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Post by Olorae on Nov 1, 2010 19:14:44 GMT -8
"AGAIN!"
The orc's voice boomed across the plateau, the frozen icicles reverberating with their own chimes. The Celebrant picked herself up off her knees, sweating despite the cold in the air and the lack of anything resembling clothing. She rolled her head from shoulder to shoulder, feeling the muscles tense and kink.
She turned and lunged at him, her bloody fists streaking toward the orc's face. Passively, he stood and watched, not moving from his student's strike. In a blur, the Khavarti spun and plunged his own fist into her midsection, depositing her unceremoniously onto the ice once more, the wind knocked from her lungs.
She wanted to call out for her Dancer, but she couldn't. She knew that Sadori was in training of her own: she knew that Kamakela was putting her through the paces as well. She felt every blow given to her wife, just as she knew her own were felt. She could not call upon her prayers either. Shilen had tasked her to learn the ways of the khabart and the totems, under the guise of the Kasha spirit that had appeared to her in a waking dream at the Cave of Trials. She had to do this herself, weak flesh and all.
"AGAIN!"
She clenched her teeth and rose again, the fury that had made her such an effective Inquisitor boiling her blood. With a scream, she lunged once more. The orc was caught off guard, however. She dropped at the last second, dropping her foot square into his knee. The khavarti collapsed as the patella shattered, face showing his surprise and pain. Olorae laughed at him, finally tasting victory against her teacher.
It was short-lived, though. She had not counted on the orc's resiliency or his ability to fight through the pain, and was completely flat-footed when both his fists landed square in her face. The last thing she saw, as the ice and blackness rushed up to meet her, was his smile.
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Post by Olorae on Nov 1, 2010 21:43:19 GMT -8
Her father's contracts were expired; the shadows had remained to be ready when she signed them with her own blood. It was to be expected, it was a part of their nature. They would whisper and tempt her into surrendering a portion of herself, as was their way. She was ready to sign, she knew the rituals to call the contracts and bind herself to the spirits, the way she had bound herself to Sadori.
But then she had come with Sadori to the Plateau. She had stepped into the Cave of Trials, and the fumes of the volcanic vents had overwhelmed her and she fell into a vision. The shadows alongside her stretched and bent in strange shapes, and her vision swam for a moment before everything went dark.
She heard the rush of water passing her ears, the pulsing, enveloping sound that she had come to associate with the Abyss, deep in the black waters. But here, it was different. The water shimmered wtih heat, currents outside the range she had been used to.
Mother? she asked, though her lips did not move. Have you called me home, finally? There was no answer. Mother? She looked around in the depths, for a landmark she already knew did not exist. But there, in the distance, was a light. A soft, pulsing orange that glowed, then flickered like a candle. Who's there? she called, to no response. Dori? No answer.
The glow grew closer, took on a shape. She knew it, not from her studies of demons and the Children of Shilen, but from her time teaching Kamakela. It was a sickly gray bear, the symbol of the Hestui tribe, said to be diseased by the Kasha spirit. But why was it here, in the Abyss? Why did it seem to glow?
Do you know me? it asked, voice echoing in her mind. She nodded, once, but it gnashed its teeth, flashing blades the size of swords. You do not! You see only the Hesuti, the tribes of honor! You do not look past this shape, into what I truly am! With the words, the glow exploded into shadow somehow darker than the Abyss itself, into a form she knew. A form as much a part of her as her own soul.
Mother, forgive me, she pleaded, bowing her head and kotowing deep. I could not see for my ignorance, for my blindness. Spare Your humble daughter from Your righteous fury, that she may better serve Your will.
The shadow examined her, peering into her spirit and through her, past the layer she had crafted to defend herself from the prying minds of her enemies as if they were nothing. She knew every truth, every lie, every hope and fear.
Return to your body, daughter, the shadow commanded. Learn from them, for there is power and might my other children cannot bring you. Allow the contracts to end, allow them to return to me. You are strong in spirit, but weak in flesh. You must be strong in both for what is to come.
The Celebrant fought to control her reaction, to keep her head low, but failed. She looked up to the divine shadow, eyes burning with a Fury fed from the well of hate inches from her face.
You must be strong to break the seals that bind me.
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Post by Olorae on Nov 27, 2010 8:34:28 GMT -8
She was not as prepared as she would have liked. The orcs did not carry the materials she needed to call every shadow and shade that was bond to her; an effort of that magnitude was quite expensive, and it had taken Firhi nearly two weeks to gather the components for the contract ritual. Now, it would only take a matter of days to get them to the Plateau. The dwarf, along with a large contingent of guards, had left that morning by boat to Rune, where they would load wagons for overland travel.
She did not like it; she would rather be in her ritual room in Aden, or at the manor in the Dark Forest., where the contracts had first been signed by her father long ago. It would lend a sense of balance, to release the demons there; a sense of balance she felt was needed. Sadly, she would have to let it go.Her duties and loyalties bound her to the orc tribes, and she would not see Shilen displeased.
She resigned herself to the wait, deciding to take the time to speak with the orcs about the Eternal Winter they feared, a thread she had first heard of years earlier, under the command of the destroyer Phunbaba. She knew what he had felt about it, a fear she had seen mirrored in Kamakela. She knew rumor and speculation, she felt that somehow it was tied to Shilen's imprisonment, but she needed fact. She needed to find the root of the myth and legend
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Post by Olorae on Dec 19, 2010 13:25:16 GMT -8
The shadows coalesced at the edges of her vision, something the Celebrant had grown accustomed to in her years working with the demonspawn. She could hear them breathing, hollow and rasping, over the sound of the chains draped over their forms, symbolizing their contracted binding to her. She caught the silhouette of one of the greater shades to her left, the form appearing much like that of her sister until she looked squarely at it. She shook her head, to clear her mind. Despite the effect of the vapors wafting up from the altar, she needed to be aware, to be in control, lest the demons turn on her the moment the contracts were dissolved.
Across the altar from her, the light dimmed and solidified. A soft pop sounded as a creature stepped from the Abyss. It was no shade, to be bound or controlled. This was a demon, full-blooded spawn of Shilen, and though she had never encountered it before, she knew him to be cunning, scheming, and wily. Kegorath, her father had named him. It was not the demon's true name, but such a measure of power would never be released to a mere mortal.
Kegorath, she said, intoning the Abyssal tongue. I thank you for honoring me with your presence tonight. It has been many years since you have last graced the en'Eveil bloodline with an appearance. She knew the demon was proud, she knew that appealing to that pride could benefit her in the negotiation. But then she suspected the demon knew that as well.
Celebrant en'Eveil, the demon replied, his voice sounding in her mind though its face remained passive. You certainly have grown to become a woman. Last I saw you, you were but a suckling whelp at your mother's teat. What passed for laughter shook the small room and chilled her to the bone. I see nothing has changed but the name of the mother you nurse from. It was a barb, and she was aware enough to know better than to rise to the challenge.
Our Mother graces me with Her gift, Kegorath. She said flatly. Were I to deny it, I would be denying Her. Such is the will of Shilen, and the reason I have called the contracts to this night. That got the demon's attention; he shifted, looking deep into her eyes as he approached the altar. Her will has illuminated a path for me that does not require the calling of the shadows. My father's contract has ended with his return to Her embrace, and I choose not to invoke one of my own.
The demon let out another laugh, the crystals on the altar chiming as the vibrations enveloped them. She would not let him see that it shook her just as much.
You would spurn Her children?
No, honored son. I would thank Her for allowing me their company these years, but return them to Her bosom that She might give them a better mistress than I have been. The demon considered her words for long moments, his eyes piercing straight through her wards into her soul.
Very well, the words came at last. But know that there is a price for them, for the time they have stood beside you since your father's death. Let us negotiate your payment, child.
–
It was not until late the next evening that she stepped from the room, famished and weary. She had negotiated with the demon for hours, his enthusiasm matched only by her unflagging will. She had come out as close to even as she could have: she would sacrifice nothing of herself or her own, but would instead be tasked with a duty. She would have to awaken the mind and soul of a priestess, a bishop in the service of the Chuch of Einhasad, and turn her to Shilen's ways. It was a simple enough task on the surface, though she knew if it were truly easy it would not be her duty.
The shadows and shades had faded into darkness as she raised the quill from the parchment, their sounds vanishing just as subtly. Now that they were gone, she felt their absence inside her. All of her life, they had been a presence around her, watching her and guiding her at her father's – and later, her own – command. Now there was only quiet emptiness.
This was the will of Shilen, that she take up the fists and lessons of the Khavarti, and so it would be done. And then she would find the bishop, the girl known as Sabrina, and bring her to the Children of Shilen.
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Post by Olorae on Jan 20, 2011 20:40:45 GMT -8
In the weeks that followed, the Celebrant would come to know the oroka of the plateau rather well. Along with her honored dancer, she boarded in the home the orc that had led the Echoes when she was unable. He was not pleased to have her there, she knew from the first moment he had laid eyes on her. But his honor would not permit him to turn the leader of his pledge away. He feared the Eternal Winter, as she knew all of his people did, and her presence reminded them of the Kasha spirit and the threat that Shilen meant to them, but she assayed those fears by explaining that they had come to him for lessons in the orcish ways of combat.
His skill had been that of the destroyer, before he had stepped down from his leadership role, and it was that skill that the Celebrant sought to tap, not for herself, but for her wife. The dancer had long been graceful and elegant in her dance of death, but now sought to harness the rage and strength that Shilen had blessed her with.
Begrudgingly, Kamakeila had accepted the request. Over months he trained the dark elf and the Celebrant tended her bruises, cuts, and weary muscles. It was a different way of life for her, to be an observer sitting idle, waiting without the whispers from the shadows.
When she made her request to study the ways of Kabart, the destroyer had nearly choked on his laughter. Honor be damned, he could not restrain his mirth. She was too soft, he had said. Too weak to withstand the training, let alone actual combat in the Khavarti style.
She pressed, and after nearly one month of insisting she was introduced to the oroka who would be her trainer. From the first moment, he had been brutally tough on her. She was certain it was the fear that drove the lessons’ strength, that they hoped she would give up and leave them. But she did not leave, she did not surrender, even after her own body was bruised, cut, and battered far worse than even Kamakeila had seen. She was tasked to this path by Shilen Herself, and she would not surrender. She could not, no matter how many bones broke, no matter how great the pain was.
She would embrace the Kasha spirit in silence, and when the time came she would unleash it with the knowledge they had taught her. She would become Shilen’s Hand, armed with the talons of death and fear.
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Post by Olorae on Feb 9, 2011 10:06:13 GMT -8
The boot to her ribs brought the Celebrant back from the void of unconsciousness, a sharp pain biting deep into her core. She gasped as everything came flashing back; the cold ice beneath her hands, the wind howling like a demented wolf. She was still at the frozen lake and waterfall, still beneath her trainer.
"Get up," the orc growled at her. "You can learn nothing on your knees like a harlot." She heard his feet shift, and suspected another kick was coming. She rolled to the side, coming up on her feet, just narrowly avoiding the brunt of the impact, though not the stinging tip of his boot.
Unleash My fury, came the voice. She knew the rage, it was the same anger that fueled her inquisitor's fire. She felt it welling up inside, but knew that she could not channel it the same as she had in the past. It was Shilen's mandate, and so she adapted to the lessons the orc had taught her.
With a primal scream, the fury erupted from her hands, a fire hotter and wilder than she had known she was capable of. Her fists connected with the surprised orc, driving him onto the flat of his back and sliding him across the ice, his body smoldering as the flames died out.
With a grunt, he twisted his body, coming to his feet faster than his bulk should have allowed. She saw the flames surrounding his own fists, she heard them roaring toward her, ripping the air apart, but could do nothing as they struck her. It had all happened too fast.
****
The orc laid her in the bed, scowling down at her limp form. He turned to the shaman, who was preparing an herbal concoction for the Celebrant's mate.
"You'll need to tend this one too," he growled in the orcish tongue. "I still cannot see why you agreed to this, Kamakeila. She is too weak in body, too chaotic in spirit. She cannot call the totems."
"She will learn to call them," the shaman said as he looked up and smiled. "I have seen it come to pass. He looked at the unconscious dark elf. "It is my hope that in doing so, she also comes to understand our ways, to help us prevent the Eternal Winter."
He sighed and turned back to his own student. "Pa'agrio stand with us, I hope she learns."
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