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Message: <blockquote data-quote="The_Universe" data-source="post: 1693380" data-attributes="member: 8944">A Broken Sword, A Mended LifeA nervous sweat covered Archonus’s face as he stood over Luminus, a sword that had been a gift from a woman that loved him—a sword that had been a gift from a woman who even now bore his child. Not incidentally, the woman was also his queen—his sworn liege. But it was not for this woman, this queen, that he stood over the blade with shortsword in hand. What he did, he told himself, he did for a friend. A friend fallen in battle to help save them all—a friend who had one chance to return to life, a chance that depended on him breaking the blade before him. And so he stood in the small stone chapel, torturing himself with thoughts of his own betrayal, silently begging the Light for forgiveness for his most recent sins. As thoughts of his betrayal, thoughts of his new love churned in his mind, he readied the blade. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, slowly raising Spark above his head, and then sending it hurtling back toward shining steel of his queen’s sword.  At the same instance, Pendara finished the last word of her spell, and sent it racing through the air toward the powerful item that Archon had offered in sacrifice for his friend’s return to life. Pendara felt the burst of power wash over her as the magic of the sword sputtered and then died in the wake of her own magic. She watched as the once-brilliant blue gem ceased its almost hypnotic sparkle. Part of her was saddened…it was almost as if something had died with the sword.  But was this not always the way of it? One life can only be paid for by another’s. As Spark struck Luminous, Archon and Pendara both winced, turning their eyes from the act that somehow, improbably, seemed like murder. A discordant but somehow musical chord filled the air as the smaller blade sheared through the larger.  Archon heard the death chime of the blade, but Penny felt the magic burst once more, this time permanently. Whatever energy had found a home within Archonus’s blade could reside there no longer. As the fleeing magic flooded the room, and then dispersed to the air around them, she felt sure that something…wrong…had been done here. She shook her head, doing her best to dispel the disturbing thought, just as she had dispelled the blade’s enchantment. Imagination, she assured herself, was the cause of her misgiving.  Meanwhile, Archon reached into the ruins of his blade, careful not to cut himself on the shards of steel left over from the sundered sword. Grasping the diamond that had been set in the center of the blade, he stood from his careful crouch, pausing only to wipe the sweat from his stinging eyes. Luminus had broken easily. He hoped it was a sign.  He turned to Pendara, nodded curtly, and then pivoted on his heels, marching out of the old chapel toward the towering cathedral that dominated the ruined landscape of Caer Melyn. Pendara followed, and within minutes they found themselves pushing through the great oaken doors of the Cathedral, striding beneath the towering stone image of the Apecto that welcomed the nameless masses into the walls of this, the first Cathedral of the Light, and the Last of Aon. . The Circle waited inside, standing at places equidistant around the ancient altar that had once accepted sacrifices to the Sun god Aon, but now stood as a symbol of redemption that the Light gives to all its petitioners, should they but confess their sins, and accept just penance. Bishop Carr stood behind the altar, looking vaguely disgusted at the corpse that had been carefully laid on the church’s ancient altar. As the two of them got closer, Penny moved off to his left, taking up a position behind Justice. Archon continued forward, gingerly placing the gem over L’Aurel’s unmoving breast. Before he could turn away, the Bishop reached across the altar, grasping him by the shoulder. Pleading with all of them through Archonus, he begged, “Please? Must we do this? I have already beseeched Mistress Fairweather to no avail! We have no way of knowing what cost this will demand…the diamond is only the beginning! Please!” Archon’s eyes narrowed, crinkling the blue star that surrounded his left eye. “We’ll pay whatever price we have to. Now do it,” he growled. Frustration, fear, and anger all seeped into his voice. Thankfully, Carr seemed to hear only anger. He stepped back, releasing Archon’s arm. He turned to the circle, walking toward an empty place in the circle left near Xath. As he saw her face, his heart skipped a beat. Even among the difficulties of the past few days, his heart soared at the thought that she loved him. He loved her. More than anything.  He reached out to her as Carr prepared to begin the ceremony, placing his long and calloused fingers along the place where her chin met her slender neck. “I…I don’t know what to say. But please…stop crying.” She looked back at him, perfect features marred by tears, her normally clear eyes red, and puffy. “It…it’ll be alright,” she said, as she smiled at him, if a bit weakly. “This is the most important thing, now. We’ll talk about everything that’s happened today later, after this is all over…” Still a little unsure of herself, she smiled again, and then turned her head slightly, kissing the palm of his hand as she looked into his eyes. “We’ve not even begun,” she continued, her voice vibrating against his strong, cool hands.  He smiled back, just as weakly, and took the place beside her. Carr was ready to begin. As he chanted, he made eye contact with Justice, across the circle from him. She looked back, a critical look painted across her otherwise flawless features. Nonetheless, having caught his attention, she looked over her shoulder, hoping his gaze would follow her own. It did. Selura Nightshade, it seemed, had been brought here, as well.   * * *  The Bishop chanted for what seemed like hours, but could have not have been more than a few minutes. As he droned onward, reading from the dusty tome that they had freed from the great Library no more than hours before, time seemed to slow, stretching itself to surround the weary adventurers as the magic Carr summoned gathered around them. The air seemed alive with energy, and even the light of Aon seemed to dim as he reached the height of the spell’s invocation. The old man’s droning stopped, and instead, he intoned a question to the corpse lying across the altar before him. “L’Aurel Woodshadow, the flesh is ash, but the soul is fire. Have you considered the price for your return to ash, and your abandonment of the holy flame of the Light?” For a moment, the air stilled, no longer humming with the gathering power of the Bishop’s spell. And then the answer came, a discordant scream that seemed to rise up from the earth below and buzz from the air around them at the same time. Though all within the old church heard the words, they could not be sure if it was their friend’s voice they heard, carried on the tremors of earth and air. “I have,” it said.  Hands shaking, he bishop turned back to the book, now shouting the incantation as the ground beneath his already-nervous legs continued to shake, to rumble. Time stopped, time elongated. Time was meaningless.  Even as his words seemed to tear at the flesh of reality around them, he stopped. Still shouting, he intoned, “L’Aurel Woodshadow! You have considered the price of ash! Will you pay that price, that which is necessary to return here from the Kingdom of Light!?” Suddenly, the tremors stopped. A sudden explosion of damp heat suddenly filled the cavernous sanctuary, nearly knocking the Circle to their knees. Though the ground shook no more, this strangely damp heat was equally as oppressive. A wet, smacking sound consumed their senses. “I will,” it said, as more than one of them silently prayed that it was indeed L’Aurel that spoke to them.  Fighting the urge to cover his ears, to collapse in fear of whatever dark power he had already invoked, Carr steeled himself, and continued. Each word seemed to gather ever more power, ever more heat. Each part of the Circle could feel the others in their minds, as if while the spell tore the veil between this life and the next, so too had the veils between their thoughts been torn.  In a second, in an hour, in a year, the frenzied thoughts of the Circle were joined by the whispering insanity of a thousand more, myriad minds trying to find their way from flame to ash, attracted to the beacon the Cathedral had become. …WhereamI?WhoamI?Whereisthis?Annacomecloser!Ineedyoudon’tleaveme!OhGodthepainisunbearablewhywon’tthistop?DearGodwhyhaveyouforsakenme?TheLightit’ssobrightthankyouforthischance.Whathavewehere?MotherIloveyouImadeyouthiscanIhaveakiss… Carr’s voice held them. Carr’s voice imprisoned them. Hopefully, Carr’s voice could call the one they needed, and banish these others to the unnamed otherworld in which they dwelled, even now trying to escape back into the land of the living. Screaming over the flood of thought that surely battered him, as well, the Bishop demanded, “L’Aurel Woodshadow! You have considered the price, and agreed to pay it!” The bishop gulped at the suddenly empty air. The voices had stopped, and so had the heat. But even as the queer parody of life that the voices represented had left the room, so, it seemed, had the air itself. Stumbling over the words, trying desperately to make sound where none was possible, the bishop mouthed, “L’Aurel Woodshadow, will you return?” The gem, the soul of Luminus, pulsed, sending white, blinding light outward. Though no answer was heard, the result was unmistakable. I will.    * * *  L’Aurel’s body remained inert. Silent. Her eyes still clothed, her chest as still as the cool air had suddenly become. They had failed. They had nearly torn the heavens asunder, and still—they had failed.  The Bishop was unconscious, fallen between the last words of his spell and the sudden return to reality. Whatever had happened had drained him, but had not killed him. Outside, birds sang their songs, oblivious the power that had been summoned, moments before. They sang, blissfully unaware of the failure of the Circle of the Phoenix. She had been willing to pay the cost. Was it simply too high for any to pay? Xath began to cry, stubbornly unwilling to step from her place in the ritual circle. Though alone in allowing her cries to be heard, palpable sorrow seemed to fill the church, flooding the space around the altar.  A voice, unknown, echoed through the halls. L’Aurel remained still. Lifeless, a Mannequin of flesh. “What’s everybody crying about?”  Simultaneously, the circle’s eyes widened. There was someone—something here. They remained silent. Best, they agreed through the bond their rings afforded them, not to let whatever it is know what has happened. Weapons at the ready!  The voice echoed again, filling the air with the chords of a voice that seemed strange, yet familiar. “By the Light, what am I doing here? Where am I? What happened to that dragon?” Swords, axes, and hammers all clattered to the floor at once. Dragon!? Could it be…? Justice was the first to speak, untouched by both the fear of being wrong, and the fear of being right. “L’Aurel? Is that you? Where are you?” “Of course it’s me! Who else would it be? The wounds I took must not be as bad as I thought. And what do you mean ‘where am I?’ I’m right here.”  Suddenly, inexplicably, a shadowed silhouette reared up behind Justice. Weaponless from the surprise of the voice, she could not defend herself. Kaereth started to move, driving his bulk toward his friend with a speed unparalleled. Shadow bad! Smash shadow! Before he could reach her, however, the shadow stepped forward, illuminating her face in the light of the great stained windows of the cathedral. Selura!  As Kaereth crossed the space between the King’s servant and his place in the circle, Archonus cursed himself for being so foolish. She had mimicked death, and even now she mocked them with the words of a friend. She would pay dearly for the insult. She would pay for L’Aurel. He crouched, hands searching for 2 blades, finding only Spark. Luminus was gone. He had forgotten. Fool! Drawing the single short blade in both hands, he advanced, hoping to reach Selura’s side just as Kaereth did. Apparently unaware of the deadly charge of the warriors, Selura smiled. A toothy, unsure grin that looked remarkably out of place on the cold, cruel features of the woman who had once claimed their friendship, and then tried to claim their lies. The smile was a further mockery of L’Aurel, a twisted reflection of the wide, guileless features that had made the mid-elf so dear to them. Unless… Arfin, the slowest to react, was the first to notice, with Justice and Xath realizing the same within a fraction of a second. “L’Aurel!” Justice, the closest, stepped sideways—directly into Kaereth’s path. She thought and yelled simultaneously, bringing both Kaereth and Archon to a sudden halt. “Stop! This is L’Aurel!” “Of course it’s me,” she said, her words escaping from an unfamiliar face, her voice twisted by the new body it inhabited. “Now, what I want to know is simple – who’s the girl with all of my clothes on her, and where can I get something to eat? I’m starving!”   * * * Sometime later, as Aon began his long slumber, she found her way to the chapel. She wasn’t sure what all had happened, but this seemed as good a place as any to think. She thought she had died. That assumption had apparently been…premature. Whatever had happened, she was alive now. She thanked the Light for that.  She moved to the front of the tiny chapel, eyes seizing upon the glittering steel that had been Luminus. She picked up the blade for the first time, finally getting a good luck at the blade Archonus had suddenly acquired. She slumped, sitting in the front pew of the tiny house of worship, feeling a little uncomfortable in her own skin. Shaking off the feeling, she turned the blade over in her hands as she tried to remember what had happened. Something seemed to be tugging at her memory. A thought, just beyond the edge of consciousness. Perhaps sleep would do the trick. Perhaps not. It would happen as the Light willed. Things always did.  She stood, taking a few practice swiped with the surprisingly light sword. She was still terrible with a blade. Father…Michael…wouldn’t have been pleased. The Light only knew what her father would think. She would have to ask him when she got the chance.  Nodding to herself, she slid the blade into her belt, taking a moment to gaze at the sapphire, shining like a blue star, set into the center of the blade, halfway between the basket hilt and the tip. She couldn’t fathom why Archon would have left it here, and although the cathedral grounds seemed safe enough, it seemed foolish to leave it here. Even in a church.  Whistling tunelessly to herself (I can’t seem to get my lips to work right…), she strolled out into the night, and back to her friends. Back to the Circle of the Phoenix. </blockquote>

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