Merlin 3x66, Jejune Eyes

Over the next few days there will be posts made as legacy ideas that if need be answer impossible questions for generations, my need to write replaced by commands and letters for vitals renewed and new stories interrupted by newer, my infatuation makes vacation urgent save itinerant plans, this being the M3 public of a trilogy that makes NO sense anymore that it was essentially 'recast', here's M from yesterday, reminding me the sorting from the 2020 that never ends picrel. 

? Merlin 3x66 Jejune Eyes

A beckoning thrall of wandering eyes, the writing on the walls of centuries antiquated chiseling permanentized long lost forgotten by the mists and winters screaming into the darkness of the caverns wintry waters and countless counting dirty hands feeling the warnings to a future perhaps undone without warning in the pale candle expeditions and violent torch inquisitions to more quickly paint red these tunnel walls now uneven and aged as natural stone in such two worlds as Sino. 

His eyes jump and scatter to read the page as if counting the snowflakes of March, his hand waving struggling to control his dagger, his fingers unspoken with pulled sinews like poisoned refuse in his blood to curl and fighting to unfurl counting the candles in the room. With septic flesh a binding fist opens struggling to reveal hold of peace and taking his dagger cuts the bindings of his writhly grasp, the blood falls as his fingers dance, the blood drips onto the side of the page of the book as his breath slows like patient steel in deep focus on the words of a single page, the sway of time pulling him to many ideas also a sway subtle and anchored by his blade deep into the page revealing the secrets of distant memories from worlds in a flickering shadow, now crying tears of blood and soot. 

Sino: Take my oath from me! I have made my last promise!

Merlin: Sino, it’s over. 

Sino’s red tears fall below his thought of planets, joined by a revelation and a smile of joy intense sincerely. 

Sino: New beginnings, old friend. The end tells me the cycle, to teach and learn the true beginning. 

Merlin: The light is dark, I drink from the desert. 

Sino: Yes! You understand! Come, friend! 

Merlin: Well, tell them I’m here. 

Sino: … screaming whispers… silent echoes… wait! …no no no, THEY?? YOU?? YOU ABANDON, BUT I REMEMBER WHAT I WILL DO!

Merlin sees the ghostly and dim shape of Lucy, he takes two steps to the side, then runs for the closest exit, 

Lucy shoots an arrow that scrapes Merlin’s neck as his invisibility ends, throwing a knife at the doorway meant to hit Merlin had he not escaped, and truly hasn’t. Merlin jumps right back out of the doorway and raises a dark magic, the candles glow swallowing the air and lower as quickly consuming their breaths before they can take them. 

Merlin pummels the valkyrie Lucy, jamming a dagger into his shoulder, dancing around a bit and skewering the wing missing the shoulder, a scream of teeth and anger as the wounded creature stomps to the fireplace and grabs a burning club, setting fire to its own wing and moving air to stop the flames from spreading in already thin air of magic and mountain, then burns the arm wound shut without a sound, only to scream at Merlin again with terror and spite, without a step eyes staring at each other thunder sounds a cracking sky unmistakably for rain, scorn and ridicule in valkyrian language as Lucy runs into the closest exit. 

Merlin lets nothing happen preparing to find Sino, he is gone, the book is gone, the blade is gone, whereof Merlin decides to follow the trail of blood; toward the sound of a hundred running feet. 

/br

The book of forgotten souls, like banshees trapped in lands now on maps of its pages, like drunken bards telling stories, speaking their wishes at best in riddles the imaginations of the book itself is worth a warning of wroth, and loth, and ire, for those that read it may also become its guest, as Sino runs with it, the spine broken and mended too many times,  carrying it upside down the pages cut into his better hand with the knife grasped in blood for him to count and cut men down one by one as he gasps for air with each running heel, but it is Merlin who traces what he saw on Sino’s face, a sympathy for the devil without time to spare in hopes in their measure of time that slow and steady wins the race against it...

/br

Merlin finds Sino at a light in the darkness, holding his bloody dagger against his temple, rubbing away a headache that he’s making, convincing himself the ruin of intention can be shared the same as planned. 

<

S: Look at yourself and what do you have? 

M: What do you want?

S: What do you see with your reflection? Symbols for ideas, ideas for symbols? 

M: You're not using the Sorrowbook!

S: I already have!

>

Merlin: I’m here for you now, Sino. 

Sino: /This is getting easier by the second/

Troy stands behind Sino, he walks two steps, a blink before the third and Sino is gone, vanished, disappeared into the confusion of chaos of calamity. Troy is half the distance and drawing his back foot to stand. 

<

Troy with a face tired with dark circles under eyes gray like wet ashes, and from the corner of his left eye crying a long streak of blood, with each breath a step closer. 

>

//*find, insert Troy vs Merlin. 

/br

Sinosium

Sinosium

It reigns against my sky

To start with a past forgot

Shall have driving evil reface

Hath ridden this riddling foil

Like a song against my heart

Days outnumbered invincible

A new bringing the beginning

At long last and disparate once

As all the taken screams anents

My trials against the nights

The seers aren't bound defiant

Blinded by the coming dark

This now I hide the given day

To protect the mordant drink

And see the wisest deserters

In the passing houses kindling

Perhaps distraught harmony trying

For the wicked fates undying

A sapling in a storm you, Merlin

carving runes with dull forked tongue

So I have found a source of power

Only lifting burning summoning circle

Bereft little and soon from loss

Much closely champion unknown

This is my cost to keep my breathe

Slowing my fight with breathing night

We're blind and backing outright

All to scurry into the same fight

You see my eyes with jaundice plight

This hoarfrost grasp around my chest

Which gasps of death will be your test!

Sixy (Soul Embraced)

Sixy (Soul Embraced)
m.j.banks

What I've been doing is going to a title generator site and getting six random titles, then using them as chapters of a short story, making a draft, giving it a title myself, then abandoning it in my drafts folder. Typically I let the story replicate the titles' implications and write it start to finish, some adjustments. Let's do that.

Give me some titles..... wow, okay...

1 Sharp Dreams, 2 The Laffing Memory, 3 Stream of Sword, 4 The Time's Voyage, 5 The Stones of the Flying, 6 Sword in the Dreams

Some regret for committing to this, but whatever. It did print "laughing," no need to spell it with the wrong letters. The goal is be germane and on second draft make each chapter a page, long enuf to read, short enuf to finish. I'm going to make it extra short and then sleep.

Q music.

1 Sharp Dreams

Man walks in field, but it's a dream, wakes during attack, but their numbers are too small, spy makes it into his tent, stabs with a magic blade that puts him into a coma, a nightmare to him, his first battle and none of his experience, or armor, more difficult than memory,

2 The Laffing Memory

With the awake, the invaders attack, but only the outskirts and only to irritate, attrition, psychological, sending requests for impossible demands, coupled with the coma of the man, they are depressed, the coma-assassin comes back with the poisoned knife and the blood on it, giving it to a warlock, aftereffect of magic done on the nightmare blade, yes I fit this into a ton of my stories, not so much the star this time, a moment for the affect and glow of the evil foe

3 Stream of the Sword

Warlock takes the nightmare blade, drops the blood onto his sword on tented altar, short like a footstool, itself curved in a shinto-like fashion, let's just go with samurai warlock and likewise ceremony, attire, colors, red and black only, clothing, tactical, the blade glows a hue and color that fires can have, his complexion darkens away from light, radiating only the energy weapon, not a fire/light saber, just a vibration or energy signature, blue steel*, the assassin sees in its reflection the room slide from right to left, but the warlock sees no reflection, but a window into the soul of the man in a coma, and for whatever reason, stabs the assassin in the chest, while the warlock kneels over the dead assassin, his eyes burn with the same fire as prior, yet in the dream world, the warlock manifests astral (projection) w the assassin's body

4 The Time's Voyage

Warlock gets to see a time before the countryside was different, ravaged less, brighter more, still the ongoing conflict, still a spy, can see the coma dude's side, but not his own, because the memory of the comatose, learning the terrain of their encampment, finding people dressing as spy's against the warlock's side, sees someone rush into the scene, hears them tell about their enemy has found a warlock to their side, a nod to himself, a vision of the next chapter, approach the younger coma dude, but coma dude starts into fear and chaos, starts to recognize the assassin, launches into a fight with the warlock in assassin skin, but it's a dream, and yet the assassin's soul carries the nightmare blade, coma dude in the real world is part physicality and all stress asleep, so in the dreamworld he's sortof fading, insight being that weak tether to the dreamworld makes the dreamer's ability stronger, idk, and wrests the nightmare blade from the foe/villain, stabs him and the blade's magic shows a light, extremely overwhelming to the dream dimension, everyone is thrown from the dreamworld, the warlock opens his black blood eyes, turns the blade into the assassin's body to end him, agony, certainty's gaze

5 Stones of the Flying

maybe it's, ok right, the warlock goes on warpath, the stones are explosive and send people flying or he throws stones that go 'flying thru the air' and when they land, the stones swallow the souls of opponents, how many of those does he have, he knows is way thru, maybe stones help people fly and there's an aerial battle, final fantasy fanfix way, or the longest to write, dragons controlled by stones, or people controlled with stones against their will, with a backstory on controlling power anchored earlier, not important, but he knows the layout and where the secret lair is and heads right for their leader, woke coma guy ha

6 Sword in the Dreams

speaking of backplants, he sees the warlock and recognizes him, guy gets the upperhand against the warlock, but the warlock traps him, the guy snatches the nightmare blade, in his hand it's bright and blinding to stare-at, warlock starts losing, tries to leave, the stones work against him when guy has the knife, tons of interstitial dialogue i imagine to what extent im not really sure, the blade draws blood, the warlock's wounds bleed black, but each stab shines with bright darkness as the warlock screams the coma guy can read the warlock's mind, a vision cascade of who hired the warlock, to surprise its someone he trust, and that there are spies within, all sorts of bad news, the warlock dies with cut throat with quick delivery, the coma doesn't waste time, he's got enemies w/in ukno, is there a twist, hell yes there's a twist, the assassin that the warlock had killed, groans and moans, struggles to reach into the muddy tent earth, ahead of himself pulls himself toward the warlock's sword, struggling toward the low altar of the blade, toppling it cuts his fingers around it, the assassins eyes grow black, the blade glows the same color, the assassin starts to stand, and drinks the same specific mixture of tea the warlock had drank, two of this, three of that, one of these, stir counter-clockwise


/////////

I've 16 of these now, oh right the title. Thinks. Open to suggestions. Looks at phone.

'Soul Embraced'

Thanks for reading.

m.j.banks

M3.64 Traces of Supremacy

Merlin 3.64 Traces of Supremacy

The black magic witch Ostara, returns to the caverns to serve Sino once again, sees Lilith and remembers how effortlessly she was thrown into the canyon river at the bridge of the Vermillion vampire fortress, and decides to hide and find another way into Sino’s fortress.

Lilith walks by the dead and with her demonic magic she awakens them, wounded they rise and kneel. Ostara uses a quick cursing spell to turn Lilith’s berserkers into ghouls to have them attack her. As they turn fiendish, Lilith draws the black magic from their wounds and turns right at Ostara.

Lilith: Kill her then find your brothers in the mountain!

They charge as black smoke drawn out now gathers at her feet, Ostara has few options, be run down by werewolves, curse them with death’s rigor in hope that it holds them, or turn them to ghouls and hope that in their stupor she can again yet outrun them or crush their temples. She extends her hand and curses them with rigor, but not all are close enuf to her magic for potency, they are pack hunters by nature and surround her, where she takes what lifeforce she can from them making them ghouls, but she is weak from journey and gesture, unable to hex them all, three frozen, three bashed. For the last, with the blood on her face summons ancestral magic, the spirits of ancient werewolves bless her in confusion, she survives the last, only to stand face-to-face with Lilith.

Lilith: Messy, uncreative, without deception.
Ostara: Who are you?
Lilith: I am the darkness between shadows.

Lilith takes the air into her hand, Ostara becomes bound by invisible forces of nature.

Ostara: I can help.
Lilith: Did you know I am connected to them?
Ostara: I give you service, pure service, majesty.
Lilith: These doors, there are strings of spiders between myself and the dead, you know, the open doors, and here I am with another fly in my web on the same night…
Ostara: What are you doing to me?
Lilith: You wander taking life, so I must take your mind.

Lilith puts her hand to Ostara’s head as her feet danger in the weeds, like a painless wave her eyes roll up and she floats asleep, as do so Lilith’s from the ground. Lilith learns all from deepest to surface memories, but Ostara falls muted as Lilith leaps into a shadow to outside the mountain entrance, peering aside.

/mj.banks 

M363 + Shadow of a Soul

Merlin + 3:63 + Shadow of a Soul

Close to ground of stone and soil is a fog thinner than whisper, enough that dew drops permeate the slope of a moonlit mountainside, the basin of bog and willows a valley of purity and moonlight, as stars and ethereal sky cover everything aside a tall and endless spine of mountainous ridge that distantly bifurcates many times with the great triumvirates of mountain, mystery, and night. Calm and quietus as her mighty egret carries Kylesa Mara above reflective ponds, in air it knows not day or night, the phoenix and rider Troy wait for her near the summit where the dins of battle cannot yet be heard, for this is the side of peacefulness where reflection of light from white feathers glows into his much radiant eyesight. In the same moment the avian opens for her landing beneath its wings faintly echoes the sound of conflict.

O’er the mountain, its other side much darker, the moon hangs as an angle of it, to look downward at the sight of dangerous edges and hidden mosses, dark shadows beneath each crag and jagged spiny scale of the granite, filling age-long cracks with weeds to blindly pull in disaster. This ground to climb unwelcoming by the blindfolded enemies and worse by the moonlight making villains into werewolves only on the heads of boulders, making them targets to the eyeless on the shadow-stricken rise. If not a werewolf oneself, imagine wounds that only heal in moonlight as Sino’s army attacks. Never slipping they slash at beasts who can pull into shadows to hide in mortality, dragging their wounded into being surrounded where the advantage is to the servants of the moonlight, and in this conflict even the men with the scarves on their eyes are still human, their stamina tested and having rested, despite the artifacts of protection to thicken skins or kindle dark magic’s purest sins, agility of foot and speedily stepping on the fallen as if the night ground were memorized.

A few torches lay aground strewn, flickering firelights against their faces distracted, a howl behind a stone from wounded hybrid without his moonlight magic, he is alone and restless, and then he is surrounded, but he smiles with bloodied face, for they are the surrounded. The mountainside is indolent and quiet as it swallows desolate echoes with fog and grass.

Werewolves feeding in the distance on the guards of the mountain, at their boundary new screams for new blood for new feeding rites of passage and power of healing, as the last man leaves the shadows for the passing moonlight he becomes a stoic wolf and feeds on the cursed.

A distant darkness serves silent footsteps where the earth sleeps, the trees hold their breath in fear of dropping leaves in her presence, Lilith, the first bloodborn, walks thru shadows like withering waves up the mountain, she is invisible in the moonlight and silent in darkness to the blindfold-men, a face of rage she does not blink. Her path is purposed and clear, passing by fighters for the violence, as blood familiar and new sprays into the wind, the bloodshed sprays on her face and lips is the smell in the air and taste on her fingers as her eyes become night.

As the night builds to crash across the sunset valley behind the other side of the mountains, the many caverns are a contrast of torches and inescapable blackness, where we find Sino balancing both, torch in left hand, a potion in the other that swirls three dark colors, his hand trembles, his eyes frenetic like panicked sleep as he drinks it. He calms unnecessarily, with eyes closed he hears the coven footsteps of intruders and digs his heels turning in the dirt.

The sound of a growing stormy sky becomes one with clashing steel and shield, a fist strikes a claw. Sino puts the necklace received from Belladonna around his wrist, firmly but cautious of the tunnel exits. Vampires approach the cavern, silent steps carrying sternly carried leather armor and the occasional scar, emptying themselves slowly into the open.

Uriel: Do – not – walk more!
Sino: A command… …by f* who…?
Vermillion: I am Vermillion.
Sino: How colorful.
Vermillion: I’ve come for the blood of traitors.
Sino: You’ve come for the blood of the undead?
Vermillion: Have you cheated death?
Sino: So many this day could be the anniversary of it. Have I cheated you?
Vermillion: If I find you’ve granted a stay to my betraying minions, so you have.
Sino: Their crime?
Vermillion: Stealing an immortal not theirs.
Sino: Tall like a corn stalk, funny even with a dagger in his heart?

Ana cries with her heart of fear and soul of desperation loudly from the next room.

Ana: I KNOW OF WHERE THEY ARE, THEY TOOK ME FROM HIM, THAT MONSTER BETRAYS YOU IN THIS MOMENT, I WILL TAKE YOU TO THEM!
Sino: You are many and this is your mountain, search it readily, but my guest, she won’t be taken.
Vermillion: Why wait to stop us…. (smile)….no dragon, Sino?
Sino: To hell with you!

Sino raises his hand and the green magic of the stone covers them, a pain and anguish as many escape others suffer verdant fire making them claw at the ground. Sino’s soldiers run into the cavern beginning to help him stab the accursed.

Blindfolded Man (Velen): Wolves attack, we are losing our numbers!
Sino: Dammit!

Sino puts his hand to the blind-soldier’s chest, the heart slows then stops. The blind soldier feels cold, green magic thunders thru him appearing as a green vapor warmth.

Sino: Vimond, you are my greatest soldier, but you will only survive if others die.
Vimond: I understand, I will destroy what I see.

The blindfolded soldier leads others toward vampires within the tunnels, Sino looks at his own hand to see it glow, the radiance courses into him and his eyes cloud, the soldier he touched runs with a fainter aura than the rest.

Vermillion walks around looking at things in the high-mountain dungeon and reminiscing at the walls, the blindfolded soldier that Sino had touched charges at them, but they the vampires are too skilled to defeat, almost taunting the blind, but refuse to fight the soldier without a heartbeat, shunned from conflict and outright ignored.

As the vampire monarch taps his finger on something, the blind-soldier wanders at the sound of the ticking dethklok, the vampires are confused by the fading heart and dragging feet, stumbling toward their monarch in timeless fashion, but with a failing heart falls forever short.

Vermillion: I guess his heart wasn’t in it. 

/ mj.banks / 

Merlin 3x62 Bound by the Moon

M3:62 / Bound by the Moon / mjbanks

I.
Merlin cordons his waist and runs into a glide for a horse into the city without explaining, chasing to catch the danger at the cost of scant consent. Braden’s fellow of the earth magic, Digr, raises his hand beckoned by the trail and pointing as to find it, he and Braden’s troupe as if reluctant begin to follow. Sino knows he is to be trailed and takes a bottle of lantern fuel and pours it on himself and Ana, she smells her hands, realizing what it is and using the magic of fire makes it explode, but to merely aggravation of Sino he knocks her out, again. He throws another bottle at a man on the road then holds a sword outward at the man, smiling with vicious grin, a quiet ride, seemingly without hurry.

II.
The light of sunset and rising moon, the heat growing humid in the foothills of the nearby mountain as the other side’s mist rolls over its top. The werewolves track Sino’s scent until finding lantern oil in its stead, and that smell to a man on the roadside. One beast throws a stone into dead leaves and branches, another howls deeply into the sky above the clouds, from the fire Lilith rises elevated.

Wolvic: We’ve lost his scent with this man and lantern fuel.

Lilith takes the man by his hair and bites into his throat, with blood his primordial memories, then dropping him down.

Lilith: Follow the fuel up the mountain, now.
Wolvic: But the moon is dying, the turn is blind to darkness.
Lilith: I AM darkness behind you if you don’t get up that mountain!

III.
Sino drags her into the mountain as if a light bag of wool by her arm.

Sino: My oath to Merlin, you will understand, burns in the great darkness, I am warmth to the blind, seeing my reflection in axes sharp and hammers dull.
Ana: (waking) …in the darkness, we celebrate our joys, appreciating them not for granted what simple blessings others forbid, in day honest, thieves celebrate themselves without satisfaction, standing stormy night where there are cries and echoes, we are lightning and thunder.
Sino: Quote the book all you wish, it does not turn, amongst the humans – with you the page will turn, soon this old story will be ended.

Soldiers in blindfolds approach them.

Ana: To play with fire, first dance with smoke.
Sino: But there are no stars burning in the cursed sky.
Ana: Was it raining blood?
Sino: Secure her, there is little time before the dawn eclipse. Without moons or stars she cannot waste the strength that keeps the child.
Ana: You’ll burn for this.
Sino: That, is, the plan.
Ana: I’m going to burn your bloody marrow while you’re still using it!
Sino: No, you will help me to the surface of this present darkness.

The blinded are guarding Ana.

IV.
In the tunnels two of the blindfolded patrol for intruders, amidst a conversation. (required spell: night vision)

Ciego: So, she puts a paring knife to the fruit and nobody moves.
Aveugle: But if he’s made of stone, how is it a damage point?
Ciego: Because stones melt into lava in a volcano.
Aveugle: Yeah, but fresh obsidian melts steel so it doesn’t make any sense.

The warriors of Fortress Vermillion hear the story thru the dark, seeing as if lit brightly, the sentries see them all but soon enuf, one of them captured, the other killed.

King Vermillion: She survives as a flame survives a candle. How many others are you?
Ciego: I cannot see you, my guide into the light, will you help me to the surface of this darkness?
Vermillion: He is blind.

The king’s Lt, Artemis, almost drinks the blind one’s blood, but the king prevents it.

Vermillion: Both blind, both careless, Artemis, take this one to the fortress abattoir for a priest’s interrogation.

King Vermillion moves deeper into the darkness with others following, he drags his fingers across the rough granite wall.











~mjbanks

Merlin 3:61 Love in a Burning Building

M 361: Love in a Burning Building

Lilith: Having fun, Merlin?
M: We never really get to enjoy burning cities too often!
L: I’m sorry, I was too busy talking to trees!
M: If I wasn’t wasting time succor to the demons!
L: I can’t hear you, I’ve been waxing poetic, bloody stupid namesake cambion!
M: If you weren’t so imprudent, you’d know the difference between rack-rent cajolery and portents of fate!!
L: You would, too!!

His hands and arms bloody she flies across the ground at him and shoves him thru a fiery wall into a scorching building. Wrestling in a pile of embers, they see amicable smiles on each other’s faces and begin to free themselves, she bites his wound and wipes the wound from his skin, the bloodstains on his arms become ashes in radiance of his tattoos now wrapped around her waist, a black tongue licking the blood from her fingers he is healed, the fire heats to slow rises and waves of sunset, her hair glows red and gold as her shadow hides him from incineration with diamond eyes.

Other buildings stand strong, raging hearts calm, a quiet soul excites, and many warriors check their wounds.
Agnar, giant, checks his bruises as a rare case for him to have any, as Jonak, hexer, wraps his own hand. Braden and Katina, shockers, take a seat and wait for Merlin.

Kat: Odd they socialize like that way. Why is that?
Brad: I don’t know; I think it’s exciting.

Kat punches him in the arm. There is dialogue and exposition among minions.
Nick, deathless, runs into the scene faster than his feet, the gravel rolls beneath his shoe tips as he turns corner, to save Merlin from the burning building, assumption of danger, but Belladonna, plaguer, stops him.

B: You can’t.
N: I’ll stop her and save him!
B: Everything is fine.
N: Nothing is fine! Move!

Belladonna doesn’t move and Nick collides with her to ground, enough that she poisons him in her defense, but her newly strengthened and uncontrolled powers poison him severely, as he falls she attempts to reverse his new death and cannot, his veins blackening roots, hardened tearing thru him as he struggles.

Belladonna: Somebody help him!
Agnar/Braden/Katina/Jonak: He’ll live.

Nick resumes from essence, taking energy from the fires Merlin and Lilith nestle with themselves and smile overly happy, she rises as Nick sneaks thru the rubble, already known by her she hears a first footstep and a second foot twist on the ground, but before Merlin and Nick can communicate, the burning building collapses on the three.

Lobo: He doesn’t know?
Braden: He doesn’t know.

Nick exits in trauma come rage as he crawls from rubble and ember, coughing thru the smoke from his clothes, egregious scars of burning heart and emotion, now in livid accost ire precious little restraint, standing before Lilith wrapping sooty cords around burnt linens, as does Merlin in standing beside her. He realizes they are not enemies, nor the salvation affordable only to Ana, immolator, captured by Sino.
Nick runs again, this time stealing a sword and cutting a horse from wagon to pursue, shouting back at the crew hauling the blade.

N: He has Ana – I run him down – with or without you!
L: AFTER THEM AND YOU’RE DRAGON FOOD IF YOU LOSE HIM!

The wolf-men run toward the end of the city, howls gather beasts in entourage into the sea hills to the sound of tears of those who’ve survived, the hooves of horses of Braden’s impromptu cavalry, and flames that toss like ship sails as Lilith escapes Merlin thru a wall of fire into another dimension of black fire and winds of darkness.

/ch

Merlin 3:60 Jaded

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.

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.

Merlin 3:17 “Passive Aggression”

Merlin 3:17 “Passive Aggression”
mjbanks

Magicians who love to love, have virtue and compassion, but after the industrious era are feared and dreaded, for while some are good in those beliefs, there are others who have malice aforethought to that effect on humans by way of the witchkrieg. There are places where men worship the gods utmost, with spiritual defense they deem witchery forbidden, and in time and conflicts adjourn each evening hating magicians who believe themselves divine above those gods. Obeontok is one of those towns Ana enters with Braden and others, comparatively ten and two times larger than the mining camp afore.

Far from her, Merlin follows silently and secretly behind Nick on the road to that mining camp, in paranoia Nick turns and throws a dagger at him, with an emanation of calm blue light it enters his hand without passing thru, with his other hand he tosses it to Nick’s feet, it is lifted exhaustively emote.

Merlin: “Ana is the other way.”
Nick: “Wait, do you two bloody know them?”
Merlin: “We do – not the best of company.”
Nick: “We need steeds.”
Merlin: “We do, are you hungry?”
Nick: “I could eat.”

Merlin and Nick travel heretofore, whilst they do Sino sits staring into a book of ancient words forgotten by much of the worlds, fires light the walls as the sound of breathing faintly resonates from a darkened tunnel. Thinking he has heard a noise, he stares at the dark, soon realizing the sound of pebbles comes from yet a different tunnel. Into the darkness he enters and emerges to the foremost sanctum bathed in outer light thru an opening in the mountain, of this door vagabonds of mercenaries make entrance

Sino: “I am overjoyed to have you in my employ, ready is the way for dedicated men, drink, those kegs are too full. Gareth, where is the other man?”
Garth: “It is our best to do and have done what was bade, tho these are times of the witchkrieg, the old war anew, and we must band against demise, but the road is harrowed, witches against us, or for us in the worst of ways, thus we have shortly fallen a man. The folk, they hunt for sorcerers and spies the like, searching for silver and giving trials of drowning and immolation, even for those bested by innocence, it is times like these that we cannot make into such hazard, it is our resolve to increase our recompense, lest you can bid our safety.”

Garth pensively looks around himself, his compatriots have gone from surprise to awed fear, Sino takes one step and places hand on his shoulder, being grabbed he realizes he’s alone in the coup.

Sino: “The problem with contemplating your existence is that it is dangerously close to melancholy, too bad you will only have enough time for pain and fear.”

Sino reaches into Garth and rips-out his heart, tossing it to the floor, the body drops as he licks blood sloppily, his eyes clouding with contentment of feast, clearing in consciousness he speaks to the others.

Sino: “Put him on the table, I want to show you where different stabs kill different witches.”

They do so nonchalantly, some without resting their mugs, as he consumes more blood, and soon defiles.

In this moment, meanwhile and elsewhere another abode of stone, this one the vampire House of Scarlet, from the mountain face a castle, from its front a narrow road carved of the rock with steep sides and archway road so very far below, the smooth grey bridge leads to the barbican castle doors. In front of the door-hall, sit two statues staring at the movable pieces of a chess game, around them three other statues watching and all sheltered from rain with the mark of dust. Two riders on horseback, the vampire Matteus, whom having escaped Nick’s wrath and by call of rank attained another guard, approaches in a light rain and a dark sky that follows them with torment, lighting, and thunder.

Dismount do the night warriors, approaching and spectating the game, they do not blink nor breathe nor adeptly of heartbeat as one of the onlookers turns to Matteus.

Rullianus: “What say you, Matteus?”
Matteus: “Always take the pawns first.”

He removes himself as this spectation of the tactic is differenced from that which concomitates. Not moving, not living, covered in dust, laying on furniture and floors, laying on tables and leaning on doors, as if their blood has dried and will expired, walking thru the rooms the floors are somewhat clean and each footstep sounds thru hundreds of lost souls with lackluster impetus, including the royals.

Of the throne room, fires burning on oil-filled saucers on pedestals, guards in full body armor appear as empty suits with visors closed, heralds and jester strewn over chairs and couches poised of disdain, tables of food long decayed to bones and dust, and even the king with eyes open looks to have immense malaise and dour. Yet of these things, his goblet made of gold is full with fresh human blood, and with approaching Matteus his eyes turn unto attention, all with slowness do the courtiers and courtesans slowly wake from solacing motionlessness to focus upon his arrival. The scribes however open inkwells and prepare to record every action and word. The king swirls the blood in chalice and with second hand tips his palm and fingers upwardly to encourage servants to raise the fires, looking to Matteus with cynicism and folly, as he drinks Matteus kneels to one knee.

Lord Scarlet: “Spare pride, it is an unbecoming rule, enrich us with becoming truth.”
Matteus: “The human abstract, the undying, I have found one, near the old mines of Ventuslamia, my guard lost his head to him …and I could not find our Lord Roan.”
Lord Scarlet: “What was he doing there?”
Matteus: “Unknown, but it has been a place of silver conflicts in the newest witchkrieg, my lord.”

The monarch contemplates with no timidity of fangs and complexion far less pale than those in the play of stillness do. From the standstill, a woman separates from the others, marked by the simple crown on her head.

Lady Scarlet: “Roan is not within the ether and the mages could not find him with the blood magic, we fear he is lost in mortality.”

She approaches the monarch and sits beside him, resting both of her hands on his arm then pulling his wrist toward her mouth, he hands her the goblet instead and stands.

Lord Scarlet: “Dark horses and hearses you will have, servant, take Matteus to the quartermaster and the stable magister, he is to leave in haste with armored caravan – Matteus, you have found a requiem for the falling night of the wind, but if you fail me, you will find reckless abandon.”
Matteus: “Yes lord, the shadow will be ours.”

The monarch lifts his hand from Matteus’ back and pushes him forward, the patrons in the adjacent room seem not to move yet posing as if had been listening.

In Obeontok, counted animals and travelers and else that resides, there are more than one thousand hearts in a small city with no walls, surrounded by farm and pasture, interred with public houses and patrons. Merlin rides in blue night light seeking the dawn, listening to the stars, he sees Nickolas asleep in the saddle adeptly, and he knows the night and then the day and then the shade are the cost of time until he and Nick find Ana and the others.

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.”

Merlin 3:14 “Memories Aside”

Merlin 3:14 “Memories Aside”

Sino walks angry and maladjusted, with him as always is a piercing coldness, other than his thoughts the chill of even winds also, in front of, three wolves whom follow somewhat inclined to believe that he will soon make a kill in the chlorophyllic springtime. Hours they patter after him the passing time until he sets among the trees longing to sup, a small effective crossbow makes another use of one canis. The small army with scouting advantage about to approach the field of the abattoir in their full numbers wakens him to the social congestion amongst these trees.

He arises to the scuffling of shuffling persons, he walks to find them unabashedly, but he holds deep into his heart a regret that remembers his slashings and dashings and partisan thrashings given to the innocent and doing so with a smile on his face. The moonlit path his eyes distant in memory a malaise and praise of ego strides he verily, and soon approaches he unto another, not the spies, nor the likes of soldier, but healers who are in a way not unlike himself, approaches thus one of these men.

Relaeh: “Wherefore you come of these woods elder?”
Sino: “Sorry to be on my way, I was just, looking for a body.”

Sino feigning age deceitfully transgresses treachery upon the lad, taking his throat, holding him in sort repast to dark desires and murderous addiction, the kind that hell-bent tarrying rapaciousness cannot likely transport to good intentions. Here, in paces wend and rent of solacing accomplice stands save but trite and soon contrite at such quite the opposite, a man wearing cloak who is narrow beneath it, his arm outstretched and holding a wand square like mint stem, volar unto sorts reticent, pointing it whilst standing soon this on it by demand.

Leostas: “Put him down, Sino, I have no muster for your dissent.”
Sino: “You have no place.”
Leostas: “I am forever home. Release him presently!”
Sino: “Your demands with your blood will you hold in your hands.”
Leostas: “Perish the thought.”
Sino: “Come what you shall.”
Leostas: “They are my students, these healers, were I not myself I would not need them.”
Sino: “But you are alone?”
Leostas: “Yes, we weren’t following you; I simply want him to live.”
Sino: “I’m sure my boredom thanks you, shame that I can only kill you once.”

The boy’s throat clenched, legs without fluster, he is breathless and tossed aside, confrontation stares one directly and tother fixedly, in sooth, they have stood once ago to this imperative.

A duel, it is not calm nor is it quiet, blithe nor yet blasphemous, but it is quick and quicker as Sino grabs the lightning stretching to his hand from wand-waving opponent. In close proximity of haphazardly course, he takes a dagger and drives it into Leostas’ ribs with a jolt by color and type absorbed and redirected thru the silver, draws the dagger out, spins the blade to hammer down with argent claw, dark lighting crawling on the blade pierces into his heart of perennial tidings, roughly defining his ephemeral mortality.

Leostas: “Kill me, dark passenger.”
Sino: “I will not, but you should not live to see me again, Leostas.”
Leostas: “We are not gods!”
Sino: “…we are not men.”

Fallen, Leostas can barely stammer crawl backwards as he shuffles to a tree, he struggles frantically to magical liniments from his pockets, his fluent robe is cumbersome and preventative, and he tears thru the fabric from the bloody knife hole to pull a silver blade his own with his bloody hands.

The smell of silver and the radiance of blood redraw Sino’s attention, the energy from Leostas’ blade is a straight solid bolt, a beam production, but before he can adjust his eyes by the bright light to see, where it destines to focus on surroundings as his heart rains blood, Sino is gone, reappearing inches from him. As he stops his magic so ends his strength, Sino speaks quietly to him.

Sino: “You should have learned what I have not taught you; let others wage war, of all against all, war feeds itself.”

Leostas’ sight goes into darkness, Sino after taking silver goes to rive his heart. Relaeh thrusts into consciousness and danger clutching earth and gasping still for breath stammers to his feet and tries to run, Sino takes Leo’s blade and throws confidently it into a fleeing lower leg, making laden heavy booted trudging steps thru forest grass to the yells of crawling prey.