Post by Sunday on Apr 29, 2020 11:27:02 GMT
Thrown by the sight of enemies bearing the scoured-out brand of her disgraced mother, Sunday realises too late that icy, invisible fingers are attempting to wrap around her thoughts.
The insidious touch lights on and amplifies her doubts …where did these fiends come from……no not just fiends…tieflings like me...tieflings very much like me in fact...my old clan…my old family...
Sunday can feel the waves of glee and triumph emanating from the hideous creature standing in front of her as it peels back the protective layers of her mind. As she starts to lose her grip on her faculties, her hands start to lose their grip on the twin hammers, arms dropping slack at her sides.
Sensing rather than seeing his friend about to falter, Varis’ voice roars above the tumult of battle: “HOLD, SUNDAY! HOLD!”
It is the first emotion Sunday has heard from him since his soul had returned to them. It pierces, just for a second, through the shroud closing about her wits.
She reaches for the shaft of light and, through sheer force of will, shrugs aside the creature’s attempt to shatter her psyche. Vision clearing, she drives one of her hammer’s deep into its chest in retaliation and knocks it back with a thunderous burst of golden-green radiant light.
Spinning in the saddle, Sunday goes to shout her thanks to Varis but is confronted by the scenes of struggle enveloping friends and forest...
...Taffeta: darting in and out of sight, firing and reloading and firing again with rapid, clinical movements; each bolt dropping a fiend in its tracks; popping up from cover to lay a hand on Baine and send a bolt of adrenaline through his body...
...Baine and Varis: the two warriors going about their methodical business; the half-orc sweeping a huge devil’s feet out from under it, before joining the half-elf in raining blow after devastating blow down onto its prone form, eliciting roars of pain and frustration...
...Pieni: calling out words of encouragement and healing; he and his tiny, brave owl companion picking out weak spots in the enemies' defences with their keen eyes and pointing them out to the others; the conjured spirits spreading guidance and healing over them all and the surrounding forest...
...the forest. The Angelbark on fire, wreathed in red-black flames and thick, choking smoke. The Angelbark… the angel… in panic, Sunday searches the battlefield for them… for...
...Will… spinning and whirling in combat with a creature that is almost their mirror image. A quasi-angelic being, their lower half wreathed in shadowy insubstance. Bone-white hair; coal-black skin; blood-red eyes… a crimson-bladed sword…
galiel! Sunday realises in a moment of winter-cold clarity. why is he here...with my old clan...did zariel send them … is it she coming after all the seals?!
Sunday watches Will and Galiel intertwine, unable to follow their balletic combat, movements too swift for any mortal to track. The graceful, swirling, deadly duel moves closer to the portal in the centre of the clearing. Confused, Sunday watches as Will intentionally falls back towards the rift - one hand clutching the Second Seal, the other deflecting Galiel’s lethal thrusts.
where are they going?! what are they doing?!
Disregarding the badly injured fiend in front of her, Sunday starts to command eLk to fly to the angel’s aid. But even as the thought forms in her mind, she stares across at Will and their eyes meet hers. And the angel’s normally blank, neutral features break into a bittersweet smile...
...as everything freezes...
The insidious touch lights on and amplifies her doubts …where did these fiends come from……no not just fiends…tieflings like me...tieflings very much like me in fact...my old clan…my old family...
Sunday can feel the waves of glee and triumph emanating from the hideous creature standing in front of her as it peels back the protective layers of her mind. As she starts to lose her grip on her faculties, her hands start to lose their grip on the twin hammers, arms dropping slack at her sides.
Sensing rather than seeing his friend about to falter, Varis’ voice roars above the tumult of battle: “HOLD, SUNDAY! HOLD!”
It is the first emotion Sunday has heard from him since his soul had returned to them. It pierces, just for a second, through the shroud closing about her wits.
She reaches for the shaft of light and, through sheer force of will, shrugs aside the creature’s attempt to shatter her psyche. Vision clearing, she drives one of her hammer’s deep into its chest in retaliation and knocks it back with a thunderous burst of golden-green radiant light.
Spinning in the saddle, Sunday goes to shout her thanks to Varis but is confronted by the scenes of struggle enveloping friends and forest...
...Taffeta: darting in and out of sight, firing and reloading and firing again with rapid, clinical movements; each bolt dropping a fiend in its tracks; popping up from cover to lay a hand on Baine and send a bolt of adrenaline through his body...
...Baine and Varis: the two warriors going about their methodical business; the half-orc sweeping a huge devil’s feet out from under it, before joining the half-elf in raining blow after devastating blow down onto its prone form, eliciting roars of pain and frustration...
...Pieni: calling out words of encouragement and healing; he and his tiny, brave owl companion picking out weak spots in the enemies' defences with their keen eyes and pointing them out to the others; the conjured spirits spreading guidance and healing over them all and the surrounding forest...
...the forest. The Angelbark on fire, wreathed in red-black flames and thick, choking smoke. The Angelbark… the angel… in panic, Sunday searches the battlefield for them… for...
...Will… spinning and whirling in combat with a creature that is almost their mirror image. A quasi-angelic being, their lower half wreathed in shadowy insubstance. Bone-white hair; coal-black skin; blood-red eyes… a crimson-bladed sword…
galiel! Sunday realises in a moment of winter-cold clarity. why is he here...with my old clan...did zariel send them … is it she coming after all the seals?!
Sunday watches Will and Galiel intertwine, unable to follow their balletic combat, movements too swift for any mortal to track. The graceful, swirling, deadly duel moves closer to the portal in the centre of the clearing. Confused, Sunday watches as Will intentionally falls back towards the rift - one hand clutching the Second Seal, the other deflecting Galiel’s lethal thrusts.
where are they going?! what are they doing?!
Disregarding the badly injured fiend in front of her, Sunday starts to command eLk to fly to the angel’s aid. But even as the thought forms in her mind, she stares across at Will and their eyes meet hers. And the angel’s normally blank, neutral features break into a bittersweet smile...
...as everything freezes...
