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<blockquote data-quote="havenstone" data-source="post: 4737204" data-attributes="member: 61094"><p><strong>Broken Swords</strong></p><p></p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">AFTER WHAT FEELS </span></strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">like the deepest sleep of his life, Atrix slowly becomes aware of the profound chill throbbing in his arms and legs. The air is unnaturally icy, far colder than the stone under his back. A persistent, ominous intonation in an unfamiliar language echoes from all around him. His eyes flicker open to see an elaborate pattern laid out in white and gold dust on a dark stone floor. Alarmed and completely disoriented, Atrix struggles to sit up. His limbs protest, as though he hasn’t used them in days.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">He finds himself in a murky room, lit by a scattering of candles in the pallid web of dust. The gold dust amongst the chalk is blackening, and the candle flames are blue and trembling, drawn toward the center of the chamber as though by a steady, intangible wind. Seven priests are ringed outside the pattern, chanting in low tones, their faces taut with fear. An aged high priest holds a glowing staff over Atrix, pointed unwaveringly toward the center of the circle. </span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">A man is standing at the heart of the room, clad simply in black, half-turned away from Atrix as though about to depart. The skin on the stranger’s face and slender-fingered hands is alabaster white; his eyes are colorless, his hair long and black. A dark-hilted sword is strapped to his back, with a foot and a half of blade ending in a jagged fracture. Atrix can feel the heat in his body fleeing, drawn toward the man with the broken sword. Kay hangs limply from the man’s arms.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Without any pause for thought, Atrix leaps toward the terrible figure, trying to attack him with his bare hands – but finds the strength sapped from every muscle in his body. He slips to the floor, and pulls himself up again with enormous effort. The man with the broken sword shifts his head to regard the desperate young d’Loriad. A toneless voice reverberates in Atrix’s mind:</span></p><p> </p><p><em><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">- Do not risk so readily what has just been paid for with so great a sacrifice.</span></em></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Atrix’s face twists as he remembers the end of his duel with Shect – remembers <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4712537-post52.html" target="_blank">his death</a> – and understands <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4731762-post59.html" target="_blank">what must have just happened</a>. “She didn’t know what she was doing,” he rasps. “You can’t accept this.”</span></p><p> </p><p><em><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">- She knew.</span></em></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“No. I don’t accept it. Take me, not her.”</span></p><p> </p><p><em><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">- The sacrifice is not yours to accept.</span></em></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“<em>No</em>.” Atrix stares into Death’s colorless eyes and tries by sheer force of will to deny what is happening. His adversary gazes back impassively. Waves of unnatural dread and desolation surge through Atrix, but he manages somehow to keep from blinking and forces his tremulous limbs to take two more steps toward the man with the broken sword. No trace of emotion or decision plays across Death’s alabaster face as Atrix staggers closer. He simply bends, touches his bloodless lips to Kay’s forehead, and disappears. </span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Atrix lurches forward to catch Kay, and they fall to the ground together. The room brightens as the candles blaze back to a full and yellow flame. Kay sucks in breath again in a sob as her eyes spring open. A round, pallid mark has appeared on her forehead. “Cousin?” she whispers, her eyes darting around the room. “Are you... are we...”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Beyond words, Atrix pulls her closer, and they weep in each other’s arms in the dark circle.</span></p><p></p><p><strong>OUT ON THE </strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">plains, where the dawn is only a livid smear through the dense cloudbanks, the great Northern flanking force approaches the top of the far slope of the Arawai’s sacred basin. Since the march began, Ontaya has been catching flickers of evil intent from all around them, in particular from General Athriam d’Aramant and a tough, bullying squire named Vorent who has been trying to rival her ever since <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4345613-post10.html" target="_blank">Wildengard</a>. Today Vorent’s eyes are looking <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4703285-post46.html" target="_blank">glazed</a> and he doesn’t respond to Ontaya’s queries. She beckons Ash and her squire <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4672813-post44.html" target="_blank">Corim</a> d’Orbis close. “Something’s about to break,” she says flatly, and tells them what she’s feeling. </span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Scanning the horizon, Ash notices a scout ahead flash an unfamiliar signal back to Athriam. Ontaya spots Ash’s reaction and spurs Dorma toward the arrogant d’Aramant general, even while he turns to Sarquin with a look of horror on his face. Athriam dramatically bellows, “What? What have you done, man? Treaso... oof,” as Ontaya tackles him and brings him to the ground. Vorent, his eyes still glassy, goes for the flat-footed Sarquin with a poisoned knife, but Ash cuts him down and wheels his horse around to shield the d’Loriad general from any other attacks. Ontaya pounds Athriam’s head against the sun-baked earth until the treacherous d’Aramant passes out. Her squires form up around them, swords out and ready for a fight.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">The host mills in confusion for a moment, as hundreds of Senalline nobles and thousands of soldiers from other countries try to take in what just happened. The d’Aramant knights, though angry, seem just as bewildered as those from other Families. Then with a thunder of hooves, many hundreds of Arawai riders charge over the ridge all along the rim of the basin, ululating triumphantly and hurling flint spears ahead of them. </span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">His eyes bleak with comprehension, Sarquin d’Loriad raises the banner of Lynar and cries, “ATTACK!” Quickly rallying his stunned troops into combat formation, Senallin’s greatest general begins pushing toward the high ground. Ontaya and her squires are among the leading horsemen who clear a path, fighting in the saddle, with hundreds of stone arrows shattering against their shields and armor. Finally, bloodied and battered, Ontaya charges forward with fifty other Northern knights to claim the height of the ridge.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">And sees, behind the charging Arawai hordes, a thousand utterly unfamiliar golden-skinned soldiers armored in brightly lacquered plate, bearing long steel spears and curved swords.</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="havenstone, post: 4737204, member: 61094"] [b]Broken Swords[/b] [B][FONT=Verdana]AFTER WHAT FEELS [/FONT][/B][FONT=Verdana]like the deepest sleep of his life, Atrix slowly becomes aware of the profound chill throbbing in his arms and legs. The air is unnaturally icy, far colder than the stone under his back. A persistent, ominous intonation in an unfamiliar language echoes from all around him. His eyes flicker open to see an elaborate pattern laid out in white and gold dust on a dark stone floor. Alarmed and completely disoriented, Atrix struggles to sit up. His limbs protest, as though he hasn’t used them in days.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]He finds himself in a murky room, lit by a scattering of candles in the pallid web of dust. The gold dust amongst the chalk is blackening, and the candle flames are blue and trembling, drawn toward the center of the chamber as though by a steady, intangible wind. Seven priests are ringed outside the pattern, chanting in low tones, their faces taut with fear. An aged high priest holds a glowing staff over Atrix, pointed unwaveringly toward the center of the circle. [/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]A man is standing at the heart of the room, clad simply in black, half-turned away from Atrix as though about to depart. The skin on the stranger’s face and slender-fingered hands is alabaster white; his eyes are colorless, his hair long and black. A dark-hilted sword is strapped to his back, with a foot and a half of blade ending in a jagged fracture. Atrix can feel the heat in his body fleeing, drawn toward the man with the broken sword. Kay hangs limply from the man’s arms.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Without any pause for thought, Atrix leaps toward the terrible figure, trying to attack him with his bare hands – but finds the strength sapped from every muscle in his body. He slips to the floor, and pulls himself up again with enormous effort. The man with the broken sword shifts his head to regard the desperate young d’Loriad. A toneless voice reverberates in Atrix’s mind:[/FONT] [I][FONT=Verdana]- Do not risk so readily what has just been paid for with so great a sacrifice.[/FONT][/I] [FONT=Verdana]Atrix’s face twists as he remembers the end of his duel with Shect – remembers [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4712537-post52.html"]his death[/URL] – and understands [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4731762-post59.html"]what must have just happened[/URL]. “She didn’t know what she was doing,” he rasps. “You can’t accept this.”[/FONT] [I][FONT=Verdana]- She knew.[/FONT][/I] [FONT=Verdana]“No. I don’t accept it. Take me, not her.”[/FONT] [I][FONT=Verdana]- The sacrifice is not yours to accept.[/FONT][/I] [FONT=Verdana]“[I]No[/I].” Atrix stares into Death’s colorless eyes and tries by sheer force of will to deny what is happening. His adversary gazes back impassively. Waves of unnatural dread and desolation surge through Atrix, but he manages somehow to keep from blinking and forces his tremulous limbs to take two more steps toward the man with the broken sword. No trace of emotion or decision plays across Death’s alabaster face as Atrix staggers closer. He simply bends, touches his bloodless lips to Kay’s forehead, and disappears. [/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Atrix lurches forward to catch Kay, and they fall to the ground together. The room brightens as the candles blaze back to a full and yellow flame. Kay sucks in breath again in a sob as her eyes spring open. A round, pallid mark has appeared on her forehead. “Cousin?” she whispers, her eyes darting around the room. “Are you... are we...”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Beyond words, Atrix pulls her closer, and they weep in each other’s arms in the dark circle.[/FONT] [B]OUT ON THE [/B][FONT=Verdana]plains, where the dawn is only a livid smear through the dense cloudbanks, the great Northern flanking force approaches the top of the far slope of the Arawai’s sacred basin. Since the march began, Ontaya has been catching flickers of evil intent from all around them, in particular from General Athriam d’Aramant and a tough, bullying squire named Vorent who has been trying to rival her ever since [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4345613-post10.html"]Wildengard[/URL]. Today Vorent’s eyes are looking [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4703285-post46.html"]glazed[/URL] and he doesn’t respond to Ontaya’s queries. She beckons Ash and her squire [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4672813-post44.html"]Corim[/URL] d’Orbis close. “Something’s about to break,” she says flatly, and tells them what she’s feeling. [/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Scanning the horizon, Ash notices a scout ahead flash an unfamiliar signal back to Athriam. Ontaya spots Ash’s reaction and spurs Dorma toward the arrogant d’Aramant general, even while he turns to Sarquin with a look of horror on his face. Athriam dramatically bellows, “What? What have you done, man? Treaso... oof,” as Ontaya tackles him and brings him to the ground. Vorent, his eyes still glassy, goes for the flat-footed Sarquin with a poisoned knife, but Ash cuts him down and wheels his horse around to shield the d’Loriad general from any other attacks. Ontaya pounds Athriam’s head against the sun-baked earth until the treacherous d’Aramant passes out. Her squires form up around them, swords out and ready for a fight.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]The host mills in confusion for a moment, as hundreds of Senalline nobles and thousands of soldiers from other countries try to take in what just happened. The d’Aramant knights, though angry, seem just as bewildered as those from other Families. Then with a thunder of hooves, many hundreds of Arawai riders charge over the ridge all along the rim of the basin, ululating triumphantly and hurling flint spears ahead of them. [/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]His eyes bleak with comprehension, Sarquin d’Loriad raises the banner of Lynar and cries, “ATTACK!” Quickly rallying his stunned troops into combat formation, Senallin’s greatest general begins pushing toward the high ground. Ontaya and her squires are among the leading horsemen who clear a path, fighting in the saddle, with hundreds of stone arrows shattering against their shields and armor. Finally, bloodied and battered, Ontaya charges forward with fifty other Northern knights to claim the height of the ridge.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]And sees, behind the charging Arawai hordes, a thousand utterly unfamiliar golden-skinned soldiers armored in brightly lacquered plate, bearing long steel spears and curved swords.[/FONT] [/QUOTE]
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