Lost in the Flood (23/3) - Zola
Mar 28, 2022 16:53:05 GMT
Velania Kalugina, Andy D, and 1 more like this
Post by Zola Rhomdaen on Mar 28, 2022 16:53:05 GMT
Zola sits down on the edge of the pier, her toes brushing against the surface of the sunset-coloured water as she swings her dangling legs back and forth. Though she has been freed from the hefty weight of her metal armour, she still feels the physical exertion from pit fighting earlier and her left shoulder aches from when a tortle combatant hit her with a warhammer. Changing into a loose, flowy, sleeveless dress, feeling the sea breeze on her skin, and listening to the call of gulls should do the trick in easing her into a state of relaxation.
She glances around the mosaic of wooden hulls and canvas sails before her: ships and boats drifting in and out of the Old Port. None looks familiar. The Andromeda is long gone, along with her totally-not-a-pirate Captain Tricky Otto, the grey half-elf Kháos (whose face Zola strangely could never remember), and their charge — the wounded champion of Selûne, a middle-aged human man whose name Zola never caught.
She closes her eyes and, annoyingly, it is Ophanim that comes to her mind. The fiend looked very much like a drow with greyish-purple skin, pointed ears, long, white hair, and red eyes; black steel armour covered every part of his body save for his smugly handsome face and, stupidly, his muscled chest and abdomen. She sees his sneery grin as his greatsword slams into the side of her breastplate, hears his languid voice mock her and then praise her form when she gracefully parried his attacks, and feels the grip of the twin swords in her hands as a whirlwind of blades slash into his chiselled abs, leaving him nearly bifurcated. But even in death, Ophanim was undaunted, for he knew that in a mere number of days, he would rise again to carry out Shar’s will on the Prime Material.
The sword dancer opens her eyes to stare up at the sky, leans back on her shoulders, and sighs. Dumb and gorgeous bad boys are her guilty pleasure.
The islet continued to burn even after Ophanim was felled, courtesy of huge fire elementals that her companions quickly slew one by one. She remembers the oppressive heat, as well as the sight of the other fiend. The one with the tattooed back, the same figure they saw in the farmlands outside of Daring Heights, and whom Marto was confronting. She rushed to her friend’s side and summoned a moonbeam right on the fiend… Yet Eilistraee’s holy radiance didn’t even inconvenience him. A single utterance from him and both she and Marto were knocked onto their backs.
But the fiend still did not fight back. Then Seraphina flew towards him on luminous wings and he gasped, and disappeared.
There was nothing left to do but dig out the holy tome of Selûne that Kháos requested, hop onto Tricky Otto’s rowboat, and get back to the relative safety of the Andromeda.
Kháos answered many of their questions on the journey home, though they would not reveal anything about the champion. The half-elf spoke of the eternal war between the Moonmaiden and the Nightsinger, the previous “waves” of Sharran zealots who came and destroyed in ages past, and how they (that is, Zola, Marto, Beets, Nessa, and Seraphina) are to be the “rocks upon which the waves break”. Fighting this war seems to be all Kháos, Nessa, and Sorrel are fixated on, and though Zola could not blame them, her inner song takes on a gloomy key every time this topic is discussed using such hopelessly ceaseless terms.
Kháos said they still knew little of the five Heralds of Blade and Ash and their mode of operation. Zola runs through their names in her head, having assigned each of them epithets to make them easier to remember.
Adhyël the Stallion. Rahmiël the Scorcher. Ophanim the Vain. The Flesh-eater. The Silent.
She turns her gaze past the ships, to the orange sun sinking behind the sea. The moon will rise again tonight, her pale, silver light fending off night’s creeping darkness. And likewise the Heralds will return to try to snuff out that light. Again and again and again. The Word is Unending because the War is Eternal, the War is Eternal because the Word is Unending, and so on and so forth and so on and so forth.
Zola kicks at the water, sending a small splash up. She should stop thinking about this.
She glances around the mosaic of wooden hulls and canvas sails before her: ships and boats drifting in and out of the Old Port. None looks familiar. The Andromeda is long gone, along with her totally-not-a-pirate Captain Tricky Otto, the grey half-elf Kháos (whose face Zola strangely could never remember), and their charge — the wounded champion of Selûne, a middle-aged human man whose name Zola never caught.
She closes her eyes and, annoyingly, it is Ophanim that comes to her mind. The fiend looked very much like a drow with greyish-purple skin, pointed ears, long, white hair, and red eyes; black steel armour covered every part of his body save for his smugly handsome face and, stupidly, his muscled chest and abdomen. She sees his sneery grin as his greatsword slams into the side of her breastplate, hears his languid voice mock her and then praise her form when she gracefully parried his attacks, and feels the grip of the twin swords in her hands as a whirlwind of blades slash into his chiselled abs, leaving him nearly bifurcated. But even in death, Ophanim was undaunted, for he knew that in a mere number of days, he would rise again to carry out Shar’s will on the Prime Material.
The sword dancer opens her eyes to stare up at the sky, leans back on her shoulders, and sighs. Dumb and gorgeous bad boys are her guilty pleasure.
The islet continued to burn even after Ophanim was felled, courtesy of huge fire elementals that her companions quickly slew one by one. She remembers the oppressive heat, as well as the sight of the other fiend. The one with the tattooed back, the same figure they saw in the farmlands outside of Daring Heights, and whom Marto was confronting. She rushed to her friend’s side and summoned a moonbeam right on the fiend… Yet Eilistraee’s holy radiance didn’t even inconvenience him. A single utterance from him and both she and Marto were knocked onto their backs.
But the fiend still did not fight back. Then Seraphina flew towards him on luminous wings and he gasped, and disappeared.
There was nothing left to do but dig out the holy tome of Selûne that Kháos requested, hop onto Tricky Otto’s rowboat, and get back to the relative safety of the Andromeda.
Kháos answered many of their questions on the journey home, though they would not reveal anything about the champion. The half-elf spoke of the eternal war between the Moonmaiden and the Nightsinger, the previous “waves” of Sharran zealots who came and destroyed in ages past, and how they (that is, Zola, Marto, Beets, Nessa, and Seraphina) are to be the “rocks upon which the waves break”. Fighting this war seems to be all Kháos, Nessa, and Sorrel are fixated on, and though Zola could not blame them, her inner song takes on a gloomy key every time this topic is discussed using such hopelessly ceaseless terms.
Kháos said they still knew little of the five Heralds of Blade and Ash and their mode of operation. Zola runs through their names in her head, having assigned each of them epithets to make them easier to remember.
Adhyël the Stallion. Rahmiël the Scorcher. Ophanim the Vain. The Flesh-eater. The Silent.
She turns her gaze past the ships, to the orange sun sinking behind the sea. The moon will rise again tonight, her pale, silver light fending off night’s creeping darkness. And likewise the Heralds will return to try to snuff out that light. Again and again and again. The Word is Unending because the War is Eternal, the War is Eternal because the Word is Unending, and so on and so forth and so on and so forth.
Zola kicks at the water, sending a small splash up. She should stop thinking about this.
