Angels of Donegal

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Kieara sense his discomfort. It wasnt hard to see. This man was suffering. She couldn't hold herself up any longer and dropped back to her knees. She scooted over to him and untied the mask gently trying not to wake him. She slid it off and laid it on the ground beside him.

Looking at his sleeping face she could see it twisted up in agonizing dreams. She didn't want him to feel such pain and suffering. She leaned up gently kissing his cheek in a comforting gesture. "Don't be afraid. Don't succumb to the demons dark images in your mind. The gods will deliver us." She promised softly whispering the words to him.

She took up the blanket draping it over him trying to offer some comfort and laid her head in his lap. Then she tried to rest more til he awoke.
 
He had managed to dream for five hours, and five hours was enough of the dream to make Aidalis sick of it. His dreams had been dark and terrible, concerned primarily with the demon Sahariel, and the spawn she had created - the idea that the same thing could happen to Kieara, turning her light and grace into nothing more but a birther for the demons that polluted the world, unless she took one of the King of Kings foul deals. He was in Aidalis' dream as well. He had always imagined Bel as a suit of black plate, with a sharp and jagged helm that served as his face, with wings of flame; none had ever seen Bel's true face and provided a reliable account of it.In his dream, Aidalis stood in the clearing, but it had been mutated beyond on recognition. Organs and viscera were scattered across the dead grass at the standing stone - which no longer bore any carvings at all. Aidalis looked up at the sky, and in his dream it was a sickening, acidic green, the green of poison. Kieara was tied to the rock, with cords made of human sinew. She was crying, and Aidalis realized that Bel was there, watching the cruel work done to Kieara, watching as she was violated by demons upon demons, while Sahariel merely smiled in the background. She had a form, a shape. All-Sword Ezekiel had described her as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with the most terrible of smiles upon her face. In Aidalis' dream, she had the face of Ùna, but with hands and wings of blades, from which dripped freshly spilt human blood. In his dream, Aidalis knew that this blood belonged to him. She sat there, on a black throne made of burning wood, a Gaulish funeral pyre, and watched the all-too familiar violations performed upon her sister. Her look was one of absolute pleasure, a firey sort of contentment. Sahariel rose from her throne, and walked to Bel's side, pressing her hands up to his shoulder guard, full-breasts brushing against the side of his arm-guard. She whispered something to Bel - her thick lips brushing against the side of that cruel metal face; but Aidalis could not hear it. She then turned to Aidalis, and he realized that her eyes were the same shade of orange as his own; and she spoke to him, in a voice that sounded soft and sad; "Ní mar a shíltear a bhítear."

Within an hour of being draped in the heavy wool blanket by Kieara, he jerked awake with a start. Aidalis opened his orange eyes, surprised to feel the unfamiliar brush of wind against his face, instead of the comforting heft of his wooden mask on his face. He took a deep inhale of breath, and rubbed a hand down the front of his face, tugging at the bruised hollows of his eyes, and the scarred flesh on his cheeks. He glanced down at Kieara, glancing at how her head lay in his lap. He smiled tiredly, eyebrows meeting on his brow. He reached out a gauntleted hand to gently stroke her hair, brushing aside pieces of dark brown hair carefully. She must have woken up before him, for his blanket was now draped across him. This was a good thing; it meant that she had not been completely comatose. Aidalis suspected that she had just collapsed from exhaustion and over-excitment. Fancy women from Tir Caredyr had a habit of taking faint, not ladies from the East and North. Poor thing must be starved - she'd vomitted most of the nutrients he'd fed her. He had promised that he would feed her - didn't he? Aidalis gently began to slip out from under her sleeping head, making sure to cradle her cranium so that she didn't smack against the stones and ground. As he did, he scooped up his removed mask; she must have taken it off. He tied it firmly around his face once again, and draped his blanket around Kieara's shoulders, a chill breeze reminding him that it was early in the morning. It could only be six or seven chimes, no more than that.

Aidalis padded over to Malack, who seemed to be alternating between dozing and blearily blinking his dark eyes. The All-Sword gently stroked his horse's nose, and the horse let out a low grunt, before lowering his head to nibble at the grass. Aidalis noted that the horse seemed to have reduced the grasses around his feet, and he reasoned that the horse had plenty to eat; it was only the humanoids that were hungry. Aidalis went around the edges of the clearing, and began to gather some twigs from the area, creating a bundle of sticks in his arms. The tinder was damp, unfortunately, but Aidalis had plenty of experience with damp lumber. All-Swords were all taught how to survive in the wilderness, and there was not a single part of Donegal that was not damp in some way or another; Tir Caredyr had more clear skies than any other part of Donegal, but the persistent drizzle was in all parts of Dongeal, coming in the form of snow in the mountains. He gathered up sticks and grasses for fuel, and then returned to the standing stone. As he had traversed the perimeter of the clearing, he had realized that it was perfectly round. It had clearly been cleared by Gaulmen for one of their pyre-burning rites.

Aidalis knelt down, about two feet away from the standing stone, and Kieara's form, and set his sticks down. He then, scraped aside some of the grassy, making a decompression in the soil. He proceeded to stack his fuel, the grasses, and place the tinder, the sticks, atop it. He rummaged in some of the side-pouches of his side-belt, producing a small bag of what appeared to be white-sand, as well as a few stones. He poured a tiny measure of the white powder on the small fire-pit he created, and then, smacked the two stones against one another, causing a spark. The white sand ignited instantly ; and the wood and grass followed suit. Soon enough, Aidalis had a respectably sized fire. He nodded once in satisfaction at the light and heat it gave off, and then rose to his feet, returning to his horse's side, rummaging around the packs once again.
 
Kieara had tried to soothe his dreams but didn't know if it had worked or not. Her dreams were not so dark and depressing as his. Her dreams were much much different. And strangely, had she known of his infatuation with the woman named Una, she might've been hurt by it.

In her dream, they'd traversed the forest and made their way to the grand city that they'd embarked on a quest to reach. Once there though they found themselves face to face with sahriel. She was a wicked vile woman. But through them speaking with her and managing to sway her they'd managed to bring the woman back to her side of good.

The angel sahriel embarked from there on her own knowing the dangers of the world and decided that she would go forth and cleanse human kind.

Kieara had been left with Adalis. They were safe now in the city and there was nothing else for her to do nor him. The dream ended with her placed on his lap her head resting on her protectors shoulder.

She stirred from her sleep hearing an unfamiliar roar of fire. She opened her eyes finding herself once again covered. She sat up the blanket sliding down to her waist and she stretched. She stretched her arms out to the side and along with it her wings.

As she woke the halo on his wrist glowed brighter again signaling her waking. She rubbed at her eyes after a nice long stretch much as a child would.

Her feet were cold. She had much wished that she could have gotten some shoes back at the cathedral. She would make due though.
 
Aidalis glanced down at the golden light emenating from his wrist, as he pulled down a collection of pots and pans from his horse's saddlebags. He then, glanced over, a faint glow from his orange eyes shining out from the eyeslits of his mask. He smiled to her, and lifted a hand to her in greeting, the one with the bracelet. The other was primarily focused on pulling out a small pan from amongst the many saddlebags that Malack was loaded with. He was intending to make her some food - warm food. He could only hope that Turagath's creatures did not have any way of seeing the smoke in the sky - but it seemed much more likely that the smoke would just intermingle amongst the ever-present cloud cover, and they would see nothing save for the constant, tumultuous sky. It was still a risk, he supposed, but it was a risk that he was willing to take. The flurry of activity had numbered his thinking, his desire to understand the dark dream that was now only shades and images, ghosts upon his mind.

"Good, you're awake. I was beginning to worry." There was a smile in Aidalis' voice, a lightness in his words - as if there hadn't been brutality and murder, only some small hours before. He had to stay relaxed. He had to stay gentle and reliable - for her sake. He busied his hands with opening another saddlebag. From the bag, he withdraw a large chunk of what appeared to be raw meat; blood red and fat white. Aidalis set that into the cast-iron pan he held, clutched in his other hand. Then, his free hand darted back into the foremost bag, and he withdrew a handful of the beige mushrooms that he had given to Kieara yesterday. He then, brought the meat-and-mushroom filled pan to the small fire he had produced, and he set the pan on top of the fire, watching the meat begin to sizzle in the pan. Aidalis crouched down next to the fire, and he lifted his head , watching Kieara with his flickering orange eyes, studying her wide-wingspan. He wondered if she could fly with those wings - perhaps she could fly all the way to Tir Caredyr and not even require his help. Maybe it would be safer that way - but she didn't know how to get there, and he was certain that the Prime Evils would now know of them - they would begin mobilizing against them in full force. Without Aidalis, Kieara would not get far.

He flipped the steak idly in the pan, paying no heat the scalding heat coming from the pan - his gauntlets seemed to be quite effective at keeping the heat out and not absorbing the cooking heat. Aidalis glanced down at the pan, and watched as the meat turned a dark, grainy magenta, small lines of smoke curling off of it. The mushrooms were cooking a deep, dark brown, quite a change from their original off-white colour. They would soon be a bit crispy at the edges. These mushrooms could be prepared much in the same way as the plentitude of potatoes that came from his native Igris. "I'll have something here for you in a few minutes. I can imagine you're feeling a bit overwhelmed right now."
 
Kieara looked at him getting things from the horse. She smiled smelling the fresh meat cooking. Had she known the secrets of his saddle bags she'd have wondered if it was human or not.

She spoke. "I am a bit...I still feel weak and drained though." She spoke to him wobbling over unstable to him. She held onto one of his arms lightly kneeling by the warmth of the fire after tucking her wings back down.

She spoke. "What are you making?" She asked and frowned seeing the mask. She glanced to the bracelet wondering how it got from his waist to his arm.
 
Aidalis smiled thinly, and flipped the meat once more, all of his expressions hidden behind the blank wooden mask. The meat hissed and sizzled in the pan, signaling that it would soon be ready. Aidalis had cut off this bit of meat himself - it had once belonged to a heretical shepherdess. He had come to find the heretical whore on the edges of Igris, on the border with the county of Gaul. She had hair like freshly shorn wheat, that shimmering bronze, and pink lips that peeled away to reveal her somewhat crooked smile. Aidalis had been able to tell that she was of some combination of Igrisian and Gaulish stock, which had rendered her shapely and strong. She wore homespun wool, dyed a deep dark brown, likely made by her mother with care and love, not knowing what a monster she had suckled. The shepherdess had sung him a sweet little song as he passed the rocky walls of her sheep-pasture on his horse.

My father and my mother​
In yonder room do lay​
They are embracing one another​
And so may you and I​
They are embracing one another​
Without a fear or doubt​
Sayin': Take me in your arms, my love,​
And blow the candle out!​

Naturally, he had stopped his horse, intrigued by what she was offering. He had asked her what she was doing, and she had responded that she was hoping to earn a bit more of the love of the Gods of All - and a bit of coin as well, to sustain a father, that she explained, was succumbing to the Blight. Aidalis asked her what she hoped to have from him, and she went on to say that for laying with her, she only wanted a few coins, a little lightening of his purse. Of course, he'd had to cut her down, for her clumsy attempt at prostitution, her silly attempt at trying to pervert an officer of the law towards Malconia's fleshy throne. He couldn't have that. So Aidalis had butchered her, and the lamb that she was carrying in her arms, as a suitable payment for ridding her poor, Blight ridden family of the demon in their house. He had carried that lamb meat with him, the salt that he had kept in his saddlebags keeping the meat relatively fresh, if a bit tough and stringy. Lamb had never been a dish that Aidalis had cared for, but a servant of the Gods Who are Many could not afford to be particular in his food.

"You'll feel better when you eat." He reassured her, as he gently lifted the arm that she had clung to up to stroke her cheek with one metal finger gently, his hand larger than her face. "Just a bit of lamb." Aidalis did not relate the story of the shepherdess to her, for fear that such dark words would upset her. He lifted the pan off of the fire, and set it down upon the grass. His now free hand rummaged in his sword belt, pulling out a dirk. With the small dagger, Aidalis cut the meat into several small chunks, the mushrooms were naturally in pieces small enough to be consumed without proper cutlery. He set the pan on one of his leather-clad knees, paying no head to the searing heat that burned from the pan's base through the leather. A normal man, not so accustomed to pain, would be screaming and crying out, by this point. But Aidalis was not like most men, and consequently, seemed to ignore the heat. He gestured with his mask, leaning in a bit, to the small chunks of lamb, and the little bits of seared mushroom. "Take some. It'll help you." He reached out to pick up a piece of the seared meat, and popped it in his mouth. It burned his throat as it went down. "Be careful. It's all quite hot."
 
Kieara smiled as she reached out and took a piece. He was right, it was hot, therefore she blew on it to cool it down so that it wouldn't scorch her throat on the way down. She then ate the chunk happily. It tasted so much better to have warm food. It was all quite satisfying. She spoke to him. "It's very good, thank you." She told him as she tried a mushroom next also enjoying it.

She spoke. "How'd my halo get from your waist to your wrist?" she asked curiously. She didn't mind that he had it, she wanted him to have it, but she was curious as to how it had moved. She continued to munch on the food til she'd had her fill. Being such a tiny woman, she didn't eat a lot. She barely ate what he could consider a handful.

She waited for an answer and looked around the damp area. She felt the early breeze and moved closer to Adalis and the fire because of the short dress they'd provided back at the temple. It also had an open back making it cooler. She smiled as she did and crossed her legs as she sat on the ground.
 
Aidalis nodded once, glad that she could eat it. He did not know what angels ate, in the High Heavens, or if they ate at all. He could not imagine an angel cooking for themselves - perhaps in the High Heavens great orchards stretched across the fertile lands, and food grew without assistance from man or beast. The High Heavens was deprived of blood - he knew that. No meat, in the lands of his Gods. Blood and meat were the instruments of man, and they were the unique abilities that the Gods Who Are Many had given mankind, when they had shaped them, so many thousands of years ago. They gave them blood to spill and drink, and meat to feed, sacrifice and eat alike. Aidalis tugged at the mask on his face, lifting in up so his scarred chin, lips, and the tip of his nose, were once again visible. As the girl finished the food, Aidalis began to tuck into the remnants. He was a big man - he had to eat quite a bit to keep himself going. During the months of the Cleansing, he always became thinner and weaker, the longer the Cleansing went on. He was reminded of the way that foxes were white in the winter, and red in the summers. The Cleansing was his winter - when Aidalis became a ghost of his previous self.

Aidalis, greedily stuffing lamb into his mouth, watched with orange eyes as Kieara lowered herself down to his side. He gave her a smile that tugged at the edges of his scars. After swallowing the mouthful of meat, he offered an answer to her question; "It came to me, while you slept, fastening itself around my wrist. " Aidalis peered down at the bauble, which caused his mask to slide down his face once more. He tilted his wrist, watching the band's light reflect off of the steel of his gauntlets. "Would you like it back? He reached up to tug his mask up his face once more, showing his lips and nose once again. His orange eyes connected with her knees, the lines of her crossed legs. They trailed the curves of her thighs, up to the hemline of the short dress, eyes lingering over the way the fabric bunched around her slender waist. She was so close to him, now, but he could not react, he could not take assertive, aggressive actions. He was not Cyhir the Sky Darkener, and she was not Sahariel.

She was close though - and cold, it seemed. There was no reason for her not to be. In these early morning breezes came the rain. But it was not raining today, and they would need to start on their journeys again, soon. But Aidalis realized that the girl might not even understand what her purpose was, or the nature of the prophecy that All-Father Balor had begun to describe, before Turagath had descended upon them. A moment, then, before they began the long trek through the forgotten paths of the Cloven Woods, a moment to be with her, and for her to ask him all the questions she wished. Kieara had come to a strange world, and she must be overhwhelmed that had happened to her, within this short time. The All-Sword reached out an arm, resting the crook of his elbow gently, against the small of her bag, and he slightly pushed her closer to him, hand resting on the top of her shoulder. Aidalis wanted her close to him, to feel and to hold. All of his actions were exceedingly soft, light - obviously not intended to force her into any action. Whether or not she responded to his advance, or resisted being tugged into his arms - he asked her, "I'm sure you've got a lot to ask me - a lot has happened." He smiled again. "I'll do my best to answer your questions."
 
Kieara understood that he was a large man and would require more nourishment than she. He did more work as well. She felt so very useless to him. In a strange place not kowing what to do or how to behave wasnt exactly her idea of making the most of her talents.

When the man answered her about the halo she looked at it. She smiled. "No I wish for you to keep it. I just noticed that it was in a different place than before." She explained to him with a smile.

As she was tugged over to him she smiled. She enjoyed being close to him. And he was warm. She scooted closer curling into his embrace.

At his offer to answer her questions she jumped on it. "What is my purpose? What did he mean? How long will it take us to get to this city? Will we be safe there?" She asked awaiting her answers.
 
Aidalis gently stroked her hair with one hand, while he licked off the juices from his lamb-breakfast from the other gauntleted hand. He set that hand on the ground, wiping it roughly agains the the grasses of the earth. His orange eyes flickered over Kieara's face and shoulders for a moment, before he glanced at the sky. It was still surprisingly clear, though the same orange-grey cloud cover remained. At least it had not started raining yet ; but it would, soon. Aidalis could feel the wetness in the air, the way that his linen shift clung to his chest beneath his breastplate. The air had the scent of a damp world in it, mercifully deprived of the pungent stench of ashes. Had it only been yesterday that they had fled from Gaul? Everything seemed so peaceful; so tranquil within the Cloven Woods. It beared no sign of the violations that had occurred here, not in this little clearing. The only motion and sound was the occasional breeze through the trees and brush and whatever sounds he, Malack, and Kieara made. Aidalis' hair-stroking hand gently went down to brush against her back, running his knuckles gently down the side of her ribcage, counting the ribs there, offhandedly, as he formulated answers to her questions.

Aidalis cleared his throat, collecting his thoughts. Beginning with the first question seemed a good enough place to start. "Your purpose is to give birth to the Slánaitheoir, according to the prophecy that Archangel Nathaniel bestowed upon All-Sword Ezekiel, may the Gods' two thousand eyes watch over him." Aidalis bowed his head for a moment, in acknowledgement of the fellow All-Sword. Caleb Ezekiel was widely considered to be a paragon amongst the paragons ; Aidalis felt a great pity for the current All-Sword Ezekiel, who would likely never be able to match his predecessor in either skill or accomplishment. The current All-Sword Ezekiel was tall and strong, but bull-headed and rash, more like the most stubborn of the Gaulmen than a true servant of justice ; but the Gods knew that he was doing what he thought was right, and his collections for the Cleansing ritual were always large and appropriate. The All-Voice favoured him, possibly for the famous name and the memory of the man who had born the name before ; he was the last living man who had ever known Caleb Ezekiel in person. Aidalis wondered what Kieara thought of Caleb Ezekiel - or if she'd even ever heard of him. He wondered too, about what she knew of the Archangel Nathaniel, the leader of the angels in their High Heavens. He didn't dare ask, and only continued with his explanations. "'Slánaitheoir' is the Gaulish word for 'Saviour.'" He quoted a passage from the Book of Voices, a description of St. Rhamiel's vision of the times to come;

"I shall see the Saviour, but not now;​
I shall behold Heaven, but Heaven is not near. ​
When a God on Earth shall arise from the seed of Nathaniel,​
and the Savior will be birthed from the womb of Man; ​
To slay the Lords of Darkness, and rule over all Man's children."​

Aidalis smiled again, and one of his hands began idly brushing against Kieara's feathered wings, evening out the patterns of the feathers, as the All-Sword continued to explain the prophecy as he understood it. "The Saviour will come and destroy the Prime Evils, and at last there will be peace on Earth. Archangel Nathaniel promised us that, long ago." His hand lazily crept down to brush against Kieara's stomach, the gauntleted fingers feeling nothing of the soft, woven wool. He wondered how Kieara would react to the idea that she was a vessel for the hope for Mankind - perhaps, she would wonder if her only purpose was to be the way that the Saviour entered the world. Aidalis was certain there were other things that she would have to do, upon giving birth to the chosen child. Perhaps, she too would be called upon to aid the Saviour in ridding the world of demon kind. For now, he was content to brush his fingers lightly against her stomach, moving his hand in a small, circular motion. "You are the hope of Man - that the Slánaitheoir will be born through you." He patted her stomach gently, and his hand crept back up to tangle into her hair. His orange eyes darted around the surroundings of the clearing. Malack was silent, so it was unlikely that anything dangerous was lurking too nearby. There was no reason to lower his guard, though. He had been foolish in Gaul. He had thought that the temple would have been safe - but he was wrong, and now he and Kieara were on the run. Aidalis tilted his head back down to her, his eye-slits meeting her eyes as he answered her other two questions; "For now, we are safe, but we must get moving soon." He paused, considering. "We're likely a bit past seven chimes, now, and it is a long ride to Perth. From there, we'll take a ship to Tir Caredyr."
 
Kieara listened to his explanation. She couldn't help but smile at his words. She had the chance to have a family down here. Something she'd always wanted. And better yet the child would help man kind out of the state it was in currently.

She enjoyed him petting on her. It relaxed her and made her feel good. Especially her wings. They were one of the most sensitive parts of her body. She briefly wondered if she could still fly. She debated trying it.

"We should get on with our journey then." She spoke to him with a smile. He'd made her feel much better about being down here.
 
Aidalis nodded once, and removed the hand that had been touching her. Yes, they needed to get going. Perth was all the way through the Cloven Woods - and the way to the ports would involve trekking cross-country through the region. Perth was known for its fertile fields and orchards. It was considered to be the wealthiest of the counties, after the capital itself. The governor of Perth, Morrigu Ruad was referred to with the Perthish title of 'Mamu' - which meant mother. Under her, the county of Perth had prospered. Yes, the journey was likely to be far more pleasant once they were out of these accursed woods and safely into Perth. He'd only been to Perth once before, during a particularly dry cleansing. He had heard of a cabal of cultist activity within Perth's borders, a rumour that had turned out to be true. He and All-Sword David had dealt with them - perhaps David was in Perth now, going about his own Cleansing. Aidalis felt his heart rise in his chest. David could maybe help them - another All-Sword would be welcome on this journey. He could us all of the help that he could get - and perhaps he and Kieara would find aid within the fertile lands of Perth, Aidalis was hoping that the power of his station and the great need of the situation would get them a safe and fast ship to Tir Caredyr. Small-folk who refused All Swords tended not to live long.

Aidalis pulled his mask back down his face; masking his facial features once again. He shook out the sticky mess of lamb-juices and mushroom fibers from the basin of the cast-iron pan, letting them sizzle against the grass. A few bits of meat spattered against the stalks of grass, and Aidalis watched as little gnats immediately swarmed the meat. The forest consumed everything that went into it, it seemed; dealing with whatever scraps Man left behind by devouring it utterly. The All-Sword rose to his feet, tucking the pan under an arm. He stretched himself out, raising his arms above his head as he let out a low yawn. His armor clanked as he did so, in protestation of the extent of Aidalis's movement. Stretch and yawn completed, he padded back to his horse, to once again strap the leather pan to the side of the horse's engorged saddlebags and ever-expanding load. Malak was a draft horse, meant to carry carts and heavy ploughs, but had been raised by the church. Most of the All-Swords' mounts came from the same family, who had bred the horses of for generations. Supposedly, Malachi, the sage who had first penned the Book of Voices, as directed by the Archangel Nathaniel, had raised horses as well, and the family that had reared Malack claimed to be of his descent.

Aidalis returned to the campsite, and knelt next to the campfire. Aidalis began to scrape the dirt from the small hole he had made over the fire, muffling the flame. He watched as the embers slowly died from sight, the mound of earth smothering whatever flames still remained. Patting the soil with one booted foot, he straightened to his feet once more, and looked down to Kieara, a pale orange light flickering through his eyeslits. "Ready to head on? It'll take us a day of travel to get through these woods, through the Old Road." The Old Roads followed through the weylines that the old Gaulish pagans so liked; liked enough to build the only road that had survived through Year 1. It would be a dangerous road; but it had to be safer than traveling through the Cloven Woods without any kind of guidance or assurance. There was a nagging sensartion though, amongst the delicate ventricle meat of his heart; the Old Road would likely take them past the old tree of Gaul, the one that Sahariel was buried beneath. It was only logical. What new horrors would await them down the road; Aidalis did not know for certain. But there would be something, out there - amongst the trees. That, he knew. "Come, I'll help you onto Malack." He said to Kieara, reassuringly. He did not give an indication of the flutter of dread he was feeling.
 
Kieara was eager to get on with their journey. If she was this person to help being the human race to being prosperous again she wanted it to happen soon. She wanted to help. And secretly she wanted a child. Something she'd not been given the ability to have before.

She stood stretching out while he put the fire out. "Is there a possibility that I can get shoes in that town?" She asked.

She decided to take a chance and to attempt to warm her feet. She fluttered her wings softly and began to float a few feet off the ground. Her wings still worked. It made her smile.

She fluttered over to him by the horse and clung to him giggling as she stopped fluttering her wings and held onto him. She let him help her on knowing her weight couldn't be that much.
 
Aidalis watched with wide eyes as she lifted into the air, watching her wings beat, powerful, grey wings that made the soft beating sound of a hawk or eagles' wings; their pace was slow, but it seemed to propel her upwards, and just as she was drifting down from the height she had reached, the wings beat once more, propelling her into the air. It was strange, and beautiful - the delicacy of such a creature lifted by her strength, only to drift back down again. Kieara had to have faith that her wing motions would catch her, to propel her up once again. Aidalis knew that not all demons could fly - Bel and Sahariel could, that much he understood, but he doubted it relied so much upon a measure of faith and more upon the sheer power and subjugation of other powers. Demons were able to effortless drift through the air not because they held another in such high station, but because they weakened any who would tell them that they were not creatures of strength. It was an interesting dynamic, Aidalis supposed.

Aidalis reached up his hands to grasp her by the waist, sitting her more securely in the saddle. With a gently brush of his hand on her back, he pushed her up into the saddle, advising her gently, "Put your hands on the pommel - the funny knob there." One of his gauntleted fingers tapped the leather protrusion in the saddle, and then, he reached out to grasp one of her wrists -firmly, but not roughly- and he guided her palm to the pommel. Aidalis then put on his feet firmly in the stirrups and pulled himself up into the seat of the saddle, pressing himself against Kieara as he did. He reached out to grasp the reins, snaking his forearms underneath her armpits, grasping the reins infront of her midsection, the sides of his arms pressing softly against her small breasts. His words were explanatory, a chiding sort of tone, the one that a parent would use to educate a child, "We have to get to Perth first," He reminded her gently, "We're still in the middle of Gaul. We'll spend the night at one of the towns on the border; likely a little town called Gallae." He'd never been through the Cloven Woods before, but he had known the map since his earliest days of training. An All-Sword had to have a good head for directions and for geography, otherwise they would become lost too easily on their long treks through the counties. Gallae, he knew, was the nearest Border-town at the southern exit through the Cloven Woods, down the Old Road. He knew nothing about it - save for the local Gaulmen and Perthish rarely got on within the town, and there was often in-fighting within the town.

Aidalis tossed words carelessly, as he nudged his horse in the sides, willing Malack to trot forward, tugging on the reins to bring the horse southwards, "In Gallae, we can get some additional supplies. Including shoes." Malack went forward- the trees around them a rollicking blur of greens and greys. As soon as they were out of the clearing, more of the shattered trees, petrified and broken at the trunk, could been seen around the forest. There were natural trees too, with their lichens and mushrooms. Aidalis mentally quizzed himself on herbalism, saying the names of the plants under his breath. A white mushroom with long tubers, protruding from a rotting stump, overdamp. Alessia's Crown, that was its name. Used in common Gaulish cooking. A red-barked bush with waxy red leaves, the shape of teardrops, with magenta berries that grew in round clumps. Sorrowleaf bush - the berries were dreadfully poisonous, but ironically the bark could be used to cure fevers and nausea. Ferns with blue-speckles and jagged leaves ; Knifeferns, meant for teas. But the plants began to change.

After they had ridden for a time, Aidalis began to notice that the common, household plants were changing, turning pale and calcified - like they had been incinerated long ago, but somehow the white ashes had retained their shape. There were not any more natural, living trees anymore. There were only petrified and broken at the trunks. The grasses beneath them had turned to a fine white powder, a sand that was similar to the kind that Aidalis had thrown into firepit. Standing stones, like the ones within the clearing that he and Kieara had rested at it - laid broken and battered, their carvings worn off. One of the All-Swords hands released the rains, choosing instead to grasp Kieara by the mid-section, holding her close to him. There was the same, eerie stillness in the air that the rest of the forest had, but there was something int he air, something that could not be determined. He released the other hand on the reins, and reached to pull his mask up once again, letting the leather straps drag against the ground, Malack slowing from the gesture. Aidalis' nostrils twitched, as he sniffed the air like a dog. There was something beneath the typical smells of forest and wilderness - a smell like flesh. Yes, he thought, as he sniffed the air again. There was the distinctive smell that was released when flesh was split and bones were cracked. But there was nothing, no movement, the only strangeness in the woods was the white ash-like nature, the predominance of split, petrified trees over natural ones, and the strange scent upon the air.
 
She smiled as she was put on top of the horse. It made her feel tiny and for some reason she was ok with that. She did as asked and grabbed the pommel of the saddle.

She awaited her answers as well as for him to get on. She hoped they got there soon. She wanted to end mans suffering. What she didn't realize was that it was only going to begin once the child was there.

She smiled. "I would like shoes. My toes get rather cold."
 
Donegal | Year 1307 | The Cloven Woods

Aidalis continued to walk carefully through the calcified trees and the white-washed wilderness, keeping a tight hold on Kieara's waist with his forearm, mask partially up so he could continue to smell the air. His hand around Kieara's torso nestled under her breasts, to ensure that she would not fall out from the saddle if he had to spur the horse forward. There was something in these hollow, calcified woods that was not quite right. The trees were tall, tall enough that only the barest amount of light shown through. Though most of the calcified trees were cloven down the middle, there were trees here that had been petrified from the leaves down; a stray breeze only made the dullest of clatterings as stone leaves brushed against stone. The light that came through the spaces of these stone leaves was strangely wrong, off colour. If Aidalis had known the word, he would have said that the light was clincial, the sort of luminescence that occurs under the knife; the offwhite light that seems to tinged with an unsettlingly clear blue. That is not to say that it was bright out; hardly. It all looked impossibly cold, but it was only an early morning chill in the air, nothing to match this great tundra light. The white sand beneath the horse's hooves made for slow going as Malack's hooves slipped into the powdery earth with every step. It was almost like snow, but there was no ice, no chill that could explain snow that could not melt. The horse had to make an effort to keep from sinking in entirely. Aidalis wondered if it was the slip-quick, the sinkholes that showed themselves when demons poured from the earth, but the sands seem undisturbed.

There were half-submerged standing stones along the patch, covered in chalky powder with shard-like lichen growths emerging from the rocks. Aidalis knew that since this was the Old Road, these stones would normally spell out the directions of the road, but such instructions were long carved over, and worn pictographs showed their faces instead. There were faces of men and beasts as well as complicated depictions of knots and natural life - a natural sort of life that had all but fled the area. Aidalis recognized one of the carved faces as a man with a mask; a sword in hands. It must be a depiction of the All-Sword Ezekiel, the one who had cleansed Gaul of their demon. Ezekiel had not even been from Gaul - his territory was to the North, Lodain, the county that bordered with Igris. He had come down during a sparse Cleansing only to find demons and a Prime Evil terrorizing the people. All-Sword Mara, who should have been the one to slay Sahariel ; was already gone, dragged down to the Abyss by some of Sahariel's children. The Gaulmen had been unable to appoint an All-Sword in her stead. Hundreds died, it was said, most of Gaul wiped off of the map, but All-Sword Ezekiel stayed to slay the beast. No wonder his iconography was carved alongside the Old Road ; he was perhaps the most beloved figure in Gaulish history.

It was easy to notice that the path was narrowing, the trees coming closer and closer along the white-path. It was becoming a cavernous trek through the woods, and Aidalis sniffed the air once again. It smelled metallic, like rusted iron. That was the smell of smelters and forgers ; of welding and making. It was also the smell of blood spilt across sharp swords and the death of soldiers. It was perfectly quiet, save for the rustle of a breeze through the stony leaves. The passage continued to narrow, and rocky outcroppings started to appear, much to Aidalis' surprise. Gaul was a craggy region, certainly, but who had ever heard of crags and canyons within a wood? The crags had carvings as well, similar to the great standing stones that littered the landscape, and they had runes as well. Despite his caution, Aidalis tugged on his horse's reins, brushing his forearm against Kieara's breasts, bringing them closer to one of the crags. They were only a few inches from the rock face. Where lichen should be sprouting, there was only dull white bursts upon the grey stone. But the runes were dark and deep, carved with obvious care. Aidalis studied them, realizing with a start that they were using an old dialect of the Common tongue, one that the first Book of Voices had been written in, before the All-Voice had seen that copies were made for all languages throughout the generations. Malachi's Common, as it was generally referred to; died out after Year 560 or so; the last native speaker of the tongue died with it on her tongue. This was old, eight hundred years old ; at least. His head mentally ran through the translations, and he mumbled the phrase. Normally, the words would have been muted by his mask, but now they were audible, dangling off of his scarred and brutalized lips;

"Trapped, She watches the play of mummers ; ​
She waits for Her Cyhir the Never-Blessed​
When Winter snows fall in early Summers; ​
When the cold Sun Rises in the West;​
Cyhir-Come-Again breaches the seal​
All of Man, true and black, will kneel."​
​
Aidalis shook his head, and pulled his horse away. "It's a warning." He growled - the contempt in his voice seemingly directed at the stone instead of Kieara. He began to turn his horse around, hissing out words, "I never should have led us this way. The Old Road --" The All-Sword's eyes alit on the path behind them. There was no longer a path, there was only snow, snow falling from the trees of stone, covering the standing stone that bore All-Sword Ezekiel's face. There wasn't even a series of trees anymore, they were along with the white snow and the rocky crags - and the road ahead of him that still remained. It hit him, suddenly. This was not actually snow, it was a collection of ashes. When Sahariel had been captured, Ezekiel had dragged her through the woods. But Sahariel's body and hatred had been so strong, so hot, that her loathing had burnt a path through the Cloven Woods - straight down the Old Road. Aidalis' stomach clenched. Ahead of them would be her prison. That, he knew. But there was no road behind them; there was only the opaque white blizzard of ashes, and the sad standing stone that marked a place where Ezekiel had once stood. Forward was the only way through. Aidalis reached up to pull down his mask once again, tugging it down over mouth and nose. He then reached to pull the reins once again with the same hand, while the other kept a firm grasp around Kieara's midsection. Malack turned, and they began to move down the path once again. ​
​
As the small band walked down the road, the crags became more pronounced, rising up on either side like the peaks of mountains. There were collections of twigs and calcified trees that sprouted from either side. The carvings became more and more pronounced along the rocky sides of the road, and Aidalis watched them with cautious orange eyes. He caught snatches of the words as he passed - 'Cyhir', 'Ezekiel', 'Nathaniel', and the increasingly common 'Sahariel'. Some flowers seemed to be preserved though, the only sparks of colours on the grey and white landscape; all bathed in a dark green shadow. Little blue flowers, with four triangular petals. Aidalis recalled their name from his herbalism classes; Winters's Maiden flowers. But Winters's Maiden only grew in the cold regions of the mountains, in the places near Lodain and St. Esther's pass. It had never grown here in Gaul, not even in his much closer, native Igris. Why would it grow here, unless there was some real cold, some real winter? But it wasn't cold, it didn't feel like winter. It felt like an early morning in Gaul ; with the humid chill that hung in the air, not the dry winds of winter. The Winters's Maiden flowers seemed to light the way along the path's sides, these little pin-pricks of blue. But they didn't even need their guiding lights. Aidalis and Kieara had come to the end of the road. ​
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unexplored_ruins_by_narandel-d4zk5sv.jpg
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An immense structure rose before them on the white path. It had the same characteristics of an early church of the All-Gods, the domed roof, the use of columns, but it was more massive than any early examples that Aidalis had ever seen. A pale blue light seemed to shine through the spaces of the columns, and arches of stone seemed to secure the temple to the rocky crags. They were carved with various symbols; hands and tree branches, all done in the traditional Gaulish style. Aidalis and Kieara were only able to see six columns, but Aidalis knew that the roof was held aloft by twelve columns, one for each saint, one for each All-Sword. At the forefront and center were Mara and Ezekiel, holding hands, strangely, though Ciarán was the husband of Mara. Perhaps this was a sign of the Gauls, showing their respect for the foreigner who had come to save them. The walls of the temple were high, and rocky, only small amounts of care had likely gone into the stone-cutting. And though the rocks made a curve in the road, the All-Sword knew that at the end of that bend in the road, there would be the door through. The Prime Evils were toying with them, trying to test them. They wanted them to go through the prison that had secured Sahariel, and see if they could emerge without temptation. Aidalis glanced down at Kieara, and moved a hand up from her midsection to gently brush against her hair. He murmured to her, "We have come to a dangerous place. Do not be afraid."​
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Elsewhere | The White Room​
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The hooded man had moved from his throne to stand on the edge of the walkway to his throne. He was contemplating a pool of water, though there were no eyes beneath the hood, nothing to give any indication that the man was studying the water save for his folded arms, and the barest tilt of his hooded head. He remained wearing the white cowl that showed no features beneath its lip, and the golden armor that looked as if it had been forged of sunlight rather than any true metal. From beneath the white hem of his robes his sabaton'd feet protruded, just as golden as the rest of his armor. Even without a face, he was perhaps the most striking man - if that is what he was - within all of creation itself. He leaned lazily on his glaive of light, his tendril like wings brushing against the floor, causing strange shadows to dance in the hooded man's wake. The pool did not reflect him, but instead, showed the image of a heavily armored man, wearing a plain black mask riding a dark horse, a girl nestled in his arms. The girl was the most striking thing in the reflection - young and sweet in appearance, with large eyes and soft pink lips. Strangely enough, the girl had bird like wings - quite different than the hooded man's own long tendrils of light.

The hooded man knelt down to the edge of the pool, bringing his glaive down straight. The tip of the glaive's blade barely brushed against the surface of the water, and ripples poured across the surface of the water. The image of the man, girl, and beast subsided, and the waters turned as black as night once again, the colour of polished obsidian. The water's surface now reflected only a white hood, with softly glowing golden armor. The hooded man once again straightened to his feet, and turned on his heel, with a sort of majesty and purpose in this action. As he turned, the man's gaze - if he had one, it was impossible to tell - met with another creature's; a man. A man with skin the colour of a bleached skull, and hair as white as snow. A small beard hung around his strong jaw, and his cheekbones and nose were sharp and forceful in their appearance. He was handsome, certainly, but everything was far too severe, too brutal. He looked as if he had only recently come into man-hood. From his skull protruded several sharp and asymmetrical horns ; similar to that of a goat or stag. The horns had the colour and texture of bone. His lips were stained a deep, warm grey, and twitched into a perpetual smirk of pure cruelty. His eyes burned in his face, orange irises with no pupil. Where the whites should have been in his eyes, was instead dark red like freshly spilt blood. The man was tall, nearly as tall as the hooded man. He wore silken black robes that fell off his shoulders, exposing the soft white skin of his chest, down to the base of the man's sternum.

The hooded man acknowledged him with a nod of the head and one soft, musical sounding word. "Dantalion." The white-haired demon inclined his head to the man, and gave a reply of his own. When his lips parted, his teeth were visible. They were all pointed and glittered golden in his mouth. A careful assessment could see that he had many rows of teeth, and they were all serrated; like a shark from deep within the ocean's mouth. His voice was thick and syrupy; sweet and glossy sounding, the sort of words that a man bedded a woman with, but the content of the words was quite different. "My Lord Father." The white-haired demon then gave a long, deep bow, gathering his skirts with one hand - a hand that was as pale as his skin and ended in sharp brassy claws that were just as serrated as his teeth. He could rip a man apart with both his mouth and hands if he so chose, that much was certain.

"They have come to your Mother, my son." The hooded man said softly, his words chiming like church bells. Dantalion - the horned demon - smiled with all of his terrible, flesh-tearing teeth. "Salathiel's puppet shall awake her." The hooded man moved across the room, his glaive scraping against the ground, leaving golden trails of light that hung in the air, for a moment, before disappearing. He climbed the step to his throne, and then settled into the seat once more,resting the glaive against his lap. As he sat down upon the throne there was a horrendous , blood curdling scream - a woman's scream. Dantalion's smile stretched further, and he followed his fathers' trail to stand before the throne. Slightly protruding from the hem of his long robe were a pair of black boots, made from a thick leather ; the origins of which the hooded man knew. When his son had come to him before, he had been barefoot, his taloned toes scraping across the marble floors. Now, the creature had found himself a trade. Though no expression crossed the hooded man's blank black face, there was a certain amount of pride the man felt in his offspring.

The hooded man's wings of light draped over the arms of his grisly throne, and he looked, expressionlessly, towards his son. The bone-horned demon bowed his head, and said crisply in his silken voice, "Turagath's forces are on either side of the woods, and will be waiting on the border of Perth, my liege." He bowed once more at the waist - knowing of his father's appreciation of proper respect for rank and title. "A precaution, should they slip through Mother's temple without breaking the seal."

The hooded man raised one hand, and from his hand erupted a golden glow of light; "Your Mother will wake, my first-born. I have seen it in the depths. He is Cyhir-Come-Again, may his name forever be hallowed." There was a lightness in his voice of chimes, there was the warmth and self-assuredness of uninterrupted triumph in his voice. "For he is a Man - and he desires many things. Desire is so easily mutated, is it not?" The hooded man closed his fist around the globe of light, and when he opened his hand once more, the light had turned into the shape of a young, nude woman that danced around his fingertips, before springing to alight upon Dantalion's shoulder. The son smiled once more, and caught the sprite-maiden in his hands. She stood on his palms and bowed deeply to the man's face. He murmured softly to the maiden of light, and she let out a small cry - like an injured bird, and then, covered her breasts and maidenhead with her small hands. The son then brushed a finger down her torso, brushing the sprite's hands away from her tiny body. She squealed again, and tried to dance away - but Dantalion caught her.

The son squashed the creature with his palms, and there was soft, bird-screaming for a moment. When he opened his hands once again, there was instead a small child- with angel like wings and the features of a girl who had not yet hit womanhood. She fluttered from Dantalion's hands to rest in the lap of the hooded man. Dantalion's voice came out smooth, and soft - a honeyed rumble in his throat; "Yes, my lord-father. Yes it is."
 
She looked up at the massive structure in awe. It was huge. She didn't recall ever seeing something so large. And the feeling she got from this building wasnt a good one. Not a good one at all.

When he told her they'd come to a dangerous place she only nodded. They needed to pass through quickly. She was falling ill. Her paleness had returned, her dark circles, and she seemed altogether weak. She looked much worse than she had before.

The halo on his wrist dimmed considerably. The site seemed like it was feeding on her or drawing from her purity. She felt like the life was being sucked out of her. The halo still held a faint glow but if one wasnt looking for it they wouldn't see it.

"Can we go through soon Adalis?" She asked. Her voice had taken on a weary tired tone. It sounded hoarse as well. "I don't feel so well. What is this place?" She asked.
 
Aidalis nodded once, and began to egg his horse on, forward. The white dust was kicked up around his horse's feet, and turned the dark horse's black legs a shade of sandy grey, rather than the pure dark fur that the creature had once sported. The animal's ears were pressed flatly against the back of Malack's head. The horse trudged on, however, through the dust and the soot, and with each step, the horse sank a little deeper into the earth and Aidalis' hopes sat a little further in his body. The girl in his lap felt so small, so fragile. He watched her carefully with his orange eyes, glittering through his mask. She was starting to bear signs of weakness again - only though it had only been an hour or two since she was smiling and laughing, flittering through the air. This place had an effect on her, a dark and troubling effect. He saw those dark shadows beneath her eyes, the paleness on her already pale skin. There was a name for that pale-on-pale effect, but Aidalis could not recall it. Perhaps it was a word from another language, some native and pagan tongue that was removed from the Gods of All's good common. But it was sickly, whatever that colour was, and he was not going to let the sickly condition consume her; they had to leave this place, and they had to leave quickly. The halo around his wrist was dimming, and whatever that meant, Aidalis could not interpret that as a good sign; rather, it was something that showed surrender, surrender and weakness. In a place like this, neither one of them could afford to surrender. She would take a hold of them, if they did. He did not know how he knew this, but this he knew.

Aidalis gently stroked Kieara's hair, and murmured soft, his words coming out muffled and inhuman behind the wood of his mask; "You must be strong, Kieara." He watched as the temple loomed into view. As they came closer upon it, Aidalis could see carvings in the stone, more carvings. Winged figures dying - women with spears and chains whipping them into submission. An angel with a crown upon his head throwing a glaive from his right hand, with a chain tightening around a woman-demon. Aidalis could not pretend to understand the meaning of these carvings. To him, they were nothing more than the carvings of Gaulmen, half mad with fear and contempt for the angel that All-Sword Ezekiel had dragged to this place. The All-Sword gently stroked the girl's shoulders, unrolling the oiled wool blanket as they continued to pass through the ravine of soot and smoke. He draped it gently over her shoulders, the rough wool warm, but scratchy, comforting but itchy. It was a reminder to Aidalis. With all good things, there was a measure of pain. Perhaps this angel's illness was the pain of the Gods Who Are Many - a curse dragged down from the High Heavens itself, as it had been said that the Blight was. But Aidalis shook his head to banish such thoughts. The girl was not a plaguecarrier. She was an angel. And she deserved an explanation.

As they began to round the curve around the rocks, Aidalis cleared his throat, arms abandoning the reins - trusting the horse to know their route. His hands had instead curled around the girl, one hand resting low on her stomach, the one hand draped across her shoulder to rest his palm upon the curve of her small breasts. There was no attempt to grab or brutalize, just the softest of touches through the cold metal of his armored hands. His words were said quietly, low and soft in his throat. "We have come to the prison of Sahariel, the Mother of Monsters." A breeze coursed through the crags and the ravine, causing miasmic clouds of white powder, grated ashes, to rise into the air like tendrils, or beckoning hands. Aidalis reasoned that he could see the outline of a woman's white hands within the smoke and snow and his touches on Kieara tightened ever slow slightly, as with his knees around his horse's girth. Malack began to pad forward a little quicker, not quite breaking into a trot, but the walk was swifter, giving the impression that the horse too, was hurrying along, as unsettled by the sight within the smoke as the rider. As they rounded the corner, the carved columns loomed over,t he carved stone faces of the saints looming over them; Mara, with a small hint of a smile on her rosebud-stone lips, while Ezekiel looked blankly forward, his eyebrows knit in a worried expression. Aidalis lifted his head, scanning the carvings of the columns for some indication, for some runic insights on what was to come. But there were none.

In between the columns, there was a glimmer of blue-light, like something reflecting off of a surface. Aidalis began to steer Malack through the stony skirts of the carved saints. The open-air room before them was hewn from the craggy stone of the rocks itself, and many Gaulish carvings were impressed upon the walls. Some depicted the simple life of Gaul - farming and hunting - while others depicted villages in flame and screaming women and children. There was a strange musty smell in the air, like mold, but something beneath that as well. Aidalis lifted the hand from Kieara's breasts to lift up his mask. His scarred nose's nostrils twitched as he inhaled deeply. There was something else, yes. It was the smell of something going to rot, something that had once been alive. It was the smell of meat slipping off of bones and turning into the blackish, purified liquid that now lined the inside of Aidalis' saddlebags. He knew that smell well. At the end of a long hall, lined with carvings and pictographs, there was a door. Aidalis had to squint to see it - the light was dim. But next to the door were two blue-glowing flame braziers. Mage-fire, the sort that the wicked Enemy used for their dark rituals. The flames burned cold and fresh and from them emanated a chill in the air. The wind made a muted howling as it rushed through this long narrow hall, only to be turned away from its course by the large door. The door, from this distance, appeared to be made of pure silver - but they had to continue on, to see the truth of it.
 
Kieara was getting sicker the further they trekked into the place. She fell heavily against the larger mans chest to support herself. She was glad he had the strength to hold her onto the horse because she herself didn't know if she could have or not.

The runes on the walls didn't speak of things that made much sense, but there was one set that stood out. It told of an angels halo and why it was sacred. It told what it did and what it symbolizes.

She looked around weakly and didn't like the feeling she got from this place at all. She didn't like that she knew her sister from the heavens was laid to rest around here somewhere either. She didn't know how she knew. But she just did. She felt it.

"How do we get out of here Adalis without disturbing something?"
 
The Cloven Woods | Forgotten Temple

The temple was dark and still, the only light seemed to come from those flames before them, flickering around the door. The shadows stretched long behind the columns of saints, and the small band were entirely covered in gloom. As they road through the murklins, Aidalis clutched at Kieara in his arms, brushing at her hair gently. Her voice seemed weak and distant, when she spoke, and that was enough to send a shudder through his core. He should not have brought her here, not to this terrible place with its long and vile history. He didn't even know if there was a way through this temple - he could only assume that there had to be a way through, an alternative exit to get on the Old Road once again, instead of to just stumble into the temple to find no escape. Most of these old-style temples were build along cave systems, and if worse came to worse ; they could venture into the depths, and come out from some cave on the other side of the Cloven Woods. The important thing was to go South, to get to Perth, and to get as far from Gaul as possible. Aidalis didn't know why he felt this way, but there was a tugging in his heart, a fearful tremor that told him that there was no longer a Gaul. That it was somehow lost, and could not be recovered, not by him ; he couldn't help but wonder where All-Sword Mara was in all of this. Shouldn't she be defending Gaul? But he had not seen sight or sign of the All-Sword, or any All-Sword save for himself. Where were they? Perhaps they were all far-flung during the Cleansing, as he had been. Or perhaps they were dead, killed by marauding demons of Turagath. The thought chilled him. He realized that as he held Kieara, his hands were shaking, the soft rattle of plated fingers shaking against one another.

The hall-way was long, and they seemed to get farther and farther from the door with every step, but Malack was no longer slipping on stone, so the going was easier. The only sound was the soft trembling of metallic fingers and the clattering of horse-hooves against solid stone. Kieara had asked him a question ; how would they get out of here without disturbing anything? Aidalis could not be certain. He had never been here, and whatever knowledge of this place that there was, it had belonged to All-Sword Mara, and the All-Father of Gaul ; both gone, one dead, the other missing. All-Sword Caleb Ezekiel had known, too, he supposed, but the man was long dead. They said that he had died when he had bound Sahariel to this place, that only the blood of a man pure at heart could possibly keep her in this place. He could only hope that Ezekiel's blood held. He wondered what Kieara thought they could possibly disturb - all that he saw before them was the only door forward, the slight silver sheen along the door. In response to Kieara, he could only shake his head in response to her question, clutching at her a little more tightly, pulling her into him. He could not lose her, not now, and not in this place. She was a stranger in a strange land, and she could not have been prepared for this - but this had to be some part of the plan of the Gods Who Are Many. He could not lose faith, not here, not in this place. Aidalis, in desperation, and to calm his quaking nerves, recalled a song that had been sung in his youth. The memories of Igris flooded through him; verdant green fields, rocky cliffs, the swell of the great ocean hitting against the standing stones erected by the first All-Sword, so very long ago. Igris, beautiful Igris, so far removed from this place. And so, he sang ; to give Kieara some measure of the comfort that he was feeling. His voice came out soft and thin, more of a murmur than a projection of a proper song, but there was a sweetness in his voice, and a sorrow that Aidalis did not quite understand;

"O, my luve is like a red, red rose,​
That's newly sprung in June;​
O, my luve is like a melodie​
That's sweetly played in tune.​
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, ​
So deep in luve am I;​
And I will luve thee still, my dear,​
till a' the seas gang dry.​
Adn I will luve tee still, my dear,​
Till a' the seas gang dry."​
​
When he sang, there was a strangeness in Aidalis' voice that had not been there before. His voice previously carried within it the mark of a Tir Caredyrian - the slight twanging of certain syllables that made his words a little more clear and proper in quality. But when he sang, his accent changed, becoming that of an Igrisian; the roundness of words and the softening of the harsh letters of the song. It was a subtle change, that happened through the course of the song, and perhaps it was the way that the lyrics of the song were written - but there was a natural quality in his voice. Aidalis was surprised with himself, when he heard his voice. It had not sounded like that for many years, if it had ever truly sounded like that at all. He could remember a boy speaking in such a strange, slurring way, a boy with red robes and rust coloured hair, but there had been violence, and there had been pain, and slowly but surely the voice had fled from him. Who had sung this song to him? He recalled a woman's face, lined and rose-cheeked, with distinctively red hair - a man sung this song to her, but he could not picture the man's face. There was only a grey blur in his memories where that face should have been. Aidalis shook his head. This place was making him think strange things. He had to focus. His hands tightened around Kieara's waist, forearms crushing against the sides of the oiled blanket, making it fold beneath his grasp. ​
​
They finally came upon the door, the cold blue flames flickering. There was a chill before this door, a winter-breeze that seemed to come from the two unnatural witch-flames. The door itself was a large, silver door, as Aidalis had thought. It was a taller door he had properly estimated, however, stretching up to the high ceiling of the passage; it must have been twelve feet high. Twisting knots and patterns covered the door, all elegantly wrought in silver and iron ; the very sort of metals that would keep demons away. A cursory glance showed twisting brambles and leaves, expertly carved, and Aidalis' knowledge of herbalism told him that these were intended to represent the briar bushes that were known as All-Sword's Favour - a kind of shrub that supposedly kept evil forces at bay. Pain-Tasters in the capital wore boughs of them around their necks, and pretty maids with superstitious mothers wore their small white blossoms in their hair.The patterns all culminated on a round wheel on the door, a circular device that could be turned via a hold on one of its sides; a handle that was shaped vaguely like an antler. Aidalis could only imagine as to what that symbolized. He began to slide out of the saddle, brushing Kieara gently away from him, and giving her a muttered instruction; "Hold onto the pommel." He dismounted from his horse, and reached up to pick up the horse's dragging reins. He slipped them around the pommel of his horse, and gave Kieara a comforting sort of smile ; the only visible part of his face given his raised mask. ​
​
He walked up to the door, and put his hands onto the strange antler like protrusion. As he did, silver runes flared to life around the wheel. Aidalis craned his head to read them, his orange eyes glowing worriedly. What could have he activated? He read them slowly, studying the lines of each word with caution written upon his mouth, as indicated by the tensing of his jaw. He mumured them softly, his words echoing through the otherwise still , cavernous passage way. ​
​
"Here there lies buried deep​
One that stays forever asleep​
But if you are to wake her, Enemy of All​
Know that your actions will be your Fall​
But If you seek a way through the Old Road​
Caution, traveler; you will reap what was sowed."​
 
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