P r e l u d e:
A ray of linear sol pierced the red veil that had befallen her mind; an answer of holy blight that shattered the corruption of evil. She felt her heart rear and seize; paralyzed by a fork of hot light. The weight of divine power coursed through her like liquid flame. Splinters of white energy rippled across her peaked flesh, reducing her to a medium of divine wrath. Her body crippled and all she could distinguish was the sound of air flooding and fleeing her lungs. It had answered her - the very threads of fate had answered her, yet in it's weave, all she could feel was despair. Lackluster eyes - hues the color of storm - watched helplessly as the foe before her relinquished his weapon; a blade that had painted her halls in blood and drank the ichor of the innocent. The onyx sword clattered to his side as he shrunk. A mass of corpses carpeted the floor beneath their feet. The dwindling cries of her brethren clawed at her mind, yet she did not hear them. It was rouse that was neither dream nor reality, only a nightmare. How could you...? She looked upon him, and he the same, as if they both gazed upon a mirror. The man before her glazed over with a look of utter emptiness, his face a blank canvas, heart hollow and void of guilt, ashen visage marred with coagulating crimson. For a moment, beneath all the sin and maniacal torment, she found herself looking at her double - her twin - her beloved kin. He was a soul whom she had lived, trained, cried, and laughed with, and he was crying. Tears seeped into the blood that streaked his cheeks. The holy fire seized to fester in her skin and stretched out for him, engulfing his essence. A scream tore from his lips and the fire began to sear his soul and tear his body asunder. The sword at his side likewise began to seethe, and the entirety of her consciousness dove in a divine gleam. Her ears thundered and her eyes simmered, until the light dwindled and submerged her gaze into a thick shade. She was left broken and solitary in the darkness until the shadow yielded, and disclosed horror to her eyes.
The blood soaked chamber was adorned with bodies, even with the absence of the butcher. His instrument of slaughter no longer glowered with a cold menace, it had manifested into a blade of gold and quicksilver. She reached for it with trembling digits, until she realized that the shaft was still drenched in blood. The chamber began to resonate with the sound of armored footsteps and distraught voices. A squad of faceless knights rushed into the macabre .Their leader tore away his helm and surveyed the carnage, unveiling a half-elven face contorted in anger and misery. The others she could not see, but she felt the heat of their anger brand her flesh. She had done this - she had killed them all.
"The warrior shan't escape, but she shall run.
The gallows await, o'hunted beauty.
I be'eth an escort to oblivion."
~~~~~~~~~~
Caleb awoke with a sharp breath stolen from her breast. Her dark lashes fluttered and battered her cheeks. Her pale sockets were moist with night terrors, and slate oculars riddled with fright. Beads of perspire trickled down her brow, and her lips quivered gently with gasps for air. A dream, it was only a dream. She tore out of her bedroll and wrestled out of her rugs, feeling insufferably hot and damp beneath her tunic. The billet was sultry and suffocating, dimly lit by a camp fire roaring beyond its canvas. It felt stagnant and fetid after a month of being pitched in the Cloakwood. She needed out. Her hands felt for her belt and stiletto and she rocked forward to kneel. Caleb tucked her tunic into the mouth of her trousers and cinched them up, and then strapped her dagger to her waist. She did not take the time to tend to her mane; her chocolate locks spilled onto her shoulders and draped her frame in devilish coils, giving her a rather uncharacteristic appearance. The knight was always comely with a tight weave in her hair. When void of braid and helm, her womanly beauty triumphed over her masculine demeanor. It was scare occurrence. Caleb barreled out of her tent and stepped into the gelid embrace of night. The chill pricked her flesh with bitter kisses, and her breath seeped from her lips in a salient vapor. The Cloakwood was bright that night, illuminated by platinum pools filtering through the canopy. The moon's rays brushed over the brambles and thicket, and rimmed the trees in silver shade. Beyond the awning, the sky was a tapestry of diamonds and sable cloth. Caleb's eyes flickered from the trees to the camp, searching for any animation. Zacchaeus was no doubt preparing to brief them on their mission and send them down the Coast Way. He had told her she was to lead them....and it was a task she did not favor. The main camp fire seemed to well tended and devouring a pair of newly placed timber. It was undoubtedly late - or early - with a few hours left till dawn. Soon the moon would yield to night, and they Bloodsails would begin their journey up north. A silent sigh billowed through her lips, and she paced for the fire, sitting down harmoniously to stare into its tongues.
A ray of linear sol pierced the red veil that had befallen her mind; an answer of holy blight that shattered the corruption of evil. She felt her heart rear and seize; paralyzed by a fork of hot light. The weight of divine power coursed through her like liquid flame. Splinters of white energy rippled across her peaked flesh, reducing her to a medium of divine wrath. Her body crippled and all she could distinguish was the sound of air flooding and fleeing her lungs. It had answered her - the very threads of fate had answered her, yet in it's weave, all she could feel was despair. Lackluster eyes - hues the color of storm - watched helplessly as the foe before her relinquished his weapon; a blade that had painted her halls in blood and drank the ichor of the innocent. The onyx sword clattered to his side as he shrunk. A mass of corpses carpeted the floor beneath their feet. The dwindling cries of her brethren clawed at her mind, yet she did not hear them. It was rouse that was neither dream nor reality, only a nightmare. How could you...? She looked upon him, and he the same, as if they both gazed upon a mirror. The man before her glazed over with a look of utter emptiness, his face a blank canvas, heart hollow and void of guilt, ashen visage marred with coagulating crimson. For a moment, beneath all the sin and maniacal torment, she found herself looking at her double - her twin - her beloved kin. He was a soul whom she had lived, trained, cried, and laughed with, and he was crying. Tears seeped into the blood that streaked his cheeks. The holy fire seized to fester in her skin and stretched out for him, engulfing his essence. A scream tore from his lips and the fire began to sear his soul and tear his body asunder. The sword at his side likewise began to seethe, and the entirety of her consciousness dove in a divine gleam. Her ears thundered and her eyes simmered, until the light dwindled and submerged her gaze into a thick shade. She was left broken and solitary in the darkness until the shadow yielded, and disclosed horror to her eyes.
The blood soaked chamber was adorned with bodies, even with the absence of the butcher. His instrument of slaughter no longer glowered with a cold menace, it had manifested into a blade of gold and quicksilver. She reached for it with trembling digits, until she realized that the shaft was still drenched in blood. The chamber began to resonate with the sound of armored footsteps and distraught voices. A squad of faceless knights rushed into the macabre .Their leader tore away his helm and surveyed the carnage, unveiling a half-elven face contorted in anger and misery. The others she could not see, but she felt the heat of their anger brand her flesh. She had done this - she had killed them all.
"The warrior shan't escape, but she shall run.
The gallows await, o'hunted beauty.
I be'eth an escort to oblivion."
~~~~~~~~~~
Caleb awoke with a sharp breath stolen from her breast. Her dark lashes fluttered and battered her cheeks. Her pale sockets were moist with night terrors, and slate oculars riddled with fright. Beads of perspire trickled down her brow, and her lips quivered gently with gasps for air. A dream, it was only a dream. She tore out of her bedroll and wrestled out of her rugs, feeling insufferably hot and damp beneath her tunic. The billet was sultry and suffocating, dimly lit by a camp fire roaring beyond its canvas. It felt stagnant and fetid after a month of being pitched in the Cloakwood. She needed out. Her hands felt for her belt and stiletto and she rocked forward to kneel. Caleb tucked her tunic into the mouth of her trousers and cinched them up, and then strapped her dagger to her waist. She did not take the time to tend to her mane; her chocolate locks spilled onto her shoulders and draped her frame in devilish coils, giving her a rather uncharacteristic appearance. The knight was always comely with a tight weave in her hair. When void of braid and helm, her womanly beauty triumphed over her masculine demeanor. It was scare occurrence. Caleb barreled out of her tent and stepped into the gelid embrace of night. The chill pricked her flesh with bitter kisses, and her breath seeped from her lips in a salient vapor. The Cloakwood was bright that night, illuminated by platinum pools filtering through the canopy. The moon's rays brushed over the brambles and thicket, and rimmed the trees in silver shade. Beyond the awning, the sky was a tapestry of diamonds and sable cloth. Caleb's eyes flickered from the trees to the camp, searching for any animation. Zacchaeus was no doubt preparing to brief them on their mission and send them down the Coast Way. He had told her she was to lead them....and it was a task she did not favor. The main camp fire seemed to well tended and devouring a pair of newly placed timber. It was undoubtedly late - or early - with a few hours left till dawn. Soon the moon would yield to night, and they Bloodsails would begin their journey up north. A silent sigh billowed through her lips, and she paced for the fire, sitting down harmoniously to stare into its tongues.