Ravvus Wiseau
Mage
We will not stop until I have bested you at least once. My pride simply won't allow any alternative.
Posts: 207
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Ravvus/Luba/Rowan
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Post by Ravvus Wiseau on Dec 21, 2016 13:41:29 GMT -6
(OOC: That's kosher. He'll be important for the plot later on, so don't kill him. He's close to Duma's level of skill and a ranger. So keep in mind that he has a sword to switch to while fighting.)
The captive disappeared out of sight, now hidden within the tall grass. No sooner had he hidden himself did the first half of the incoming wave leap from the grass. Their blades were thin and sharp, designed for lightning fast strikes at the cost of durability. They advanced, piercing the air with a guttural war cry.
Anton struggled to get back on his feet. ”Son of a whore!” He swore beneath his breath. The Ilian stuck his blade on the earth, using it as a third leg. On his feet, the Ilian observed the shaft embedded in his shoulder. More specifically, the arrow was lodged between his shoulder and neck. The projectile head had just barely missed his neck, and then just barely missed an artery. Something which did more to anger Anton than imbue him with fear.
The Ilian glanced at the tall grass as the Killuans approached. There was no time to remove the arrow, no time to let Ivan heal the nearly fatal wound. Anton needed to join the fight.
He gripped the shaft with a gloved hand. Removing the arrow risked bleeding out. Leaving it in would be a hindrance in battle. So the Ilian snapped the wooden missile at its midpoint. The best compromise given his situation.
Damnit... DAMNIT!” He swore, rushing for the tall grass. ”Get to the grass! It might be our only hope until Ivan recovers. Freelancers, on me!” He howled, crashing his iron sword against that of a Killuan's. The freelancers clumsily followed, most wide-eyed and holding their weapons with shaking hands. This wouldn't last long, a part of Anton knew that. Knew that once the tribe's next wave made it through the grass, they would finish off whoever survived the first wave. And another part told him it didn't matter. If they kept fighting then the Pale Compass maintained a chance to live. A small chance, but a chance nonetheless If they stopped, then they had no chance. There was no choice but to fight.
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The trio entered a new section of the cavern. There was little Ravvus could make out in the darkness, but he could see a book mounted upon a pedestal on his left. It was blue. Funny, it looked like a fimbulvtr tome.
”It's in here.” Kinh'lua spoke, her voice echoing in the cramped cavern.
”How do you know? I can't see a thing in here.”
”Nor can I, but I know it is in this chamber. This is the room of relics. Our father spoke of it often when referring to the archive. That...” She pointed at the blue book on Ravvus' left. ”Is Hailstorm. A cursed spellbook, but stored with the Killuan regalia nonetheless. Come. The bow is nearby.”
Ravvus approached the 'Hailstorm' tome, having ignored Kinh'lua ever since she uttered the word 'spellbook'. The closer he came to the book, the more apparent that it really was a fimbulvetr tome. There were some slight differences. The book had darker shades of blue mixed in with the white and light blue coloring. And the picture on the front was not a single shard of ice, like most fimbulvetr tomes, but a swirling storm of ice shards.
”...There it is.” Kinh'lua lifted a finger, pointing into the illuminated expanse. ”Denko Sekka. The bow faster than lightning.” Away from Ravvus, near the back, stood Kinh'lua and Kish'lua. Before them sat their birthright: Killua's bow. In truth, the only part of the weapon which had belonged to the rider was the grip, which was decorated with the fingerprints of past Killuan chieftans. Years of use had worn the weapon, requiring replacements to supplement the artifact until only one part of the original work remained. Indeed, much of Denko Sekka was a composite of bows parts created by previous chiefs.
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Post by Duma on Jan 1, 2017 13:30:15 GMT -6
Duma was forced to stop when he heard Anton curse. No doubt he'd been hit by something probably an arrow. He was panting a bit. He had lost the trail of the ranger. He shook his head. Then heard another rustle. Another swordsman whom foolishly went ahead to charge at him. There were three clangs between their swords and then a thud. Duma was panting harder now. He probably shouldn't have had charged into the rustling grass like that.
Then he heard something. The familiar hoof beats of a horse. The rider was nearby. And then he saw it the faint brown of a horse's hair. And then looked up. The ranger had him in his sights. An arrow notched into his bow and his arm extended back. Ready to fire. Steel tipped arrows from the looks of it. MOVE! His head told his legs and he found himself jumping back. The ranger fired and managed to hit Duma in the calf. F*CK! He mentally yelled at himself. The arrow was lodged firmly into his leg and stopped by bone.
His movements would be painful but he wouldn't be slowed down. He grabbed his throwing knife and threw it at the horse's legs. He hit the animal in it's front leg. The animal jumped back onto it's hind legs. Neighing in pain and shock. Duma took several hops back in order to avoid the rampage of the animal. The ranger would have to spend several precious minutes trying to calm his mount down. Hopefully enough to buy the others some time while they found cover.
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Ravvus Wiseau
Mage
We will not stop until I have bested you at least once. My pride simply won't allow any alternative.
Posts: 207
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Ravvus/Luba/Rowan
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Post by Ravvus Wiseau on Jan 1, 2017 23:00:42 GMT -6
Iron screeched against iron as Anton parried his opponent's blade aside. The Ilian maneuvered his sword, bringing it down in a diagonal slash across the Killuan. The Sacaen adversary gritted his teeth, falling first to his knees and then onto his back. Anton took two furious stomps forward, slamming his foot down on the Killuan's sword hand, before flipping his blade upside-down and raising it above his head.
“STOP!” Shouted an unfamiliar voice from behind. Anton craned his neck, glancing in the direction of the new voice. One of the Killuans stumbled forward, holding Ivan hostage, and pressing his blade against the old book-keeper's neck. Anton's eyes widened in shock. He quickly stepped behind his prone opponent and knelt on one knee, placing the sharp end of his blade against the myrmidon's neck.
”Let him go!” Anton commanded, his voice a humbling roar. ”You take one of my men, I take one of yours!” The Ilian's eyes quivered and darted between the peripheries of his vision, watching for any of the Killuan Sacaens who might try to get the jump on him.
“Sword! Ground!” The tribesman commanded, motioning for Anton to throw down his blade. The Killuan did not seem to have a particularly expansive mastery of the common tongue. Two more Killuans came upon Anton, flanking him on either the side. They kept their swords drawn and pointed at him. The Ilian kept his blade pressed against the neck of his hostage. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't let Ivan die, but he couldn't disarm himself either. As long as he kept fighting, the Pale Compass had a chance. A small chance, but a chance nonetheless.
”Anton.” The old sage called out. ”It's okay. Save th-”
”Don't even say it, Ivan. If you die, Gavrilova will have my head.”
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Kinh'lua reached out, palms facing up, and slid her hands underneath the lower and upper limbs of Denko Sekka. She lifted delicately, moving the bow as though it would snap if breathed upon. The translator turned to her sister. ”This should be done in the company of our kinsman, in a grand ceremony for all of Killua's heirs to witness and acknowledge. Instead we must anoint you in darkness and deprive you of the honors of your birthright.” Kinh'lua kneeled, outstretching her arms and handing over Denko Sekka.
Her stoic sister, silent as always, accepted, taking the bow with both hands before slinging it over her should. Kinh'lua rose. ”You will make a good chief for our people.” She reached out, placing a firm hand on Kish'lua's shoulder. ”Our father would be proud.” The newly ordained chieftain gripped her sister's hand with her own, and gave Kinh'lua a sober nod. Kish'lua jerked her head to the side, motioning for them to leave the archive. The two turned to exit the room of relics.
”Mage!” Kinh'lua called out to Ravvus, who had been bewitched by Hailstorm. ”What are you doing?! Get away from that book! Did you not hear when I said it was cursed?!” Kinh scowled, taking two steps towards the mage. ”We have no time to waste! Your guildsmen need us. We must go!”
”Ah, of course.” Ravvus muttered, tearing his eyes from the fimbulvetr tome. Turning to Kinh'lua, he held his fireball high. The light of the conjured flames illuminated the contours of his face in the darkness. ”Let us leave this place.” The translator maintained her scowl, her eyes furious, as she turned and left the room. Ravvus stopped abruptly the moment Kinh'lua was out of sight. He promptly turned around and reached out towards the cursed tome, Hailstorm, as his fireball fluttered and dispersed in the darkness.
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Post by Duma on Jan 6, 2017 19:38:26 GMT -6
The rider was still struggling with his mount. This was good. The more time he struggled to control the animal meant more time that there weren't arrows in the air. Duma was feeling the effects of the arrow now. The pain was pulsating up and down his leg. It hurt more and more with each step. He could hear commotion up front. Anton calling for someone to let someone go. Shi* there's a hostage involved. Duma shook his head. He couldn't run over there fast enough to help save whomever got caught.
The rider gripped the reigns of his horse and pulled hard. Duma couldn't let him rejoin the battle. But he couldn't run and charge forward either. He didn't have his throwing dagger anymore, so the swordsman thought of an alternate plan. He grabbed some rocks and started to throw it at him. He moved a few steps at a time and threw a rock. He hoped to hit the rider or the horse. If he hit the horse in the eye or the snout that would disturb him some more. If he hit the rider then that was good too. A hit in between the eyes would force him to stop what he was doing. Duma did not have the best aim when it came to rocks. He knew Mila had the better throwing arm due to her training. Their father had her learn to perfect her aim by throwing rocks before she could throw a fire ball. Sometimes she'd threw the rocks at him and he used it to practice his dodging. He shook his head. No this was not the time to be distracted by nostalgia. He continued to throw more rocks. The swordsman occasionally paused to make sure he wasn't being snuck up on by another nomad.
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Ravvus Wiseau
Mage
We will not stop until I have bested you at least once. My pride simply won't allow any alternative.
Posts: 207
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Ravvus/Luba/Rowan
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Post by Ravvus Wiseau on Jan 10, 2017 0:54:03 GMT -6
In his periphery, Anton could see one of the freelancers become impaled on a Killuan blade. Another was now disarmed, and raised his hands in surrender. With that, unless Duma was still fighting in the tall grass, Anton was the only guilds-man still armed. “SWORD! GROUND!” He heard the tribesman bark once more. He... He didn't know what to do. Anton had always thought he'd make a good leader. Sure, his temper was short, but the hallmarks of authority came naturally to him. He knew how to say no, knew how to come up with a plan on the spot, knew what was expected of himself and his fellow guilds-man, knew how to keep his composure in tense situations. But now that he was the only one left standing, with the choice to, basically, die now or die later, he didn't know what to do.
Anton breathed deeply, feeling his sword hand quiver. If he kept fighting, he and Ivan would surely die. They would die, and so would any chance for survival. If he offered a surrender, then maybe he could buy the guild some time until the sisters returned. He scanned his periphery, noting the Killuans as they grouped up the rest of the freelancers. There was only one chance to survive. The Ilian let out a long exhale, dropped his blade to the earth, and passively placed his hands behind his head.
The Killuan holding Ivan hostage shouted in an unknown dialect as Anton threw down his weapon...
...A distance off, the rider heard one of his tribesman proclaim victory. He pulled hard on the reins, jerking his steed's snout to the side, and bringing the horse under his control. A stone came zooming towards him. The rider cocked his head, receiving a graze on his cheek, but avoiding a direct blow. The Killuan leader smirked, putting away his bow and drawing his blade. “Your tenacity is admirable, but misplaced. Your allies are dead, wounded, or disarmed, and you are all that remains. Place your weapons in the dirt and I will consider sparing you.” He leveled his sword, pointing the bladed tip at Duma. “Or you can die here, if you prefer. A single shot between the eyes would do.”
Another shout. This one was in the same tongue as earlier, but spoken by a different voice. The rider's eyes shot to the archive, and widened as he recognized the voice's owner. “Decide quickly. It seems the late chief, Karr'lua's, daughters have returned.”
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”By the Eight...” Ravvus muttered as he joined Kinh'lua and Kish'lua outside the cavern. The battle hadn't gone well. Ravvus could tell that at least one of their number was dead, while Anton and the others had been captured. Duma, however, was nowhere to be found. That worried the mage more than anything else. Ravvus knew Duma well enough to know that he wouldn't go down easily. The swordsman could probably dispatch five, maybe even ten, of the tribesman so long as he fought only one or two of them at a time. Even so, Ravvus noticed a distinct shortage of both Killuan bodies and Duma. He scanned the battlefield, hoping to spy his green-haired friend.
As the mage tried to locate his companion, Kish'lua held Denko Sekka high above her head. The tribesmen closest to the archive stared on in awe. Their sword arms slacked, their mouths dropped open, and their eyes widened, beholden to the sight of the treasured regalia. As the shock wore off, the Killuans started trading queer glances with each other, unsure of how to respond. Some wanted to acknowledge the bearer of Denko Sekka. Others still desired Kish'lua's head, as she had polluted their archive with foreigners.
”KNEEL!” Kinh'lua boomed, drawing her custom wo dao. ”Before you stands, Kish'lua, daughter to Karr'lua and descandent of Killua, rider for Hanon. In her ruling fist, she bears Denko Sekka, the bow faster than lightning. By tradition, bloodline, and bond, she is the new chieftain of the Killuan tribe. And you, as Killuans, shall acknowledge her as such. Now.” Kinh'lua stabbed the earth with her blade, turned to her sister, and kneeled. ”Kneel before your new chieftain.”
Her speech had reached some of the tribesman. Half of the Killuans placed their blades in the earth and knelt down on one knee, bowing to their new leader. As they did, the bow wielding rider appeared from the tall grass.
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Post by Duma on Jan 18, 2017 21:11:27 GMT -6
There was nothing left for him to do. His leg was wounded. His movements were hindered. And this rider had gotten enough hold of his mount to calm the animal. And his rock tactic had missed. It seemed that Mila would always had the better aim between the two. But, this wasn't the time for nostalgia. His comrades were rendered useless by the tactics of these Saceans. It had been a bit since he last heard Anton shout his orders. He shook his head. The others were either dead or incapacitated.
The rider spoke. Acknowledged Duma's stubbornness and then threatened to kill him should he not comply. He intimidated him with his curved sword. The swordsman wanted nothing more than to draw his blade upwards and knock it out of his hands. He wanted to fight this man until either he or his opponent had died. But, for the sake of the others, who could potentially still be alive, he dropped his blade.
"Tsk." I am in no shape for a reasonable duel. His horse is injured but not dead. A swift charge could cripple me. And a feathered arrow could end me. Even though I think I could still hit him before he grabs his bow again. He did not speak but just glared at the man. He hated this feeling of being backed in a corner. If given the choice he'd rather die with his sword in his hand and in glorious combat. The silence was soon broken by the voices of two others. The sisters had returned. He couldn't quite make out what was being said, but he did hear the KNEEL part. Which meant that the two sisters had successfully retrieved the archive. That was good. Whether or not the rest of the tribe would acknowledge this action or killed the sisters remained to be seen.
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Ravvus Wiseau
Mage
We will not stop until I have bested you at least once. My pride simply won't allow any alternative.
Posts: 207
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Ravvus/Luba/Rowan
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Post by Ravvus Wiseau on Jan 23, 2017 15:26:07 GMT -6
(OOC: Trying to wrap this thread up, so wall of text incoming)
”Surrak'lua...” Kinh'lua muttered, eyes narrowing in contempt at the rider. The tall grass grazed the neck-line of his mount as he exited the field and approached the sisters. ”You dishonor our tribe pitting brother against brother. Your actions have needlessly taken the lives of many Killuans this day. You have no right to carry the title of 'Lua, no right to bear the name of our great progenitor.” Kinh'lua raised her edged sword, pointing the bladed tip at the rider. ”What say you justifying your treachery?”
”How long are you going to let your lesser speak on your behalf, Kish'lua?” The rider began, dismissing Kinh'lua with a glance. ”This was her idea wasn't it? Allowing a pack of outsiders to tread the earth of the most sacred of places. She never cared for the traditions of our people the way you and I do. The way your father did.”
The translator frowned, her lips curling until they split apart in a ferocious maw. ”Surrak'lua. If you are as faithful to tradition as you claim then you must acknowledge my sister as the leader of our people. She bears the bow, and with it the right to rule. Would you deny this?”
”...Still you do not answer me yourself Kishlua?”
Kish'lua cocked her head, directing Surrak'lua to speak with her sister.
The rider sighed, dismounting his horse. ”...I would not.”
”Prove your loyalties now. Place your blade in the earth and swear loyalty to her.”
”...I cannot.”
”Then you must die.” Kinh'lua muttered calmly, advancing towards the dismounted rider.
”What will that accomplish?”
”What!?” The sister stopped abruptly in her tracks.
”Kill me and those of our people still loyal to me will cut you down. Perhaps not today. Perhaps it will be months from now, when you are sleeping soundly in your bed. But they will do it. They share my sentiment. You have wronged the tribe by allowing outsiders access to the archive.”
Kinh'lua's fingers tightened in a vice grip along the hilt of her sword. She was angry. Angry because she knew Surrak'lua was right. The wants of those who opposed her sister would not die with their leader.
”And furthermore, if you kill me, our tribe shall be split and brother shall fight brother. By taking my life you shall spill the blood of more Killuans than I have today, doubling your crimes against the tribe. But...” Surrak'lua drew his blade, approaching Anton. A soft crunching could be heard as the grass flattened beneath his feet. ”Allow me to execute the foreigners and admonish you of your crimes. Allow me to do this and I pledge not only my loyalty, but the loyalty of those who follow me. And then, if you still believe me deserving of punishment, you may take my head. But I promise those who follow me shall stay with the tribe, that they will acknowledge you as Karr'lua's heir and the rightful bearer of Killua's bow.” Surrak'lua gave a hard kick against the back of Anton's legs, forcing the scowling Ilian to his knees. The Killuan defector placed his blade before Anton's neck. ”What say you to these terms?”
”She- Stop!” Kinh'lua shouted, evoking a glance from Surrak'lua. The translator, sword-hand quivering with indecision, stood there. She didn't know what to do. Surrak'lua was right. If she or Kish'lua cut him down where he stood it would fracture the tribe. And Kinh'lua couldn't, no she wouldn't, allow that to happen. After everything her father had fought for, after their tribe had come back from the brink of extinction, she would never allow them to become a diaspora again. They had fought hard for their continued existence, the tribe of Killua needed to continue, as a whole. She couldn't jeopardize her people's tenuous unity for anything. But she couldn't cut the foreigners down like live-stock, could she? Without Ivan, Denko Sekka would still be out of reach, their people's history would still be confined to the caverns of the earth. And Ravvus, and Duma, and Anton. She wasn't particularly found of any one of them, but they had each risked their lives, each come here knowing the risk, but still willing to fight for her and Kish'lua. She couldn't just slaughter them, could she?
Kinh'lua glanced at Anton, who stared back at her with eyes of ire. The Ilian shook his head slowly. She then looked at the green-haired Duma who was panting and wounded. And lastly she looked at Ravvus, who returned her a queer look before leveling his palm flat and withdrawing his Trinity tome.
”S- Shi?” The translator spoke, turning to look at her sister.
The chief, her sister, met Kinh'lua's gaze with a pair of sad, sober eyes. ”'Nhi...” She spoke, much to the surprise of the guildsmen. ”'Nhi. If this is what we Killuans have become. If our survival has reduced us to a pack of distrusting, bloodthirsty xenophobes, then perhaps our tribe should not have survived the Bandit War.” She motioned for Kinh'lua to come to her side. The translator obeyed, albeit somewhat hesitantly.
”Give me your blade.” Kinh'lua reached out, passing her custom wo dao to her sister, unsure as to the chieftain's plans. ”The tribe has failed us, but we too have failed the tribe.” She craned her neck, facing Surrak'lua. The defector still had his blade pressed against Anton's neck. ”If he could see us now, Karr'lua would be disappointed by what the tribe has become. And so would Killua.” She raised her bow, pointing it at Surrak'lua.
”You finally speak... And the first actions you take threaten our peoples integrity.” The defector's eyes narrowed with contempt. ”I expected better of you, Kish'lua. It would seem you both shame Karr'lua's memory.”
”We all shame my father today, Surrak. But I would never threaten the unity of our people.” In one swift motion, she brought her sister's wo dao to bear on Denko Sekka. The edge of the blade pressed right against the grip.
Surrak'lua's eyes widened with shock. He dropped his blade, drew the bow on his back, and took aim at Kish'lua. ”WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” The veins in the defector's neck bulged as he screamed.
”The foreigners will be let go or Denko Sekka will be cut in twain and incinerated. Mage!” She called, eyeballing Ravvus. ”Create a pyre.” The conjurer stared at her, impotent at first, before flipping through his trinity tome and kindling a small fire at Kish'lua's side. ”This will be the only deal made today, Surrak.”
”You! You dare to threaten the most sacred of artifacts?! The means by which Killua's successor's are named?!”
Kish'lua dragged the wo dao across Denko Sekka's grip. ”Do not irk me, Surrak. Let the foreigners go.”
Surrak'lua's hands shook violently. It was as if the quivering might snap his own weapon in twain. ”Do as she says... Let the foreigners go.” Easing up on the bowstring, the defector lowered his bow, and took a step away from Anton. The surviving members of the Pale Compass made their way over to Kinh'lua and Kish'lua.
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Post by Duma on Jan 28, 2017 21:38:57 GMT -6
He was disarmed and injured. Both physically and mentally. And now he had to sit and listen to this spiel. Crap. Can this day get worse. He really didn't want to hear the wants and needs of this tribe. He didn't want to hear about who shamed who for what reasons. Their first leader is dead, why bother with the nitty-gritty details at a time like this. If the defector was serious about wanting to take control he could have easily feathered the two sisters from his vantage point. Not dismount and begin talking like a pastor on the seventh day. But, Duma wasn't about to just sit there and be potentially executed either. When the blades and arrows were drawn away from the rest of the pale compass only then did Duma move.
He gripped the shaft of the arrow and pulled it out. Thankfully, the arrow head wasn't fully embedded into his flesh, so the spokes didn't do too much damage on the way out. It still hurt like all hell. But, Duma didn't shout. Shouting would only make things so much worse. He quickly used his sword to tear off a part of his sleeve and bandage it as best he could. His sword returned to him, he glanced over at the defector. Duma could have ran through the grass and sliced off an arm. Thus, ending his ability to shoot a bow. Or perhaps he could have chopped off a leg thus ending his ability to run. Or perhaps he could cut whatever was in between his legs thus ruining his confidence. He had options. Lots of life altering options.
But, it was too risky to go ahead and do that. Not when the rest of the Pale Compasses lives were at stake. And the defector had made a good point. Killing him would only anger those who had sided with him. Those who viewed foreigners as demons. And having one of those said monsters kill their leader would only solidify that idea. So he picked up and sheathed his blade. Then quietly limped towards the rest of the group.
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Ravvus Wiseau
Mage
We will not stop until I have bested you at least once. My pride simply won't allow any alternative.
Posts: 207
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Ravvus/Luba/Rowan
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Post by Ravvus Wiseau on Jan 30, 2017 15:04:01 GMT -6
The Ilians and the freelancers, most of whom were wounded, shuffled towards the two sisters. Ravvus himself moved to lend Duma a shoulder as the swordsman limped away from the leader of the defectors. The sky was grey, and the winds quiet and unmoving. The atmosphere was thick with defeat and regret. As if everything the guild had worked for up to that point had been all for nothing. Nobody was in any shape to fight, physically or mentally. Even if they had been, they were outnumbered ten to one. Not even the stubborn Anton or the lethal Duma could handle those odds. Once the Ilians had rejoined the sisters, Kish'lua spoke to them.
”Gather whatever you brought with you today. I must renege on our arrangement. The only reward you take home with you today is your lives. Not gold, not relics of our culture, not even accomplishment. I had hoped, I had wished to do right by you all, but it is not a luxury I can afford right now.” Kish'lua bowed her head, eyes closed, and spoke with a voice of utmost sincerity and sobriety. ”For the lives you gave on our behalf today, I feel the utmost regret. I swear to honor them as I would members of my own tribe. Now go. My kinsmen will not be stayed forever.”
The guildsmen were largely apathetic to her words. It was as she said, the day was a defeat and the members of the Pale Compass would take nothing but their lives with them. As the various guildsmen tended to their wounds and readied the wagon, Anton and Kinh'lua's eyes met briefly. An unspoken exchange occurred between the two. Despite their differences, the two had come to develop a grudging respect with each other. Kinh'lua was wrathful and direct, but the Ilian had managed to weather her sharp tongue and abrasive nature. In another life they might have been friends, co-workers, even partners, but not in this one. In this life, they were unlikely to ever see one another again.
Kinh'lua turned to her sister as the guildsmen packed up and left the clearing. The stones of the archive lay where they had fallen, as did the blood of the slain and the grass trampled by foot. ”Shi?” She spoke, taking hold of her wo dao, eyes transfixed on Denko Sekka.
Kish'lua looked at the bow and then to her sister. ”Nhi?” Doubt filled the chieftain's mind, as she gauged the intentions of her sister. She let go of the blade, and signed a brief question. 'Nhi, are you with me?'
Tears filled Kinh'lua's vision as her eyes drifted from her sister's hands to her face. The older sibling nodded. ”Always.” She spoke. Kinh'lua tightened her grip on the wo dao, taking hold of it and pressing the blade against the grip of Denko Sekka. And there the two sisters stood alone, sacrificing themselves to their own kinsmen so that a group of people they barely knew might stay death for another day.
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Far from the archive, the Ilians shuffled back in the direction of their home. Ravvus glanced back, wondering what had become of the sisters. Were they dead? Would the rider and his retainers arrive at any moment and run down the fleeing guildsman? Ravvus didn't know. He just knew he felt as low as everyone else. No. It was more than that. He felt mad. He felt furious, but not in the typical sense. It was quiet and covert fury, not the roaring ire he felt when someone wronged him. It was a concept the mage was largely unfamiliar with. "Everything to be expected from a grand adventure, right?" He muttered cynically, straining his eyes to make out the archive in the distance but to no avail. He turned his back and tried to focus on the long journey ahead.
(End Thread)
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