Lady Vera of Beit-Orane (v_eritas) wrote in caeleste, @ 2011-07-03 19:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | close to home, eithne savastian, eragos feareborne, sleeping tiger, vera of beit-orane |
For Mask & Cloak [ Eithne, Eragos, Sleeping Tiger ]
Mist moved through the roads of Simanel, enveloping whatever corner was bare of shadow. Early spring was the most common time for such weather. Clouds traveled in from the cool plains and sank under winds pouring from the hard northern mountains. If Vera did not know a Kulshe dragon manufactured their cover from Bahamut's temple, Vera might have believed fortune smiled on them. Instead the mist was a reminder that everything they did now, they did of their own power. Vera liked that idea far more.
Her white glove pressed into a shelf of soil as Elden pulled her from the ground. The sorcerer pulled her into the street and she rested on her knees for a moment. They had spent the past half hour in complete darkness. Vera found herself squinting, despite the heavy grey that began to occupy the sky. Large clouds, she thought. The sort that herald great windstorms to the west...
"Seems like our friends are doing their jobs," the old sorcerer muttered. He yanked Eithne out next. "We're not far from the advancing line of Greys. Do we have a plan yet?"
Vera shook the dirt from her cloak and stood up to brush the rest from her knees. The buildings around them were hard to see beyond pieces of their charred outlines. Strange to be standing in her home and not recognize anything. To not feel the welcome relief Simanel often provided almost shattered her right there. Simanel always lacked Agethlea's grandeur and Eistocene's imposing face. Instead of building monuments, Simanel built gathering places. It was a city possessed of community. A community who built itself up with a hard sort honesty. Vera walked the streets to visit the people there, not the sights. Void of sound and color, she knew that Simanel was hidden by more than just mists now.
"The plan..." Vera drew her staff from the holster at her back. The corners of her eyes crinkled as she looked at Elden, her smile hidden by the silver of her mask. "Don't get killed?"
Elden was not squinting when he glared in her direction. "You've been solemn as a damned stone since the Castel and now you want to joke?" he whispered, accusingly. "I can't joke when you took my flask."
"You should be sober."
"And you should have a plan."
"There is no point in a plan when you don't know what will happen." Vera felt the lightness slipping away from her, but she remembered what it had been like to walk beside Bahn and Sleeping Tiger before their encounter with Gola. She did not want to give up the false ease she possessed. Being a distraction was a most dangerous kind of work. And Vera wanted desperately to shed the caged feeling that possessed her at the Castel. No one won a battle from a corner, no matter how many hits they could stand.
She began to walk. She knew she would see the Grey Riders before she was seen herself. Her hand held tight to her staff. She couldn't regret leaving her sword. The change in weaponry was sudden. It should have thrown Vera off balance. But in defending Simanel, defending her friends? Using anything other than the weapon she'd first carried as a Rider was wrong. The staff was built for this.
Vera glanced at Eithne. Her voice was quiet:
"Fine. A plan. You both will stay behind me. I can take a blow, magic-based or otherwise, better than either of you. If what I say has no effect, Eithne, you can be belligerent to your heart's content. Anything to buy another second for the others. And when we are at a breaking point, set them ablaze. Elden, the signal..."
Elden's voice was grim. "You won't be disappointed with me, Lady Vera. So long as I have the trust of you both."
Vera did trust both Elden and Eithne. Not because she had to, but because they'd come. It didn't matter why... Vera did not have to do this alone. What would her voice sound on an empty Simanel street? How changed was it from the Rider who called out into a burning wood? She hadn't been able to stand between two warring brothers then. Part of her never expected to be able to, even when she argued with Eragos after Hania's death -- he was bound by his blood and his past to deal with Talon. And the justice walking alongside her now was even more hollowed and ghostly.
The people, however, were still whole. Regardless of the number of loved ones lost, there were still friends left to be saved. She had refused to say goodbye to anyone at the Castel. Goodbye seemed like yielding. She couldn't yield any more.
Mists grew thicker. Without the mask on her face, Vera wondered if she would choke on it. Her breath shivered hot under her mask. It was so easy to feel lost. Walking into the wall of white was as disorienting as wading into deep water. Vera wanted to extend her arms instead of rely on her eyes. Instead, she listened to her own steps on the hard dirt road. The Grey Riders would be on horses. They would be armed to the teeth. They would have every advantage against a lone group of three. The buildings around them grew taller in the way mountains roared up from the hills, the roofs unforgiving as rock peaks. The sky grew black. Wind was shoving the mists about and tugging at her cloak. Vera's heart beat harder. She felt sixteen again.
Not dying had been the plan in Astora too.