((OOC: A little post, while RL keeps me away and the text RP continues to flow.))
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Sound score:
Faster by Within Temptation.
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The world was gray, and white, and sand. It came with the dust in the eyes, and the scent of gore on the nose. Iron and sweat.
Across the dusky plains south of Hugel, a small whirlwind ripped across the wastelands. Bronze feathers flashed red in the sun as the recovering bird tore at the ground, eluding the enemy by a breath. Slick green creatures followed, pink underbellies showing at sharp turns, and when they died. They died often.
They fell, pierced by the old and reliable lance, and under the vicious lashings of the peco’s feet. More dragon-kin rose from the bushes, to claim the place of the dead. The great avian banked, and rounded on the attackers, laying about with the crimson-stained beak. The rider? The rider just laughed, and brandished her spear, and lived in the moment.
This was how the story was supposed to be- loaded with mirth, and blood; with loving comrades and a trusty mount, either of whom would bolster one against the world. The story was a freedom to slay anything, and be anyone; the birth of a true hero. The rider laughed because she knew her story to be a lie- an illusion of an adrenaline rush.
A piece of folded paper lodged above Catherine McWren’s heart, tucked under the breastplate. It smoldered there quietly, a ticking time-bomb, complete with the black feather, tucked therein. The latter was still wet with the ink of a fey-eyed magician messenger, who had delivered the bad news.
The missive began with a lengthy address to the Lady McWren, faithful follower of Erebos, and sworn vassal to the legion. Written in all dismal red ink, the thing still had the word “sworn” emphasized. There was no mention of their leader, Sir Melot. Not a single title to refer to themselves, this shady organization- standard practice, it was not, at all, strange.
One passage was stunningly familiar- the careful outline of Ezekiel, and Kotori, and the dark fey. It revealed knowledge that McWren thought was held secret between the members of her small group. It hinted at worse, to come.
In monotone, the letter asked the recipient to prove her fealty, and return to service. For an undermined amount of time. With a promise of aid, or needed supplies, should the task require them. The nature of the task was unspecified, but there was a given date to report back to, and it was too soon.
That was how the universe worked, was it not? In between the empires falling and old truths burning at the stake, in between her whole little world shattering, three times over? One was always called back to rebuild, to serve and protect in the absence of light.
"The fairies would go on with their dramatic dance, and the gods would scheme, and the silly mortals would throw themselves this way and that, in order to please the whole bloody circus," This, she whispered, even as something monstrously human lurched amidst the sleek hunting-dogs of the novii. A massive scaly arm reached forth to snag itself a peco-wing.
Catherine McWren laughed softly to herself.
The still-mending bird stumbled, as the slimy reptiles swarmed it in the moment of weakness. The woman, who was not the knight of Odin's preference, launched herself from the saddle at the besieging, writhing mass. Foes fell, and if there was a madness in her own laughter, McWren did not hear it.
