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Date Posted: 15:47:21 01/26/04 Mon
Author: -: A :-
Subject: Re: ~: Chapter One :~
In reply to: -:J:- 's message, "Re: ~: Chapter One :~" on 20:08:35 01/16/04 Fri

Remaining in the red-rimmed glassy spheres were no tears of grievance, all having been shed and dually over. Shrouds of isolation hindered the glimmer of steel which typically issued forth, the creation of her isolation from reality. Unvoiced she knelt, an image of a despairing warrior out of some ancient time caught on an eternal stone medium. Reminiscences and recollections of past years, each hour beneath Sun and Moon and Stars spent with the fallen, filtered through her dazed mind, further tearing open the deep-running hurt.

Bittersweet memoirs are shattered into scores of glittering prisms by the rasping, scarred calls heralding the arrival of the carrion birds. Sable wings carry them down into the rippling grasses, sharpened talons piercing the lifeless flesh of the corpses. Hooked beaks commenced their scavanging, seeking to shred skin to reveal better meat.

The beasts' appearance is far too much for a troubled mind, the final straw which makes it snap. How dare they feast upon her friends, her family? With a cry of frustration and anger she rose, one long knife hissing from its midnight sheath at her waist. The long and slightly curved blade shimmered with an unaided silver light, pale yet strong enough to cast aside shadows. With swift and effortless strides she stormed across the plains, steel slicing through air and reeds and feathers. Those who did escape her wrath took to the sky, fear engraved in their hearts.

Faces surrounded her, all far too familiar, all with names she knew. They had taught her and helped her, as she had them. He had taught her to forge her own blade; he had been her riding companion; the twins had learnt alongside her the skills of a woodsman. She could feel them inside her, feel their want for life, their need of it to save them from the damnation of the Men's cursed swords. Could she not save them, give them peace at least? From the glistening well of grey and white illumination deep within her, she cast forth a thin veil, hoping for it to drive away the dark about her friends.

She was being pulled into a thousand pieces, her life force being dragged in hundreds of directions, each hook from a faded commrade. As soon as she touched them, they drunk in her existence, the sheer need of it bringing her to her knees. The knife fell to her side as she lost feeling throughout her body. Wounds, each from a different warrior, opened across her flesh as they mended on the dead. A glaze concealed the nickel hue of her eyes, reflecting an unreal sunrise.

She collapsed.

All about her bodies began to reanimate. One rose swifter than the others; it was the one the lady had lamented over. In his hand was a tall standard, the flag a deep indigo triangle with a dimensional four-point star in silver and black nearest the staff, trailed by three smaller versions all in silver. Above the end of the jet wood stood a pinnacle of metal, shaped in the likeness of the woman's blade and inscribed with ancient runes in a flowing font. The lord himself was tall and fair, young in appearance though wisdom resided within. Loose strands of pale blonde hair fluttered in the breeze, arched brows standing above eyes of the ocean's deepest chasms.

"Celefé?"

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