The Pleading Prayers: Brother vs. Tshael

[Tshael]

Her footsteps sounded so natural here, where metal met wood. With each step of iron shoes on the hardwood floor, it was as if a great clock were ticking. The sun filtered through the great stained glass, illuminating the silver flame painted upon it. Reds and Blues fell upon Tshael's face as she looked up at the window before turning her gaze upon the Sanctuary. Pews sat empty, the pulpit abandoned for now but still high above all else. When she stopped walking, standing in the center of the church, all sound ceased for a few moments and dragged the time out. Her breath, deep and even, became the loudest it had ever been.

Her eyes caught the ironwork wrought through the room. How could they not? After all, in the sunlight was glowing and the iron seemed to pull that glow in. The black was stark and clean, crisp in edges and cold in demeanor. This metal was matte and black, meant for work and not beauty. It made the Delyn armor she wore seem petty.

Looking around, she let a smile flutter to her face as a hand swept up to move stray strands of crimson curls from her golden eyes. Beneath her armor she was nude, her skin flushing with anticipation at the battle. Her tail swished behind her, locks of it slapping the side of a pew as it passed.

"Brother!" she called out, her voice ringing out. Again, the rich tapping came as she stepped closer to the pulpit. "I have come for battle! Let your God send some sign that this is not a refuge for cowards!"

[Brother of My Blade]

Never in my service to the Silver Flame have I heard such callous words as came from Tshael Nito that day. Cowards! By the Flame, the strange-looking woman had some nerve calling the Church's servant a coward.

I rose from the altar at which I had been praying, before the tempestuous Dranak barged in so rudely. The glow of my green eyes sparked brighter for a moment in anger as I turned to gaze upon her. She was beautiful, even I — with no desire or ability for sin of the flesh — could see that. The rich hues of her red hair rang true to the fire she had already shown, and her fair skin was flush with it as well where her face and a breast lay bare. From the waist down, she was not human, however. Equine legs stretched to the oaken floor, ending in shoed hooves. Thick hair covered her genitals and the tops of her hooves, the same color as that on her head. But what struck me most of all was the way that fire she displayed seemed to roar out through her eyes, gold like steel in the forge.

"No coward serves the Flame in such a capacity as I," I stated flatly, my voice echoing like a steel drum. "No. There are no cowards here. Only you and I." I clenched my fists tightly, steel singing harshly against steel for a moment, and stepped down from the dais to confront the horse-woman. "And I will show you my mettle, heathen."