor grunted but made no other sound, twisting and pulling the knight off balance enough that another vicious swing went wide. "It's over, pup," Irmael crowed, driving his sword down and slicing again into the boy's back, mid way down.

Tri's closed her eyes a moment and then forced them open. She would watch; she would not do him that disservice. "Don't die, boy," she whispered.

"Yes," Tor snarled, "it is." Wounds such as this would have killed other men; torn them apart. The young peasant's blood poured down upon the earth a few moments more before ceasing and then he surged forward with a strength and fury none of them expected save one.

"My Tor," the panther woman purred.

He yanked the leg hard and brought Irmael down flat on his back, stepping up to plant one foot on the faerie knight's sword arm, the other hooking under the straps of his pauldrons, taking firm hold of the raksha's leg, he twisted it right, pushing the rest of the Wyld-born thing's body left. The light blasting from Tor suddenly gathered and burst upwards and out, taking shape and form; a massive figure clad head to toe in thick, hard armor, save for in back where a quartet of sword feathered wings broke through, and bearing a massive sword with a blade of scarlet formed around and over the young fighter, all composed of the same oranges and bloody reds that had burst into life about him moments ago.

Irmael screamed, his body surrounded and covered by the bloody light as his body was broken. Snaps and cracks sounded from his body as Tor inexporably wrenched the Fair One's body further and further. Some were the rippling crack of a tree breaking and falling, others the brittle crash of glass, and then the shrieking cry of wrent metal. The mighty knight grabbed hold of Tor's ankle and twisted it as well, the youth wincing as it was all but crushed in the grip of his enemy. But he did not relent.

"Torasin," he said, spitting the word out through pain and fury. "If they ask you, in whatever hell you go to, it was Torasin who killed you." His ankle snapped then, but with a final cry, Tor ripped the fabric of the raksha asunder. He exploded into everything; the shards of his being all in colors and shapes the likes of which could not be described, save those wrapped in Tor's blazing anima, all of which reflected the burning crimson of a red dawn. Torasin drew in a deep breath, his body rent and torn and his power raging, lifting his eyes skyward with closed eyes. Then he opened them and turned his gaze to the next knight in line.

There was silence over the courtyard. The raksha knights looked stunned; their eternal faces disbelieving. Gunesh shook his head slowly, "Kid's got to learn to duck but...but...Dragons."

"Far from them," Tri countered, her eyes wide as Tor limped over to the fallen shield and sword and picking them back up. "A martial champion of the Unconquered Sun." And he had looked so simple. But now, gods great and small, now she could not understand how she had not seen him for what he was before.

The towering image of Tor's totemic anima moved with him as he turned to face the semi circle of the fae again. The impassive face of the armored helm of the massive essence apparition mirrored the unstoppable determination on Tor's young face. "The next can come and lose eternity against me. Or admit defeat and leave alive and unbroken." He couldn't defeat another one. He'd die; he knew it. He had spent the bulk of his power in that and his wounds...Gods, he hurt, they were great. But he'd pay whichever of them came forth next dearly.

Triumphant Mantis glanced up at Cunning Starfire, only to find the Lunar looking back at her. As if they shared a thought, both women ran to the Dawn Child's side. The striking blond raised her hands, "Wait! There is to be a pause when one falls while the next fighters make ready, Lady, so you said! Let us take that pause now."

Cunning Starfire nodded; the Golden Bull was wise to use the raksha's own words in her request. "Come back with us, my Tor, and let us see to you. You have done magnificently. Perhaps...it is another's turn."

 

[HookerBoots]

As the fight ended, Ivory Dawn swallowed her heart again, and started moving, pulling out some of the vials she'd grabbed off the tables and slicing table linens into strips. If the Raksha was willing to let Torasin rest, she would do her best in that time to patch him up, give him what chance she could. His victory over the first of the Fair Folk had . . . been impressive to watch, and he deserved every chance he could get to survive the next one.

"So I did say," the Raksha said, her voice as smooth as glass. "You may take a short break." It was clear she wasn't surprised by the results, but also not terribly pleased. Her eyes followed the trio of Exalts as Tri and Cunning Starfire walked Tor back to the group.

Ivory Dawn let out a small sigh of relief. "Thank the Unconquered Sun," she murmured, then turned to the other two. "Gunesh or . . . my Lady," she said, uncertain of how to address the other woman who had appeared, "would you please get me a pitcher of water? Quickly?"

With cool professionalism, the dancer turned back to Tri and Cunning Starfire as Gunesh started towards another table. "Set him on the table here, please." She pulled one of the napkins from her pile and began to wipe away the blood from Tor's face before handing the cloth to Cunning Starfire. "We have to get these cleaned before I can do anything else, but it's best to start working as soon as possible." She smiled at Tor, as bracingly as she could. "That was quite something."

He tried to struggle away from the women tending to him, his face more worried than it had been when he'd been sliced open. "No, Ma'am, really, don't. You'll get blood all over your . . . clothes and all," he said, looking at her costume for a moment. "I'll be fine or I won't be, it's . . . ." He trailed off, looking at her expression and the expressions of Tri and Cunning Starfire.

Ivory Dawn's face didn't change when Gunesh handed her a pitcher of water. "You'll sit still and let me tend your wounds. You fought for us all, and that means I'm responsible for making sure you still live tomorrow morning, no matter what." She motioned for the two women to let go. "This will be cold, and probably hurt," she said, as she upended the pitcher over his head, washing away most of the blood and dirt.

As he stood, shivering a little, she shook her head. It wasn't good, but it wasn't as bad as it looked. "Here," she said, pressing a pill into his hand. "Swallow this. It will help your blood clot, close the wounds faster." Her fingers worked quickly, wrapping strips of cloth around the worst of it.

When she was done, the copper-haired assassin stepped back. "It should be better now. I don't know how much good I did, but hopefully, it helped somewhat."

 

[Kinkerhell]

The Scarlet Star watched as this man, this boy, really, a simple unarmored peasant, went toe to toe with a Raksha noble. She watched in surprise as he accepted the challenge. She watched in trepidation as the fight began. She watched in horror as his blood was spilled by that delicate golden blade. She watched in stunned awe as his power crackled out and manifested itself in the form of a blazing, towering figure.

Scarlet watched in hungry anticipation as the boy tore the Raksha asunder, scattering his form into Wyld energy. Half-blinded by the light streaming from Tor, she realized that, like her, he was anathema, though of a different breed. Even being in his awesome light was unpleasant, almost physically painful to her. She had no idea what it must be like to have that titanic might turned upon her.

Tor issued his challenge, and for a moment, even the Raksha looked afraid. His wounds had to be hurting him, but to stand in flagrant defiance of such terrible foes...well, it bolstered even Scarlet's spirit. Perhaps they could fight their way out of this yet.

Then the huge beastform and the pretty blonde woman walked the Golden Anathema out of the circle, and Scarlet saw just how bad his wounds were. She didn't know a thing about medicine, but she knew that Tor's ankle turning purple probably wasn't good, and the sheet of blood cascading down his back didn't require any knowledge to show how bad it was. She dimly heard the request for a brief stay of battle, and The Lady's acceptance, but most of her attention was on the beautiful, copper-haired woman's ministrations of her young companion.

She got the blood stopped and his ankle bound, and Scarlet nodded to herself. Walking up to him, Scarlet said quietly, "You're hurt. You've done well, amazingly so. No one should have been able to do what you did, yet here you are. Revel in your victory, Sun Child. Leave the next fight to me." Without waiting for a reply, Scarlet turns and walks away, into the semi-circle of Raksha.

Her high, delicate voice raised, Scarlet calls out to The Lady. "He has beaten you! An unarmored, untutored boy has beaten one of the mighty Raksha! Now, he may rest on his laurels and recover from the exertion of beating one of you so terribly! I shall take his place." Scarlet turns to each of the Raksha for a moment, then back to the Lady.

"We have no time for Raksha games. I will fight the rest of your champions. At the same time. If I win, you will grant this young man a gift, an armor worthy of his accomplishment, in addition to our agreed-upon prize."

Scarlet stares at The Lady and her retinue, waiting for their response.

 

[Armphid]

Tor blushed, thought not as brightly as he should have, given the amount of blood he'd lost. The strikingly gorgeous redhead and stripped his shredded tunic off of him and dumped a few more ewers of water over his body before she bound his wounds.

He didn't know what to say or do to something like this. This fine, richly dressed woman, and the others as well, speaking so kindly to him and being concerned for him. Him! A mere peasant...it was out of his reckoning.

Tor grimaced at Scarlet's words and opened his mouth to speak, but a strong, furry hand suddenly pressed hard on the bandage that wound over most of his upper back and his words were lost in a rush of air as the ethereally beautiful waif turned away. He looked back up at Cunning Starfire with anger in his eyes, "Why did you do that? I don't want anyone to fight in my place. I should-"

"Appreciate that she wants you to live, my Tor, as do I, and the others here." The panther woman's eyes flickered to the few mortals still in terrified attendance. "Those with heavy destinies, anyway."

Before the argument could continue, a voice like a messenger of Heaven burst forth from the slight, pale girl with the singing garb and moaning blades as she called on the raksha and their Lady in a voice that demanded response.

Tor stood up at her challenge, his eyes wide. Her alone? Against the four remaining? His ankle hurt like hell but he pushed past the panther woman. "Against all four? I-we can't let her!"

Triumphant Mantis nodded, "Two on two would be fair. I'll stand with her."

Gunesh frowned and shook his head, "Look, both of you, that girl knows what she wants." The Dynast glanced at the limping Tor, "We didn't stop you, did we?"

The Lady did not answer right away. As one her remaining retinue turned to face her. The glorious monster from beyond Creation's shaped face was speculative and considering. Her eyes were hard though; and her smile had daggers in it as it spread over her lips, "Why, pet, have you taken a liking to the boy? Mmm. Well, when I have you, if you're good, maybe I'll give him to you. Or maybe just a few parts, he has such a pretty face."

She licked her lips, her tongue long and inhumanly tapering to an almost sharp point and razor edge. "Agreed pet, if you win, I'll grant your boon to the Ascending Sun but if you lose, then you and he are MINE, no matter what the outcome of the rest." The Lady gestured with one hand and the knights again moved as one, "Do not hold back, my knights, I'll keep her together when she falls. A virgin's first pang of remorse for the one who brings her back to me."

 

[Kinkerhell]

The Scarlet Star doesn't even pause to consider. She nods her assent as The Lady issues the directive to her knights, an expression of unbridled malice on her face. The Cataphractoi, clad in their strange, otherworldly armor and wielding their fine and ornamented weapons, all smile. The expressions are devoid of mirth, containing only a chill satisfaction, limitless cruelty, and all the mercy of a starving cobra. As one, they snap ramrod straight and draw their blades, saluting their Lady. Then, they begin to spread out, breaking the circle to form a cross, with Scarlet at their center.

Scarlet stands with her blades held by her sides while the Cataphractoi take their positions. As the Raksha get into place, Scarlet assesses each on in turn. The one to the west is delicate and slender, though tall, and moves with a liquid grace. appears to be wearing fine, light armor made entirely of polished coral, somehow flattened and worked into the shape of light plate mail. The plates are worked with an elaborate wave design in a dozen eye-tearing hues, and seems to move as she watches. Its blade is made of the same material, and it shimmers as though covered in a fine sheen of rapidly-flowing water. Its face is disturbing, appearing as a smooth, featureless ivory mask that is part of the creature, with only two blazing slits for eyes, with light shining from them that changes color in time with the thing's armor.

To the north is a Raksha that appears male, with limbs that seem just a shade too long and skin and hair as white as fresh snow. Sturdy without being stocky, tall without being towering, he appears to combine speed and strength in equal measure. He is clad in armor made of glistening ice, cloudy and white, and bears a blade that appears to be steel, though it surely is not. The blade is coated with hoarfrost and steams in the warm air.

To the east is a woman, as small as Scarlet herself, with skin of green and hair of a rich, dark brown. Her armor is scale mail of a greenish metal, with each scale worked in the shape of a leaf, light and supple. Her weapon appears to be a rapier fashioned out of a giant thorn, long and sharp, its wicked tip glistening with some vile poison.

To the south stands the fourth Cataphractoi. He is large, broad of chest and thick of arm, with red skin and raging flames in place of hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes. When he smiles, Scarlet can see that his teeth are as black as the floors of the underworld. His heavy plate mail is made of black volcanic glass, thick and sturdy-looking, and his saber has a blade nearly three feet long, curved and slightly jagged, also made of obsidian.

As the four Cataphractoi get into position, Scarlet finally raises her blades, and sets them to twirling, a hypnotic, eye-catching series of spins and reversals. As they move, they make a low humming moan, a slow, deep music. The movement of her arms as Scarlet directs her blades sets her clothes to whispering, providing a higher, faster counterpoint to the music. The two fuse and the moan of the blades and wail of her armor forming an eerie melody. Finally, Scarlet starts to tap one foot, the glass of her heels ringing, providing a beat to go with the song. The musis drifts through the air, and the Cataphractoi slowly start to advance.

As they come closer, Scarlet speeds up the movement of her blades and the tap of her foot, and the song begins to get wilder and louder, becoming a frenzied melody that evokes images of battle. Her blades begin to trail shadowy afterimages, not blurs but chains of shadowy cut outs, leaving long arcs of darkness in the wake of her movements, baffling the eye. The Raksha draw closer, almost to the point where Scarlet could simply reach out her swords and touch them.

Finally, she moves.

For a second, Scarlet's dance pauses as she interrupts her self, and a silence, pregnant with possibility, settles over the garden. But only for an instant. Then power rushes through Scarlet, and her grisly work begins.

Her blades surrounded by shadowy versions of themselves, Scarlet attacks the Raksha to the north first. She's never used the full extent of her capabilities before, and her speed and ferocity surprise even her. Moving like dark lightning, Lament weaves in, blindingly fast, feinting first in quarte, then in sixte, then beating the steaming blade out of line before Scarlet takes a single long step and rams the blade through the Raksha's icy breastplate, which spiderwebs with cracks. The blade pierces the Cataphract through and through, and he cries out, a sound of pain and rage like a Marukan avalanche.

Scarlet doesn't stop to savor her victory. By the time the first Raksha beigns to fall, she is already moving on to the second. Keeping her hand on the hilt of Lament, Scarlet backsteps, her left foot crossing behind her right leg. She plants and spins on the ball of her foot, Requiem whistling through the air, its high keen carrying the promise of swift, certain death. The second Cataphract doesn't have time to defend herself. She doesn't even have time to scream.

The blade catches her across the neck, just above the collar of her armor and strikes her head from her shoulders, the savage blow not even slowing down as it passes through her. Scarlet feels the upwelling of power about her, but doesn't have time to consider it. She's in the zone now, one with the music and savagery of battle, and with every blow, she steals power from her foes and uses it to hasten the demise of their fellows. The wyld essence fills her being, and she moves on.

Scarlet continues the spin of the strike that decapitated the second Cataphract and flips her right hand over Lament's hilt, so that she's gripping it backhanded. Her right foot goes toward the Cataphract to the south, and she transfers her weight and momentum to that foot, letting the spin carry her through a full revolution. As she comes back around, still moving with the speed and force of a hurricane, she drops low and extends her right arm, catching the third Cataphract across the knees, amputating both his legs where the seam of his armor lies, between shin and thigh. The Raksha falls one way and his lower legs fall the other. Fire pours from the stumps of his legs and once again, Scarlet can feel the power stolen from her opponent fill her. She lets go of Lament and turns her hand palm up, the second revolution of her spin whipping her around, and she snags Lament out of the air, back in an overhand grip.

The second spin continues, dizzyingly fast, but Scarlet may as well have all the time in the world to consider the last opponent, so in tune with her nature is she. She comes up out of the spin into a lunge, Requiem going high and Lament going low. The Raksha has time to defend against one blow or the other, but not both, and for a second he freezes.

The pause costs him his life, as the twin reaper daiklaves sail to either side of his guard. Requiem takes him high in the chest, and Lament low in the stomach with a loud, tooth-hurting crunch of shattered coral as the blades tear through his armor, front and back. The curved points of the swords almost touch behind him.

Scarlet tears the blades free and turns to face the Raksha Lady, and sees the spots where her fallen opponents died. There is a frosted patch of flagstone where her first opponent died, a small sapling where the second fell, a pile of ash and a burn mark where the third perished, and a pool of water surrounding the rapidly-dissolving body of her fourth. She has just enough time to take satisfaction in her victory, and the knowledge that the others wouldn't have to fight, before she feels a torrent of dark, cold power course through her.

Suddenly, every torch, bonfire, brazier and candle in the garden goes out, quenched with a hiss. The smell of blood fills the air. About the garden, the flies, gnats, mosquitoes, and other bugs all suddenly drop from the air, struck dead by an invisible force. The wine sours in its bottles and goblets, and food turns to ash on its platters. The fading dusk is obscured by a sudden build-up of dark, heavy clouds, and thunder booms down. Every silvered surface that catches The Scarlet Star's reflection suddenly tarnishes or shatters.

Scarlet is suddenly aware that the entire garden is lit only by a sanguine glow coming from behind her. Raising her blade to watch the reflection, she sees a glowing form behind her, and realizes that it is her own totem, given form by her essence.

Towering above and about her is the form of a beautiful, pale maiden. Like Scarlet, she is delicate and slender, with red hair and golden eyes. Her alabaster flesh is wrapped only in the tattered remains of a white burial shroud, which bears Scarlet's old name, Nevenka Tisendra. Great red wings spring from the maiden's back, and black chains encircle her wrists and ankles. The maiden is weeping bloody tears, but her face wears an expression of fierce determination.

Scarlet turns to The Lady and salutes her, a formal and fluid motion. Her totem mirrors her movements, armed with swords sculpted of red light and icy shadows.

Overhead, the thunder booms again, and a faint rain begins to fall, smelling slightly of ash.

 

[Armphid]

Again a heavy silence fell over the courtyard, broken by nothing save the hissing fall of dirty rain that left grey ash laden streaks on all that it fell upon. The deathly maiden totem hung in the air towering above the manor and all assembled in the courtyard. The silence was thick and heavy; the silence of the tomb of a dreaded lord of terrible power whose ghost is feared as much as the man or more. The grass was blackened and withered, it's death apparent even in the dark of the growing dusk. Not a thing other than the Exalts and the Lady moved or stirred or breathed. Even those furtive breaths seemed blasphemous to that deathly quiet.

Triumphant Mantis' face showed mingled shock and horror. Such raw destructive power...she'd never imagined such a delicate looking girl could unleash such savagery. And what had happened afterward, this wave of death and darkness, it was awful, abominable. Something deep within her cried out in refusal of it, urged her to strike down the one who called it forth to stain and sully Creation with impurity.

Gunesh stared as well; his mind racing. Nothing, there was nothing like that in any annals of the Anathema; save one. The deathknights that had delivered Thorns to the Mask of Winters, who had slain powerful scions of the Dynastic Houses with reported ease. Seeing this now, he had now doubt of what it had looked like. Dragons, what would he do if she turned that power against him?

Cunning Starfire was a woman again; the chocolate skinned beauty's eyes burning into Scarlet as though she wished she could burn her gaze inside to see the truth of her. Her forehead had the same symbol as Tor's but it was wrong. Blackened and bleeding and her power...like his but unlike. She had never heard of anything like this. And she had heard tales of the First Age from ones who had lived them. This was truly unknown and a shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with cold. Her hand absently reached over for Tor's...only to not find him.

The wounded fighter was limping to Scarlet's side. He eyed her totemic anima with respect but without fear. "Well fought," he said in a soft voice that seemed to crack through the silence louder than the thunder that occasionally rolled overhead. He smiled a bit sheepishly, ashen rain streaking his bare chest and young face, "I should have let you go first. You're amazing...it doesn't mean much, but I've never seen the like."

"Nor have I," came the Lady's voice. It was as melodious as ever but just barely, the song of her being choked with malice and shock. She had drawn herself upright and seemed suddenly taller. Her eyes were wide and wild and it looked for a moment as though she might hurl herself bodily down upon the red headed waif who had torn her knights apart in the space of a breath. "And that carries far more weight than your eyes, callow child."

She took a deep breath and shook her head, her hairs ringing as though each were a tiny chime, creating a mournful dirge-like melody. "Victory is yours, Exalted. I will depart this place, never to return, nor shall any sworn to me menace or harry this place or those who here dwell." The words were precisely spoken and her shoulders sagged slightly, as if a great but invisible weight had settled on her. "To you each, I owe a boon." Her eyes flicked to Tor, "And armor of such stuff as dreams are made of to you, Dawn Child, as...that one requested. Speak now and make your wishes known. I weary of this place and your present dismal state that so offends my memories of your splendor."

 

[HookerBoots]

The copper-haired dancer looked at the red-haired woman with eyes that were thin and considering. This was unusual, and unknown, this power. There was darkness, the natural and healthy end to a day or a season, where things would grow again and be healthy. This power was nothing at all like that; this was death, the ending of life, where ghosts and spectres would linger, where nothing would return from.

Ivory Dawn wasn't certain what this would mean for their little group. If she was capable of ending four Raksha like that, there wasn't much of anything they could do against her, even if Torasin was at full health. But should they attack? If she was allied with a Deathlord, they should. How to find out if she was, without asking straight out? If she wasn't, where did her power come from?

Then The Lady spoke, and all eyes turned to her again. Silence filled the courtyard for a moment. Cunning Starfire spoke up, her eyes flashing. "For my part, I request a Hidden place for all of us. My Tor is injured, and we need time to heal him, away from the attention this little game of yours will have brought us." She shook her head, shaking her hair out. "There is an abandoned farmstead three miles east of here - that will be the place. Make it Hidden for three days after our arrival there."

 

[Kinkerhell]

Scarlet is quietly moved by the young Solar's words. Its more kindness than she's ever gotten in a single moment to that point. Above her, the totem of the Weeping Maiden smiles, then flickers and vanishes, and Scarlet is no longer the awesome titan of destruction that she was. Now she is simply Scarlet, a scared, tired girl who's completely out of her depth.

Scarlet hears the silver maiden ask for a hidden redoubt, and nods to herself. Its a good idea. It will give the young Solar time to heal, and give her time to talk to the group and explain herself, as well as rest and recover from the massive expenditure of power that was the fight. But first...

Scarlet turns to The Lady and smiles thinly. "Milady, I have no need of your gifts or favors. I have won what I desired. I am free of you. Your torturous vassals have been cast back into the Wyld, and your pride and dignity are in tatters." She gestures to the valiant young Dawn Caste. "This man, however, has done a great thing, and he deserves his reward. More, he deserves a panoply fit for his skill and station, and so I shall redeem my favor for him."

Scarlet turns to Tor and looks him up and down, thinking. He was alright with a sword, and had some innovative tricks with that shield, but he still seemed as though they were unfamiliar in his hands. Her eyes flicker down to his broad, callused hands, and her smile grows.

"I would have you forge for him a weapon. He was a peasant, and his hands know best a peasant's weapons. Build for him a scythe, a grand and terrible blade, that he may reap the lives of his foes as a farmer reaps the harvest."

The Lady's eyes narrow, and she replies in a voice like hammered iron. "Come, child. A scythe I can create, but a weapon such as the one you speak of requires more than dreamstuff and wish. What would he give up to form its core?"

Tor looks about to speak, but Scarlet overruns him. "No. I shall give it up. He fought for me as well as his friends. I owe him this. Take my hopes, my dreams, my dearest wishes. Let those form his blade. What better creature than a Lawgiver to hold everything I long for in the palm of his hand?"

The Raksha nods once, unhappily, and beckons Scarlet forward. Scarlet advances, and The Lady puts her hand on the back of Scarlet's neck, and her other into the small of Scarlet's back. Pulling her forward, The Lady kisses the Deathknight.

For Scarlet, it is a moment of intense fear, as she remembers what the Raksha did to her before, but also a moment of intense excitement. The Lady's lips are petal-soft and fever-hot, and their caress is divine on Scarlet's mouth. Her eyes widen, then drift shut, and she melts into the kiss, opening her mouth. Instead of continuing the kiss as a human would, though, The Lady begins to inhale, and Scarlet feels a strange sensation of loss pass through her, as she is ravished by The Lady's Heart.

The Lady then releases Scarlet and steps back. Scarlet can't put her finger on exactly what's wrong. The Lady parts her hands and begins speaking in a liquid tongue that defies understanding, and a cloud of drifting motes of light begins to form. In it, there is the outline of a scythe.

From the cloud come feelings of melancholy, triumph, tragedy, and success. There is the smell of roses, the sound of laughter, a passing feeling of silk on the skin, the taste of fresh pomegranates. Images flicker in the cloud, visions of a wedding, of triumph in battle, of two figures entwined. With each sensation, vision or sound, the scythe grows more solid, and Scarlet feels different. She realizes that she's seeing everything she'd ever hoped for, longed for, or desired in the cloud.

The process continues for a full minute, until the last wish is absorbed. Then the Scythe is complete. It is a grand weapon in deed, a five foot haft curved into a shallow S, its entire hilt made of some silvery metal. The blade, six inches wide at the base, is a shallow, shining arc nearly three feet long, the blade being a strange medley of colors, with a cutting edge of coppery metal, fading into gold as it gets further from the edge, with streaks of black iron and opalescent white flecked along the blade. The Lady hands it to Tor with a nod, and Scarlet can feel him taking it, feel him as he wraps her dreams in his grip.

 

[Armphid]

Gunesh blinked as he watched the shaping, "Clever, clever girl."

"What do you mean?" Tri was still by him, the two Solars having moved up to be behind Tor by a few feet since the Abyssal's anima had faded. "It's a noble thing, certainly, to give up something of herself to give to him."

The artificer shook his head, "It's more than that, Tri." He lowered his voice, pitching it for her alone. "She's giving some part of herself to be made into a weapon that he'll hold. Whatever part that is...he'll hold, control even, and know intimately."

The sensual holy woman took in slender, frail looking Scarlet with sharp interest and a keen look. "He'll know her now. And from what we've seen...he'll feel just as bound to her as she to him." She smiled softly, "Which binds her to us and us to her."

"Unless she's grossly misjudged us. Which she hasn't," Gunesh said softly. "Like I said...she's a clever girl."

"Hope, boy," the Lady spoke up once more. "That is it's name."

"I know," he answered in a shaken, reverent voice. Tor could feel...everything contained in the fantastically magical weapon now in his strong, work hardened hands. "Hope." Her hope, her dreams. Her wish to perform and sing, her longing for freedom from her torment, every dream and imagining that the girl who had offered up part of herself to arm him had ever felt, he knew. He felt tears on his face; tears of utter movement by such beauty and such a gesture. "I do not even know your name or what to call you," he said, turning from the raksha who bristled at the perceived slight, "but I will...honor and cherish this, and put it to use. You, please, you must travel with me, with us so that I can find some way to...to be worthy of this gift."

"Pretty words, boy," the Lady sneered. "And it is a wonderful piece craft, as will be your armor, but all the pretty words and panoply in the world will not make you more than the dross you rose from." The raksha flicked her fingers and smirked, "Now for your armor then. A scythe fit you as a peasant's weapon, perhaps a peasant's protection? A leather jerkin or buff jacket?"

Gunesh cleared his throat, "Lady, we all know you can do far more than that. Please, no need to insult our intelligence." He looked at the youth, Tor's eyes moving from the weapon in his hands and back to Scarlet with wonder in his eyes. That wasn't going to cause trouble with his panther girlfriend at all, he was sure. "Lady, you are familiar with articulated plate, I'm sure. I think that would suit our young fighter well."

The raised a brow, "Is this your favor, Descending Sun?"

"No," Tor shook his head, coming partially out of the reverie. "No, this is the armor you owe me, as agreed. And what he's saying, that will be fine. Another gift to keep me alive so I can make payment on it good."

"So be it," she purred with hateful sweetness. "And your boon, oh, so fortunate stripling. What shall it be?"

Tor looked back at the manor. It was vacant now; everyone had fled but them. His eyes flickered to the places where prostitutes and slaves lay dead; whether from the fae or the party goers he could not say and his gaze hardened. "I want to know who is responsible for this. All of them, the lords and powerful ones who made the deal with your people to come here. Tell me everything about your agreement. That is what I ask."

She inclined her head, "Very well. And the rest of you? Let us get all your petty desires known and in the open."

Triumphant Mantis' smile was pretty and charming but utterly unfriendly, "I will keep my favor unpaid, Lady. As I am sure we will all meet again and who knows what service I might need of you then?"

"...Sun's whore," The Lady growled, "You know the value of selling yourself and others, to no one's surprise."

"Such grace," Gunesh muttered. Then he cleared his throat, "I'll tell you mind though, Lady. It is said that many places of great wonders existed in the First Age in places that were forged from the Wyld, but were lost when your folk invaded during the Contagion." She nodded slightly and he beamed, "Factory-Cathedrals, manses, caches of great lore and wisdom."

"Your point, byblow of the byblow of the Dragons?"

"Those places, many of them, likely still remain in the Wyld; islands of Creation that no magics but our own or stronger may undo." Gunesh took a deep breath, "I request that you locate the nearest one to the city of Cayir and then send to me a message, clear and detailed and delivered subtly but surely to me knowingly that tells of its nature, state, occupancy, direction, distance, and location as can best be provided in the Wyld." After a moment, he added, "Please."

 

[Kinkerhell]

The Lady nods grudgingly to Gunesh. "Very well, Sun-Child. You shall have your information as soon as time permits." Then she turns back to Tor and snarls, "And you, you shall have yours in a moment. First, though, your other boon, which this one," she gestures sharply at Scarlet, who smiles mockingly, "has won for you. Take comfort and solace in her gift, for when the time comes, it is all that you shall have left of her!"

The Lady stares at Tor for a long moment, then begins to speak in that eldritch tongue once more. This time, light of gold and silver collects around Tor, slowly forming a sphere slightly taller than a man. The light grows brighter, the gold and silver swirling about the Dawn Caste until he is obscured completely, then coalesces inward, shrinking rapidly and molding to Tor's powerful form, creating the glowing outline of armor. The light pulses once, blindingly bright, then vanishes, and in its place leaves Tor's second boon, a suit of articulated plate, perfect in every way, worth a Satrap's ransom.

The armor appears to be made entirely of silver. Not steel, but real, shining silver, mirror-bright and polished. The Breastplate, tuille, gauntlets and greaves are all bedecked with fine scrollwork in shining gold and light-swallowing black iron. Most of the scrollwork is just fancy lines, but some of it, near the beginning of the pattern on each piece of armor, is in writing, each piece bearing the same tale in a different tongue. The writing proclaims the story of Tor, Fae-Killer, and his magnificent duel against a Cataphract.

The armor seems ornate, and looks both heavy and useless, but it is neither. The plate is as light as a summer breeze, and hard as a mountainside. It is not restricting of Tor's movements, and if he were to look away, it would be possible to forget he wore it. The pauldrons are adorned with the symbol of a sunburst, overlaid by a golden scythe, and the back of the breastplate has clips from which to anchor a long-hafted weapon. Not surprisingly, they fit the haft of Hope perfectly.

The Lady smiles at Tor, malice dripping from her in almost palpable waves. "And now you have your armor, boy. The scrollwork will change as you go forth, telling your story to all who are lettered enough to read. It is, as my pet requested, armor worthy of your station. Now, I shall give you what you requested, so that I may depart this miserable place."

 

[HookerBoots]

"I beg your pardon, My Lady," Ivory Dawn stepped forward, wiping the last of Tor's blood from her hands. "But you still have yet to grant my boon." She tucked her hands behind her back, looking as prim and proper as someone dressed in mostly scraps of transparent gauze could.

There was a pause, and the Raksha finally said impatiently, "Well, what is it, Sun-child? What boon do you want, so that I may leave this place?"

Ivory Dawn smiled, the expression never reaching her eyes. "I would like a vial of poison, properly stoppered and sealed. A poison like none other in Creation, with no antidote and suitable for application to a bladed weapon." Her smile hardened, and the dancer spread her hands in front of her. "Poisons are a hobby of mine, you know."

 

[Armphid]

"Oh, I know of your hobby, Hidden Sun." The Lady's smile was vicious and her voice still silky smooth but wicked, "Better than you yourself. I know of your many experiments, long ago when you were another incarnation. I know of the thousands you shared your hobby with. I know of whole rivers turned to poison and nations laid waste in your pursuit of perfection of your hobby."

The utterly stunning noble again began to murmur in that strange tongue,the words immediately heard and haunting the ears of the Exalts, yet also gone from their minds as soon as they were heard. She gestured and a vial of clay, sealed with wax and stoppered with yellow jade appeared in front of Ivory Dawn, perhaps three feet above her. The Lady chuckled and it plunged towards the ground, "I wouldn't let that break," her sing song voice chided.

She turned as the lush dancer snatched the vial out of the air, careful not to squeeze but simply to grab. "Now then, boy," her endless eyes turned on Tor, "You wanted to know our agreement with those here. Listen then."

Tor nodded; his face coldly angry as the raksha spoke. His hands had tightened on the haft of his new weapon, and only the sting of the cold glamour-wrought armor on his bound wounds kept him from striking her. Not this time for her.

"We came here first hunting as normal; taking some locals as we had heard that the local satrap was more concerned with his own pleasures than tending the herd." She shivered and licked her lips, "For a time, it went as we thought but then the mortal whose line pretends to rule these lands with "observation" and "advice" from the Realm satrap met us when we rode out one night. So brave a thing for a mortal, I thought, him meeting us with a pathetic little band of troops. I let him speak as reward for amusing me, and he made us an offer. Rather than hunting mortals at random, an inconvenience he called it, he could arrange for us to have larger groups. Some to fully delight in and others just to nibble here and there." That razor edged tongue licked her lips again and she shivered, "He wanted to use the ravished ones as commodities, or to increase his power, such a delicious little story of corruption and betrayal! I simply could not refuse!"

Tor growled, "The Potentate then. Who else?"

She raised her brows, "Patience, little boy. I will tell all as I agreed. The Potentate started it but just a month ago, we were met on our way to one of these parties by the satrap, his entourage, and more than a few mortal troops. Enough to threaten even me." The Lady giggled, "I thought the game was over but, no! The satrap wanted me to continue, and would even help encourage visitors to the parties, so long as we made sure to feed especially on some secret allies of his he wanted a firmer handle on."

Gunesh had walked over to the bodies of the pirates and had been inspecting them closely. "Dangerous game you're playing, cousin," he murmured. "And a terrible one at that." The tall Dynast stood, "It's them, isn't it? The Lintha?"

The Lady pursed her lips, "Just so. After all, he could hardly have his family finding out about his dealings with them, and so wanted them firmly under his thumb in these waters. We've had a few of them, but this would have been the biggest group yet. A pity too, had it gone on, we might have gotten to play with their leader."

Triumphant Mantis had returned her daiklaive to the baldric at her shoulder, her arms crossed under her breasts. "Why is he working with the Lintha at all?"

"I can't tell you that. I never asked and I really didn't care." She shrugged, her sensual flesh moving in a way that sent a thrill of hunger through all who saw it, despite the danger and malice of the alien creature. "But as long as the Lintha's wills were weaker, their hearts more timid, he was willing to let us continue. He even hinted that in a few years, he'd give us far more to feast on." Again she shrugged, "That is all of it, really. A delicious story but a simple one."

The Lady clapped her hands, "And now I leave you, Chosen. I shall keep my word as given to the letter. I will see you all again, and at my choosing, and then I shall take back what is mine and you will regret not simply giving yourselves to me."

Tor snarled, "You keep making threats but you're the one running." The farm boy's eyes looked at the mighty raksha and were not afraid.

"Am I?" The Lady laughed and strode towards the stables, gesturing again and the strange and impossible mounts the raksha had ridden here burst out of the building and rampaged over to her. "Silly, silly boy. I'm not running. It wouldn't be a very good story if I claimed you yet." She mounted on a creature that seemed to be a snake with seven claws legs and smiled, "And, oh, what a tale it will be when I do."

She spoke a word and the group of steeds bolted into motion, running not only forward but up. Higher and higher they rose, up and away, clearing the walls of the manor and disappearing into the inky dark of the night beyond.

The group of strangers stood watching for several moments in the ashen rain, each alone with their thoughts. Then Gunesh spoke up, "Well, that was interesting. I think we've all made a new friend there." The artificer glanced about, "I have about a thousand questions for each of you, and would love to make introductions but perhaps we should, ah, take this on the road, as they say?"

 

[Kinkerhell]

Scarlet listens intently as The Lady explains the pact made with the Fair Folk. At the end even she, a killer and a monster, is horrified. At least her darkness was born out of fear and desperation, not willing, callous disregard. As The Lady leaves, Scarlet looks after her, her small, delicate hands clenching on the hilts of her blades, wondering if she can fly fast enough to catch the Fae and tear her to pieces. Then she shakes her head and forces herself to relax. Killing her here would serve no purpose, and would leave several boons unfulfilled or unasked. Better to get what they could and hunt her later, where they could destroy the vile, vicious, beautiful monster.

The grey and ash-laden rain continues to fall as Scarlet turns and surveys the destruction. Everything but the human bodies is her doing, she realizes belatedly, the cost-in-kind of her exercise of her dark gifts. At the far edges of the garden, she can see green grass, and the dividing line is as sharp as a swordstroke, marking where her power ended. On several of the tables she can see small pools of metal surrounded by scorch marks, and knows that these were once holy symbols, burned to slag in the savage backlash of her power.

The rain paints her face with grey streaks and dirties her hair and silken armor. She dimly hears the Solar, the one who looks like a dynast, say that they should be on the road. Looking at the bodies before her, she knows that he's right, they should go before any of the fled bring reinforcements. But, looking at the corpses of the unhonored, unremembered dead, she also knows she can't leave, not yet. How could she set out on her way, when so many souls wandered lost? These people, corrupt, frail, or tainted though they may be needed a steward, a seneschal. A knight.

Scarlet speaks, her voice serene. "Then go. I will catch you on the road, if you will it. If you'd leave me here, then leave me, and we shall not cross paths again. I cannot leave yet. There is something I must do."

Scarlet reaches down and unclasps her belt and the frogs that bind her sword sheaths. She lets the whole thing fall to the ground, then steps out of her shoes. Barefoot, she is much shorter, standing only a couple of inches above five feet. She unwraps her silken armor, folds it, and carefully sets it on her sword harness, where it immediately begins collecting the grey, foul-smelling rainwater.

Now nude, she seems much smaller, more frail. Her slender body is toned but supple, her breasts firm but small and her stomach flat. Her waist is slender, as are her hips, and her legs are long for her frame, toned and coltish, running up to a small, firm backside. The small of her back is inlaid with a gleaming, intricate black metal design that is seamless joined with the flesh around it, and in the center, right between the dimples of her back is a small purple gem that glows dimly in the near-darkness. Above that design is another one, this one high on her back, covering her shoulderblades, worked into stylized metal wings and again in black, shiny metal.

Every inch of her skin is white, white, white, the color of polished alabaster or fresh snow, and perfect. She has no scars, no blemishes, no even a birthmark. It becomes patently obvious that her hair stops growing at her eyebrows, and she had no color to her body save for the spatters of blood from her enemies and the grey streaks of the ashen rain, which seem to defile her perfect purity of form.

Unfazed by her own nakedness, Scarlet brushes her wet hair back with one hand, where it clings to the curve of her swan-like neck and slender, waiflike shoulders. Her small, delicate feet stepping lightly, she begins to move amongst the dead, closing their eyes and crossing their hands over their chests. As she moves, she begins to sing, an old, old song. It is a lament for the dead that was first penned in Rathess in another age. How she learned it is a mystery.

The wailing, mournful tones of the funereal music soar out, seemingly all the way to the clouds, as The Scarlet Star gives the dead what little peace and comfort she can.

 

[Armphid]

Tor could only stare as the strange, beautiful young girl whose hopes sang in his hands stripped off her weapons and then her clothes before starting to walk among the dead. Of all the things that had happened, it was this that he was least prepared to deal with. She was...and she was amazing, but...what made her do that?

He jerked his eyes as she started singing, the sound breaking the spell her nudity and her alluring, perfect, small body had woven over him. He felt suddenly ashamed for gawking at her like that; it would have been disrespectful to do that to anyone, let alone someone who'd just given him so much. And Cunning Starfire was right there, he didn't want to hurt her feelings. Or make her angry with either of them; he wasn't sure who would survive if it got ugly but he'd lose any way it went down.

Triumphant Mantis was smiling, "That's exactly right." She had been going to speak up about delaying long enough to care for the dead; the end of their lives had been unfortunate enough, after all, and she didn't want to leave hungry ghosts behind them. It was very strange; the girl had put her life on the line for them, or perhaps just to kill the raksha and seemed to go out of her way to help the peasant boy. And now she was taking the time to honor the dead as best she could, all noble and good things.

Why they did part of her still want to draw her weapon and smite the girl? It made no sense. She had done nothing wrong.

The sensual blond saw Tor turn away with cheeks that looked flushed and could almost hear Gunesh's mind whirring away beside her with curious, and likely dirty, thoughts. "The dead must be laid to rest." She tapped her partner-in-crime on the shoulder, "Gunesh, can you get the rest of our things and any supplies we can use. There's no telling what this farmstead we're going to will have."

"Actual integration of magical materials into her body," he answered, a finger tapping at his lantern jaw, "But for what purpose? Not Aegis Insert Amulets...hmm?" The Twilight suddenly blinked, his intellectual reverie snapped, "Ah, yes. Good idea. I'll tend to that." He turned and disappeared back into the manor house.

Tri then approached Cunning Starfire; the dark skinned woman draped in a curtain that had hung on one of the divans, offering tempting glimpses of her lush and hard muscled body, glints of moonsilver here and there as she moved. "Beloved of Luna," she started and then went on as the Lunar turned her mysterious eyes on the shorter woman, "thank you for your help. If you would allow us to travel with you to the farmstead and stay there, I think we could all learn a great deal." She wasn't sure why she'd used that term to address her; it just felt...correct, somehow. "Perhaps while the slain are tended to, you and your young friend could check the stables and see if there are any horses to be used? Our own should be there, and if we can all ride, so much the better."

It would also get the boy out of this dirty rain. His wounds were bound but she doubted that armor, magnificent as it was, was water right and who knows what was in this dark, dank, smelly wet.

Triumphant Mantis gave her a shallow bow and then began to follow the path that the nude girl had taken. Gods great and small, she was a lovely young woman, wasn't she? And those markings...how would those feel under her fingers? Or that alabaster skin taste? "Maybe we'll find out," she murmured to herself. But she should really focus on the task at hand.

As she came to each body, Triumphant Mantis knelt by the head and bent over, pressing her forehead to the pallid one of the corpse and speaking a benediction. The words were not fixed, but her message was the same, "Rest now and be at peace; your killers are slain and their mistress will be dealt with. Go now and know that your suffering is ended, and that it has been seen and known. Justice will be had for you, and when you return, the world will be a better place."

She lifted up and kissed the pale forehead, and power flickered from her to the body at the touch of her plush lips. Each body seemed to flicker in gold flames for the briefest instant and then was gone, a powdery ash remaining that quickly was mingled with that falling from above.

The golden disc shone again on her forehead as Tri rose and moved to the next unfortunate, purifying them and sending their souls safely on their way. She had not known before that she could do this but now it felt as though she had always known.

 

[HookerBoots]

Cunning Starfire looked just for a moment at the petite blond Solar before tipping her head. It was a good way to get Tor from out of this . . . abominable rain, without him being able to protest about being coddled. She turned on one heel and took the few steps to where Tor was standing, his cheeks bright red. "Come, my Tor," she said softly. "We seem to have acquired some traveling companions, and they have horses."

She took his hand, feeling the rings they both wore meet with an almost electric spark. "We shall see to their horses and then head to the farmstead." Her teeth flashed white in a smile. "And then I shall go retrieve the supplies we had to leave to get here in time."

As the two lovers vanished into the courtyard that housed the stables, Ivory Dawn shook her head and glanced up at the sky. This . . . whatever it was could stop whenever it wanted to. She shivered a little, tucking the vial into one of the hidden pockets of her costume. The red-haired girl was lovely, and her voice . . . they could draw crowds for miles, together, if the girl stayed with them. She wasn't sure she liked the idea of having someone prettier than she was as a performance partner, though.

Well, she didn't have the girl's voice, and she surely didn't have Tri's ability to do . . . whatever Tri was doing, so what did that leave? She could try and gather up anything usable here, but it would all be soaked in this ashy rain. Gunesh was gathering their things, and the other two were getting the horses. So Ivory Dawn stood there, her filmy costume plastered to her with dirty grey water, her hair hanging lank around her face, facing eastward, like a woman hoping for the sun.

 

[Armphid]

Tor shook his head as they headed for the stables, the young man limping and trying not to wince. This armor was...well, impossible and wonderful certainly, but it had also been put on over no shirt and ragged linen trousers. The plates and straps were chafing and biting at his skin as he moved, though he was sure it was not nearly as bad as it should have been with normal gear of this type. "You shouldn't leave once we get there. You told the Lady to hide the place after our arrival; I bet she'd hide it once you left again to recover the supplies, just out of spite."

They were joined in the stables after perhaps ten minutes by the others, including the pale young woman who had thundered so dramatically from the skies, not dressed again and shivering from the cold of the ashen rain before cloaks were all but thrust upon her by Gunesh and Ivory Dawn. The small group mounted up and rode east from the manor, following Cunning Starfire after the lush bodied Lunar's form melted into that of a massive war horse and took the lead of the other animals.

~~~~~~~~~~​

They rode for perhaps half an hour, with little speech other than corrections on course, or advice for those who had never ridden a horse before, such as Tor. He'd barely ever even been allowed to handle such an expensive animal. They could have made the trip in less, certainly, yet they kept their pace at a more casual speed.

They were not fleeing; merely removing themselves from an uncertain position of victory to a more secure one. The ashen rain was left behind after the first few minutes of riding and the air grew immediately warmer as they passed out from under the unnatural clouds that spewed it down upon the earth.

Nevertheless, by the time they reached their destination, all were beginning to feel the effects of the day, the fight, and the rain. Cold, fatigue, and hunger were felt by all but there was more as well. Uncertainty lingered, for though they had all been willing to stand together against the raksha, the truth was none of them knew anything of the others; save for the trio of Gunesh, Ivory Dawn, and Tri. Tor and Cunning Starfire knew one another, true, but though the boy trusted her implicitly, he too knew little of his Moon Touched "mate."

The farmstead was in surprisingly good condition, which made it all the more eerie. There was an sizable farmhouse and a larger barn, two corrals, a tool or bath house of some kind, and a small shack perhaps meant for chickens or other birds. There was no sign of habitation, yet the repair of the place suggested it had been vacated recently. There were no domesticated animals either, save for a cat that fled as it saw the group coming.

The charger that had led them here twisted and shrunk, resolving into the form of the dark skinned Cunning Starfire. "The Fair Ones took the people here; their smell is all over this place." She wrinkled her nose and moved over to all but pull a weakly protesting Tor down from his horse. "But it is weeks old, and it will be hidden any moment, now that we are here."

 

[Kinkerhell]

Scarlet looks at the farmhouse with a critical eye as they drew upon it. It was, for an abandoned building, surprisingly sturdy. They had left the rains behind, but it would be good to check the roof for leaks. The rain would come, and soon. It always had before. It would follow her for the next day or so, and the storm would grow to be thick, heavy, and miles across before it dissipated.

Scarlet dismounts her horse, a process requiring some care considering her near nudity, her body covered only by a grey cloak that Gunesh and Ivory Dawn had found for her. Swinging lightly to the ground in a swirl of grey fabric and pale flesh, she lifts the oilskin sack containing her harness, shoes and armor from the horse's saddle, then takes the horse's lead in her hand and leads it to the stable. She returns after a few moments with the sack in one hand and the long, linen wrapped bundle containing her blades under her other arm.

She follows the others into the farmhouse and looks around. Its dark, but that's no surprise. The floors are in good repair, and the walls show no chinks for light or weather to seep through. Setting down her bundles and removing her cloak, Scarlet draws Requiem and quickly moves through the house on silent little feet, returning to the main living area when she is satisfied that the are alone. She dons the cloak once more, clasping it and pulling it close. Taking herself and her gear to a corner, she hunches down, sitting on her heels with her back against the wall. She's mostly dry now, but still freezing, so she sits, shivers, and thinks hard.

She has new and powerful traveling companions, but she doesn't know much about them. The young man, Torasin, she'd heard him called, seemed a fairly honest and upright sort, and the look of gratitude when she'd championed him in the fight against the fair folk and given him Hope was real enough. The pretty, lush blonde seems pleasant enough, but every now and then Scarlet would catch the woman staring at her, sometimes as if considering, but other times as if measuring her for a coffin. The coppery-haired woman was quiet enough that Scarlet had not yet formed an opinion of her, save as to her beauty and grace, both of which are stunning. The dynast was kind enough to locate a cloak for her back at the manor, and had seemed overly curious about her tattoos, but was apparently too courteous to ask yet. It will be interesting to see how long it takes him to broach the subject now that they're in safer waters.

The one that worries Scarlet the most is the Argent Maiden. It wasn't until after Scarlet had already given Torasin the great blade and won for him his armor that she'd noticed the matched rings he and the silver anathema wear. The woman didn't seem too terribly irritated then, and has said nothing to Scarlet since, but Scarlet worries all the same. If she has the same sense of fun that a hunting cat does, for example, she could just be playing Scarlet along.

Scarlet shrugs. She'll learn enough about her new companions soon, she's sure. In the meantime though, her clothes need drying. She stands and picks up her bag, removing her shoes from it first. Then, the unthinkable happens. Scarlet, being of inhuman grace and dexterity, actually drops one.

Aghast, Scarlet looks at her hand. It is trembling so violently that it is barely more than a blur at the end of her wrist, and she realizes that the rest of her is twitching almost as badly. Belatedly, she remembers that her ability to fly effectively is predicated on the fact that she has hollow bones. That ash rain was cold, and she wasn't very big. Night had fallen and the air was cooling, made worse by the approaching storm her power unleashed. Since her transformation, Scarlet hasn't been this far north, and is just beginning to realize that there's a small but definite chance that she'll freeze to death or catch pneumonia if she's not careful. A small part of her feels like laughing. She can kill four Raksha nobles in the time it takes to blink twice, but the weather can still lay her low.

Scarlet bends down to retrieve her fallen footwear and sets it in the corner, next to where her blades are leaning. She drapes her soaked silken armor over a small stool, then tentatively approaches the rest of the group. In a small, quivering voice punctuated but the chatter of her teeth, which have since returned to their normal small, even state, she asks, "C-could s-s-someone-ne build a f-f-f-fire? I would-d d-do it m-m-mys-self but I d-don't know h-how."

 

[Armphid]

After all but carrying a blushing Tor inside, Cunning Starfire left to check the outbuildings for anything useful or dangerous. The others set about the farmhouse; falling into various tasks with very little discussion. It was as though they had all done this together before, despite the fact that only a few of them knew each other for more than two hours, or a few days at best.

Tor was too cold and tired to care. His back and ankle ached, but he he'd hurt before. The brawny youth busied himself with bringing firewood into the main living space and building it up beside the hearth. He felt so silly doing it while wearing the brilliantly shining plate armor the raksha had clad him in but he didn't know how to take it off, for one thing, and for another there were more critical tasks that needed to be done first. They had shelter, but it would get cold so they needed heat. And then food, he hoped.

Triumpant Mantis was in the kitchen on the other side of the main living space, and just as large an area. Gunesh had taken the time and several bags and packs to thoroughly look the Potentate's larder, so food they had, and here were even the tools to prepare it with. Golden light poured off of her and filled the room, spilling out into the other room and the windows and doors into the cold, gloomy night. It was a small use of her power but light was something they could all use. Her deft hands cut up cheese and sliced rashers of bacon. If the fire got lit soon, they could have a warm meal. And a long conversation; a great many things needed to be discussed and soon.

Gunesh was in the barn, having lead the horses inside after the wild southern woman with the moonsilver tattoos had given him the all-clear. Quite a woman; beautiful, powerful, deadly...like the pale girl in those respects as well. The barn was stocked decently, plenty of fodder for their steeds and material to bed them down against the chill of the night. But even as he worked rubbing the horses down and getting them settled in; his thoughts were troubled. Not as much by their unknown comrades as by how easily some of the group had taken to setting up camp here. As soon as they arrived, he, Tri, Ivory Dawn, and the boy had all just split up and set about different tasks. There was not discussion, they'd simply done it. As though they'd set up camp or occupied structures with one another a dozen times before and each knew their roll. What could that mean?

As the last beast was chewing happily and warmly in a stall, Gunesh trudged across the farmstead and back into the kitchen. The buckets of water that Ivory Dawn had drawn from the well sat on near the door, the artificer being careful not to step in or knock them over as he shut it firmly. "Horses are settled in, Tri. I haven't seen the Lunar woman since she cleared the barn though."

"Cunning Starfire," Tor said through the space of the hearth as he brought in another heavy armload of wood. "That's her name."

"Ah, Cunning Starfire then," Gunesh said with a faint smile.

"She's nearby," the youth pointed off to the west. "That way, I think she found something interesting in the outbuilding. It was over there." The Dynast raised an eyebrow; how did he know that? Was it the rings they wore?

Before anyone else could speak, they were approached by the slender, gorgeous girl who had so magnificently defeated four faerie knights. None of them had noticed her as they went about their tasks but now that they looked at her, her shivering was apparent even under the folds of Gunesh's cloak.

Tri was beside her in an instant, taking the girl's hand. "She's freezing! Get a fire going, boys, now, please." She had little knowledge of medicine or survival, but everyone who lived this far north knew the dangers of the cold and the best ways to combat it. The blond smiled at the girl, "This isn't exactly how I imagined this happening," as she spoke, the pretty holy woman was taking off the soiled dancer's costume she'd borrowed from Ivory Dawn to infiltrate the party. Her brilliant chain shirt jingled softly as she pulled it up and over her head, tossing it onto a nearby table.

Tor had his back turned and was glad for it, mostly. He was also jealous and curious and wanted very much to look back. He could hear the movement of fabric and the jingling mail, and out of the corner of his eyes he saw part of the scant dancer's garb land on a bench along the wall. A short branch clattered out of his hands and onto the floor.

Don't think about it, get the fire going. His gauntlet clad hands were still marvelously nimble, far more than he expected, and the work to get the fire set up moved quickly. All the more so because of Gunesh's assistance, the two men working together. He was quietly surprised. A man who was so obviously a noble...and he didn't hesitate at all to do so menial a task beside a dirty peasant boy. Who were these people?

Tri, now nude and still emanating golden light, swept the delicate looking girl up into her arms like a man with his new bride. She almost swept herself off her feet doing it, in fact. She'd expected the girl to weigh more but it was like she was a small child! "You're chilled to the bone, sweetie," Tri said softly, "Let me warm you until the fire's good and going, all right? I won't do anything you don't want me to." She put a trickle of power into the words; she didn't want to force anything unwanted but hypothermia or serious illness were possible if she didn't get warmed up immediately.

Tri shifted Gunesh's cloak so that it covered them both as best it could and sat with the girl cuddled against her on the bench by the wall. Gods great and small, she was so cold! She wasn't sure she'd be enough to keep the girl healthy if the fire wasn't roaring soon. "Ivory Dawn?" She wasn't sure where in the house the lush dancer was but she was likely close and clearly knew more about healing that Tri. "Can you help us? Our lovely friend is dangerously cold."

There was a low shout of triumph, and then Gunesh stood up from the hearth. "He's got a fire started, but it'll take a few minutes to really get going." The Dynast couldn't help but smile at the sight of Tri all but cuddling the pale beauty to her under his largest and thickest traveling cloak, "Just couldn't wait to get her undressed with you, could you?"

 

[Kinkerhell]

The beautiful blonde woman disrobed, and Scarlet's pulse quickened. She was stunning, toned and fit, yet still soft and curved. Scarlet is suddenly very aware of her own nudity, and somewhat envious of the other woman's body, which seemed so sensual next to Scarlet's own, slim form.

The blonde took Scarlet in her arms, her voice soft and caring. Pulling Scarlet gently down onto the bench beside her, the blonde woman draped a heavy cloak over them both, then called to her copper-haired companion, Ivory Dawn, before pulling Scarlet against her and wrapping her arms about the young Deathknight. Scarlet, nearly numb with cold, arched her back and turned inward towards the other woman who's skin, though it couldn't be much warmer than the air of the farmhouse, seemed furnace-hot to the chilled young woman. Her tremors subsided, and she pressed herself against the blonde woman, feeling the other woman's skin prickle with goosebumps where Scarlet's chilly flesh met it.

The hearth started to blaze, and Scarlet could hear the crackling of the logs and kindling, and smell the faint scent of woodsmoke. Behind her, she could hear someone, probably Ivory Dawn, draw close. She felt the cloak being lifted aside, exposing Scarlet's back, and then she felt long-fingered warm hands enfold her waist and-

The Raksha pulled Tisendra's body atop herself, whispering in a language that Tisendra could not understand. Her mind was fogged. These people were friends, right? This was what she wanted. Everything was fine. It was so nice to lie here, embraced by this beautiful woman.

She could hear soft footsteps behind her, but didn't want to break the langourous relaxation by moving to see who it was. She felt soft warm hands on her back, that stroked her gently, trailing down to her waist, gently gripping her hips before...

THE PAIN! Oh, gods, the pain! The awful tearing agony as the thing behind her violated her small, virgin body. Then the shaping fell away and she realized that the beautiful woman she was holding onto was actually another Raksha, and a male. He smiled cruelly before another sunburst of ripping, tearing, excruciating pain spiked from between her legs. She arched her back in a sharp bow, throwing her head back and screaming, impaled by the two Raksha, as the creature below her began another shaping...

Dazzled by the flashback, Scarlet momentarily confuses then with now. Her body stiffens, and she turns away from the blonde woman. She folds her left arm back and drives her elbow at Ivory Dawn, who is taken totally by surprise. It connects, but the angle is bad and Scarlet is too light to put much mass behind the blow. Ivory Dawn catches Scarlet's arm before she can try for something more effective, and Scarlet draws her lips back, her canines lengthening into ivory scimitars and her eyes flaring with topaz light as she hisses at Ivory Dawn's stunned visage.