M.3.60:Jaded
Heavy wind blocks light and carries dark rain, a vampire who desires to taste the knowledge of werewolf blood’s scent in air finding fire and the dead enter the room. Sino wraps his arm around the first’s chest and punches its back, the blades on his glove sever spinal neck.
Vampire 2 (Rufus): You shouldn’t have done that.
Sino: Tell me why as I spool your forked tongue.
The dead one rises.
Vampire 1 (Aetius): Because now it’s your turn.
Sino tears a sautoir locket from his neck and glows from his hand, a jade light from the jade stone given to him by Belladonna, the vampires begin to cringe and curl as their dead hearts begin coursing ages of infectious blood thru veins craving only that of mortal sacrifice, tirelessness becomes tithe to warlock.
Sino: Playtime is over, time to die.
A painted vision of punishment and pallid expression on canvas of disparate stare with rage of concept, black veins in eyes and clenching form, fighting to stand against deepest imagined pain in curse and chaos, glom of darkness within the loss of control.
The rain begins terrible sounds as each drop against the earth violently tears against the air without a sound to the hexer. Because of his own rage, Sino cannot notice that his aggression is being watched by Ana from careful distance. At the corner of her eye she sees the consortium of mages and pack of wolves separately decide next tasks, having already helped the aviators with their problem of lingering evil, but also sees Kylesa-Mara relieved to see Sino thru framework flames of burning building survive the attack.
Hereto Sino notices Ana by peripheral vision as the hexed vampires collapse shattered and exhausted, and in this dark awakening he understands he has been seen and leaps disappearing into fire, knowing this, Mara distracts Troy for Sino’s sake.
Mara: What is happening? My heart, it burns, there is a burning in my lungs, I cannot breathe, I cannot breathe!
Troy attends to her and Sino flanks Ana in speed and silence, taking her before she can signal anyone. The disgust and indignation expression, as Ana begins to flame from hair and hands, results with Sino smashing her head into a wall.
Sino: Firefly.
But for the face of fear, he enjoys catching, binding, and lifting her into a wagon hurriedly that he might escape by horse all the sooner.
The interminable ardor of war restricts the perceivable, and unknown is spectacle and context of rain has burning buildings rumbling, splendor and circumstance of people in commotion, the noises of confusion and dour itself. Merlin, seeing Lilith, stares rakish with maudlin.
Answers are the way. Don't chase dreams, but believe in them. Don't believe goals, but chase them. Emotions are limited only by the culture you reflect. TLDR.SPQR.LLAP
Showing posts with label Mara. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mara. Show all posts
27 July 2016
15 May 2016
M359: The Serpent Servant
M359: The Serpent Servant
Kylesa hurries herself into a building and urges the scared languescents to exit while there is vacant opportunity to flee and before the undead swarm them, they languidly leave their confines following to sudden swarm and are overcome. Sino watches Troy use his surroundings in leverage and springs from impossible distance swift and flighty, comparative to fain glory and realization commemorate, he sees Troy’s magic and gives himself into thought.
A powerless rise for any mischievant, doted by the soulless wanderers staring on Lilith in her glory, wandering malaisant extático and like them hoping the next hexed she seeks presents itself to its execution.
The phoenix begins to nest as saturnine in slumber while the bodies continue mounting consumed by walking into scoria and becoming ashes. In arginine ash it cools and continues to tire, the roaming shells of lives fuel an onset regeneration dilemmatic, Merlin shouts to Troy thereto the leaping rider startles phoenix into motion and thereof depart leaving Merlin at a defenseless start against urgent horde.
Several lengths of distance separated, Merlin enters the street facing Sino, as buildings burn do others cinder by the waves, of twilight approaching do walls buckle as embers rumble do crematories crumble, by a tufted billow of black smoke Sino disappears. In a ginnel passage, Sino finds two things, an exit and Ophiuchus drinking blood with a gaze and from a neck that are broken, silently standing drops the body and approaches him.
Oph: Nothing has changed, master Sino.
Sino pushes his hand to his chest and him to the wall.
Sino: Remember that.
Oph shakes him loose and walks onto the chaos. Sino places his hand on a corner beam of a building and closes his eyes, he lifts his hand and departs a glowing handprint, steadily the glow becomes a fire. r
The rain keeps the fire from leaping to and between rooftops, but there is a subtle resonance to the embers of remaining fires. Dour muddied vampires find Mara in the street, watching her walk backwards from the onslaught of infected, ignorant to her guise they pause as she flees.
Werewolves rush toward the vampires only to search thru the bodies and fell the infected, they turn quickly toward the vampires, readily armed to defend themselves but slowly exiting they point to where Mara has run.
Troy: Werewolves, what do they want?
Kylesa: Let’s not soon learn how so.
They aim arrows at wolves climbing walls, but there are others whom attack before arrows fly. They have leapt and pinned both Troy and Kylesa to the rooftop, learning their scent.
Lupirion: Stay still.
Canaris: This smells of Sino – get tell the huntress!
Troy: Had we, just, a tale of conflict.
Canaris: Simple boy
A short laugh, smells again, she trembles.
Canaris: This is not the stench of conflict. Go!
Berserkers depart. Sincerely she screams.
Multifarious contempt for decency, Sino continues collapsing buildings with rage and fire, over and thru flames of walls and rising ruble, trapping Merlin into an arena enclosed with the serpent servant.
Ophiuchus, flippant by hunger of vengeance only looks forward, Merlin steps behind him, his raised hand near the villain’s shoulder begins to glow, by the time Oph turns, noticing the light, Merlin triggers a large explosion of blue fire, harmless to himself, yet throwing Oph many measures.
Oph stands with esoteric time enough to be without words. The hole in his leather almost as wide as his back he discards his vestments of robe and jacket, his skin sheds slightly over the burn, the body long possessed slumped and lethargic is now mightily robust, muscles of rage and carrying the tempo of a steady heartbeat in his veins occasionally, a snake swims under his skin, as the snake passes under the back the skin heals. His eyes roll into his head.
Oph: This doesn’t begin to scratch the surface of my power.
M: Not your usual self?
Oph: Yes, waste your time –
Sino spying the battle decides to leave at first sight of conflict, one of the wolfmen running pushes him over a walkway thru a ceiling into a burning building.
Angered into alertness, Sino cracks his knuckles with fists and begins punching one as more crawl for entry. Three against one in close burning quarters, he hits each opponent with swift force, missing a swing he is hit twice before regaining defense before renewed attack, each strike missed he is struck twice over the same. His attack skill is double two of theirs, but his defense is the same as each by scale of one. His dexterity is less than theirs as they ascertain his stamina and begin to gnarl him, as they must face a black flame magic from his blood there is an evolving rage of fire and beast.
M: What hast Sino durst to thee to make my opponent?
Oph: Much that I must, little that I dare.
M: I’m sorry, but people change.
Oph: You don’t recognize me?
M: Should I?
Oph: You know me. I first took a boy to such not only did you steal my lunch, but you twisted me in the wind and left me in a road wrought of my essence.
Merlin’s face loosens to ponder, his head tilts to memory, of trees and winds of distant clouds.
Oph: Shedding skin having hunted you in a city with a disturbing amount of twins, I sought revenge, not supper, you then chopped me with a scabbard blade, almost killing me. Do you remember it?
A memory of soldiers and gallows of dusty roads.
M: You!? Perhaps I should burn you out!
Oph: You dare!
Sino fights the last of aggrieved three, despite bleeding arms and neck. But for battered across midsection, screaming with every shock by the time, he overcomes the final werewolf. The wolves’ hearts outward tears he while almost laughing. Squeezing the blood from a werewolf heart over his head and face he hears shouting from beyond the burning room.
Oph: Fallen, devoted, devour the burning world!
The dead that have risen focus on Merlin, in a gust of wind the proxy of foes tumble and theretofore the ghouls upon him, his hands glow and electricity leaps between his fingers and with their skulls in his hands.
Ophiuchus gradually steps rarely blinking. His host’s eyes are dullening and dry, sullen and red around edges, his tongue flickers mindless with each thought. The dead risen rise yet again, from floors they are bloody, from rubble they are dusty, from fire they are burning, walking toward Merlin who strikes them with his magic. They amass as he swings chairs, commotion brings him to hold a table top as shield only to kick it against a grouping of swarthy several and a bygone burner bashing a bottle of booze to burn them all and raise the acrid flames toward the gods. Forcedly, he jumps thru flames landing to surprise of a knife wound to arm from foe. He sends Ophiuchus to the wall with wind and rescinds the penetration.
The mist becomes light rain pouring enough cloud-cover to allow unnerving twilight.
Oph: I grow tired. Do you feel like dying quickly, Merlin, or should I torture you first?
M: I do appreciate such good timing. It’s good to have choices.
Oph: I think we all do.
Agnar, who some would say is twice the size of Ophiuchus’ host, picks him upward and throws him outward, but he will not be thrown easily, grasping at the sleeves he falls into the base of a wall that buckles, the fire has taken its roof and the rain taken the flames, but the center is a furnace. Ophiuchus digs feet running into the wall’s main beam making it topple onto Agnar. As he avoids fire flourishing and more of the insatiable dead, Agnar pulls himself from the rubble.
Agnar: Clip his wings!
Merlin attacks before the dead find him, thirteen exchanged punches and Merlin breaks Ophiuchus’ hand, he sets the bones and continues fighting.
M: Let’s break something else.
A hammering swing of anger starts eleven more and breaks the same arm, the limb straightens with his sign of pain.
Oph: Why are you so difficult!?
Seven more and he breaks the other arm, but Ophiuchus continues fighting, lame swings and shoving, a head-butt to weak effect.
M: Now I see your final moments.
Oph: I’m slowing you down, right where I want you, give up while you can.
Five absurd swings and he wrenches his foe’s shoulder.
M: What good would come in efforts just.
Three terrible struggles and Merlin kicks the knee to buckle bringing Oph to the ground.
Oph: This isn’t over.
M: Yes, it is… …into the moonlight.
Merlin snaps Ophiuchus’ neck, his body falls surfeit.
Agnar unburies himself by throwing the stones of the wall at the undead, Jonak arrives and cuts his own hand with a knife and speaks a terrible sound.
Jo: Give your hearts to me.
The undead begin tearing out their hearts and offering them to Jonak as they fall around them with black and blood hearts rolling. As Merlin attends to Agnar, Belladonna walks with pestilential fog beside her, she sees the snake master slither from the mouth of the body, to stop it she creates walls of fog to confine its direction. The smoke pains the snake and it moves faster until at the feet of Lilith who takes it between her claws.
Lilith: All this from a familiar…
She examines it squirming, biting her to no affect.
Lilith: I hope it was worth it.
She tilts her head and eats the snake, her eyes begin to close and she moans with a hundred voices, her eyes roll white as the ground and nearby buildings shake.
Lilith: Bittersweet.
Kylesa hurries herself into a building and urges the scared languescents to exit while there is vacant opportunity to flee and before the undead swarm them, they languidly leave their confines following to sudden swarm and are overcome. Sino watches Troy use his surroundings in leverage and springs from impossible distance swift and flighty, comparative to fain glory and realization commemorate, he sees Troy’s magic and gives himself into thought.
A powerless rise for any mischievant, doted by the soulless wanderers staring on Lilith in her glory, wandering malaisant extático and like them hoping the next hexed she seeks presents itself to its execution.
The phoenix begins to nest as saturnine in slumber while the bodies continue mounting consumed by walking into scoria and becoming ashes. In arginine ash it cools and continues to tire, the roaming shells of lives fuel an onset regeneration dilemmatic, Merlin shouts to Troy thereto the leaping rider startles phoenix into motion and thereof depart leaving Merlin at a defenseless start against urgent horde.
Several lengths of distance separated, Merlin enters the street facing Sino, as buildings burn do others cinder by the waves, of twilight approaching do walls buckle as embers rumble do crematories crumble, by a tufted billow of black smoke Sino disappears. In a ginnel passage, Sino finds two things, an exit and Ophiuchus drinking blood with a gaze and from a neck that are broken, silently standing drops the body and approaches him.
Oph: Nothing has changed, master Sino.
Sino pushes his hand to his chest and him to the wall.
Sino: Remember that.
Oph shakes him loose and walks onto the chaos. Sino places his hand on a corner beam of a building and closes his eyes, he lifts his hand and departs a glowing handprint, steadily the glow becomes a fire. r
The rain keeps the fire from leaping to and between rooftops, but there is a subtle resonance to the embers of remaining fires. Dour muddied vampires find Mara in the street, watching her walk backwards from the onslaught of infected, ignorant to her guise they pause as she flees.
Werewolves rush toward the vampires only to search thru the bodies and fell the infected, they turn quickly toward the vampires, readily armed to defend themselves but slowly exiting they point to where Mara has run.
Troy: Werewolves, what do they want?
Kylesa: Let’s not soon learn how so.
They aim arrows at wolves climbing walls, but there are others whom attack before arrows fly. They have leapt and pinned both Troy and Kylesa to the rooftop, learning their scent.
Lupirion: Stay still.
Canaris: This smells of Sino – get tell the huntress!
Troy: Had we, just, a tale of conflict.
Canaris: Simple boy
A short laugh, smells again, she trembles.
Canaris: This is not the stench of conflict. Go!
Berserkers depart. Sincerely she screams.
Multifarious contempt for decency, Sino continues collapsing buildings with rage and fire, over and thru flames of walls and rising ruble, trapping Merlin into an arena enclosed with the serpent servant.
Ophiuchus, flippant by hunger of vengeance only looks forward, Merlin steps behind him, his raised hand near the villain’s shoulder begins to glow, by the time Oph turns, noticing the light, Merlin triggers a large explosion of blue fire, harmless to himself, yet throwing Oph many measures.
Oph stands with esoteric time enough to be without words. The hole in his leather almost as wide as his back he discards his vestments of robe and jacket, his skin sheds slightly over the burn, the body long possessed slumped and lethargic is now mightily robust, muscles of rage and carrying the tempo of a steady heartbeat in his veins occasionally, a snake swims under his skin, as the snake passes under the back the skin heals. His eyes roll into his head.
Oph: This doesn’t begin to scratch the surface of my power.
M: Not your usual self?
Oph: Yes, waste your time –
Sino spying the battle decides to leave at first sight of conflict, one of the wolfmen running pushes him over a walkway thru a ceiling into a burning building.
Angered into alertness, Sino cracks his knuckles with fists and begins punching one as more crawl for entry. Three against one in close burning quarters, he hits each opponent with swift force, missing a swing he is hit twice before regaining defense before renewed attack, each strike missed he is struck twice over the same. His attack skill is double two of theirs, but his defense is the same as each by scale of one. His dexterity is less than theirs as they ascertain his stamina and begin to gnarl him, as they must face a black flame magic from his blood there is an evolving rage of fire and beast.
M: What hast Sino durst to thee to make my opponent?
Oph: Much that I must, little that I dare.
M: I’m sorry, but people change.
Oph: You don’t recognize me?
M: Should I?
Oph: You know me. I first took a boy to such not only did you steal my lunch, but you twisted me in the wind and left me in a road wrought of my essence.
Merlin’s face loosens to ponder, his head tilts to memory, of trees and winds of distant clouds.
Oph: Shedding skin having hunted you in a city with a disturbing amount of twins, I sought revenge, not supper, you then chopped me with a scabbard blade, almost killing me. Do you remember it?
A memory of soldiers and gallows of dusty roads.
M: You!? Perhaps I should burn you out!
Oph: You dare!
Sino fights the last of aggrieved three, despite bleeding arms and neck. But for battered across midsection, screaming with every shock by the time, he overcomes the final werewolf. The wolves’ hearts outward tears he while almost laughing. Squeezing the blood from a werewolf heart over his head and face he hears shouting from beyond the burning room.
Oph: Fallen, devoted, devour the burning world!
The dead that have risen focus on Merlin, in a gust of wind the proxy of foes tumble and theretofore the ghouls upon him, his hands glow and electricity leaps between his fingers and with their skulls in his hands.
Ophiuchus gradually steps rarely blinking. His host’s eyes are dullening and dry, sullen and red around edges, his tongue flickers mindless with each thought. The dead risen rise yet again, from floors they are bloody, from rubble they are dusty, from fire they are burning, walking toward Merlin who strikes them with his magic. They amass as he swings chairs, commotion brings him to hold a table top as shield only to kick it against a grouping of swarthy several and a bygone burner bashing a bottle of booze to burn them all and raise the acrid flames toward the gods. Forcedly, he jumps thru flames landing to surprise of a knife wound to arm from foe. He sends Ophiuchus to the wall with wind and rescinds the penetration.
The mist becomes light rain pouring enough cloud-cover to allow unnerving twilight.
Oph: I grow tired. Do you feel like dying quickly, Merlin, or should I torture you first?
M: I do appreciate such good timing. It’s good to have choices.
Oph: I think we all do.
Agnar, who some would say is twice the size of Ophiuchus’ host, picks him upward and throws him outward, but he will not be thrown easily, grasping at the sleeves he falls into the base of a wall that buckles, the fire has taken its roof and the rain taken the flames, but the center is a furnace. Ophiuchus digs feet running into the wall’s main beam making it topple onto Agnar. As he avoids fire flourishing and more of the insatiable dead, Agnar pulls himself from the rubble.
Agnar: Clip his wings!
Merlin attacks before the dead find him, thirteen exchanged punches and Merlin breaks Ophiuchus’ hand, he sets the bones and continues fighting.
M: Let’s break something else.
A hammering swing of anger starts eleven more and breaks the same arm, the limb straightens with his sign of pain.
Oph: Why are you so difficult!?
Seven more and he breaks the other arm, but Ophiuchus continues fighting, lame swings and shoving, a head-butt to weak effect.
M: Now I see your final moments.
Oph: I’m slowing you down, right where I want you, give up while you can.
Five absurd swings and he wrenches his foe’s shoulder.
M: What good would come in efforts just.
Three terrible struggles and Merlin kicks the knee to buckle bringing Oph to the ground.
Oph: This isn’t over.
M: Yes, it is… …into the moonlight.
Merlin snaps Ophiuchus’ neck, his body falls surfeit.
Agnar unburies himself by throwing the stones of the wall at the undead, Jonak arrives and cuts his own hand with a knife and speaks a terrible sound.
Jo: Give your hearts to me.
The undead begin tearing out their hearts and offering them to Jonak as they fall around them with black and blood hearts rolling. As Merlin attends to Agnar, Belladonna walks with pestilential fog beside her, she sees the snake master slither from the mouth of the body, to stop it she creates walls of fog to confine its direction. The smoke pains the snake and it moves faster until at the feet of Lilith who takes it between her claws.
Lilith: All this from a familiar…
She examines it squirming, biting her to no affect.
Lilith: I hope it was worth it.
She tilts her head and eats the snake, her eyes begin to close and she moans with a hundred voices, her eyes roll white as the ground and nearby buildings shake.
Lilith: Bittersweet.
20 June 2013
Merlin 3:16 “Porcelain Heart”
Merlin 3:16 “Porcelain Heart”
A ragged violently drawn surface, never carved by iced peak the rough terrain is a summiting area named Aordngtoumh on the oldest of maps, a mountain where the scarcity of rock goblins dare not hide. The sky is blue as the height reaches, near the top a small plateau resides the size of a yard, a smooth and grey clearing abraded somewhat like a bowl and in it bathing is a giant egret the weight of three horses, the collected water filled with the day’s rain so oft of heights. Preening with sense of stamina it flings water when it can, trying to bury its head in shallow water a task encumbered by the length of its beak, its wrists occasionally rubbing over eyes in the ways some have seen cats do. Nearby considerably accessible in terms a giant radiant white heronshaw understands a nest made of dead trees, adjacent the water is a cave entrance.
A red lady exits the caverns, suited for work, her gloved hands have exposed arms to the hooded shawl over her shoulders by her skin the color of a dark tree, the goods she carries are bound in a muslin sheet wrapped and at end with the limbs of bows uncovered. She stands before the heron, raises her left hand, the bird stands primly, and walks to her and bows for her to lift her belongings onto it. All to secure them with a belt of her possessions and foists herself upon it. Her hood she throws back to further reveal her face young with eyes of contrast hazel and hair of auburn fire brightened by many hours of sky and sunlight and station. They lift with grace swift and silently from hearthstone unto the heavens, trailing water from laggard avian legs, soon hiding in the baby-blue sky.
Troy meanwhilst rests on the phoenix, hiding from the ground his waking time to practice vaunted maneuvers and in even sleeps with phoenix Alerion in a field of healthy roses, burned in a small circle to nest until morning for a breakfast of rosehips and ash. On the second day, Troy sleeps in flight and in spotting a deer, the phoenix majestically lands without waking him, only to buck him abruptly to the side and ground to wake him. After arguing with the bird for a matter of minutes, he notices the stag in the distance and practices his longshot, as much as his manna, hitting the deer with one distant arrow let. On the third day, he trains with Alerion for combat, in how to defend against each other by sword, man, or arrow. In boredom, they take to flight and this day fourth find another in the sky.
Troy turns in flight away, due to without Merlin and others, his desired precaution-unattempting slight by unknown fate of peril allure. The sky is patient as winds are calm so soon with day irradiant and horizon at bay of endless blue sky the warmth of sunlight in his palm. Nowhere in plight his morn the night reverse his sight recurs seeing tother in flight at his extreme peripheral to his right. Toward him, she flies and a smile in her eyes as she comes to pace and shows her face to he who spoils to speed and impress from this trivial of conventions. Toying with him she and her aigrette hesitate, letting him to think he can of her outfly, outré she turns white bird with speed absurd to him, with some helical display thru the airs across the meadowland, keenness and chase of flirtation, landing to speak with ease amongst the breezeless trees.
She, pulling her hair behind her ears, begins to speak in the warmly cold language of Niflhel, which he does not speak or understand. He rashly deduces she is giving greetings of her name or humble salutations to the phoenix, as her beauty keenly smites him. He confidently walks and impetuously kisses her, a humble moan of desire passes from her lips onto his. They inhabit emptiness with complete surrender, the miraculous something emerging from ethers of apparent kismet, the phoenix and egret walk away, the firebird twisting neck to look at the heron’s long legs and strange gait, into the air they fly, first the light then the dark as new lovers tryst.
It is by the afterthought of later he begins to attempt conversion of his name and ideas with a patting of his chest and gesture to her.
Troy: “I am Troy, you?”
Kylesa: “Kylesa Mara, bowyer, stringer …fletcher –“
Troy: “You speak the language.”
Kylesa: “It expected, I huntress the rooks off Niflheim, it helps me catch your soul.”
She crawls on his body, kissing and other intricacies, bareheaded into a furlough of worlds separated by waves of light and fields of erstwhile sight, and closer night.
Troy: “What would you know of bows?”
Kylesa: “Is first to a strong wood.”
She situates herself in his embrace, kissing him again, then sits upright and holds her hand into the air in hopes her egret returns, it still flies toying with the phoenix in speed but less agile in maneuvers, Troy slightly sits upright with his elbows locked and hands on the ground. Looking for the fliers, he lifts one hand into the air and snaps his finger, Alerion cuts away to return to him, a turn the air to burn.
Troy: “We must draw its attention with passion and fire.”
They renew sophisticated coitus until the phoenix lands with first its talons and its cubit-reversed elbows, secondly followed by the graceful landing of the majestic white egret. She whistles for her avian just as he has many times to his. Wrapping a blanket on her skin, she speaks.
Kylesa: “Seller longbow and standard armaments, forests bower so may bowyer and string-maker hemp.”
She rises to walk robed solely around her torso under arms to just around her hips and walks to her creature, persuasive to catch his thoughts from any elsewhere.
Kylesa: “And fletcher added importance, will give you one mine…there are none more it like.”
She drinks secretly a tiny bottle of something warm and red, Troy under coverture takes the bow in the light of dusk, he as at loss of words and again stricken by the beauty of its constructing, the moonlight to its grain, figure, and curves as much as hers as she disrobes and poses to enthrall him. The moonrise bathes the expansive meadow in rays of light behind her that match her wind-swept hair and fade into the colors of her complexion.
She kisses him again and a state of intense unnatural passion consumes his thoughts more than swiftly at a momentum alas too quick for him to notice his collapse into sleep. His body rolls back and head collapses into the meadow grass, in her periphery she notices Alerion enquire suspect so she pretends to ask why he sleeps and feigns minute pomp insult, ever cautious of the phoenix, petting its beak then leaves in the dark post haste.
Proceedings ostensibly lead her back to the cave that she had departed days four ago, it has rained and the water pool recollected slakes avian and aviator, into the cave she enters without light or torch. Thru the darkness she wanders with her hand on the wall for the silence that follows is for none and to all, that this darkest place has no shallows for the walls to let in moonlight her pace constant and an unseen calm on her face. Nearing the light of fires lit by hexed diamonds in clear oil and smokeless heat to fill a cavern by the climes of clandestine opulence the likes of witches, demonic grimoires, and Sino, full to intimidating armored untrustworthy armistice.
Sino: “A soon returns you have not safely.”
Kylesa: “It is done to know. Soon his hunger for my affection will match our own.”
They kiss with passionate affection with prowess of lovers, while holding her she pulls her face from his, and in his arms waiting for him to speak in adoration redolent he stares in memory.
Kylesa: “You don’t know when to silence yourself, do you?”
Sino: “Lesa, spirit, nay soul, of my song, I pride your gift, do tell me how it went with you in the arms of another.”
Kylesa: “I spoke Niflhel and as your magisterial plan, he bought more than he can handle, and even took the bow as you had hoped.”
Sino: “As I knew would be.”
He carries her step and tosses she onto a bedding of silken quilts and down beneath pillows, and smiles of pride and certainty, removing armor as he speaks revealing scars so much a many, the likes of surviving the death of a thousand cuts abruptly.
Kylesa: “What you need now? A Niflhel doll perhaps?”
Sino: “Poison, so strong the naïve fear the fang from whence it was drawn, verily its toxin and blight to air that it should dismantle even evil men.”
Kylesa: “I am what you need.”
Sino: “You are the best of both worlds.”
A ragged violently drawn surface, never carved by iced peak the rough terrain is a summiting area named Aordngtoumh on the oldest of maps, a mountain where the scarcity of rock goblins dare not hide. The sky is blue as the height reaches, near the top a small plateau resides the size of a yard, a smooth and grey clearing abraded somewhat like a bowl and in it bathing is a giant egret the weight of three horses, the collected water filled with the day’s rain so oft of heights. Preening with sense of stamina it flings water when it can, trying to bury its head in shallow water a task encumbered by the length of its beak, its wrists occasionally rubbing over eyes in the ways some have seen cats do. Nearby considerably accessible in terms a giant radiant white heronshaw understands a nest made of dead trees, adjacent the water is a cave entrance.
A red lady exits the caverns, suited for work, her gloved hands have exposed arms to the hooded shawl over her shoulders by her skin the color of a dark tree, the goods she carries are bound in a muslin sheet wrapped and at end with the limbs of bows uncovered. She stands before the heron, raises her left hand, the bird stands primly, and walks to her and bows for her to lift her belongings onto it. All to secure them with a belt of her possessions and foists herself upon it. Her hood she throws back to further reveal her face young with eyes of contrast hazel and hair of auburn fire brightened by many hours of sky and sunlight and station. They lift with grace swift and silently from hearthstone unto the heavens, trailing water from laggard avian legs, soon hiding in the baby-blue sky.
Troy meanwhilst rests on the phoenix, hiding from the ground his waking time to practice vaunted maneuvers and in even sleeps with phoenix Alerion in a field of healthy roses, burned in a small circle to nest until morning for a breakfast of rosehips and ash. On the second day, Troy sleeps in flight and in spotting a deer, the phoenix majestically lands without waking him, only to buck him abruptly to the side and ground to wake him. After arguing with the bird for a matter of minutes, he notices the stag in the distance and practices his longshot, as much as his manna, hitting the deer with one distant arrow let. On the third day, he trains with Alerion for combat, in how to defend against each other by sword, man, or arrow. In boredom, they take to flight and this day fourth find another in the sky.
Troy turns in flight away, due to without Merlin and others, his desired precaution-unattempting slight by unknown fate of peril allure. The sky is patient as winds are calm so soon with day irradiant and horizon at bay of endless blue sky the warmth of sunlight in his palm. Nowhere in plight his morn the night reverse his sight recurs seeing tother in flight at his extreme peripheral to his right. Toward him, she flies and a smile in her eyes as she comes to pace and shows her face to he who spoils to speed and impress from this trivial of conventions. Toying with him she and her aigrette hesitate, letting him to think he can of her outfly, outré she turns white bird with speed absurd to him, with some helical display thru the airs across the meadowland, keenness and chase of flirtation, landing to speak with ease amongst the breezeless trees.
She, pulling her hair behind her ears, begins to speak in the warmly cold language of Niflhel, which he does not speak or understand. He rashly deduces she is giving greetings of her name or humble salutations to the phoenix, as her beauty keenly smites him. He confidently walks and impetuously kisses her, a humble moan of desire passes from her lips onto his. They inhabit emptiness with complete surrender, the miraculous something emerging from ethers of apparent kismet, the phoenix and egret walk away, the firebird twisting neck to look at the heron’s long legs and strange gait, into the air they fly, first the light then the dark as new lovers tryst.
It is by the afterthought of later he begins to attempt conversion of his name and ideas with a patting of his chest and gesture to her.
Troy: “I am Troy, you?”
Kylesa: “Kylesa Mara, bowyer, stringer …fletcher –“
Troy: “You speak the language.”
Kylesa: “It expected, I huntress the rooks off Niflheim, it helps me catch your soul.”
She crawls on his body, kissing and other intricacies, bareheaded into a furlough of worlds separated by waves of light and fields of erstwhile sight, and closer night.
Troy: “What would you know of bows?”
Kylesa: “Is first to a strong wood.”
She situates herself in his embrace, kissing him again, then sits upright and holds her hand into the air in hopes her egret returns, it still flies toying with the phoenix in speed but less agile in maneuvers, Troy slightly sits upright with his elbows locked and hands on the ground. Looking for the fliers, he lifts one hand into the air and snaps his finger, Alerion cuts away to return to him, a turn the air to burn.
Troy: “We must draw its attention with passion and fire.”
They renew sophisticated coitus until the phoenix lands with first its talons and its cubit-reversed elbows, secondly followed by the graceful landing of the majestic white egret. She whistles for her avian just as he has many times to his. Wrapping a blanket on her skin, she speaks.
Kylesa: “Seller longbow and standard armaments, forests bower so may bowyer and string-maker hemp.”
She rises to walk robed solely around her torso under arms to just around her hips and walks to her creature, persuasive to catch his thoughts from any elsewhere.
Kylesa: “And fletcher added importance, will give you one mine…there are none more it like.”
She drinks secretly a tiny bottle of something warm and red, Troy under coverture takes the bow in the light of dusk, he as at loss of words and again stricken by the beauty of its constructing, the moonlight to its grain, figure, and curves as much as hers as she disrobes and poses to enthrall him. The moonrise bathes the expansive meadow in rays of light behind her that match her wind-swept hair and fade into the colors of her complexion.
She kisses him again and a state of intense unnatural passion consumes his thoughts more than swiftly at a momentum alas too quick for him to notice his collapse into sleep. His body rolls back and head collapses into the meadow grass, in her periphery she notices Alerion enquire suspect so she pretends to ask why he sleeps and feigns minute pomp insult, ever cautious of the phoenix, petting its beak then leaves in the dark post haste.
Proceedings ostensibly lead her back to the cave that she had departed days four ago, it has rained and the water pool recollected slakes avian and aviator, into the cave she enters without light or torch. Thru the darkness she wanders with her hand on the wall for the silence that follows is for none and to all, that this darkest place has no shallows for the walls to let in moonlight her pace constant and an unseen calm on her face. Nearing the light of fires lit by hexed diamonds in clear oil and smokeless heat to fill a cavern by the climes of clandestine opulence the likes of witches, demonic grimoires, and Sino, full to intimidating armored untrustworthy armistice.
Sino: “A soon returns you have not safely.”
Kylesa: “It is done to know. Soon his hunger for my affection will match our own.”
They kiss with passionate affection with prowess of lovers, while holding her she pulls her face from his, and in his arms waiting for him to speak in adoration redolent he stares in memory.
Kylesa: “You don’t know when to silence yourself, do you?”
Sino: “Lesa, spirit, nay soul, of my song, I pride your gift, do tell me how it went with you in the arms of another.”
Kylesa: “I spoke Niflhel and as your magisterial plan, he bought more than he can handle, and even took the bow as you had hoped.”
Sino: “As I knew would be.”
He carries her step and tosses she onto a bedding of silken quilts and down beneath pillows, and smiles of pride and certainty, removing armor as he speaks revealing scars so much a many, the likes of surviving the death of a thousand cuts abruptly.
Kylesa: “What you need now? A Niflhel doll perhaps?”
Sino: “Poison, so strong the naïve fear the fang from whence it was drawn, verily its toxin and blight to air that it should dismantle even evil men.”
Kylesa: “I am what you need.”
Sino: “You are the best of both worlds.”
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