Perdition
The Godswood blurred as she ran, her feet barely climbing over the gnarled roots, hair tangling in the low-hanging branches, and the forest burned behind her. Every step was an agony, her robes and skin shredded from the knees down, her hat and bag discarded somewhere back along the path. Her left hand was a mess of burns and char — likely never to be used again — and the other was broken at the wrist, where Pharasma had struck her. Annabell dared to look back for an instant, and cursed as she recognized the lone figure walking through the flames, neither heat nor light its enemy. As it walked the flames spread forward, engulfing the dead leaves in a flash, and spreading up into the trees. She watched in dismay as it spread faster on either side, attempting to cut her off entirely, and she strained into a sprint.
Crow: "Annabell... Come now. Ember wants to see you."
She choked through the beginning of a sob, saving her breath for the running, and her mind for her spells. The flame raced her towards the finish line, its effortless glide matched by her throbbing feet, and a hatred hot enough to boil the ocean. She walked the Old Way, weaving through the trees like the priests of Norn, and Crow followed her. It walked with a calm patience, but was always right behind, always just within reach. It navigated the Old Way with familiarity, never losing her, each step another inch towards Paradise.
Branches started to cling at her unnaturally, vines writhing like snakes around her feet, but never with enough ferocity to hold. It was testing its power and playing with her at the same time, discovering the gap between its known divinity, and that which remained in the Boneyard. Crow must have found it lacking, a gentle click of the tongue its only show of disapproval, and Annabell won out against the flames, her feet touching upon the grasses at the edge of the Godswood.
Then he was there, in the clearing between Paradise and All Else.
Like a man dipped in ink, his eyes burning with a white-hot intensity, the blood of Outsiders already dripping between his hands. Corpses melted all around him, their ichor still ruled by fear, roiling away from him and towards the edges. A collar of Alignmatist totems marked his throat, glowing a stark silver against the ebony, joined by the white sigil of Sin painted onto his bare chest. He didn't glance at her as she passed, still rushing toward the warm, fair yonder, towards the thing that would save them all.
Annabell: "Hold it for me?"
Chamas: "Three minutes." The fire stopped at the threshold, but Crow never faltered, its gaze abandoning Annabell in favor of the creature before him. Its voice became feminine, its hardened muscles into delicate curves, its crow of horns twisting to be more organic. Crow: "Moscaroth? Come now, love. You know better. Won't you stand aside?"
Chamas: "Would you?" Crow smirked, a smooth hand tugging at loose strand of hair, a whisper of a promise laden in every twitch. Crow: "They're dead, Taker — simply by the weight of their own choices, and no foul play from me or mine. Forget Lamashtu, love. I will care for you in her place..." Chamas was silent, as the woods were silent, and all of Paradise joined them. He stood vigilant, watching Crow's every movement, and took a deep breath. The trees moved inward as he inhaled, as if he were attempting to suck them all in, and warped out as he sighed. A cold rage took over, entropic power building in his fists, stalwart in his mission. Chamas: "You're going to give me back that book." The creature paused, its head falling into a casual tilt, one eyebrow climbing towards a human expression that didn't reach its eyes. Crow: "Or what? You'll take it?"
Chamas: "It's in the name, bitch." Crow's mouth fell open, a mixture of shock and delight, those soft curves hardening in places, and becoming ephemeral in others. A halfway creature, made both for love and violence, the flames of Ember returning in the mess of horns on its head, which warped into the shape of a wicker lantern. Crow: "Perdition!" Crow raised its arms wide, and the wind answered, tearing through the Godswood and into Paradise, rivulets of shadow riding on the gale. Chamas flexed his neck, his hair playing wildly in the wind. The sigil of Sin flashed, its light binding with that of the totems, and he raised not fists, but open hands. Chamas: "Nirvana!" Annabell looked away then, her eyes senstitive to the energies now warping through the forest, and ran towards Kikimora's home with the Black Wind at her heels.
Chamas: "Three minutes." The fire stopped at the threshold, but Crow never faltered, its gaze abandoning Annabell in favor of the creature before him. Its voice became feminine, its hardened muscles into delicate curves, its crow of horns twisting to be more organic. Crow: "Moscaroth? Come now, love. You know better. Won't you stand aside?"
Chamas: "Would you?" Crow smirked, a smooth hand tugging at loose strand of hair, a whisper of a promise laden in every twitch. Crow: "They're dead, Taker — simply by the weight of their own choices, and no foul play from me or mine. Forget Lamashtu, love. I will care for you in her place..." Chamas was silent, as the woods were silent, and all of Paradise joined them. He stood vigilant, watching Crow's every movement, and took a deep breath. The trees moved inward as he inhaled, as if he were attempting to suck them all in, and warped out as he sighed. A cold rage took over, entropic power building in his fists, stalwart in his mission. Chamas: "You're going to give me back that book." The creature paused, its head falling into a casual tilt, one eyebrow climbing towards a human expression that didn't reach its eyes. Crow: "Or what? You'll take it?"
Chamas: "It's in the name, bitch." Crow's mouth fell open, a mixture of shock and delight, those soft curves hardening in places, and becoming ephemeral in others. A halfway creature, made both for love and violence, the flames of Ember returning in the mess of horns on its head, which warped into the shape of a wicker lantern. Crow: "Perdition!" Crow raised its arms wide, and the wind answered, tearing through the Godswood and into Paradise, rivulets of shadow riding on the gale. Chamas flexed his neck, his hair playing wildly in the wind. The sigil of Sin flashed, its light binding with that of the totems, and he raised not fists, but open hands. Chamas: "Nirvana!" Annabell looked away then, her eyes senstitive to the energies now warping through the forest, and ran towards Kikimora's home with the Black Wind at her heels.
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