Angels of Donegal

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Kieara smiled at his song. She liked its soft words. She liked his voice and she liked that he sung to her with. She liked it in general. It made her feel comforted and relaxed. She relaxed back into his chest as he sung and a small gentle smile covered her lips.

She watched as they came across the large strange door. She frowned. She didn't get a good feeling. Her halo dimmed even more. She felt sicker and tilted herself to the left of the horse emptying her stomach onto the ground once more

She didn't understand what the engraving meant but it certainly couldn't be good. "Adalis?.." She choked out once she was finished vomiting. "What does that mean?"
 
Aidalis glanced back at Kieara for a moment, orange eyes burning through the eyeslits of his mask - eyes like embers. Perhaps it was unkindness that flittered through his eyes, or perhaps it was simple fear. The All-Sword watched as the girl was sick, smelling the sticky, acidic stench upon the air. The girl was ill certainly - and this place was only going to make that sickness worse. He was a Man ; his race was easily tempted, his race was easily turned away from Light and Good. But his race had some resistance to Evils as well, they weren't easily repulsed. Men lived hard lives often cut short by violence, and the world that they had grown up in was a world where demons and the Enemy could be lurking behind every corner. Men understood evil. But angels did not. For Kieara to see this - there was no wonder she was sick. There was this oppressive, humid weight in the air, the feeling of evil crawling beneath the flesh. Aidalis could feel it too, the sense of pressure in the air, the heavy weight that seemed to bear down from the ceiling. He tilted his head, glancing back behind horse and girl for a moment. The light that had been outside, the pale white-blue light, had dimmed completely. They were alone int he dark, and the only way to continue was to go forward, through this great silver door, flanked on either side by the blue witchfires. His orange eyes scanned over the warning once again, and Aidalis grimaced behind his mask, the expression only half concealed. His grip tightened on the antler-like protrusion from the wheel, his knuckles making the tell-tale sign of metal grating against metal. It would not do to answer her question. That would only cause more damage to her already delicate state. What would she do if she knew that one of the Prime Evils - the only one who had walked the earth after Year 1 - was buried here? No. It could only worry her. So he did not answer.

Aidalis began to tug at the wheel from the antler, turning the antler in a wide arc. The chill before the door was overpowering, making his skin twitch and tremble beneath his linens and armor. As the wheel was turned, the knots and branches on the door seemed to slither away, darting into holes that Aidalis had not seen when he first approached. He watched the metal-worked knots untangle themselves, and then the silver ropes slide away, revealing that the door was solid iron beneath ; likely quite heavy. Aidalis could only wonder how it got here, what Gaulish smith had worked on it. The Gauls had produced many fine smiths, but none that were capable of work like this. There was some measure of magic worked into this door - and that thought made him uncomfortable. Only the Enemy used magic - the cultists who traded their souls and humanity away to emotions in order to channel dark magics through their flesh and work their weirding ways upon the world. Magic was forbidden ; witches and warlocks were killed in droves by All-Swords and common guards alike. Magic was vile and dangerous ; it meant that you had consorted with fiends. A crime of such a magnitude only deserved one response; death. How had this door come into being? Had All-Sword Ezekiel designed this door himself? A troubling prospect. If he had ; then he also must have designed the magics that kept it shut, and kept it locked. He must have had good reason. And now, Aidalis was undoing the All-Sword's work. There would be consequences for this. That was something that he knew. But the iron door stood before them, now free.

There didn't seem to be a way to open the door. No clutches, no handle - nothing but the antler that protruded from the top of the wheel that Aidalis grasped in his hands. He released the antler, but the door did not seem to budge; this immense twelve-foot-tall door would not open on his own. The All-Sword Saul was a strong man, but not strong enough to force open the door with brute strength on its own. He didn't have a battering ram - or the strength to use one if he did. He had no key, not that there was a lock that he could see. Aidalis took a deep breath and did a quick assessment of the door, like he had been taught to do when he did not understand. Gathering information was important. He had to see all that he could see. He glanced down at the silver runes on the wheel, and noticed that apparently - as he had spun it, the runes had changed, inverted. They were written in such a way that when they were now flipped upside down, they gave a different meaning. He peered at the runes with his orange eyes, studying the verse provided.

"Understand my warning; pay me heed
The Queen of Fear breathes deep below
And if Her hunger, your hearts do feed
She will awake again her wings will show
Take nothing with you but a heart of love
And keep deep faith in the Gods above."
As soon as Aidalis finished reading the words to himself, saying them out-loud, quietly to the dark and gloom, the door shuddered. He watched with wide orange eyes as the heavy iron doors swung slowly open with the crunch of metal and gears. But behind the door there was nothing but a sharp blue glow that matched the witch-light flames. It was an opaque portal, something similar to the portals that Aidalis had seen demons come from. But those gates had always been a deep sickening green or a harsh magenta. This portal seemed gentler - but the cold coming from it was unbearable. There seemed to be no other way, however. There was only the unknown ahead of them. Aidalis turned on one of his booted feet and padded up to Malack and Kieara. He pulled himself back into the saddle from the pommel. His heart was thumping in his chest. The verse seemed to confirm his fears. This was something that Ezekiel had left behind, when he had imprisoned Sahariel beneath the earth. She was the Queen of Fear ; all demons were products of human fear, they fed upon it, and she had birthed each and every one of them that had ever meant anything. He felt a sick feeling in his stomach, but he had to stay strong. For Kieara. He picked up one of the scraps of cloth that hung in tatters around his horse's reins, and used it to gently wipe at Kieara's face, wiping away the sick on her lips. He watched her carefully, with his orange eyes. The look was almost predatory ; but such things are common when your eyes were that of a predator. He shifted her gently in the saddle, folding her into his arms. Though he would not tell her the extent of what was happening ; she deserved at least some sort of assurance, before they headed into the blue-portal. Uncertainty clawed at him, but Aidalis did not know what else to do.

Aidalis cupped Kieara's head in his hands gently, the rough leather undersides of his gauntlets brushing against her soft cheeks. He gave her a small, tired smile. "This is a place that should have stayed buried beneath the earth." He said softly, "But I do not know how else to proceed. We must get you to safety ; and the only way I can think of is to go through." He stroked her hair away from her face and forehead, tucking the dark strands behind her ears. He pressed a kiss to the top of her forehead - the most chaste and pure of kisses - his rough and scarred lips like leather against her head. He leaned back, bringing his hands down to clasp at her shoulders, holding her in the saddle securely. "You must think of your home, my lady. If we think of our Gods - we will be safe in this place. I promise that I will not let anything befall you." He meant it. There would be no harm done to her, not while he drew breath. He had not feared drawing blood in this place - Aidalis would have sworn the Vow of Flesh, and cut his palm for her. There were many scars on his hands, but there was a particularly deep one along the heartline of his palm where the flesh had been cut time and time again from many Vows that had been sworn, most of which had been fulfilled. He patted her shoulders gently. "But you must keep your thoughts to home."
 
Kieara coughed and convulsed as she finished emptying her belly. She heard a strange noise and made herself look up only to see a large door unwinding it seemed. Once it was finished and he had read the verse it opened.

The portal she saw chilled her to the bone. It was rather disturbing and unnerving. She hadnt seen anything like it before. And suddenly she began to shiver. She felt cold straight to the bone. Like the cold started in the core of her being and spread outward.

She shook and shivered as she watched Adalis come over and wipe her mouth. She didn't see malice or predatory looks in his eyes. She saw nothing but gentleness and will to protect her.

She leaned back into him again seeking the warmth he gave off and the comfort of his arms. She could feel he was scared. And she held the hands that was around her with her tiny ones. As weak as she was she felt the need to reassure him.

She felt with her purity and his belief in that that they would be fine. "I will keep my home on my mind. Do not fear Adalis I will deliever you."
 
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Her words provided some comfort to Aidalis. He dug his knees into his horse's sides; and Malack began to pad forward. Within the horse's gleaming black eyes there was the reflection of a blue circle - the cold portal that hung in the wall before them. The creature backed up instinctively, at the sight of the portal, and lifted its muzzled head to stare at it unknowingly. Aidalis did not have time for hesitations - he knew that the girl didn't either. It reminded him a little of the Blight - what the All-Sword had seen of it. The same sort of nausea, the same feverish tremors and shaky words. She had the same sickly paleness that the shepardess' parents had. He had visited them, after he had slaughtered the girl. He explained to the mother what had transpired, and the demon that she had been housing. The woman had thrown herself at him, and beat her fists against his armor. It had been pointless, though her knuckles by the end of it were bludgeoning black and bloody. He remembered the father, who was laying in a cot, with his blankets tucked up around his chin. He looked half dead already, quaking and trembling in his bed. A basin sat on his chest - filled with sick, that had the same tell-tale smell as Kieara's sick. He had not made a sound when he had heard that his whore of a daughter was dead, but Aidalis would swear that he had seen a single tear slip down his emaciated face. But he could have been wrong. All of Kieara's symptoms tied into the Blight, but her words were strong and he believed in her faith. How could he not believe than an angel would have faith? That gave him some small amount of strength as well. He took a deep breath, a deep gulp of air. It was the deep breath, before the plunge.

Aidalis murmured softly to himself. The murmur was a gentle little sing-song rhyme, a rhyme that was no true rhyme at all, but was a true hymnal. He had sung it in the choir, when he had first joined the church. He could only hope that the gods with a thousand faces would hear it. With this final hymnal dying on his lips, the All-Sword nudged his horse forward through the portal. As he did so, his hymnal remained, but only for a moment. The echo of his words survived after he and his company were gone, and the memory of his hymnal remained. "Through each perplexing care and strife, that marks the checkered path of life, my god’s guiding light I see, and know that they still leadeth me." The bold words fell flat though, after a moment, and all was still. This corridor dimmed. It's purpose was complete. They were gone.

There was a rush of air around them, and a wetness. It was like passing through a waterfall. No matter how much he held his breath, Aidalis felt as if he was swallowing the sickening sea-water and coughed and sputtered as what felt like a wave crashed over his face. All around him was the roar of what sounded like water ; the rumble of a great wave crashing against the waves like a storm against the standing stones of his native Igris. His eyes were forced shut, and his hands groped about blindly for Kieara. As he grasped for her, it felt like he was fighting through a heavy surf, his hands breaking through the tide to snatch at her, to draw him to her. He could feel her in his arms, though he could not see her. One hand rested on a soft curve of flesh, what must have been her narrow hip. He squeezed gently, and could find the bit of pelvis bone beneath the skin and flesh. The other hand was pressed against a harder surface, one that was rounded. He brought his hand down slowly, and he could feel smooth skin and the crush of fabric. Her arm, then. Aidalis held her close, and the rush of the waves subsided. There was suddenly no sound at all, an incredible stillness. The wet feeling was gone. He felt dry, dry and safe. He could feel Malack between his legs, and Kieara in his arms. Aidalis slowly opened his orange eyes.

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Before them was a hallway. The floor was made of cobblestones, all meticulously laid down. Fences on either side contained the hall-way, rather than walls - and Aidalis realized this was hardly a hall-way. It was more like a long bridge across a great chasm. One either side, he could see through the fine filigree fences that there was a steep drop that led towards caverns and stalegmites. Sconces along the fence-posts glowed with bright golden fire ; but the room felt too chill for the fires to be giving off any heat. Witchfires - like the ones that had flanked the portal. The center of the wall-way was marked with a cross-roads, with one path leading further on, down into a mist that Aidalis could not see through - while a path on both the left and right sides led to side passageways. These had the bas-relief facades that the All-Sword commonly associated with the way that the faces of rich family's crypts looked, but the carved arches seemed to serve as frames for illustrations of beautiful women ; all of which wore black robes adorned in feathers. They were all in very provocative poses; leaning, licking, robes in shreds. Aidalis noticed, with both disdain and something else - that warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, the hunger - that one such depiction showed a half-dressed girl sitting on the lap of a man who was dressed quite clearly as an All-Sword much like himself.


This center-crossroads was suspended from the cavern's ceiling by a golden wrought-cage - similar to a birdcage. But the sides of this cage were open, making this object much more like a gate than anything else, but the gate was flung wide. Adorning the ceiling-fixture, was a stylized angel, grasping her own wings - which looked far too sharp to be feathers. A swarm of small, white bats flew through the arch provided by the cage and went far further down the hall. Candles - suspended in thin air - floated around this fixture, shimmering with small golden-orange flames. It was beautiful, in its way, but there was a strange smell in the air. Aidalis' nostrils twitched. It was too sweet - like overly ripe fruit, just beginning to go to rot. It was a complex scent though - candied, so to speak. Like the aforementioned fruit had been covered in a layer of rich caramel like a child's treat. That sharp smell of burning sugar was mostly hidden beneath the sickly sweetness. Why should this ancient hall smell like this?
 
Kieara turned her head into Adalis' shoulder when they passed through. She felt an unearthly pressure on her body. She wanted to scream but didn't because much like him she felt wet and like they were swimming through a vast sea. She feared drowning.

She gripped his arms until it felt like they stopped moving. The wet was gone as was the pressure. Everything was very still. She didn't know if she wanted to open her eyes or not.

After a minute or so she forced her eyes open. She saw a vast bridge and cavern and many strange statues. She didn't understand the statues poses and postures being an innocent mind. Perhaps it was something she was not meant to know.

She started to shiver and shake again feeling yet another quake of cold air hit her. She stayed where she was in Adalis' arms for the warmth as she inspected the place.

As her eyes fell upon the golden cage a pang of fear struck her being. Something wasnt right. Something wasnt right at all. So she just did as Adalis asked her and kept heaven on her mind.
 
The bridge ahead of them stretched long across the cavern. They would have to continue forward, into some unknowable end. The All-Sword could not explain this chamber, nor could he explain the portal that had transported them here. Though temples of this age had more deviance and variety in their crypts and layouts, this hallway and chasm had an unexplained purpose. But, perhaps this was one of the sacred caves that Aidalis knew the pagan Gauls cherished so much that they built their good Gods fearing temples on top of them. This seemed to be the only logical explanation for this room's existence. He listened carefully, and he thought he could hear the faintest burbling of water beneath them. Likely, this cave had been hollowed out by an underground river once upon a time, and the river still existed deep beneath them. He glanced up at the ceiling, tilting his head up. The roof of this structure was encrusted with rocky protrusions and stalagmites - Aidalis thought he even caught the red eyes of another albino bat. This furthered his theory that this place had once been a cave. This space however, could only have been contstructed through magic. Aidalis watched the cobblestones for a moment, his orange eyes scanning the surface. He'd heard that the Enemy had lined their fortresses with false floors that would cause brave souls who tried to face them to fall through to their deaths. Aidalis did not intend to be one such person. But his eyes saw no faults - the cobblestones were polished white stones, interlocking with grey ones. The surface seemed solid enough - enough that he felt that they could walk without fear. He nudged his horse in the sides with his heels and Malack lurched forward. The horse was more cautious than the master, and his long black ears were turned towards the open cavern, as if hoping to hear something that would guide the creature forward.

Aidalis shifted Kieara gently in his arms as they progressed forward. This place would take its toll on her. He knew that. He gently stroked her hair, rhythmically evening out her curls with his plated fingers. His hands idly began to braid her hair strands - but his hands were trembling and shaky, and thus, were not quite able to made the braids coherent. The intention remained, however, in his actions. It comforted him. He remembered, distantly, a woman braiding his hair when he was just a child. She must have been one of the All-Sisters in the church at Igris. She had taught him how to gather his hair into a long, loose braid just like the older Igrisian men. There was a legend in Igris that the longer a man's hair was, the stronger a warrior he was. In the pagan days of Igris, he had heard that when they were defeated in combat, they had cut their hair as a mark of their shame, and then their defeater wove their cut braid into their own hair. He had heard that David - the ancesteral warrior-poet of legend - had hair of many colours and consistency - many of the strands of it came from the chieftains of the clans that had existed in Igris, before they were all united under the Church of All. All Igrisian boys were taught how to braid their hair. It was a tradition - and both Aidalis and All Sword Saul were true men of Igris. They knew how to braid, even if they had cut their hair, many times before. And so, to calm his nerves and remember home, he braided her hair.

Malack's hooves clicked along the bridge as Aidalis and Kieara pressed on. They began to reach the midsection of the bridge, where the passageway was. Aidalis kept sniffing the air because of this - whichever passage way smelled less sickeningly sweet, whichever one smelled more natural - that would be the way to go. Natural smells would be the thing that would guide them - and like the beast that he was, All-Sword Saul was relying on his nose. But then -- there was something in the air, something beyond the sticky, sweet smell that hung in the air, the smell of over-ripe fruit. There was the scent of sheep and goats - a pleasant aroma of fresh cut grass. That was surprising - Aidalis thought. Those smells should not be here, not in this place. But this had to be a good thing - those were the smells of the farmyards at home, home in Igris. How could anything that smelled like home be wrong? As they approached the cage, the fog cleared. In the center of landing was an imprinted seal, worked into the stone; lined with what looked to be gold that had been melted into the crevice. Something joined the pleasant smell - a sound that was soothing to the ears. It was music that hung in the air and echoed through these cavernous halls. The sound of a young girl's voice, singing sweetly. But Aidalis could not make out the words.

The source of the singing was a maid, who stood at the crossroads. Her gown was in tatters around her legs - but this effect was not an ill one. It allowed Aidalis to see more of her long, smooth slender legs. Her hips were wide and womanly, held pinched it by a too-tight, too-short skirt. Her dress was cut low around her neck, and a corset that hugged her slender waist - accentuating the ample breasts spilling out from the soft linen shirt. Her hair was long and blonde, and trailed around her shoulders - her eyes were large and bright in her face, but heavily lidded with long curling eyelashes that framed her eyes coquettishly. At the approach of man, beast, and angel - she smiled brightly. Her teeth were perfect and her soft pink lips were soft and inviting looking. Aidalis assessed her quickly, feeling a warmth stirring within him as he saw her, the same stirring that he felt around Kieara. That predatory, animal instinct that he knew belonged to Malconia. The girl sashayed up to him on the horse, her hips saying as she passed. She leaned down to bow before the horse, causing her chest to bounce and quiver from the forces of gravity. Her breasts were pale and freckled - Aidalis had longed for breasts like these. She said softly, "My lord All-Sword." Her voice was a deep woman's voice, but sultry and soft. She curtseyed, and lifted her dress a little bit higher - Aidalis could see her upper thighs - soft, supple. And she sang once more, and now the words were audible.:

"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
Saying: Take me in your arms, my love,
And blow the candle out."
 
Kieara did not like what was happening. Everything about this place just screamed problems. This was going to be nothing but trouble, and they needed a way out and fast. The longer she dwelled in here, the sicker she felt. She felt like she could vomit yet again, but there was nothing in her stomach for there to be anything to come out. Her skin grew ever paler.

She looked down as far as she could into the cavern only to see a bottomless seeming pit. HAd her eyes worked for her, she'd have seen the stalagmites in the bottom, but her vision was too weak and did not prove worthy. She looked back ahead seeing the nearing crossroads approaching. She knew there would be a choice to be made here.

As they came upon a woman, Kieara's eyes turned into a harsh stare that might've resembled daggers and her voice became coated in malice and venom. Things that people might think that an angel would not feel. "We have no time for you, be on your way." She snapped harshly at the blonde. Her feathers bristled much like an angry birds would. she did not feel good and did not get a good feeling for anything here much less this woman who certainly was not suited for anything more than being a tavern maiden who did nothing but lay with the various men she crossed.

The halo on his wrist glowed a bright golden and burned his skin with a searing that was beyond any other. A reminder to keep his mind pure and free of those thoughts, and until they calmed, the burning would not cease.
 
Aidalis wanted to watch this girl forever. There was something in her motions that not even Kieara had - the sort of self-assured shamelessness that could not be taught. He watched her thighs, her breasts, her eyes - and would gladly have done so forever. But there was a sharp pain, a broiling sensation. It was affecting him. He felt pain. Aidalis tore his eyes away from this succulent girl, snatching a glance down at his arm, feeling the searing, burning pain around his wrist. It made his skin sizzle. He could feel blisters forming beneath the skin, hot red blisters. He could feel the peeling of flesh off from his arms, the flakes of dried white skin that flaked off from his flesh. He had never had a sunburn, of course - he had never seen the sun. The only think that Aidalis could compare this to was the point in his life where the tips of his fingers were burned away. He remembered that day. The pain reminded him - distracting him from the pretty blonde girl with her soft curves and warm skin. The girl who was so beautiful - and before Kieara, was everything he had ever dreamed of bedding. Instead of thinking of this beautiful woman before him, Aidalis's eyes and mind had gone to pain - and the pain that had been inflicted upon his hands. He recalled a small dark room.

In his memory, a man in the distinctive peaked and cowled red-robes that all in the Church wore stood before him. He could not see his face - there was only a mask instead. The mask was black ironwood, but had been painted with white ; making it resemble a skull. That mask marked him out as a Pain Taster. Most Pain Tasters simply sold their trade on the streets of Tir Caredyr - they had a talent for inflicting utter unbearable pain upon a person, but a pain that was not lethal, and holy above all things. It was the pain of the Gods Who Are Many that the Pain Tasters gave, and a pain that would render even the most twisted of individuals pure. Though most saw the Pain-Taster's as nothing but leeches trying to make a profit from the church - they were an integral part of the church's structure and always filled the coffers. Aidalis had come to the small room because he had finally been appointed to the position that he had been born to fill - to bear the title of All-Sword Saul. All-Sword Jeremiah had warned him of what was to come. He had said in his heavily accented voice that his identity - whatever was left of it - had to be burned away, so that he was a perfect representation of the one who had come before. Aidalis knew what was going to happen in that small room, and thus, felt no fear when the Pain Taster had brought forth the Brand of the Gods - a special, polished iron rod that was smooth on all its cylindrical sides. He knew that this would be the implement that finally wiped who he was , who he was before Saul, away for good. In the small, dark room there had been a forge, and in that forge the Brand of the Gods was set - its bulbous tip to begin glowing red-hot. All-Sword Saul sat straight in a chair and watched the Pain Taster - and listened to the words that were spoken to him. The Pain Taster's name was Lír. He came from the coast of Perth. He had been selected to be a Pain Taster when he was seventeen - and he now had thirty summers to add to that number. Thus, he had some advice for the much younger All-Sword Saul who now sat with him - in a room where he had performed this rite only once more. If Aidalis could not suffer this gracefully - he would never be a real All-Sword. He may have the title, but he would never truly be an All-Sword. The Pain-Tasters would now. And they would tell the world that the All-Sword Saul was no real All-Sword - that he had cried out when the Brand was pressed against his hands. Aidalis had managed a scoff - before the Brand was pressed to his fingers. He did not scream - he did not cry. He sang. He sang out the Hymnal to the Gods - the ones that all, common and noble, say in the temple. And the Pain-Taster had laughed.

Aidalis was lost in his thoughts, staring dumbly down at the band that encircled his wrist. He was lost , for a time, int he flux of memories. All-Swor's suffered from such afflictions - for remembering too much and not being able to process everything that they were given. While he was lost in his recollections, the buxom maid turned her demure gaze upon Kieara. Slowly, the woman began to change. Soft breasts were discarded for iron armor - her long blond hair turned a ruddy red-brown and gathered in a long braid that rested in the center of her back. But she was not precisely a 'she' anymore - her shoulders had broadened, her hips had narrowed. As she stepped forward, toward Kieara - she seemed to grow a head in height. Two heads, then. The small, sloped nose changed for a harsh, straight one, and a pleasant heart shaped face turned angular and stony. Cheekbones were enlarged - and eyelashes fell away to reveal glowing orange eyes. Suddenly - a perfect replica of Aidalis stood before the small band, and his eyes were locked with Kieara. The same small-scarred smile hung on his face, the same smile that Aidalis had whenever he looked at Kieara. Even around his wrist there was the same golden, glowing band. He was the same Aidalis - but there was something different about him. His clothes were sharper, his armor better kept. His cloak was not ragged about his shoulders - but instead was a glorious velvet red that billowed all about his person. These were striking differences, yes, but not the most striking; the man walked with eyes directly meeting her own. The true Aidalis so rarely looked her straight in the eyes - but this one did. He watched her. And having seen something he liked, this false Aidalis' smile enlarged - tugging up the scars on his face just as Aidalis' own face did.

He bowed his head to her - the False Aidalis - but lifted it readily once again, orange eyes blazing with passion and strength. His smiling mouth moved to speak words - words that sounded like Aidalis' voice. It had the same blank, Tir Caredyr accent that was so carefully designed to mask the Igrisian - it had the same softness and smoothness. "I could love you - you know." He gestured with one armored hand to the true Aidalis - still deeply locked within the memories of a long ago time. "He never could. He's too dutiful - too honourbound. He'll just give you to the All-Voice - that fat bastard - and abandon you." The man took a step forward, and offered Kieara a hand, as if to help her off the horse, "And then I suspect the All-Voice will rape you - to bring the Slánaitheoir about." The man's words were still oddly warm and soft - despite the sickening subject matter that the False Aidalis was describing. "That's all he really wants, you know. It was never about you." The man snuck up another hand to touch her knee - and his smile suddenly turned wolfish, showing sharpened teeth behind his scarred lips. These teeth were similar to Aidalis' own - but brighter, seeming to be serrated on the edges. He squeezed her knee. "And if he touched you like this - it was because he wanted to see if an angel would be a good fuck. But I would never do that." And in his words - the truth seemed to shine. His orange eyes were firey - but open and earnest, and small sympathetic smile had replaced the wolfish grin. "I would love you - long and true."
 
Kieara had not liked the way that Adalis had looked at her. She wasn't sure why, but it ate at her and burned in the pit of her stomach when he did. It made her feel anger. Something that she hadn't experienced. And frustration. But at the same time it made her feel alone and insignificant. Sad and lonely. Like she was no longer special or meaningful. Like she wasn't good enough And it hurt. It stung like a thousand whips had pierced her flesh. What was this emotion- these emotions, that she was feeling?

As his attention was drained from the woman and poured into a memory, the burning sensation abruptly stopped. The metal was white hotter than the hottest flame had ever been. It cooled in an instant though, and touched the seared skin healing it without a single scar. It was a warning. However, when he longed and lusted after Kieara, the metal never warmed. It was a strange occurrence.

She watched in horror as the lady turned to a he. She gripped at the real Adalis' arm and hand holding it. If she hadn't watched the transformation take place, she might have listened to the sickeningly sweet words that were spoken to her. She didn't like this...this thing....Whatever it was. And as it touched her, she had had enough of it. She hauled off and kicked it square in the chest with as much strength as the little woman could muster in her current state and could only hope in her mind for her own satisfaction that she'd sent it over the edge of the bridge to a pain filled death at the bottom. She'd braced herself with Adalis, she didn't want to fall off.

Once she'd regained balance she kicked the horse in the side like she'd seen adalis do to get it to go, but probably a bit harder than she'd meant to. She wanted out of here, she wanted to leave, she wanted light, not a dark cavern where strange things appeared to do god knows what to the people who passed through. She was scared and in a panic.

Whether or not the horse rocketed off with them, she turned her head to speak to Adalis. She looked fearful and scared. "Adalis.....is that really going to happen to me at the city?" She asked fearfully.
 
The false Aidalis was thrown back by the kick - as if though the girl was small and the kick was not very strong the kick had been dealt by a giant. The thing hissed, and clutched at it's chest. It's orange eyes glowed hot and fierce in its face. The lips pulled back from it's mouth, and it revealed white-canine teeth set in black gums. A tongue rolled out, a long pointed tongue that looked similar to a dog's or lizard's - or some cross between the two. The False-Aidalis' face elongated, creating the illusion of a wolf's snout and mouth. From the metal gloves of its gauntlet's bursted long white talons that looked as sharp as knives. It roared, now - and while its voice was still distinctly Aidalis' voice, it had a bestial quality to it, the sound of what would happen if Aidalis was a beast, rather than a man. "Whore!" It growled, the word spat out like a curse - for that's exactly what it was. The False-Aidalis' eyes seemed to sparkle with embers - flames leaping out around them. It gathered itself to stand once more, and what was left of its armor clattered to the ground before disappearing. There was no a large, wolven form of Aidalis before her, claws like knives, teeth like swords. It continued to curse her, "Slut! Your womb is the only thing he wants! I'll see to it that your--"

Malack reared as he was kicked - not used to being kicked so roughly - letting out a long whinny. He then, raced down the bridge, his hooves clattering against the ground drowning out whatever the False-Aidalis was saying. But Aidalis' iron grip kept Kieara on his back, even though the All-Sword was no longer conscious of the fact that he was holding onto her. He was still lost within himself. It was said amongst the common folk that All-Sword's carried with them, all the memories of the ones that came before them. It wasn't true, of course, but All-Swords cultivated the illusion by memorizing everything that they could from the previous lives of the All-Swords who had born their name before them. They memorized herbalism to aid them in their long trips for the Cleansing - they learned every language spoken in Donegal, regional and dead languages alike. Every All-Sword had to know every town in their respective region, and know the name of the leader of each county. They had to learn the personal motto's of each Governor. It was expected of all of them, and if they did not learn, they could not be All-Swords. But sometimes that information was overwhelming. Aidalis had to process the information coursing through him the memory. Though the pain had ceased - the memory of pain remained, and with that memory of pain came other memories of pain, memories of other All-Sword Saul's who had felt the same sting of pain. He had learned them, and through learning them, Aidalis had felt them.

In Aidalis' memory, there were the standing stones alongside the coast of Igris. They were carved with rectangles that had interlocking spirals and circles in them - circles that Aidlais knew were eyes, meant to be watching the coast for demons that rose up from the sea. The rectangles with the interlocking spirals were representative of shields to keep Igris safe. He was overlocking the white, carved stones as a wave rose up and hit them. But it wasn't really him that was looking over the stones. It was All-Sword Cuán Saul. He knew this memory. All-Sword Cuán Saul had raised his hands up high, white hands that were clouded with pink scars identical to the ones that Aidalis bore, and consulted the grim book before him. It was a book bound in human skin, skin that had been collected from all the tribes in Dongal, during the pagan days. A girl writhed and moaned on the hill before him - a fair maid with an engorged stomach; pregnant. She was painted with various knots and spirals, painted in goat's blood, salt, and iron fillings. He knew this memory. All-Sword Cuán Saul had tried to bring about the Slánaitheoir about, during the crisis with Sahariel. He had abducted twelve women, one from each region, and spilled his seed inside of them. He raised them in secret, in the dungeons of the temple of St. Saul in Igris - and fed them only the finest food and laid with each one every night, invoking Nathaniel's name each and every time. He believed that one of these twelve women would be the mother of the Slánaitheoir, and that only his seed would bring the Saviour about. When each of them were in labour - he separated them from the midwives, and tried to perform a ritual to force the child out from their mother. In Aidalis' memory - this was the Igrisian woman. She had red hair that was plastered to her forehead, pale skin and deep hollows beneath her eyes. When she gave birth, her breasts weeped blood, and her womb spilt out a sticky black and red mess ; with sharp white bones that had clawed her to bits on the inside. And then, she was dead. All-Sword Cuán Saul swore violently, and in a last act of dramatics - hurled the Book of Flesh into the sea, renouncing his dark deeds forever, praying to the Gods of All for forgiveness.

Malack rushed long and hard down the hallway. The walls were painted with frescos - some distinct, some a blur as they rushed by. These paintings seemed to depicting a story cycle. In one, a beautiful little girl - appearing a few years younger than Kieara - with dark hair and eyes - laid in a bed of feathers and roses. The next one in the cycle that was visible amidst the blur of colours and patterns was a depiction of the girl wearing a long white dress, wings streaming out from her back - while a dark figure bowed to her and kissed her hand. The colour of the roses was in her cheeks. In another, the girl was stretched to her breaking point - with a six men crowded around her - one dark figure between her open legs. She was screaming and crying in the depiction. Malack came to a rest, sides heaving infront of a painted depiction of a woman - tall and fair. Her skin was the colour of freshly fallen snow, her hair was black as night, and her lips were as red as blood. Her gown was fine, and the paints depicted it to have careful embroidery of leaves and flowers. Her figure was full and womanly, and from her back came long, blades - splayed to look like wings. She was pregnant, and clutched at her engorged stomach in the way that all new mothers do. Behind her, stood a man wearing bright white robes, with similarly coloured tendrils coming from his back, wrapping around the woman's breasts and stomach. He hands were on-top of hers - but they were not proper hands, they were encased in armor. He had no face - there was only a dark space, the shadow from his cowl. The painted depiction showed no girl, and no dark figures - no roses. Just a scene of what might be called a family.

It was at this fresco, that Kieara's words reached Aidalis. The All-Sword shook his head, recollecting himself. His memories fled him, and he realized where he was. Kieara was asking him something. He shifted slightly on the saddle, and glanced down at Kieara's face - scared and trembling. Aidalis briefly glanced over his shoulder - to see if the subject of his temptation, the woman was behind them. She was gone. There was nothing behind them save for a gauzy white smoke. Aidalis glanced back. There was still a long hallway infront of him - but the extent of it was covered in the fog. He sniffed the air. The sickly sweetness had returned, the rotten fruit stench. There was something else as well - the smell of iron and salt. Goat's blood. It was faint though - only a nose like Aidalis' would be able to pick it up. Why? Why was that here? Could it be that his memory had bled into reality - Gods he hoped not. But what else could explain the ancient method of protecting against evil being her? Unless of course - they were near the place where Sahariel herself was bound. If that was the case, the maid he had saw was no doubt one of her creatures. That song she had sung... Aidalis had known that song. That was the song that shepherdess girl had sung to him, before he had cut her down for heresy. Heresy. That was all that dwelt in this place. He must take care to remember that.

Aidalis adjusted his hands on Kieara - holding her by the midsection. She had asked him a question - and he was not sure what it was about. He could only imagine it was some sick lie that agent of heresy had told her. Something foul and perverse. Though he did not know what exactly had been said, he felt confident in shaking his head firmly - red braid wiggling as he did. "No, my lady." He said, softly, his voice low in his throat. He nudged Malack in the sides, and the horse continued forward. A slower pace; they would need to pace themselves, to make sure that they could get to the border of Perth within the day. "I won't let anything bad happen to you." He assured her, giving the angel a small, tired smile.
 
She screamed as the horse reared with them and gripped a tighter hold on Adalis. She feared that she was going to be thrown off and left to be devoured by the foul creature that had tried to seduce the both of them. She didn't know if she could handle that thought. So she pushed it from her mind as the horse thundered off down the long stretch of bridge.

Kieara was scared, and that back there made her doubt Adalis' ability to protect her. "adalis, you'll protect me right? you won't do that again....right?" she asked almost as if trying to convince herself. She had put all her confidence in him, and his little stunt back there with the demon had given her doubt. She still trusted Adaalis, but fear was making her unsure of his abilities.

She felt more sick now. Her eyes grew dim and dull, and the skin beneath her eyes grew as black as pitch. Her skin turned icy cold and she began to shiver once more this time out of feeling cold instead of fear. She could smell the weird scents too. But she didn't know what they were to identify them. None of which she found to be a pleasant odor.

She whimpered tears staining her cheeks. "I want out of here Adalis, I want to leave this place..." She spoke.
 
Aidalis was unaware of what Kieara was talking about, for the most part. He had remembered looking at a beautiful girl, and he remembered the pain around his wrist. Now, he had been jerked awake from his delirium, and knew not what she spoke of. Something had happened with the girl - that much was evident. Perhaps she had turned into a monster. Sahariel's demons often appeared as beautiful women, he knew that, or as beautiful men. Was it possible that he had been led astray by one of them? It seemed plausible. He was a man after all - and men were easily corrupted by demons. They had no natural resistances to protect them from the evils of the world, and they could only rely upon their strength of character and faith that they would survive through the corrupting influence of demons. But Aidalis was an All-Sword. They were the ones with the greatest strength against demons, the ones who could actually do something to combat agains them. Common people were swayed to the sides of the enemy within a moment - they needed All-Swords to protect them. But if he was understanding Kieara correctly, he had done something vile, and he had been under the charm of the pretty young maid from Igris - a pretty young maid who he had slaughtered, who now filled one of the satchels of his saddlebags, whose blood filled one of the bottles along the horse's side. Aidalis shook his head. That could not happen again.

He adjusted his grip on Kieara, feeling her go cold in his arms, glancing down at her eyes. They were dark, and clouded. This place was having an ill effect upon her. He could not let that happen. He needed to get her out of here - she was the only hope that this world had, the only hope in hundreds of years. Aidalis needed the Slánaitheoir - and more importantly, Donegal needed a saviour. Had his flash of memory been trying to tell him something? All-Sword Cuán Saul had tried to bring the Slánaitheoir into the world too soon. He had tried to breed the saviour himself in the womb of mortal women. His intentions had been honourable, but those women had husbands, and those women were not angels. They could not birth a saviour. All-Sword Cuán Saul had repented for his crimes, and a Pain-Taster had burned off not only his fingertips, but for his crime had burned off his manhood ; an ultimate act to show total shame for what had been done. Aidalis could recall that pain perfectly - though he had never suffered that pain. But that, he doubted, was the point of the story. There was something in All-Sword Cuán Saul's story for Aidalis. He must not try to bring the saviour into the world himself. He needed to deliver her to Tir Caredyr - there would be a council meeting of all the Twelve to determine what should be done with her. This was a situation that would need to be handled delicately - there could not be another Sahariel. The world had enough demons in it, they did not need another womb to spill out from. He reached out to stroke her hair. "We''ll leave soon." he assured her. She felt so cold to him - he could feel it even through his gauntlets. "We just have to find our way out."

Malack continued to walk down the hall, and as he did the fog began to clear. The hall was long and wide, and the frescos eventually ended. The walls were nothing but blank, polished stone cave walls, tempered with grinder and water. The cobblestones on the ground seemed less gleaming beneath their feet, more like true stone rather than tiles or mosaic'd rock. The cave was turning natural again; there were no golden accents, no delicately carved facades. The runic words that had been carved along the rocky outcropping faded completely. The small band's journey, which had previously been a straight line shifted as the floor sloped beneath them, and the path took many twists and turns. The rocks were rough granite, and Aidlais could see little snatches of crystal cropping up from amongst the rocks. They were going down, down into the depths. The farther down they went, the larger the crystals became, until they were tall spires of condensed, crystalline rock. Aidalis could only hope that his thoughts were confirmed, and that this path led to a cave system that interlocked beneath ground. The Dark Road was what the Gaulish called the old roads beneath the earth. The pagan Gauls believed that such paths had been carved by Ciarán to serve as a palace for his lady-love and wife Mara. The Gaulmen had scattered the ashes of their burned dead in these caves many times - in order to hasten a spirit's journey to their gods. The scent in the air was stronger - the thick smell of blood and iron, the sting of salt in Aidalis' nose.

As they went on, though, the cave started to become lighter. he could see the mouth of the cave - it was bright white light, though. That was not the light of Perth. That was the light of a snowstorm, the sort of snowstorm that had led Aidalis and Kieara here to begin with. The smell was becoming overpowering, but it wasn't exactly unpleasant. To Aidalis' nose, in fact, it was almost comforting. He could hear a sound in the stillness, buried under the clinking of his horse's hooves. It was a crying sound. The sound of a man, crying. There were other sounds too. A wet, slapping sound, the sound of flesh hitting stone - and a rebuttal to the crying, only for the crying to get louder. Definitely a man crying - a full grown man, and the voice was cracked with age. The sound echoed through the cavern. Aidalis glanced down at Kieara, and murmured softly, "You must be my guidance in this. But I cannot leave somebody in this place." He stroked her hair. "I will not be led astray."

Crystal_Cave_2_by_firedudewraith.jpg
 
Kieara got weaker the further in they went. She looked up weakly at Adalis. Her body was now limp in his arms, but her eyes were open. She was conscious. Just too weak to move her limbs. She tried to speak. "A-adalis..." Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. "I-I don't k-know if I can m-make it that long..." She whispered to him. In her current state she wouldn't last in the caves much longer. And she hadn't felt this way before, she feared she wouldn't make it out.

She watched the crystals pass and saw them sparkle. It seemed to capture her attention for a moment. She thought they were rather pretty, but she didn't know what they were made of or if they were something harmful or not. So she didn't comment out loud about them. Who knows, for all she knew they were things of horrible demon magic.

As the cave drew on she lay her head against him trying to seek some comfort. This place had to be the closest thing she'd felt to hell.
 
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The cave mouth opened up ; but instead of more natural cave, albeit illuminated by snow - there was a room. A circular room that was suspended by carved columns that rose up from what seemed like a bottomless ravine. The floor was no longer filled with crystalline rock, but instead of marble tiles that were cut in such a way to make a perfect circle upon the ground. The room bore carved facades of angels - all female, all lovingly wrought with a sculptor's chisel. Each of their faces was round and welcoming, but they had slight differences between them, the different slopes of their noses, the different bends of their lips ; but each and every one of these female angels were lovely in their own, unique way. They all wore dresses of an older style - the sheer lines of wool dresses that could be seen across the ancient statues erected in the years prior to the scourging of the sky, and their hair was long and unbraided. Not Gaulish, then, these women. Nothing about them really seemed to be part of the world that their temple was erected in.The style was classical Lodainic, not Gaulish. Lodainic statues - a realm far to the north, for those here in Gaul. More importantly, Lodain was the county that Ezekiel came from, further cementing the belief that Aidlais had that this was the place where the All-Sword had come to bury the Heresiarch.In the center of the room, there was a concentric circle of white Lodainic-style columns rendered in what appeared to be stained white ironwood, to Aidalis' discerning eyes. A nest of finely spun gold served as the roof for this concentric shrine. Light shone down from the ceiling of the cave; light that had the same bright white consistency of the fog and smoke that had guided him here. In the center of the shine was a large lapis-lazuli gem that had been cut to form a seal upon the ground - spun gold strapped it to the ground. It clearly had carvings on it - but from this distance, Aidlais could not see what it was.

But he could see something else - black silhouette that was hunched over in the center of the shrine. He did a quick sniff of the air, nostrils flexing as he took it all in. The smell of blood was overpowering, the smell of iron fillings and salt seemed secondary. Something had happened here - blood had been spilled. It seemed to be coming from the silhouette within the circle - whatever it was, it really was perfectly placed in the middle. Aidlais glanced down at Kieara, and ran a hand through her ringlets. "Stay here." He said softly to her - but where was she going to go? She was getting sicker and sicker. He knew that there were no exits from this room, and that perhaps it was pointless to see what was here - but curiosity nagged at him. They must need to leave through a side path, but this room drew him in, like a magnetic pull. He slid off of his horse, and then, watched Kieara sway in the saddle. She would fall, without him there to hold her - she had become too weak. He reached up an arm, and pulled her into his arms - cradling her like she was a child. He brushed a hand down her wings, smoothing her feathers. They seemed duller to him now, not glowing as much as they used to, as much as he knew that they should. Aidalis bit down on his scarred lips, orange eyes narrowing behind his blank, but pulled up, mask. He would need to get her safely to Perth - there, somebody could care for her. He didn't know why she was sick. It had to be this place. There was nothing else that it could be. But he had to know.

Clutching Kieara in his arms, he approached the shrine. The seal on the floor -Aidalis was able to read the runes, now, the ones that surrounded the huge blue gem. Such a stone must have been produced from the mines in the fair north, on Eirren Isle. That was where most gemstones came from, particularly more exotic ones like this. The blue lapis-lazuli with the golden flickers seemed to glow gently in the light of the cave. Aidalis briefly glanced up, towards the white light streaming through the ceiling. He realized that there was no hole in the roof, but instead - a window pane made of clear glass with a stylized golden sun set in the leading. The sun must have been meant to shine through there, when the sun still hung in the sky. The All-Sword snapped his gaze back down to the lapis lazuli seal on the ground. It was framed in gold - and spun golden ropes criss-crossed across it, binding it to the floor. Words were carved alongside it - words in the same ancient language that Aidalis recalled seeing written along the cliffs and the door of the crypt. He craned his head to read the words, and murmured them softly to himself as he did:

"Here I am, buried dark and deep
Here I am, forever to sleep
Here I am, imprisoned by Gaul
Here I am, enemy of the Church of All."

Aidalis's heart clenched as he read the words, and then, he glanced up - up towards the dark silhouette he had seen. It was a corpse. A man's corpse - a corpse that had been here for a long while. It had been a man - pieces of a white beard still hung around his face, and his eye sockets stared blankly forward. Bits of hardened, leathered flesh clung to a yellowed, moldering scar. The corpse was dressed finely - he wore the distinctive red-robes of a man of the faith over what appeared to be heavy silver plate. Glinting from beneath his red cloak was the golden nine-pointed star that all members of the Church of All wore. In one skeletal arm that ended in a gauntleted hand, the corpse clutched at a longsword that had long since gone to rust. Th either hand dragged against the floor. The skeletal was slightly slumped, giving into age and gravity. He was sitting in a chair made of what appeared to be white-ironwood - just like the columns that stood around his body - and the chair was carved with intricate carvings of spirals and stylized suns, all interlocking. Gaulish symbols, he knew. On the floor beneath the corpse was a black stain upon the otherwise white and spotless floor. In-front of the corpses' chair, before the stain that seemed to be the source of the smell that Aidalis had detected earlier - there was a scrap of paper; yellowed and mouldering.

Aidalis padded over towards it, Kieara in his arms. He shifted her gently, as he bent down to glance at it. The words scrawled along the top, in what must have been a shaking hand, caught his attention; "Final Requests of All-Sword Caleb Ezekiel."Aidalis' orange eyes widened. So this was what had become of him. His bones were here - this man was practically a saint on earth, when he had lived, and now, his bones were here in this dark, evil places. He could not stand that - that was not a fate that any many deserved, and certainly not an All-Sword. All All-Swords were buried - if there were remains to bury - within the crypt in Tir Caredyr's grand temple - tombs that were specially carved and designed for each of them. Construction of the tomb began when they were appointed, and ended when they died. But All-Sword Caleb Ezekiel's grave had gone on There were other words too, written in a much smaller and spidery hand. Aidalis reached to pick it up, but as soon as he touched the edge of the page - it crumbled into nothing but dust. He coughed, and then, glanced at All-Sword Ezekiel's corpse. The eye sockets seemed to be staring at him, judging him.

"I can't leave him here." he breathed out the words, one hand clutching at Kieara's hair for comfort. "I'm going to set you back on the horse - to collect his bones. This man -- he's a hero." Aidalis gave her a small, tired looking smile. "It'll only take a moment. I promise."
 
As they came to the room Kieara wanted to scream. She wanted to scream at him to stop. She wanted to tell him not to go in that she was afraid. To tell him that the danger here was too much. Alas her lips wouldn't work.

When he slipped off to satiate his curiosity she was soothed a little when instead of leaving her he picked her up. She knew she would've fell from the equestrian breed. She was too weak to hold herself up. This place was draining her.

She wanted to leave and couldn't understand why Adalis would want to spend another moment in this dreadful place. However he must have had a reason. Or else he wouldn't go to inspect things.

She couldn't figure out how they were going to escape either. This was a dead end it appeared with no other road to go to. At least not any she could see. If they turned and went back they would run into that wretched monster again....that's when she prayed Adalis would find another way out.

As he read the runes and moved to the man his reaction puzzled her. Why was this mans body down here? When he stated this man was a hero she understood. They were at her sisters tomb. And this man was the all sword who imprisoned her here.

When he said he was going to collect the remains to give them a proper burial she wondered where he would possibly carry the load. She didn't think she quite wanted to ride with a corpse pressed up against her. That didn't sound appealing at all. However Adalis was right. This man deserved a burial. A proper one.

She was too weak to answer any of his words. Her voice had left her. So she let him do as he saw fit.
 
Aidalis padded back over to the horse, who seemed to be watching the room warily. Malack's ears were pressed down the back of his head. Aidalis situated the angel back on the creature's saddle, and pressed her small, pale hands down upon the pommel. He tucked the reins into her grip, the coarse leather rubbing against the underside of her palms. "Hold on." He advised her, tone patient and understanding. "It'll only be a moment." He clasped her shoulder for a moment, with one his large hands. He tried to still her shaking shoulders - but the effort was likely in vain. He released Kieara, and walked towards the front of his horse. Malack huffed at him, and gave out a low, crying whinny, ears flattening further on his head. The horse stamped its hooves on the floor to indicate his displeasure. Aidalis reached up one hand to give his horse a stroke through Malack's tangled mane, while the other hand idly stroked the creature's nose. He murmured once to the creature - an old language. Like him, his horse understood many languages - from the ancient Mother-Common that had been the norm in Donegal - and the Igrisian that had been his tongue, when he was a boy. Some thought that the languages of their home countries were beaten out of them - that they were men of Tir Caredry first. But such people spoke without wisdom, because every All-Sword learned the words of every language that they could, so that they could be children of the country, rather than simply county. But they had all come from counties, once, twelve All-Swords for Twelve counties. He murmured to his horse, the same words that had been said to him deep within his dreams.

"Ní mar a shíltear a bhítear." Aidalis whispered to his horse, repeating the phrase that had been spoken to him. He knew what it meant. In the original Igrisian, his mother tognue and the tongue of all the All-Swords that had come before him; it meant 'Not everything is what it seems.' It comforted him, in some way. All-Swords were taught not to see the world for what it appeared to be, but instead to see it for what it trying to hide. He pat his horse once more, and then, glanced up at Kieara, his orange eyes flickering behind his mask. The All-Sword patted his horse's nose, and then, returned to stand infront of the corpse before him - and he evaluated it as best as he could, with eyes unclouded by the illusions of this place. The skull had gone yellow with age - and Aidalis felt certain that he could see bits of moss and lichen beginning to form along the ridges of the cheekbones and the skull. Aidalis closed his eyes for a moment, and began to reconstruct what the man must have looked like in his head. All-Sword Caleb Ezekiel began to form in his head. A thin-faced man - he thought, judging by the ways that his cheekbones were situated - and he must have had deep hollows for eyes. Like most Lodainic men - he would have had dark hair, probably a deep, dark brown. His eyes would likely be green or blue, like most Donegal eyes, before the change came upon him - the change that every All-Sword felt amongst their nones and deep within themselves. The same change that Aidalis had felt, when he was first knighted in the temple of St. Rhamiel - just as All-Sword Caleb Ezekiel had been, he was certain. Like every All-Sword had ever been. He could see that his armor had been ornately worked - it bore carved designs of Gaulish motifs and symbols. Aidalis squinted at them from behind his mask, identifying them as representations of suns and wings . Such marking swere done with a delicate tool, and quite a bit of craftsmanship that had clearly fallen out of favour; he hadn't ever seen armor like this in modern Gaul.

Aidalis looked the corpse up and down. A human body could fit into one of the satchels alongside his horse, but this was no ordinary man ; this was the All-Sword Ezekiel. He could not simply dump his bones alongside the blood of heretics and whores - the mucus and organs of those who had been considered undesirable by the church. He could not keep his bones with them. His hand went to the empty bag at his hip, the one that had contained the mask that served as his face. It was big enough to stow away a human head. He got a thought. Deep within the crypts of St. Rhamiel's church, there was a reliquary, with bones of all the saints the original ones - who the Twelve got their names from. They had been cherished, these bones, even though some of them were in pieces, they were still treated with utter devotion and respect. That was the only thing he could think to do for All-Sword Ezekiel. So Aidalis reached out to grasp the smooth white skull that belonged to the greatest hero that Gaul had ever known - and he twisted the head off. It came away in his hands, easily, staining his armored gloves with centuries' old dirt. He then, tucked the severed skull into the satchel at his side, drawing the strings of the bag neatly. He turned on his heel, and walked back to Kieara, confident that the deed was done. He smiled up at her, and then, tugged himself into the horse's saddle. He pressed against her gently, and wrapped her arms around her mid-section. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, comfortingly. "We can go, now." He snapped his horse's reins, and began to turn his horse -- but something caught his eye.

The corpse - now headless - was smoking, blackened. It looked as if it had been cast into a fire and left to burn, like all the dead in Gaul. But smoke was still rising up from the bones, curling with grey tendrils of smoke that reached up into the tops of the columns that had surrounded it. The floor clattered against Malack's hooves, Aidalis could see that beneath their feat, the mosaic'd floor was trembling. The bits of stone that made it up were clicking as the cave trembled.There was a rumbling in the cave - a rumbling that echoed through the entire circular room. The carved angelic maidens began to crack, their carved, beautiful faces fell to pieces; chunks plummeted down into the waiting abyss. Aidalis stared at his surroundings, orange eyes glimmering in his face, watching, in horror as the headless corpse pulled itself to its feet. The bones twisted themselves into proper order and position, and the armor slowly fell to pieces in mouldering chunks - too decayed to truly function. Soft flesh began to pull itself over the bones, soft, white, woman-flesh. Wide-hipped, narrow-waisted, full-breasted ; but headless. She was naked, but soon, all bits of her modesty were covered in heavy, chitinous grey spikes - more like blades than anything else. A face began to form on her slender, pale neck; a soft, beautiful face, with thick red lips and dark-lashed eyes. They were very heavy lidded, her eyes - and shown with a sharp golden-orange light similar to Aidalis' own. But the remarkable thing was the gasp of pain she let out - as blade like wings forced themselves out from her back. Aidalis could see the spray of the blood as her wings - which appeared to be made of iron - forced themselves from her back. She let out such a cry, a cry of so much pain and so much pleasure at this hideous thing that was happening. A curtain of long, black hair draped around her shoulders, whirling around her head like tendrils - like it was prehensile. She gestured with a long, taloned hand, crowned in black nails. Her words drifted out from between her soft, plush lips like smoke. They were tinged with an unfathomable desire, a deep longing and wanting;

"I am gravely disappointed."
 
Kieara tried to hold herself on as she was placed upon the horse. She managed to find a balance and tried to keep herself there. Even though she could barely move at the moment.

The horse was obviously upset. She was too. She didn't like this place at all. She wanted to leave it. The horse seemed to share her opinion. Animals could sense things humans couldn't. He likely sensed something that her nor Adalis could see. It must've been something vile and unpleasant. It made her want to leave all the more.

She watched as he trekked over and seemed to contemplate how he was going to get the previous all sword Ezekiel back to where he should be laid to rest. Finally making a decision she watched him take the skull placing it in his bag.

She was thankful that now they could leave. As he pulled himself on behind her she felt more safe. Especially with someone who was stronger than her and could hold her onto the beast in her state.

She had seen it at the same time. The smoking corpse. And noticed the trembling of the cave. She watched in horror as the mutant skeleton reformed itself. She immediately let her eyes fall to his bag. What was the skull doing if the skeleton reformed?

As it finished and spoke her eyes fell back on the monstrous creature before them. Her pink lips parted wanting to scream. Wanting some small sound to come out to express her fear. But they only trembled silently.

Were they truly looking at Sahriel?
 
The woman looked at them. She took a step forward, away from the shrine. Her eyes skimmed over the lapi-lazuli gem in the floor, and she lifted one pale, elegant hand over it. She flexed her long, clawed fingertips atop the stone, and something happened to the jewel's glossy blue surface. The colour changed, first - darkening first, to a deep pitch black. But then the shade began to lighten once more, only for the hue to be different. It was now a deep, orangey red, the same colour as the robes that every member of the Church of All wore, at some point in their life. The woman tilted her head slightly to the side, causing a curtain of her dark hair to drape over her shoulder in a way that was highlighted the silken quality of her hair, and the generous curve of her breasts. As she tensed her outstretched hand, the stone began to melt, turning into a liquid that was thicker than water - but thinner than oil. Aidalis realized, in horror, that the perfect match for the consistency was blood. The stone-turned-blood began to curl around her arm, and drape around her still, mostly nude body. The blood congealed around the plates of her breasts first, and then, draped down to form skirts and chiffon - a dress in the style of a high lady of Tir Caredyr. Around her wings curled silken fabrics, similar to the tapestries that were draped across Caredyran battle-standards. But they bore no sigil, were merely, dark, translucent silks that drifted in the air, just like the woman herself. Her hands, however, remained stained with the thick blood that had been the gem. Aidalis privately wondered who that blood had belonged to - perhaps it had been All-Sword Ezekiel, who truly had given up every part of him, bones and blood, to protect the land of Gaul from this beautiful, strange creature.




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The woman drifted forward slightly - moving like a ghost on the air, a leaf on a breeze. She had a certain mount of dignity, as she floated towards, her a strange sort of grace in her movements. The All-Sword watched her, intently - unable to take his glowing golden eyes off her. As she approached, he could hear faint screaming coming from her, a soft crying and whimpering that perfectly mimic'd the sounds that he had heard when he had first come to this cave. Aidalis could not move, he realized. His feet had wanted to go to the horse's sides - but before them was a Prime Evil, the one who had fallen, and the fear that was coursing through him seemed to have paralyzed him. The All-Sword stared up at her, this woman - she was tall, taller than the demons they had seen in Gaul. She was fierce too, and the flicker of anger in his dark eyes made him want to grovel at her feet. Aidalis had done something to spark this woman's anger with him, and her voice evoked a deep sense of shame deep within him, down to the marrow. His orange eyes met herss. They were very dark, very deep, and beneath the anger, the All-Sword was certain that he could see a hint of sadness, a hurt that she had not been able to fully erase. He felt himself wanting to slide off of the horse and rush to her side, to comfort her, to reassure her. His hands began to move away from Kieara's midsection, resting his palms against the side of his horse - in the preparation of swinging himself off of the horse. He glanced down at his hands, feeling the gauntlets lock around the pommel, to brace him as he dismounted. But - no. He was an All-Sword. He could not leave Kieara - he could not join this new mistress, who had such a powerful grip on him.

She spoke, again. Her words carried with them a smooth sickness, the sort of sound that a woman begging for her life made. It was the sound of a woman who would do anything in order to be spared a cruel fate. Aidalis knew that voice well. He knew the sounds of pleading for life, while promising riches, slacking of morals, flesh and blood; "You are finally here. The wait for your arrival has been a long one." She turned her dark eyes to Aidalis. He wasn't sure how they managed to be golden like his own eyes - but also dark. It was as her eyes were made of honey, steeped in soot. She gestured with one of her long, blood stained fingers towards the girl. He realized, quickly - that the woman was not talking about him at all, even though her eyes never left his face. She was addressing Kieara. Aidalis snapped back into action, and clutched Kieara to him. She was threatening her, with her honeyed words and honey eyes. She was Sahariel. He knew this. Sahariel, the queen of the Damned, Sahariel, the Queen of Heretics, Sahariel, the Heresiarch. Aidalis began to realize that if they stayed here, they would not survive. She would drain them dry, just like what had happened to Ezekiel. His legs still felt locked though, but she was no longer able to control him in any way. He was an All-Sword. He was better than that. He tried to speak, then, speak the Gods' good Common, but instead of Common, all that came out was his mother tongue, Igrisian. It was as if she had robbed him of the capacity to speak it. He could still twist his tongue into the shape of the words of the common tongue, but he couldn't say the words. He stumbled out a phrase in Igrisian, which resembled nothing that he wanted to say: "Ní mar a shíltear a bhítear."

The woman smiled, her thick red lips twisting upwards. Aidalis was still paralyzed, and even though he could think, even though she was no longer desirable ; he still could not move. She drifted towards them, and leaned down towards Aidalis', watching him with her orange eyes. He smile flickered for a moment, turning into something stranger and sadder, a twist of sorrow on her face. She quickly withdrew, her tapestries flapping behind her. She withdrew, and hissed at the two of them. " Your coming was in vain. You will do naught but bring ill." She glanced up at the window of light in her prison, where white rays from the outside world streamed out, she leapt into the air, flying to make a perfect, dark silhouette, glancing down upon the invaders to her home. And she smiled. Aidalis knew why. Whatever magic had bound her here - she was free now. She could return to the Abyss, and her lover and her children. He wondered if she enjoyed being broodmare for all the vile creatures in the depths - within the deep dark. But for the time being, she was not killing them. Perhaps she was like a spider, and would weave a web to entrap them, to suck their juices, and then, they would die. Sahariel merely floated before the window - and then, flicked her hand. Behind them - there was a loud clatter and rumble. The crystals behind them collapsed, and huge boulders of granites tumbled from the cave's ceiling. Their only way out had caved in. They were trapped.
 
Kieara watched as the woman looked to the stone. The beautiful stone that must've been some sort of lock and key to trap her. She watched as the woman melted it into blood. The very stone that she had been partially held captive by was now tapestries draped on her body.

She couldn't move. Much like Adalis she found herself paralyzed with fear. She couldn't move. She couldn't scream. She could only stare on in horror as she trembled.

She gasped when Adalis gripped her to him. It seemed to snap her out of it. She didn't know what to say to the woman though. She gripped weakly at Adalis' arms with what strength she had. She knew he'd protect her....right?

She stared on as she drew near then left. She gasped again as the cave collapsed and fell in. She looked to Adalis fearfully hoping he could see the question in her eyes for her voice only came out as a soft squeak and nothing more. She wanted to know. How would they escape? What would sahriel do?

She felt responsible. She felt vile. She released the worst nightmare of mankind. All because she was down here. She knew that more demons would pour forth and she feared that she couldn't make it to bring about the savior child.
 
Sahariel watched with honey-dark eyes from her position near the top of the cave. She did not looked upon them with hatred or contempt, but instead wore a small smile on her face ; a smile that Aidalis recognized as predatory. He could only imagine that this was the expression that the spider had for the fly; moments before sucking out their fluids. Aidalis had no doubt that she would kill both of them - but like the spider, she might take the time to entrap them utterly, first. Dread was a toll that the Prime Evils used well. He studied her with cautious orange eyes, hand tightening slightly around Kieara's midsection ; his motor functions seemed to have been reduced to only the slightest of gestures. His eyes, however, remained firmly trained on Sahariel, and she seemed to be staring back with the same intent and interest. Not since the time of All-Sword Caleb Ezekiel had a Prime Evil walked the earth ; he had to learn everything that he could from watching this creature, in the vain hope that somehow his memories would outlive him. He found that he could not turn away from her, even if he would like to. It was not that he was charmed, not that he was ensured within this creature's web, but she had a presence about her, a strength of person. Sahariel carried herself in such a way that commanded attention ; her head was held high, and her shoulders were held back. She looked, he realized, like one of the Lodainic statues come to life, the same soft curves of statue-flesh and hard lines of carved stone clothing. Aidalis tilted his head slightly, to glance towards the cracked and mangled Lodainic statues. None of them bore heads, any longer, he realized with a start. Headless angels, just like the headless corpse of All-Sword Caleb Ezekiel - the same corpse that Sahariel had risen out of. His heart hammered hard in his chest; he could hear the echo of it in his chest. Aidalis' eyes rolled down to look down his nose at the side-pouch that held what he believed to be All-Sword Ezekiel's skull. He could not guess as to what had happened to the head in the bag, but he dared not look, not now, not with her watching him. Sahriel's eyes seemed to be firmly fixed upon Aidalis. In his mind, he could hear the ringing of swords against swords, the sound of screaming and crying ; a girl's voice. He could not explain these echoes. He did not know if he wanted to understand. He was an All-Sword. His duty was to fight monsters.

Sahariel floated upwards, her tapestries streaming behind her like ribbons on a breeze. The tapestries, draped on the blades of her wings, fluttered in the air, as if on an illusionary breeze. But the air was perfectly still. There was no breeze to speak of, only still air from hundreds of years ago. The same air that All-Sword Caleb Ezekiel must have breathed before he died. The thought of that disturbed Aidalis. She drifted to the top of the cavern, near the sun-emblazoned stained-glass window that crowned the roof, where the shafts of cold, white light came from. The light streamed through her semi-translucent tapestries; Aidalis realized that they must be made of silk of some kind ; spider-silk, spun elaborately. She reached out one of her clawed, bloodstained hands, as if to press her fingertips against the pane ; but when her fingertips came within an inch of the pane, she withdrew the hand violently. She let out a low hiss, from somewhere deep in her ivory throat. She whirled around, glancing down at the small band. Her expression was different - there was a small, weary smile twitching across her lips, instead of something predatory. A softening around her strong cheekbones, an alleviation of tension in her jaw. Like a cliff-diver, she dived towards the stone surface of the temple, and her feet only barely touched the ground - the tips of her bare-feet only barely touched the ground. Sahariel walked towards them, her tapestries dragging amongst the cracked and broken stones of the sanctum's floor.

As the Queen of Heresy approached them, Aidalis's nose twitched. There was a smell in the air, but it was not a foul smell, not like all the other true, real smells in this place. It was a soft, gentle smell, a delicate perfume that resembled both the flowers on a grape-vine and vanilla. It hung in the air, and grew stronger as she approached them, and Aidalis found that he recognized it. Winter's Maiden flower, the same small blue flowers the thad lit the way to this temple, gave off that smell ; the first flowers of early spring, in the northern reaches of the world. But the smell was out of place, just as the flowers were. How could such a horrible thing bring about a sweet scent like that? As she approached, the clinging of the metal of her wings beneath the tapestries heralding her arrival, Aidalis slipped his hand away from Kieara's midsection and made a move for his sword's hilt. Sahriel's honey-dark eyes flicked instantly to his hand, and she raised one of her own, bloodstained and clawed. The All-Sword's hand slipped back to clutching Kieara, through not effort of his own. The Prime Evil was his conductor, and he was the puppet ; he could not fight back, could only watch. But she did not instruct him to do anything else. He merely sat there, on his horse, arm around Kieara, while the Prime Evil stared at them.

Malack snuffled and whinnied high as she approached them, but she raised her hand once again, and the animal quieted. Sahariel was exceptionally tall, and when she glanced at them, she did not bow her head. Instead, she looked down her well-formed nose, her eyes slits of gold beneath the heavy lids. She seemed to be looking at both of them, but when she opened her mouth, Aidalis knew, somehow, that whatever she said would be said for him. Her words were soft, and confidential in tone despite the command and authority present within her voice. As she spoke, Aidalis thought he could hear screaming - the screaming of a girl-child facing death somewhere in the distance. But it was so indistinct, so faint - and her words were louder, clearer. "You have done me a service, All-Sword Saul." He did not know how she knew his name. He could feel a tension in his fingers. How much else did she know? Could she know what was contained within his saddle-bags, of the ritual of the Cleansing ; not yet complete? Not only were their lives in jeopardy, if she knew what precious cargo he contained, the world would be cast into darkness eternal. That, Aidalis knew.

Sahariel's smile faded, and she brought her outstretched hand back to her chest. She cupped with the palm of her hand both of her ample breasts ; fingertips meeting somewhere around the middle. She inclined her head very slightly, and closed her eyes. The hems of her tapestries burst into flames - and slowly, the flames moved up the lines of the silks, ash and embers flying off of them as they were entirely engulfed. Aidalis was thankful for his mask, which protected him from the bite of the embers. With one hand, he raised the edge of the blanket - surprised that he could - to shield Kieara from the nipping of the flames. The flames did not stop at the metal of Sahariel's wings, but instead began to heat the metal, making the tips of the bladed wings glow orange and yellow ; as hot as any sword in the forge. Flames swarmed the metal of her wings, and then, the flames stretched out, forming down and pinfeathers ; Sahariel bore huge, feathered wings, wreathed in flames. She peeled her hands away from her breasts and reached out her hands, eyes still closed - her hands curled, as if to grasp something that Aidalis and Kieara couldn't see. But then, within her grasping hands, formed a long handled-axe the same colour and consistency as her flames. The All-Sword squinted - through the fire, there seemed to be a physical axe, made of black iron and steel, sharpened to an edge sharper than any in the mortal realm. Her eyes snapped open ; golden and glowing, filled with power and new-energy. Her mouth corners twitched upwards into a smile.

The Prime Evil, axe in hands, drifted over to the empty socket where the lapis-lazuli gem had been. As she moved, she kicked up a storm of ashes and embers - which Aidalis recoiled from, trying to protect Kieara's face as he did so. Sahariel did not even notice the gesture, and instead swung her axe in a long arc - digging the head of it into the runic words written along the edge. The whole cavern rumbled like thunder when she did, echoing long and deep. The stone floor began to crack, a series of long jagged lines appearing in a radius around the head of her axe. The Lodainic, carved angels began to crumble, falling to pieces - down, down into the depths. The columns each cracked into numerous parts and collapsed with a clatter ; and huge granite boulders cracked away from the ceiling, plummeting all around the group like meteors. None of the collapsing temple's stones hit them - to Aidlais's surprise. The rocks seemed to flee from the group, opting instead to fall away into the depths. Light streamed through the half-fractured ceiling, white, unnatural light from the blizzard outside. But that light ended as Sahariel raised her axe up from the ground, and yelled a phrase that not even Aidalis understood. The window with the sun emblazoned on it shattered with the sound of chimes. The light went grey again - the natural light of Donegal. It was no longer opaque, and Aidalis could see the tree-cover of the Cloven woods, the tops of craggy outcroppings of rock. They must have been at the top of the temple, even though the road felt like they were going down ; this was not something that he could explain.

Sahariel glanced over her shoulder at them, golden eyes fixating on Aidalis' half-masked face. Her words were a sigh, a breath, more than focused language. "My freedom -- for your lives. The next time we meet - you will not be so fortunate." Her lips twitched, and she lifted into the air, her huge, fiery wings pounding powerfully to propel her upward, till she hung in the sky like a star. The temple was collapsing though, collapsing rapidly. Aidalis was not sure how he knew - but he knew that he could move freely now. He glanced around wildly, his heart hammering loudly in his chest. The cave behind them was still caved in - though that was changing rapidly. The whole cave seemed to be crumbling into the depths. Aidalis's eyes went instead to a pile of rubble and boulders from the ceiling. It was a pile large enough to make a bit of a bridge between the surface of the sanctum's floor and the crumbling edge of the temple, towards the outside world. Thinking of nothing but their chances of survival - Aidalis dug his heels into his horse's sides, and Malack reared - galloping forwards as the temple continued to rumble and shatter. The All-Sword kept a tight hold on Kieara's waist as they dashed through the rocks - bits of it crumbling down into the unknown deep in their wake. Malack struggled to stride over the rocks, but Aidalis' constant insisting of "Go!" seemed to encourage him, as did the tug on the reins. The horse jumped over one of the fallen, faceless angels, and out, out into one of the rocky outcroppings that overlooked the Cloven Woods. They were on the other side, finally - the side of the Old Road that led to Perth.

Aidalis did not even consider looking back, and spurred his horse onwards, furiously shouting "Go!" as he did. The horse was only too happy to obey, and they began to wildly gallop through the woods. The trees and petrified stumps were nothing but a green-blur, the evening sky making their darkened path guess-work at best. The All-Sword would not be happy until they were far - far away from this place, far from Sahariel. But her voice rang out, across the woods, as clear and sharp as a church bell - echoing through all the woods and trees. The words were said with a coldness that came from sorrow, a bitterness that came from experience, and a bite that came from hatred. It was only four words, but those four words seemed harsher and sadder than anything that Aidalis had ever heard. But the words were not for him, he knew. They were words for Kieara, not for him. He did not know how he knew. He just knew.


"He loves you not."
 
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