Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

Cezanne Abella · Seasoned Veteran Joined: 24 Apr 2009 Posts: 475

There was no screaming, and no way to flee. The shadows of the dark things in this world were closing in swiftly, and Cezanne could only crawl. If that. On her belly, she inched forward, one handful of earth at a time, and pushed off uselessly with feet that tangled in her skirts, and could not find a toe hold, no matter the jagged outcroppings of rock they struck upon. She slid back each time she pushed, and moved only inches when her hands could make any purchase at all in her desperate attempt to escape. She tried to scream, but her voice was naught but hiss and echo. Her throat closed, refusing to give voice to the cries that might save her, if only there was someone to hear them. Claws closed around her left wrist and rent the flesh from bone again.

She could not even scream in pain. Besides, it was too late. Her attempts at flight had been useless. She knew they would be—they always were.

“Flight.”

The voice could have come from anywhere, or everywhere at once. The claws poised against the flesh of her back paused, seemingly as confused by the sound as she. The world stood still for a moment. But it was enough. He had broken the spell, and woven his own with a single word. There was no longer a need to be flayed by the relentlessly pursuing shadows. No reason to squirm, inch by agonizing inch, along the ground. No need for the wind to tear from her lips the whispered pleas and cries for help.

Cezanne remembered she could fly.

With dizzying haste, she mounted the wind and flew far wide of the grasping and clutching claws that would rend her flesh. Nothing could catch her here, as she caught the currents, and soared above the haze of Malas. Over the mountains to the west, faster and faster, until the trees and clusters of darkened houses were a blur of green and slate as she wheeled toward the sun.

The sun. Something in her mind was begging a place for doubt. There was danger in the design of her escape, but she couldn't remember what it was. She had craved the sun for so long beneath the constant oppressive haze at the theatre. And now it was bright and warm, and bathed her in light that would not be denied. Still, something told her to stop. To pull back. Shame awaited, and failure. If only she could remember why.

The fear crept back in, and her flight faltered. She stalled and stumbled. She wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to be prone in the dust, flayed alive by the claws of creatures unseen. Unable to scream. And she tumbled toward the ground where they surely waited.

“Ceza. You're not doing anything wrong.”

The voice surrounded her again, and she cried out frantically to him. “I remember the story now!”

A hand caught her wrist and halted her descent. Cezanne looked down quickly, trying to pull away in panic. But his hand was already painted with her blood, and her face burned hotly. “I'm sorry, I...”

But his hand held fast. He did not flinch. His voice came softer, winding itself through the wind.

“Sometimes it's all right to fly.”

Cezanne Abella · Seasoned Veteran Joined: 24 Apr 2009 Posts: 475

“Careful Oro!” Cezanne held on as Covenant reeled backward at the mechanical monstrosities’ approach, threatening to throw her. She struck the tambourine tethered at her hip with rough and intricate precision, weaving herself through the rhythm, and enrapturing one of the clankety creations. Curious, she thought, that man should pour enough of himself into his creation that music calms even the savage machine. The other minion, however, continued to bear down on her companion.

Oroboros charged the minions fearlessly, shouting spells as he flew. Cezanne fought to regain control over Covenant, and urged him forward, singing her own spells as she did. And within moments, the fray was at an end. Two Exodus minions lay in separate mangled and smoking heaps on the floor. Away, down the corridor, a clattering betrayed the approach of more.

Sliding down from his charger, Oro approached one of the disabled mechanisms, and knelt, his gaze thoughtful. Quietly, he gave voice to his thoughts. “It feels almost like cheating, Ceza…”

“Hmm?” Cezanne steadied Covenant in anticipation of the reinforcements’ arrival, which sounded mere moments away.

He shook his head and stood, taking up his mount again and returning to her side. “I was told to destroy them. Not to team up on them.” His brow was furrowed uncertainly. “What if it isn’t good enough?”

Cezanne chewed her lip thoughtfully, then turned her gaze from the smoking piles of metal back to Oroboros. “All right. You take them down. But I’ll keep you safe.”

He smiled in response. “From you, I’d expect nothing less.”

In theory, she agreed. He had been tasked with this duty, not she. She could only hinder him by slinging spells. In practice, however, the concept was terrifying. It rubbed against the grain of her nature in every single way. Even Covenant’s midnight flanks quivered as he prepared – even tried – to charge the mechanical creatures, as he was sure she would want to do. Meanwhile, Oroboros screamed spells, dodged blows, circled around, and started again. Cezanne struck the tambourine hastily, attempting to lay down a blanket of calm around them both. But she dared not strike out against the wretched things, for fear of causing his quest to go awry. And, when he needed it, she sang softly the incantations of healing that would keep him alive and running.

The room was filled with sulfur and smoke by the time the last minion collapsed onto the battle-scarred tile of Exodus. Oroboros grinned triumphantly back toward Cezanne as his charger clattered toward one of the heaps.

“That was perfect!” He slid down off his mount and examined the twisted metal. “Fantastic!”

Cezanne could only smile in return. His enthusiasm was infectious. As was his sense of achievement. It was nearly enough to make her rethink her methods. But then doubt crept in again. What if he’d fallen? What if he’d fallen and she could have prevented it? It was a matter of control. Over the situation. Over the creatures that threatened to harm him. And control over his fate, should he have failed—

Fate? How dare she? He had undertaken the task willingly. Pledged to fulfill the oath himself. Oro’s fate was his own. It was not her place to protect him from himself. Hadn’t she learned this lesson over and over in the past? No. Experienced, but never learned. Until now. Maybe it was enough just to be there to stand with him in the end.Reluctantly, she slid down off Covenant’s back and approached Oroboros as he sifted through the wrecked machine in search of anything that could be of use to him. He looked up, hearing her footfalls, his smile still radiantly victorious.

“Remarkable, isn’t it?!”

A smile played across Cezanne’s lips as she nodded and knelt to wipe a smudge of soot from his cheek with her thumb, agreeing wholeheartedly with his assessment.

“Remarkable.”

Cezanne Abella · Seasoned Veteran Joined: 24 Apr 2009 Posts: 475

The moment had come, softer and more genuine than anything that she had allowed herself in months – maybe years. She knew the path would lead here, but still the jarring reality of it all was unfamiliar. Too close. She should be leading him. Instead, he waited for her. His eyes were unafraid. He stood in the center of the arcane circle and lifted a hand to her, in perfect trust.

Cezanne stepped, barefoot, into the circle, and felt its energy, meshed with that of Oroboros, coursing through her body. She'd known to expect it, but still she shuddered at the sensation. And she wondered if it was her fear and uncertainty that he felt as she took his hand in hers. Or was there perhaps something more still left within her?

It was the first time that she had allowed herself to feel him. The first moment that she had not closed herself off to the brilliant amethyst aura that radiated around Oroboros, with blazes and flames of gold that ebbed and flowed through his energy. With quiet diligence equal to his intent, his indigo haze enveloped her as well, and the energy around him was tempered to soft magenta by the rosy pink of her own. There was no hesitation as she cast her spirit over him, although she had fully expected the hasty desire to flee.

She was safe here. And so was he. Forgotten were the long nights of pillaging the depths of the underworld, and mornings awakened strewn over piles of gold and treasures they had fallen asleep while counting. Gone were her doubts and fears and walls. There was only this moment, and it was too late to retreat, even if she wanted to. Without hesitation, she took his other hand as well.

Their energy pulsed with discord for mere seconds, before they found their harmony, and the two radiated as one. Oroboros closed his eyes, concentrating on the tone and note of the sound that welled within him. Cezanne watched him intently for a moment before she, too, closed her eyes.

“Myrshalee.” The timbre of his voice broke over her as softly as the warmth that instantly enveloped her and filled the spaces where fear was gone. The note was measured, precise. There was a logic and an order to the universe, and it lay just beneath the surface of everything that lived, and everything that did not. It had always been there. Only now, she could see it. Feel it, as surely as she drew breath.

“Myrshalee.” She sang the word softly, and the music of her soul resonated wildly within her and poured into him freely. Oroboros caught his breath with a smile unbidden, and clearly unexpected. Music and fire and light illuminated his spirit and shone upon Reason, which lay firmly entrenched at his core.

They two repeated the word, building upon the power of the bond that forged between them. Eyes closed, hair and raiment tossed by the night breeze which blessed this ritual, they each became more than what they had been.

The ceremony at an end, they released hands as each watched the gaze of the other. There was no shy and stumbling retreat, only the world that was laid out before them, and the measured awe as a smile spread across Oroboros' visage, as he watched Cezanne plop with near childlike giddiness into the grass. Quickly, she pulled up woolen stockings and slipped her feet into her soft leather boots. “Well then...” he mused with a grin.

Cezanne smiled brightly, near laughter, as her spirit swelled within. She hopped to her feet, grabbing the tambourine and reagent pouch which had been hastily tossed aside before the ritual. “The dragons await, Oro. Shall we go and see what we've done?”