RP:Destruction of Faustina
- When:12/11/09
- Players involved: Arien and Faustina.
- Location: Armantium, Abandoned Boulevard.
Arien moved through the silent streets of Armantium as quietly as a ghost, or at least it seemed that way; the almost deathly stillness of the abandoned city was thick and heavy in the air. Even after months of its renewed presence in Hollow, the ancient city seemed to reserve its eerie sense of waiting-waiting for some unseen event to unfold. The guardian’s thoughts drifted momentarily into the recent past. It had surely not been this silent, or resonated with this sense of desolate waiting when it had unleashed its fury on what they had then believed to be Vuryal’s castle in the northern wilds of Rynvale. Then, it had teemed with life, with the sound of pounding feet and booming guns as the demi - god had bellowed his challenge to the long gone emperor. She allowed a rueful smile of reluctant respect for the Time Lord to surface on pale lips. “Touche.. Vuryal. Well played.” Somehow, he had known they were coming and had removed himself and most of his forces, the castle included from this moment in time. Her allies had pounded into oblivion one of the most masterful demonstrations of illusion she had ever been privileged to witness. A sigh escaped before emerald gaze shifted behind the angelic vizard that covered half her face. She made an assessing sweep of her surroundings that drew her from past to present; and it was truly the present that mattered now. Old threats had been minimized for the moment, but current, and perhaps far greater threats yet remained. It had taken her this long to decode the garbled riddle that Faustina had passed on via Lasarus at the time. Now that she had done so, it seemed so glaringly obvious that it could only have been Armantium to which the chaotic avian had referred. And so she had come, finally, to face a moment that was hers alone to truly bear. She did not doubt that she would pay a high price-she had witnessed Faustina’s power, but with the gods help, she would survive long enough to give the creature a taste of something she would not soon forget-if she survived it. The elf sustained her forward movement, not betraying by look or speech that she was aware of the knight guard who trailed her in the shadows. His would be the task to report the encounter, should she fall, and perhaps, if the opportunity arose, be available to his leader should she call upon him in her hour of need. The paladin was in full armor and she would likely need every scrap of it. Her enchanted daggers and mana flail were within easy reach on both hips, as was her blessed sword; and resting lightly within the grip of slender fingers, the mystic dual bladed staff that she had been training with to wield as a pole arm of sorts. Now, ironically, its butt was tap tapping against the cobblestones as the elf used it for added support as a walking stick. It was across her back, however, resting diagonally in a make shift sling of sorts, that her greatest offensive weapon lay. The Spear of Harmony was gently aglow in its temporary home, shifting against her armor with each step. Ancient inscriptions along its ivory shaft seemed alight with an ever living flame that did not burn or produce heat, the reflected light of which seemed to cast an etherial aura around the elf as she walked with steady cadence. She did not know how she knew that the avian would find her if she came, she just did. Just as she knew that it did not really matter where or when the battle would take place, and so she paused, mid stride on her next step and came to a full stop. Her voice rang out, clear and melodic into the the night. “Faustina.. the hour of our reckoning has come! Show yourself.”
Faustina steps from within the shaded path into the abdomen of the nearly abandoned streets. Crisp night dictated that each movement, every minute clatter of sole against stone or even oxygen mingling with the atmosphere, rang out as if a bell tolling for the finale of two promising foes. Faustina stood erected like the mythical Immortals of old. Silhouette in the moonlight, unrecognizable save for two distinct features. Feathers fluttered in their constant, vein struggle to maintain a calm disposition. Wings clapping against the brisk night air, each jerk causing another feather to flutter lifelessly to the ground. From unmoving lips came the shrill, ear splitting shriek as sight caught these precious items in their deadly plunge. The other were those eyes. Flaring and green, a flame with an intensity that alone could light the darkness. They harbored in them not only the urge to end the life of this ‘guardian,’ but also unleash the powers of Cire and complete her only task. A task which brought her into existence in the first place. Nary a second thought was given except death. For this creature, the build and anatomy of Faustina, was not created for conscious thought. A birth of thoughtlessness if all the Avian was. Another warm body that was the last hope, the final hope to unleash the true powers of Cire onto Lithrydel. Finally, as visage began its twitching contemplation, the Chaotic Avian took a move toward Arien. Even the ground beneath Faustina began to crackle and bulge, the weight of such hellish creation even apparent to simple stone. “You called, Arien. So this we shall complete. You found me now, but your task is far from over. Suffering...let it come swift.”
Arien :: Courage did not mean the absence of fear, but the overcoming of the same, and it was only the thought of the hell that would be unleashed by the god of Chaos should it find place in this plane, that held the elf upright as that first mind and ear piercing shriek rent the air. Knees buckled and weight came to rest heavily upon the staff in her hand as her mana flared to life in the presence of the chaotic entity. There was no time for thinking now, for it had begun and she did not know if she would live to see its conclusion. The earth heaved and cracked beneath the avian, its swell briefly destabilizing the guardian and triggering her into movement. She remembered the life draining power of Faustina’s chaotic touch, and had every intention of avoiding it if it could be helped. Beginning a slow pacing that saw her countering the avian’s approaching angle, the elf spoke. “There will be suffering..but it will not be mine alone.” The words rang clear through the night air as pale hand dropped to her side, fingers encircling the shaft of her Elemental- mana flail. It was her range weapon, the nature of mana allowing her to reach with the weapon from a reasonable distance and still do some damage. Lifting it from her side, a murmured incantation would find a flare of pure light energy leap to life from its base, arcing though the darkness and whipping out towards the avian. Its elemental head, fire in this incarnation, would reach out, the intention to singe and sear those wings and their ever falling feathers, perhaps distracting the chaotic entity with a burst of pain that might allow her to get in closer un-assailed.
Faustina unleashed a sudden flurry of shrill cries and shuddering movement. Robes dancing beneath the illumination of intensified gaze, flames of green shooting upwards as both feathers and dead, white flesh emancipate themselves from the shackle that is Faustina. Convoluted cries of venerable diction strike the air, lips still clasped together as the foul curses derive from her throat instead of lips. Nostrils flaring wildly as green optics affixed their depraved attention solely on the female of Elven origin. “Cire comes at last,” lofted into the air, lingering like a poison as the Avian watched Arien prepare for the forthcoming clash. Silently, save from fluttering wings and whimpers from time to time, did the chaos Avian stand. The brilliant gleam and scent of the Guardian’s powerful mana alone would stir such a hellish beast, weight shifting away from Arien and whatever potent potion the female was creating. Without warning, not even a single inkling of the onslaught, the energy rushed forward toward Faustina. None too certain was the child of Cire, unfortunate in being unschooled in the trickery of the souls that walked such paths. All the chaotic female could do was turn and take the brunt of Arien’s ire. To the right swept foot, swinging figure around as the burning burst of light slammed into her right wing. Instantly the appendage was relinquished of its duty atop her back. Twitching in agony it fell to the ground, its master releasing a shattering cry. Yet there was no blood, not a drop. No liquid coursed from the injury. Faustina stood in thought, left wing seeming to cry in agony over the loss of its mate. It was then Faustina turned toward the Elf, eyes intensified as they swept over her visage. In dedicated action, wing was lifted from the cobble beneath and launched at Arien by a force unseen. Feathers whipping through the air, fluent and smooth as they sailed, until mid-way did they march. Then, if by Cire himself, each feather transformed into the hellish green fire of its owners eyes. Leaping and lashing, the remaining lifeforce of her wing making a straight path toward Arien. Followed by the Chaotic Avian herself, cries and staff held above her head.
Arien’s emerald gaze blazed with satisfaction as the whip of mana bit home. She did not delude herself that a successful strike meant anything other than that her own suffering would be multiplied in turn. A strike from a soul enraged by pain was almost always more dire than from one solely obsessed . The appearance of the avian alone was enough to strike dread into the heart of the elf as she withdrew the energy back into the weapon, even Faustina’s cry of agony cut like a knife. The movement from the amputated appendage was unexpected. It was flying..by itself? An instant of confusion became comprehension as she remembered the avian’s ability to manipulate objects in her surroundings and then there was no time to think as the feathered wing became a flock of hellish flame, its intent to surely devour. Arien fell to one knee, curling into an almost fetal position raising her blessed defender to present as broad a front to the first wave of flames as they reached and slammed into her form. The force of the chaotically enhanced blast tossed her backwards, the air seeming superheated around her as she felt what skin was exposed on her face begin to whelt. She blinked against the pain, a soft cry escaping as she forced her body to fall onto her side and roll into a ready crouch, mindful of the weapon still strapped to her back. Faustina was charging her, coming into range, too fast and too soon to draw the precious spear, and so hands would reach down, one to each hip to snare enchanted daggers from their sheaths, and the elf would rise in one fluid motion, wrists crossed before her with a reverse grip on those hilts. Uncrossing her hands in slashing, upward propulsion as she rose, the guardian would attempt to engrave an ‘X’ of frost and fire into the sternum of the creature, before using that same momentum to spin a few steps out of immediate range. Her breath was coming in pants, the sting in her flesh unrelenting, but neath it all, the rush of battle that every warrior embraced. “That all you’ve got witch?”
Faustina felt nothing during impact. A brain not wired for emotion was dead in a vulgar kind of way. For emotion was the essence of any true human, no mater how hidden. All the shrieks and cries were simple reaction and prod from the puppeteer known as Cire. As the blades of Arien slashed into the flesh of Faustina not a shudder of sigh escaped pallid lips of rotting invention. Even before, upon witnessing the beauty of true attack connection, the Avian stood stonily with fire-filled sockets shifting from object to object, house to stone path. As before, no blood was drawn but a reaction from the child of Cire rang true. Voice trembled once again in some sort of staged reaction. Shrouding ripped so that the Elven woman could see her work in deathly clarity. Within that time, the streets of the Avian city fell silent. No wind rose through the tops of buildings, not even the passing call of the fowl that visited the paths during the night. Save for the panting of Arien a chill of solitude swept the region. “It ends now,” came a voice. Not that of the screechy vocals of Faustina, nor of the minions of Cire currently huddled within the doorways of various buildings. It was the voice of Cire in all its godly glory. At this, Faustina perked. Eyes directed toward Arien once more and fingers curling predatorily around her staff. “Finish her, child. There shall be no more obstructions!” At this, Faustina took flight on foot. Lonely wing propelling her again toward Arien. Though this time, instead of the trivial attacks from earlier, the most deadly of weapons was used. Her hands. Closing in on Arien she did not halt, not until reaching arms length of the woman. There, toe to toe, Faustina locked hands around neck in a hold of immense pressure. Thick cries erupted into the face of the elf-kind, sockets bubbling in catastrophic eruptions of rage. From the palms of the creature drained the brown veins. Had the Guardian not felt it before, it was the liquor of pure chaos. Seeping into her pores with each breath the Avian took. The tresses of chaos beginning to spider along the neck, weaving a course to cover her entire figure. Seeking to not only singe her skin, but to convert her into one of the Coven creations. A final, feral voice falling from the body of the Avian creation as she applies further pressure, “We end you now.”
Arien:: She was too close. The guardian read her error almost in the instant that she made it. She had made the cardinal mistake, failed to remember the nature of the enemy with whom she dealt. She should have chosen to back away, to get out of range and use the spear, but in the rush of combat she had chosen close engagement, and now it was too late to escape. Where they had been alone before, she could feel them now, watching; the minions and the consuming presence of Cire itself. The god was here. She had failed. Was it too late? “It ends now..” The words tore into her psyche without, it seemed, ever passing her ears, and the power in the contact alone made weary knees buckle as she almost fell into the waiting, deathly grip of the chaotic avian. The piercing cries into her face, and the horrors unfolding in those blazing eyes would have been enough alone to induce madness, but it was the liquor of pure chaos seeping into her body and soul that rent the cry of anguish from the form of the paladin. This was the form of chaos that abhorred-all- order; every bond, even that of natural law, it desired to break, and the elf felt as if her body would shatter cell from cell until she became nothingness. The physical pressure about her neck increased, cutting off her breath, and the damming blackness began to swim before her eyes. It was not too late. There was still time. There -must- still be time. On her next exhalation of shallow breath she uttered the single elvin word that would provoke the manifestation of the element of fire-this time, not directed at Faustina. Along her back, the ever living flame that weaved its way through the inscriptions of the Spear of Harmony seemed to leap to life, licking at and breaking the bonds of the simple lined straps that had been holding it in place. Fighting the blackness of an oncoming faint, and the pain searing her body and mind, the guardian moved both of her hands behind her back, palms facing upward and caught the spear in them both as it tumbled free from its bindings. The power of Order, of Harmony that flowed out of the spear and into her body battled against the Chaos seeking to take hold, and the paladin felt the surge of renewed strength it provided to its very core. Faustina’s hands were occupied, raised to enfold her neck and thereby leaving her torso open and vulnerable to strike, if only she could maneuver herself into position to do so. Behind her back, Arien slid her hands along the length of the spear, shifting her grip from an underhanded clasping of its length to an over handed hold. She supported its weight till the last possible moment with both hands, securing a grip with her right hand about a foot from the spear tip. And then, she moved, bearing the weight and wielding the spear, almost as she would a much smaller dagger. Pulling the Spear out and around the right side of her body, with a last desperate cry she reached in under the left arm of the avian and attempted to thrust the firmly gripped tip of the weapon into the precise spot where the foul creature’s heart would be if she had one. The elf did not know what was supposed to happen now; he only knew that the Lich Queen had promised that this would end the avian. She hoped by every god in the heavens that she was right.
Faustina continued her task with furious care, fingers cradling the neck of her victim almost tenderly as she anticipated the final second, that final glorious moment, when the life would flicker from the eyes of this guardian and her task would be complete. There were many faults that could have resulted in her own demise. With Cire burdening her back, the Coven members crowded around, it was nearly overpowering. The majesty of this moment. Her entire creation -was- for this moment. When death came to those standing in her way, particularly to the Guardian so damned on bringing her demise. These were not thoughts swimming in her head, but mere observations fathomed from the words she had received upon conception. This was it! The presence of Cire becoming known with each choked breath Arien took. Every flutter of her lids brought ultimate destruction to the plane. Relinquishing all control unto Cire. Though Faustina was never meant to exist after the task was complete, there would be a certain sense of whatever “pride” was for a creature such as she afterwards. Without a doubt, it was because of burden and mingled facts that Faustina failed to remember the key object which sat in wait, much like a serpent did, for the right time. Even before the spear struck it was clear the invention of Cire had failed in completing the task she was created for. Sinewy muscles beneath robes met the Spear of Harmony without hesitation, piercing easily into the fleshy interior and straight toward the ‘center’ of what Faustina truly was. Within every monster there was a point of no return. A hidden place that held the plans of destruction. For the child of Cire, is was the chest cavity. One which mortals had to keep their heart boxes in. Even as she spear exited through her back did Faustina come to this conclusion. Her non-existent heart-box was the kill. All mortals had hearts. It was part of their essence, part of what made them alive. It made them love, made them angry, and kept them struggling against the powers that sought to destroy them. All inside the chest. It was the one thing Faustina did not come with. She knew nothing of anger, love, or struggles. Only the path placed before her, the job that Cire had brought her to life for. It was then, after minutes of residing on the spear, a body created and manipulated for such terrible acts ceased activity. No longer did the hellish cries pierce the night. The flames of green vengeance petered into nothingness. Instantly all members of the chaos coven vanished. Evaporated into the cool evening air. Thus, the fall of Faustina commenced. Melting through the spear she fell back onto the cobblestone path. Her body twisting and twitching as it shriveled at the foot of Arien. It continued until there was no more but one single moving object. The lone wing of the chaotic Avian still seeking its mate, fluttering and wailing in that cold, lonely street.
Arien did not see firsthand the moment of her nemesis' demise. With the thrust of the spear and the release of the avian's grasp around her neck, the elf had fallen to her knees heaving gulps of sweet night air into her lungs. There she remained for some moments, quivering as the remnants of Chaos battled against the residual power of Harmony that still flowed through her body. Her mana flared, joining the fight until the Guardian would seem a living blaze that lit the night sky of the Boulevard. And then would come the settling and the stillness. She had survived..and Faustina? She looked up and across to the space she had last seen the creature. There remained but a single wing. Faustina had not. The wave of relief was as intense as it was welcome. It was over. Hollow would be safe, saved from a danger so few had even been truly aware of; and it was time to go home. Suddenly bone weary and feeling every effect of the battle, Arien unfurled to her feet and limped over to where the still glowing Spear lay alone in the street. Picking it up, the elf cast one last look around, and with a slowly exhaled breath made her way towards the portal exit of Armantium. Tomorrow would bring a new challenge.