Ezra
04-24-08, 01:31 AM
Once upon a time, in a castle that hung from the sky, its towers reaching desperately for the barren desolation far beneath it, there lay a crow. This poor fowl rest, bound in all ways, in midst a circle of roses; Black of petal, and thorns dripping with the fresh red rubies of unwary victims. Gray wax ran over their stems, flowing free from the tall candles bordering the circle, set free by the grace of grim flame. Cold, silent and dead stone held the ritual aloft, surrounded on all sides by softly chattering silhouettes. No light graced the room except that of the dim pyre.
Vermillion eyes stared out from the blackness of the crow’s feathers, scared, frightened, but above all, intelligent and curious. Listening to the voices, it strained to pick up the topic at hand and discern what cruel event was being played out at its own expense. From the wide, dark paned windows it could hear the loud pelting of heavy rain bombarding the tower walls. The ambience from the raging storm drowned out all hope of discovering the truth behind the event.
From the only entrance into the room a whispering flute played a short melody. Though it was nigh impossible to hear, the audience present before the dais grew hushed instantly. Only the incessant beating of water against glass remained as music to address the arrival of the Lady.
Garbed cleanly in black from head to toe, her dark figure was perfect in every manner. Beautiful without compare, and carrying a gothic aura that would strike gloom and fear into a reaper of death. Lustrous folds of cloth weaved from the very darkness surrounding her chateau billowed behind her as she strode confident and powerfully into the chamber. A soft whimper escaped the crow’s beak, and it’s entire frame shrank upon itself, attempting to maybe hide in her glorious shadow and pass unnoticed.
Yet her focus lay on nothing else, except the beast that lay bare upon the altar. Without hesitation nor ceremony, the Lady approached and lay her hands bare over the candle flame. As if wishing to lick her palms in admiration, the fire roared higher, each becoming a blazing inferno. The Lady worked gracefully with her hands to persuade the flames into manageable threads, then sew them together into a dome of flame that encompassed the entirety of the ritual dais. Her cold white skin never touching the heat and passion of the fire, she finished her work and laid those dreadfully long and deadly fingers rest at her side.
“Do not think I doubt you, my grace, but do you find certainty in the concept of releasing him from this form?”
The one daring to pose the question was now standing at her side, a grand lord donning armor of the blacking onyx. Despite the obvious ability to strike fear into the hearts of many, he stood uncertain and on the edge of fear beside the unarmed and scarcely dressed Lady. It was as if he was but a child, fearful of a bite, while provoking a viper.
“I know of what I do.”
The knight knew there would be no further explanation, and returned to the mass of the crowd. His cruel eyes returned to the shifting orb of flame that bubbled before him. Many emotions played behind those cold orbs, but standing strong amongst them was the fear that this event would lead to his death. It was a certainty in his mind. All this was cleared from his mind as the Lady spoke, commanding her voice into the flame. It was a siren’s voice, that could lure in even the strongest of willed, and held behind it evil beyond comprehension.
“Ezra. You are released. And now, banished. Return not, until you will ask forgiveness for your deeds.”
Fire parted as if a great wind blasted into its midst, extinguishing all the candles in an instant. Silence drowned out the darkness, and the few seconds that it lasted felt to most in the room akin to years. Except the Lady, for her heart felt nothing except the calculations of a vicious mind. A soft word of a language long forgotten by mortals was whispered, and the candles relit themselves with soft blue flame.
Lying where once there was a bound bird was a boy of incredible beauty. Barely conscious, he began to move, his great black wings stretching out above and around him, to the audience’s voiced displeasure. Those seeking, dark vermillion eyes scanned the audience then laid to rest on the Lady’s cool visage. With some effort, but haste, he moved to one knee and bowed before her, wings folding down around his body in respect.
In return, enormous angelic wings spread from the Lady’s back, stretching out to a grand span, and then faded away again. As her final gesture, she reached out one hand and snapped her fingers before turning and calmly leaving. Ezra barely had the time to speak the words, “Thank you, my Queen” before the ground beneath him became darkness and he was pulled through a gateway into the mortal’s realm, far away from where he had been.
- - -
Many weeks later Ezra sat in a rocking chair in the middle of the main street of a widely unknown village in a land called Corone. About him, the familiar smell of burnt flesh permeated the air, and the screams of a great many people were slowly dying down to a roar. Nothing but a satisfied grin showed on his beautiful countenance.
Flames are hungry devils, and they enjoy very much eating the flesh and organs of humans.
It had not taken but a day to convince the children of this village to set fire to the livelihoods of all resting within. At the stroke of midnight the blaze billowed forth and before any were capable of acting the heat took the entirety of their village. All the doors were locked, and the people silent, until they woke to the smell of smoke and the sight of their children dead at the feet of their beds. Cries first of grief, then terror, and finally pain to be finished with a deathly wail had resounded about the hamlet, a serenade to the faerie’s ears.
However, in his glory and amusement, he did not know that nearby a self proclaimed hero lay in wait, readying her silver sword and sense of justice to slay the foul Faerie. Nor did he perceive that soon, before the night’s youth was lost, many more deaths would fill the air, for one of death’s favorite mistresses approached.
[Closed for Her.]
Vermillion eyes stared out from the blackness of the crow’s feathers, scared, frightened, but above all, intelligent and curious. Listening to the voices, it strained to pick up the topic at hand and discern what cruel event was being played out at its own expense. From the wide, dark paned windows it could hear the loud pelting of heavy rain bombarding the tower walls. The ambience from the raging storm drowned out all hope of discovering the truth behind the event.
From the only entrance into the room a whispering flute played a short melody. Though it was nigh impossible to hear, the audience present before the dais grew hushed instantly. Only the incessant beating of water against glass remained as music to address the arrival of the Lady.
Garbed cleanly in black from head to toe, her dark figure was perfect in every manner. Beautiful without compare, and carrying a gothic aura that would strike gloom and fear into a reaper of death. Lustrous folds of cloth weaved from the very darkness surrounding her chateau billowed behind her as she strode confident and powerfully into the chamber. A soft whimper escaped the crow’s beak, and it’s entire frame shrank upon itself, attempting to maybe hide in her glorious shadow and pass unnoticed.
Yet her focus lay on nothing else, except the beast that lay bare upon the altar. Without hesitation nor ceremony, the Lady approached and lay her hands bare over the candle flame. As if wishing to lick her palms in admiration, the fire roared higher, each becoming a blazing inferno. The Lady worked gracefully with her hands to persuade the flames into manageable threads, then sew them together into a dome of flame that encompassed the entirety of the ritual dais. Her cold white skin never touching the heat and passion of the fire, she finished her work and laid those dreadfully long and deadly fingers rest at her side.
“Do not think I doubt you, my grace, but do you find certainty in the concept of releasing him from this form?”
The one daring to pose the question was now standing at her side, a grand lord donning armor of the blacking onyx. Despite the obvious ability to strike fear into the hearts of many, he stood uncertain and on the edge of fear beside the unarmed and scarcely dressed Lady. It was as if he was but a child, fearful of a bite, while provoking a viper.
“I know of what I do.”
The knight knew there would be no further explanation, and returned to the mass of the crowd. His cruel eyes returned to the shifting orb of flame that bubbled before him. Many emotions played behind those cold orbs, but standing strong amongst them was the fear that this event would lead to his death. It was a certainty in his mind. All this was cleared from his mind as the Lady spoke, commanding her voice into the flame. It was a siren’s voice, that could lure in even the strongest of willed, and held behind it evil beyond comprehension.
“Ezra. You are released. And now, banished. Return not, until you will ask forgiveness for your deeds.”
Fire parted as if a great wind blasted into its midst, extinguishing all the candles in an instant. Silence drowned out the darkness, and the few seconds that it lasted felt to most in the room akin to years. Except the Lady, for her heart felt nothing except the calculations of a vicious mind. A soft word of a language long forgotten by mortals was whispered, and the candles relit themselves with soft blue flame.
Lying where once there was a bound bird was a boy of incredible beauty. Barely conscious, he began to move, his great black wings stretching out above and around him, to the audience’s voiced displeasure. Those seeking, dark vermillion eyes scanned the audience then laid to rest on the Lady’s cool visage. With some effort, but haste, he moved to one knee and bowed before her, wings folding down around his body in respect.
In return, enormous angelic wings spread from the Lady’s back, stretching out to a grand span, and then faded away again. As her final gesture, she reached out one hand and snapped her fingers before turning and calmly leaving. Ezra barely had the time to speak the words, “Thank you, my Queen” before the ground beneath him became darkness and he was pulled through a gateway into the mortal’s realm, far away from where he had been.
- - -
Many weeks later Ezra sat in a rocking chair in the middle of the main street of a widely unknown village in a land called Corone. About him, the familiar smell of burnt flesh permeated the air, and the screams of a great many people were slowly dying down to a roar. Nothing but a satisfied grin showed on his beautiful countenance.
Flames are hungry devils, and they enjoy very much eating the flesh and organs of humans.
It had not taken but a day to convince the children of this village to set fire to the livelihoods of all resting within. At the stroke of midnight the blaze billowed forth and before any were capable of acting the heat took the entirety of their village. All the doors were locked, and the people silent, until they woke to the smell of smoke and the sight of their children dead at the feet of their beds. Cries first of grief, then terror, and finally pain to be finished with a deathly wail had resounded about the hamlet, a serenade to the faerie’s ears.
However, in his glory and amusement, he did not know that nearby a self proclaimed hero lay in wait, readying her silver sword and sense of justice to slay the foul Faerie. Nor did he perceive that soon, before the night’s youth was lost, many more deaths would fill the air, for one of death’s favorite mistresses approached.
[Closed for Her.]