Post by Victor Adelai on Feb 14, 2011 21:57:58 GMT -8
There is peace in the Bawn's center where the most sacred stone sits glittering. The blood of battle has been washed off, but the stained markings remain just below the surface. Silver in a duel is a duel to the death. The words of the Master of the Challenge. He had armed himself with no silver, but it had not mattered. His words to raise her ire had clearly worked; she had attacked from behind. Twice. With silver.
A duel to the death, of her choosing.
A klaive had answered claws. Only a great deal of skill and an equal measure of luck had ensured his victory. The last heated moments of combat replay in his mind again, but they are red and hazy. The pain and rage and battle lust was just too high for clarity. Was it four strikes or five that had downed her? He honestly didn't recall. Each blow had yielded nothing. A grunt. A smile. A bit of torn fabric. Nothing else. The blow before the last left a trickle of her blood. The last blow skewered through her as though she were made of wax. What did he know of Gurahl? To know they could be downed after so many apparently ineffective blows?
It was of no matter, in the end. His rage had still been fueling his actions. Another blow had been raised to lash out again only to have the body of Orion intersect. An ally. Then another. Carries-The-Burden. An ally. Their gazes were disapproving, hurt, betrayed. Strange. What exactly had happened?
Orion leaned over the corpse of a bear. A corpse. Ah. Well, that at least explained things.
The Ali'i nods slowly when the bear doesn't rouse. Her rage was insufficient to overcome the death blow. Now there was a punishment to face. Very well.
As he passes through the crowd towards the chamber of elders, eyes linger on him. Some are pleased, some are hate filled, most are confused and shocked. The questions are on their lips. Why? That was the question, over and over. Why? Why had she died, why had he killed her, why had the battle occurred? Over and over, the questions were the same on every face.
He sits in the chamber. Disapproval is palpable. Disappointment. For a moment, the Ali'i truly wishes that he knew what it felt like. Disappointment. Disapproval. They looked so vibrant, these allies of his. Painted in the emotions of humanity. And again the question...
Why?
He is reminded of a legend among the ancients of his people. A legend of a goddess of war, Coatlicue. A vicious creature. She birthed the gods and feasted on the dead. Her womb was as much a graveyard as a place of life. There was a legend that in the ancient times Coatlicue came before The People. She whispered secrets of war and gave them the blood of gods for strength. She trained them in the ancient ways and instructed them in how best to sacrifice to her glory.
And her People poured forth from the city. They swept across the lands and brought fire to their neighbors. They put them under the yoke and sacrificed their kings. They took tribute in gold and slaves and virgin brides. Death followed them and no army could stand their rage.
As the grand city peaked, visitors came to their shores. They came and killed The People. Coatlicue sat in her temple and feasted on the armies of The People. They looked to her and pleaded and cried. The strangers subjugate their armies. They took tribute of gold and slaves and virgin brides. The strangers took from The People until they were no more. And as the last of her priests lay dying, Coatlicue came and feasted on her follower. He looked at her with shocked eyes. He felt betrayal. Disappointment. Disapproval. But most of all, disbelief.
'Why?' he pleaded. 'Why? We followed you! We trusted you! We took your lessons and carried your burdens! We worshiped you and did all you bade! Why have you gifted our strength to the enemy? Why have you destroyed all you have built?'
And Coatlicue looked up from his bloody entrails and was confused. She tilted her head and smiled. Blood and gore was visible in her teeth, and perhaps a fragment of his bone.
'Why?' she repeated. 'Silly mortal. I destroy because it is in my nature. I kill because it is what I was made to be. I curse your people, who are MY people, because it causes me pleasure.'
She cradled the dying priest to her breast, which hung low from suckling so many young. She stroked his hair and kissed his brow. But she did not take his pain.
'I kill you because I can,' she said. 'And there need not be another reason.'
The old ways, from time to time, must be observed.
A duel to the death, of her choosing.
A klaive had answered claws. Only a great deal of skill and an equal measure of luck had ensured his victory. The last heated moments of combat replay in his mind again, but they are red and hazy. The pain and rage and battle lust was just too high for clarity. Was it four strikes or five that had downed her? He honestly didn't recall. Each blow had yielded nothing. A grunt. A smile. A bit of torn fabric. Nothing else. The blow before the last left a trickle of her blood. The last blow skewered through her as though she were made of wax. What did he know of Gurahl? To know they could be downed after so many apparently ineffective blows?
It was of no matter, in the end. His rage had still been fueling his actions. Another blow had been raised to lash out again only to have the body of Orion intersect. An ally. Then another. Carries-The-Burden. An ally. Their gazes were disapproving, hurt, betrayed. Strange. What exactly had happened?
Orion leaned over the corpse of a bear. A corpse. Ah. Well, that at least explained things.
The Ali'i nods slowly when the bear doesn't rouse. Her rage was insufficient to overcome the death blow. Now there was a punishment to face. Very well.
As he passes through the crowd towards the chamber of elders, eyes linger on him. Some are pleased, some are hate filled, most are confused and shocked. The questions are on their lips. Why? That was the question, over and over. Why? Why had she died, why had he killed her, why had the battle occurred? Over and over, the questions were the same on every face.
He sits in the chamber. Disapproval is palpable. Disappointment. For a moment, the Ali'i truly wishes that he knew what it felt like. Disappointment. Disapproval. They looked so vibrant, these allies of his. Painted in the emotions of humanity. And again the question...
Why?
He is reminded of a legend among the ancients of his people. A legend of a goddess of war, Coatlicue. A vicious creature. She birthed the gods and feasted on the dead. Her womb was as much a graveyard as a place of life. There was a legend that in the ancient times Coatlicue came before The People. She whispered secrets of war and gave them the blood of gods for strength. She trained them in the ancient ways and instructed them in how best to sacrifice to her glory.
And her People poured forth from the city. They swept across the lands and brought fire to their neighbors. They put them under the yoke and sacrificed their kings. They took tribute in gold and slaves and virgin brides. Death followed them and no army could stand their rage.
As the grand city peaked, visitors came to their shores. They came and killed The People. Coatlicue sat in her temple and feasted on the armies of The People. They looked to her and pleaded and cried. The strangers subjugate their armies. They took tribute of gold and slaves and virgin brides. The strangers took from The People until they were no more. And as the last of her priests lay dying, Coatlicue came and feasted on her follower. He looked at her with shocked eyes. He felt betrayal. Disappointment. Disapproval. But most of all, disbelief.
'Why?' he pleaded. 'Why? We followed you! We trusted you! We took your lessons and carried your burdens! We worshiped you and did all you bade! Why have you gifted our strength to the enemy? Why have you destroyed all you have built?'
And Coatlicue looked up from his bloody entrails and was confused. She tilted her head and smiled. Blood and gore was visible in her teeth, and perhaps a fragment of his bone.
'Why?' she repeated. 'Silly mortal. I destroy because it is in my nature. I kill because it is what I was made to be. I curse your people, who are MY people, because it causes me pleasure.'
She cradled the dying priest to her breast, which hung low from suckling so many young. She stroked his hair and kissed his brow. But she did not take his pain.
'I kill you because I can,' she said. 'And there need not be another reason.'
The old ways, from time to time, must be observed.