InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Women and children first!"

Lady Vera of Beit-Orane (v_eritas) wrote in caeleste,
@ 2011-07-03 19:43:00

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.

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got_a_light
2011-07-08 11:39 pm UTC (link)

"Are you calling me belligerent?" Eithne said flippantly, with a smile on her face. She meant no harm to Vera, after all, and it was just her way. Her nerves were getting in her way. She felt as if she'd stumble over them if she didn't lighten her own heart. They had the advantage, not in the numbers, but in the familiar ground. They would get the upper hand. But that wasn't why she was nervous. She had stared down death a dozen or a hundred times before, but this felt different. She had things to live for before, but nothing felt as strong as this. Nothing ever had. She flexed her gloves and felt how taunt they were, the metal pressed against the padding and cut against her skin. She'd need this as much as she'd need the falchion, and as much as she'd need her fire.

Ah but her words.

"If it doesn't work you mean I can try to draw their fire with my amazing way with words, right?" Eithne flexed her fingers then rolled her shoulders. She didn't want to run into Talon, that was for sure. The last time had gone horribly, and with Eragos somewhere back there, if he saw Talon she didn't want to think of what would happen. Not could. Would. Because he'd be out here in the open if he saw his brother. It was shocking, of course, to see someone who looked so much like Eragos, but was nothing like him at the same time. Eragos whispered about honor and justice. Where Talon was..

Well, what was wrong with the world.

"We should have let Elden have a drink, I could have used one myself. Can we at least smoke? They wouldn't see it in this."

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proscribed
2011-07-11 04:37 pm UTC (link)

There he'd stood in the courtyard, with his sword bare, staring at each of the assembled in turn. The last thing Eragos Feareborne had wanted was to gather a fighting force of White Riders for the purpose of making war. Theirs was not the lot of a soldier, and if former soldiers sometimes joined their crew, it was usually to the detriment of the former soldier. Many could attest to that. Yet he'd drawn the line in the dirt with the tip of his saber. Then he'd restored it to its place on his hip. They were hard eyes what stared back at him. Each of them with a blue scarf tied to his belt and trailing down his hip, or wrapped around his arm. One fellow wore it properly, around his neck and inside of his hood.

He looked ridiculous.

"I need at least fifty," Eragos related to them. "But I would take all of you, if you have the heart."

This was how he came to stand before the gates of the Castel Simanel, with steel on his hip and in his heart, surrounded by White Riders over fifty in number. They'd all of them spent sleepless hours cleaning and straightening their uniforms. Some wielded long brass-strapped clubs. Others swords, though they were not masters of the use. Still others staves, or spears, or mace and flail. Every man who could aim a bow and fire with reasonable accuracy was on the walls. It was Eragos' conversation with the alchemist that had proved most useful. Each man also had a phial on his belt, and instructions on when to use it. This would not equalize them in the face of so much dragon magic - but it would give them an element of surprise that could turn into a successful stand.

Anyone who claimed they could not feel the sands counting down these final moments was a liar.

"Wait for my signal," Eragos said again, into that thick darkness. "One hand on your weapon and the other at your sides. As though you're presenting in a parade. Wait until our fellows are clear. We have one chance to turn this in our favor."

He could sense Sleeping Tiger's desire to be out there, distracting the enemy, ruining his focus and murdering his comrades. One more would not have made a difference, to that group, but here - where Sleeping Tiger could give courage to the non-soldiers of their group - his presence was important. The silent knight's nature itself gave them heart. As for Vargis, the old man should have been inside, but here he was with his long knives. Eragos could not count the number of times that Vargis should have died.

Perhaps today was the day.

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oniwaban
2011-07-14 12:43 am UTC (link)

A scabbard meant your weapon had a chance of not being used. You hid the blade away from the elements because you did not want it to wear, you only wanted it free when it was needed. So he hadn't bothered with any. The blade of the naginata was tall, pointed at the sky, and bare. One palm on the hilt of a kukri. It too was naked, though it was secured against a leather pad on his thigh with a quick release clip. Standing straight and waiting. Keeping his shivering stomach in order.

"Wait for my signal," came the voice of the man beside him. "One hand on your weapon and the other at your sides. As though you're presenting in a parade. Wait until our fellows are clear. We have one chance to turn this in our favor."

Eragos was better at this then he thought. Getting everyone to find out whose hour was being struck; their own, or their foe's. The Brotherhood hadd a simple approach to battle speech. This is how it happens, one of them would say. But if a man expected more to that sentence, a finishing thought, he was left to craft it all his own. Because whoever won; that was how it happened. Factual, true, and without prejudice--the way and the fate saw it before you did.

"Time to find out," he said beneath the kerchief wrapped around his face. He had another, blue, stashed in his pocket.

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v_eritas
2011-08-07 09:28 pm UTC (link)

"They wouldn't see the smoke," Vera said with the remnants of a smile, "But I'm certain they would smell the cheap tobacco."

That was the last barb she'd trade with Eithne. That knowledge did not come from the sound of hooves, but from pain radiating from the bone of her right wrist. It was as if her blood had emotions of its own, angrily pushing through the silver markings beneath her palm. Her Captain once told her anything that wasn't among the five senses was a traitorous friend, but so far this painful awareness was all that had kept her alive.

Vera's steps quickened, putting a small distance between her and her companions. There was a tint of orange forming at the distant corners of the road -- the color was so subtle that Vera thought herself half-mad for seeing anything at all. The coolness of the wind tugging at her cloak changed into something like a breath of hot, tropic air.

She held her hand up to stop Elden or Eithne from coming near. Finally Vera could hear the sounds of horses on the road, but it was muted. Even when she could see the first grey hooded figure, the sound of their horses was difficult to discern. There must have been some magic they were using to mask their movement. Orange in the corners of the mist was spreading and becoming something bright...the Grey Riders were heralding their approach with fire.

Vera started forward again and hoped that Eithne and Elden would stay where they were. She was making herself visible with every step that she took. She could see the line of them now. One of their horses reared as the line slowed. Vera stopped where she was.

"This doesn't have to become more bloody than it already is!" Vera called out. "Just submit to arrest. We'll even treat you like miscreant citizens instead of arbiters of genocide!"

That her offer was met with no response wasn't surprising. Vera could not bring herself to be as genuine and diplomatic as she would like. Whoever was at the front of the line was likely deciding how they wanted to kill her and her companions, so that they could continue to advance the line.

"What? Is a show of mercy not funny now? It shouldn't be! You should see it in the buildings that still stand against the fires you've started and in the losses you've sustained... you bring murderers and thieves to battle against a city of great men!"

There was little warning outside of the twinge in her wrist and the rise of a foreign blade from the line. A stream of flame half as wide as the road burst from the line of grey hoods. The shield Vera created was as powerful as an unprepared Templar could make it -- an impenetrable, glass-like pane that sent the flame stream curling up toward the sky. The shield did not protect her from the force of the magic creating such flame, however, and Vera was shoved backward. Her feet made two small tracks in the dirt road as she braced against the heat.

"Eithne!" she shouted, hearing the line of horses begin to move again. "Elden!"

Vera's left arm was extended to help her concentrate on her shield while her right hand held tight to her staff. Either the fire stream would give or her shield would, but Vera was more concerned with not being able to see. The fire blocked everything. She couldn't shield Eithne or Elden if she couldn't see. And if another magical attack was thrown...

Vera gritted her teeth and shoved her shield further away from her body, pushing against the flames. If she was lucky, very lucky, maybe the fire would impede the very people using it against her. She didn't like luck. It was up to Eithne to stop the line from moving any further and Elden to get their own line of White Riders to charge.

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caeleste_mods
2011-08-07 11:39 pm UTC (link)

The old sorcerer stood farther back from Eithne, so he could see beyond the flame pouring off of Lady Vera's shield without being obvious to the Grey Riders. The mist would have blurred the Grey Riders in his vision if his eyes belonged to a more inexperienced human. Forests of his childhood were something like this -- difficult to see in during the spring storms and plagued by two-legged creatures who did not belong there.

Signals were not often a task of his. Normally light and fire mages were looked to for such things, for obvious reason. But whatever skill Eithne held, Elden knew it wouldn't produce anything large enough to make an impression. Lyacris, the wizardly bastard, would have sneered at the talent she claimed. She wasn't classically trained, didn't walk around in those ghastly robes and as far as he knew, Eithne abided very few rules (if any). For Elden's part, he appreciated anyone who could light a good fire. Fires were useful and usually meant someone could cook him something. Well. Except when being attacked.

Thankfully, Lady Vera was handling her shield well enough. It was a relief not to have to constantly protect the person he promised to protect. Elden rubbed his old palms together. It was times like these that made him feel a stranger in his own skin. Elden was almost certain he was going to regret his signal. With all these corrupt knights around...

He wished Lady Vera hadn't taken his flask.

About twenty feet in front of where the Lady Vera stood defending herself, the ground began to fall away. Jagged edges of rock became exposed as soil dropped quickly into a deep hole. The sudden lack of ground swallowed a horse and its rider before its shape became clear. The shaking ground spooked horses on the Grey Rider's line enough to keep them from sprinting. It wasn't enough to do Eithne's job for her, but it would certainly help her cause. A microcosm of the gaping sinkhole began to form at his own feet as Elden continued to rub his hands together, quickly enough for someone to think him nervous.

Lady Vera was pushing the river of flames back and shouting at them to "stop taking so much damned time". The mist around them caught light as she did it. If their little group wasn't so close to extinction, Elden thought the sight might have been beautiful. The flame and the way Lady Vera's hood had fallen from her hair as she held out her arm, her slim silhouette holding out against a hot sea of gold and red... It was too bad that Elden lacked a poet's mind, or the time, because this was how he would remember her if things went sour.

Skin came loose of his fingers, of muscle and bone. Even as he knelt down and pressed his mouth to the hole he made in the ground, Elden felt his poorly maintained sorcerer's body shred and expand. There was no blood from the transformation, just ash. Dust maybe. He never understood, completely, the magic he was given. Robes he'd kept in tact for years were ruined in a blink of his amber-colored eyes. His curved nails dug into the ground and shook it. Soil in Elden's mouth caused a smile filled with twin rows of sharp teeth to spread across the roughening skin of his face.

Elden glanced at Eithne's back and hoped she didn't turn around. She'd never drink with him again if she did.

Sometimes a dramatic bit of magic required a dramatic sacrifice. Elden consoled himself with that thought as a hot spell of breath magic curled inside the back of his throat, catching up with the deep inhale he'd taken. Elden blew as hard as he could into the ground and was able to raise his eyes to see his handiwork: a jet of magma, almost tall as a building, shooting up like wall in the midst of the Grey Riders.

If that didn't shock the hell out of them and act as a signal for the good Riders of the Castel...well. He was out of ideas. That was his best Azarut party trick.

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