Honouring The Wind (Closed)

[Lillith]

Honouring the Wind (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z1fTbDJiyrM)


2941



Closed to Glories of Myrmidion.

Set after Flower Drum Song (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?23988-Flower-Drum-Song-(Closed)), In Her Web She's Caught (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?22018-In-Her-Web-She-s-Caught-(Solo)&highlight=in+her+web+she%27s+caught), and Somewhere I Belong (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?24199-Somewhere-I-Belong&p=206903#post206903).


The westerly road across Corone took its toll on Lillith’s body. With every trot of her horses’ hooves, her spine jolted. With every twist and turn, she came close to falling off and falling to sleep where she fell. The last few weeks were tiring. However, Yanbo Harbour was safe. Tokyun was still standing.

They would get no rest in the coming months. Wherever they travelled, the Greater Oni would follow. Their only sanctuary would be in Radasanth, their journey’s end. Even if they only stayed a day, it would be all her body needed. She wanted to eat, bathe, and rest.

“Neko, why walk all this way when you can ride?” she asked. Her kimono flapped in the breeze. Her bedraggled, matted hair flapped along with it. After two days travel over the autumnal flats, the usually prideful assassin abandoned all care for her appearance.

The nekojin sighed. He had been happy daydreaming about relaxing in a babbling brook. Though his feline grace gave him ease of comfort when walking, he was just as tired as she was. He twitched his nose at her.

“For a beast to ride a beast, it is not proper, Lillith-sama.” The answer was exactly what Lillith expected.

“That is not true, Neko-chan. That idea is a racial slur on the nekojin.”

“That may be so, but you’re also forgetting you only brought one horse.” His dry tone was an attempt at humour. She had forgotten that small detail. They had left Yanbo in such a hurry she had barely time to consider herself, let alone others.

“You may take a turn to ride,” she offered.

She glanced up at the tapestry of cotton clouds, whispery plumes, and golden roils high above the northern ranges. The immense beauty of the landscape made her smile. High above the road a flock of gulls swirled. They were barely visible so high on the thermals. Lillith wondered what brought them this far inland.

“We’ll be in Radasanth soon,” she said out of habit. Gulls usually indicated that the coastal city was close, but it was still a distant speck on the horizon.

“Lillith-sama, perhaps the sun has gotten to you?” Neko cocked his head with a worried expression. He quickly rummaged through his satchel for the water gourd, and skipped up to the horse to offer it to her. It sloshed tantalisingly, and she fumbled for it.

“Yes please…,” she groaned.

“Steady there, steady,” he winced. Neko was no doctor, healer, or sage, but he could see sickness in her. “You don’t look well. Perhaps we should rest in the shade.” He gestured to the evergreen and conifer tree line that ran concurrent with the road.

Lillith shook her head.

“No time…,” she said softly.

“What do you…?” Neko trailed off. He heard a scream.

She heard the scream too on the wind. It ran down her spine. “We’ll find no sanctuary in Concordia, Neko-chan.” She formed another sentence on the tip of her tongue, but found no strength to speak it. The thought of what she was about to say sickened her. Butterflies turned to hurricanes in her stomach and drove a fever into her bones. With blurred vision, she pulled the stopper from the gourd.

“Why do we need sanctuary?” Neko’s eyes sparkled with fear.

The refreshing spring water, fresh from the passage over the Jagged Mountains doused the illness fighting against Lillith’s spirit. It settled her stomach. She took several deep gulps before passing it back to Neko. He returned the stopper without thinking, and tossed it on its strap over his shoulder. It rattled back and forth. His paw pressed against her thigh and steadied her swaying body. Even through his fur, he could feel her temperature rising.

When she set her sights on the road ahead, she squinted through the glare and pierced shimmering heat illusion. She was certain she could see someone approaching along the snaking road. Though delirious, she was certain it was a mounted rider.

“It is,” she coughed. “It is coming…” She swooned and fell away from Neko. The horse whinnied and cantered ahead in fright, leaving Neko scuttling on all fours to come to Lillith’s aid.

“Lillith-sama!” he roared. A whelp of fear diminished his bestial prowess.

As the horse moved ahead, she slumped on her right side. Her arms and legs sprawled. Neko rolled his eyes through a stream of her cursing, and scooped her up.

“You gave me quite the fright, Lillith-sama,” he chuckled nervously.

Lillith stared at Neko, still feverish, sick, and weary. She looked beyond at the array of turquoise, vermillion, and golden swathes cut into the clouds. The sun continued to rise and bring the cloudy heavens to life. What she saw high in the sky was monstrous, demonic, and deadly.

“It’s here. It’s found us.”

Neko turned to look up. Sure enough, the Crane was circling over the plains. A trail of golden dust fell behind it.

“We must run…,” he pleaded. Out in the open they had no chance. “We must run now, Lillith-sama.” Even in desperate times, Neko refused to let decorum slip. Though she would scorn him later, the focus on manners kept the nekojin sane.

“We’ve nowhere to run to.”

She pushed him away and righted herself. In a cavern beneath Tokyun, the Jurugumo cackled. In a tomb in Yanbo Harbour, the Crab gibbered. In a throne room in Capitol City, the Komodo smiled. High atop the winds of Corone, The Crane screamed and dove.

[Glories of Myrmidion]

Scales of silvery blue glinted as unfurled wings spanned the winds. An iridescent skyborne wake coruscated in the burning clouds like flashes of divine lightning. Hollow fang-lined jaws drooled hungrily at the base of a beak as finely honed as any stiletto. Beady yellow eyes hunted their prey, perched upon along serpentine neck and not erring an inch as they plummeted fearlessly towards the waiting earth.

The Crane’s cry echoed mournfully across the cowering blades of grass, a lingering lament for those it would kill that day.

Powerful wings beat once, slowing its momentum just enough as it crashed to the ground. Still the backdraft and accompanying impact shattered earth and broke trees, as casually as one of its lesser brethren might alight upon a branch. Roiling dust clouds momentarily obscured it from sight, only for a second scream of triumph to cast aside the shrouds like unwanted garments. Voracious maw snapped hungrily at the two small figures desperately scrabbling clear; wicked claws reached out to capture them.

“For Olbina! For glory!”

A joyfully stentorian cry cut through the Crane’s victorious bellow, thunderclap through the storm. Instinctively the fiend hesitated for that vital moment, beady gaze drawn aside from its prey. Slit pupils of sickly ochre focused almost instantly on a flash of steel caught beneath the dawn.

One hazy rider in the dissipating dust became two in staggered formation, sharpened lance-points eating up the ground in thundering strides. Pennants fluttered vigorously in their passage, displaying a golden eagle resplendent against the black of night.

Only then did the Crane realise its predicament: too close to dodge, too sudden to parry, and the swift-moving steel points a distinct threat it could not afford to ignore. Instead it lashed out with all its might. Wings, claws, and talons moved as one, a shimmering illusion tearing the very ground from beneath the riders and buffeted their armoured forms with gale-force blows. But the horsemen had experience too, dancing their steeds out of harms way as soon as they realised they had lost the advantage. Gingerly they circled just out of the Crane’s reach, the lead knight casting away his spear when he realised it had snapped like a twig beneath the winged beast’s attentions.

It screamed a third time, daring its opponents to try again. The stench of rotting fish and necrotic flesh issuing from deep within its throat would have overwhelmed many a lesser man. Warily tracking the fluttering pennant marking the knights’ progress, it kept its wings spread wide and torso poised to spring. Should they come again, they would not escape so lightly. But its animalistic intelligence failed to comprehend that the obvious threat was simply a distraction.

“Well, that might explain why these Coronians didn’t bother fortifying any of the villages we saw, you know.” The voice cut nonchalantly through the cacophony of battle to reach the ears of the young woman and her bestial companion. The riders numbered not two but four, and whilst their comrades drew the Crane’s attention, the second pair had circled in from behind to rescue the travellers. “It’s pretty difficult to defend against something like that.”

The speaker winked at the pair of them from behind his open bascinet helm. His lively green eyes and handsome dark-skinned face seemed incongruous beneath the panoply of war; at first glance, he would have made a far better merchant or dilettante. His companion wore a dour visage much better suited to his profession, beard of grizzled black set in grim disapproval.

“Help the lady, Lionel. We get away while the First Knight holds the beast’s attention.”

“But of course, Seth,” the younger man replied as he offered the dark-haired woman a hand. The cat-beast-thing, he assumed automatically, could take care of itself.

[Lillith]

Lillith looked at the rugged men as they approached. She adjusted her clothing, righted herself, and bowed politely as the knight offered her his hand.

“Well met, traveller,” she said in common. “Though,” she pointed at the Crane. “I wish it were in better circumstances.” Her enthusiasm died as the oni screamed. The piercing cry left nothing to the imagination. It beat its wings and smashed the grass to the dirt.

“<Now is not the time for civility, Lillith-sama,>” the nekojin reminded. “<We have to fight.>” He hesitated at the grimace on the woman’s face. It took him several seconds to realise what the look was for, before he turned to face their saviour. “Forgive me, sir.” He continued in rusty common. He bowed politely.

“My friend here is just concerned for our current circumstance.” She hesitated. “Rather, he is concerned for our lives.”

The Crane beat its wings once, twice, and then thrice. Each movement peeled away the last threads of hope between man, woman, and beast. Lillith felt weaker with every ascent, as if the creature’s return to form was an affront to her very soul. She rocked on her heels.

“We have no hope of fighting it alone.” He gestured at the wall of armour the knight was wearing. “Together we may stand a chance.” He bowed, not quite sure of the man’s customs, allegiances, or his ability with the blade at his hip. The nekojin would have drawn closer to the man to shake his hand; the imposing horse put the Nekojin on edge. He danced nervously from large foot to large foot, as if he were hopping back and forth over hot coals of indecision.

The sun flickered briefly as the Crane continued to circle. Its shrill cry defiled the harmony of the lemon grass sprawl. Lillith’s garb began to flicker in the growing breeze, and the soft fur that covered Neko from head to toe bristled.

“I would dismount,” Lillith interjected. She drew her tanto eagerly. “There is nowhere for us to run now.” She stared up at the rainbow pinions of their foe as it circled them. She knew its eyes, dark and mean were examining every one of them. “Stand fast, draw it to the ground, and then slay it.”

“A good plan,” Neko snarled. He flexed his claws.

“What’s your name, ser? I am Lillith, and this is Neko.” She smiled wearily. “I do so hope to share more formalities with you.” She glared up at the darkening sky. “If we live to speak of them…”

[Glories of Myrmidion]

A bemused frown creased the dark man’s forehead, only to shatter moments later without a trace.

“The lady wishes to fight,” Lionel roared joyously, annihilating all of Lilith’s carefully crafted civility in laughter long and loud. “I am Lionel, Templar of the Golden Eagle. The sour fellow here is Seth, the same. If it’s a fight you wish for, my lady, I promise that we will stand by your side and give as good as we get.”

The second knight scowled disapprovingly from beneath his own helm, eyes focused on the beast in the distance as he hefted his pennant high. The mailed fingers of his shield arm played uneasily upon the haft of a mighty steel warhammer, etched with the heraldic emblem of his order.

“Do you not agree, Seth?”

“We make for the trees, then,” Seth growled in response to Lionel’s prompting, expertly spinning his steed on a crown. “Lord Jehan, the tree line!”

The second phrase echoed as a mighty shout across the open plains, briefly acknowledged in the distance by a raised gauntlet. The two riders who had directly challenged the Crane spurred their horses as one, heading swiftly in their direction.

Sudden shadow flashed across their eyes, darker than the sunless sky. The Crane had seen its opportunity and stooped, shrieking morbidly as its talons reached towards the disengaging horsemen.

“LANCE!!”

Even at the considerable distance, the boisterous bellow resounded deafeningly. The shorter and less armoured of the riders reacted instantly, tossing his heavy spear to his senior before peeling off in haste. He only just made it clear of the impact zone, turning awkwardly in his saddle to keep an eye on the confrontation between man and daemon.

Somehow weapon and wielder both managed to evade the raking sweeps of the Crane’s claws. Brandished almost hopefully, the lance even managed to score a shallow gash against leathery hide in return. The fiend screeched, not in pain but in shock, and took to the skies once more with powerful downbeats of widespread wings. From the resultant dustcloud the knight in his gleaming full plate armour emerged again, seemingly unscathed.

“By your leave, my lady Lillith, we shall ride.”

Lionel’s words brought them back to the here and now. Another wink of his dazzling green eyes, and then powerful hands reached around Lillith’s waist and hoisted her upwards with scant regard for her dignity. She found herself perched on the dark man’s lap, secured in his arms and staring into his white-toothed grin. He seemed almost determined to ignore Neko, though, as he gave spur to his steed’s flanks and guided the warhorse after Seth.

The ground sped beneath their hooves as two riders became four again, and soon the forest loomed near and foreboding before them.

[Lillith]

Lillith’s senses threatened to overwhelm her as branches whipped against her skin. Her heart beat loudly in her chest. The thundering of hooves was thunderous. The horse’s advance over fallen trunk and mattered clod deafened her.

“Make for the clearing!” she roared.

Lionel looked down at her sharply. Lillith did not feel fear in him at all. She faded into the horse’s mane and the howling wind. He whipped the reigns, veered around a rise in the farrowed earth, and quickened his gallop until he caught up with Seth.

The forest, a thick pine weave vibrated with the noise of their arrival. Delicate jade grass swayed in the clearing, dandelions mottling the natural tapestry with wild threads of verdant bloom. Here and there, rabbits and foxes froze, looked up, and then fled. Everything about the countryside stopped, cascading into chaos as the most unnatural of prey descended upon it.

“Dismount, my Lady,” Jehan barked. His tone was not angry with her; it was simply proud and officious.

Lillith leapt from the horse awkwardly, and stumped over the springy moss. Her geta, unsuitable for rough terrain, found themselves kicked free without a thought. She would buy another pair, if she lived. Seth turned in a great arc around the glade and came about to meet them.

“I do not suppose you could enlighten us as to…what that is?” He pointed over her shoulder.

Neko pounced up behind Lillith, ears bristling, claws flexed. His nose was moist and twitched uncontrollably. “It’s the Crane,” he said.

Lillith looked at her companion and chuckled. “He was talking about you Neko. He is a brave little thing, and wise beyond all our years. I will allow him to explain.”

A great cry broke her concentration. Over the tree line, a flock of birds, crows and herons rose into the glaring sunlight. Something shook the earth back towards the road and an unholy dirge rang out across the land. Lillith shuddered.

“It’s a Greater Oni, a fallen god.” The nekojin twitched his whiskers. “I am afraid to say the people of Akashima, in their idolatry, have angered them.” He produced a small scroll from his robes and read a passage. “When the walls of faith tumble and Kami slumber, beasts shall spread across the lands.” He tossed the scroll into his small satchel.

“You mean to say your Thayne is on the far side of those trees?” Jehan wrestled with his own faith at the thought. How could the gods themselves prey on their children?

Neko nodded. “They had been imprisoned in Akashima for a thousand years. The war there and the civil unrest in Corone set them free.” They thrived on chaos, and the harvest of late was plentiful.

“That’s enough of that, Neko.” Lillith stepped forwards. She came to a standstill between Jehan and Seth. “I’m sorry you were snared by Fate this day. I’m so pleased you were, though.” She curled her lips. “Will you truly join us, sirs, in a little falconry?”

She raised the tanto that contained the soul of the Jurugumo, the Spider Oni, as testament. Neko did the same, though crossed his claws. Through the woods, the sound of falling trees grew louder and louder.

[Glories of Myrmidion]

"Falconry?" Lionel's bark of laughter echoed sharply throughout the assembled arboreal ranks. He gave his horse, lathered and foaming at the bit, a hard hit on the rump to send it on its way. "My lady, this is not falconry, unless you propose to fly from my wrist to clip the wings of our quarry. In our lands, we call this fowling... and it is a commoner's sport, unbefitting of a knight. I would rather meet that beast with mount and lance..."

"In this forest?" The last knight of the four, the young man named Hectorus, spoke up for the first time in Lilith's presence. He had not yet dismounted, fighting with the strength of his legs alone to keep his terrified steed beneath him. His taut mien, focused to the danger at hand, ill suited one so young. In his right hand he had drawn a tempered hand-and-a-half sword to replace the lance he had thrown his brother; his tabard fluttered ungainly with every panicked movement of his destrier, his armour clanking in uncomfortable complaint. "Against that monstrosity?"

"Little brother?"

"The lady and her... friend are right, First Knight. We cannot outrun it while it has the use of its wings, but here in the forest we might make a stand and beat it away."

"Four of us might," Jehan corrected after a moment's pause for thought, conveniently failing to count the cat-like demihuman. He didn't harbour any reservations fighting alongside the woman and her blade; he knew enough shieldmaidens from his homeland not to underestimate the fairer gender. He had even knighted one or two himself. But the little runt she kept as a pet? It didn't even have the stature of that greenskin Throm, whom Jehan might have trusted in a shieldwall in an emergency... but then, they didn't mean to fight that giant bird head-on, did they...

The Champion allowed the coolness of his gaze to turn slightly contemplative as he met Neko's sullen glare, brow furrowing into great craggy ravines. Deep thought remained etched upon his features when he returned his attention to the more important matters at hand.

"Seth, Lionel, stay on the far side. We hit it from two directions, keep it off balance. Drive it away with sword and hammer, cripple it if possible."

The older of the two Templars nodded dourly as he unslung the heavy warhammer from his saddle and sent his own destrier after Lionel's. The ebony-skinned knight in turn wrinkled his handsome nose in exaggerated reaction, partly in disdain at fighting on foot like some lowly peasant, partly at the rank raw smell blasting past as the Greater Oni closed. Again, however, they obeyed without question, and their features arranged as one into deadly focus as they stepped swiftly away.

"Hec, brother, I need you to take word to the locals. Rouse them to their forts and bring reinforcements. If they have the courage to face this fallen god they have so angered, let them rally to us." And if they do not, then if all goes wrong at least one of us may survive to bear our ashes to the Hall of Swords.

Jehan could tell from the momentary tempest passing across eyes of deep ocean blue that his brother didn't like the idea. But his commands were the First Knight's commands, and within the knighthood the First Knight's commands were law, especially those given in battle. A curt nod, a murmured blessing, and Hectorus spurred his mount into a careful gallop, sawing slightly more fiercely upon the reins than he had cause to. Within heartbeats the soaring forest swallowed whole the billowing black of his retreating cloak, even as the cacophony from the opposite direction approached its final crescendo.

"My lady."

At long last Jehan turned to Lilith, addressing her with unfailing courtesy. His towering blade almost scraped the leafy branches overhead, held high in a knight's salute. He cricked his thick neck, just so, to kiss it from behind his helm's noseguard; his voice, eerily deep and calm amidst the destruction of the forest to his fore, reached out as if to shield her ears from the Crane's approach.

"It would be our honour to stand at your side."

[Lillith]

Lillith barely had time to nod her approval before a storm descended upon them. Spewing, mewing, and vomiting ashen wind, the Crane appeared tumultuously through the tree line.

“Duck,” Neko roared, too oblivious to notice the irony. He pounced onto Lillith and knocked her flat on her back. She tried to protest, but when she clocked his eyes, she went deathly still. The dew-laden grass and dandelions cushioned her fall.

A sonic blast ripped through the air over their heads. It jetted out from the Crane’s beak and careened across the clearing. It shattered an oak tree into a storm of splinters.

When the assassin and her feline companion rose, they instantly turned to their attacker. The creature was more monstrous up close, but in its descent, its power had waned. What appeared before them, beak snapping, claws tearing up clods of earth, was something cruelly beautiful. Red wings, bespeckled with golden curls and brilliant white plumes beat in the heat. It wore a crown, marking it a sovereign ironic and cruel.

“If we manage to stand for long it will be a miracle, ser!” she roared over the din.

Neko, tired of waiting, dashed off to the right. Lillith watched him, but the sudden advance of the demon brought her fully back to face it. She parsed her legs. She pulled her two tanto into her hands, and twirled them. A battle plan half-formed in her mind, addled by surged of adrenaline and the gusts that kicked up from the Crane’s presence. Dead leaves and dirty ground seemed to jump up in protest.

Lillith began to draw symbols in the air with her fingertips.

“It would be easier if you shared your intent with us, m’lady?” Jehan asked.

With a grin, she looked back at them. Though they were now one fewer in number, Neko had spent many months training her in the arts of the Spirit Warder tribes. She had forgotten them through many centuries of neglect, but they came back full force in the face of adversity. The kanji formed fully, exploded in flames, and vanished.

“Even the odds,” was all she said.

One symbol trailed after Neko. A second rose and smote Lillith on the forehead. The remainder darted towards the knight and his aides. Just in time, Lillith bestowed the Crane’s own power upon them.

“I gift to you the wind,” she said.

At that moment, Neko leapt so high into the air he defied gravity.

“I…,” the knight mumbled. His jaw dropped open.

The nekojin landed on the crane’s back. Lillith charged as the Oni stopped in its tracks to toss Neko loose.

[Glories of Myrmidion]

The magic curling around his body felt like anathema, blasphemy against the faith his northern upbringing had instilled in sharpened steel and a swift steed. But Lionel’s mind worked quicker than many of his comrades, almost as instinctively as his eyes, and the beastling’s leap showed him the way.

“We can’t stay here,” he told Seth curtly. The older man shook himself free from gaping senselessly at the destruction the Crane had wrought upon the surrounding forest with but a single shriek. Still muttering darkly, he brought up a shield so insignificant now before the demi-god’s overwhelming power. Lionel’s own ebony skin gleamed with sweat, neck muscles rippling in the gap between cuirass and helm as he tensed. “We have to get close to it.”

He leapt forth in crude mimicry of the nekojin’s grace, the world flying beneath his feet. Too fast, in fact, and he overshot his intended landing point by a full stride. Steel-encased legs tangled with knotted roots, and he fell in ungainly clamour to the forest floor, eating a mouthful of rotten mulch for his troubles.

“… running, but at a gallop,” he managed to advise between disgustedly spitting mud and twig from blooded lips, more to himself than to his fellow Templar.

Seth nodded sagely, carefully avoiding stray beats from the Crane’s unfurled wings as they rattled the treetops and decrowned half-a-dozen majestic redwoods. Unlike Lionel, he had some inkling of how to fight on foot amidst trees, and he bided his time patiently. Booted footsteps crackled deliberately amongst the fallen leaves, shield held high to his fore and warhammer loosely outside, as he circled for an opening. The Crane, claws scrabbling amidst the mud as it tried to shake the pesky beast-thing free from its back, had lost much of the effortless grace it had displayed in the skies. Up close and hemmed in by the thick forest, it looked more like some grotesquely monstrous, if abnormally beautiful, caricature of a fighting cock. Undoubtedly dangerous, undeniably wondrous, but somehow at the same time ridiculous, almost comical.

Ignoring the daggers lacerating into its thighs, the monster’s violent throes at last managed to dislodge the nekojin from its back. Murder gleaming in its fiendishly bottomless eyes, it screeched another angry war cry to the roiling sky. The next target they settled upon was not the patient knight circling to its rear, nor the handsome one desperately rolling away from its wicked talons at its feet, nor the exotic young woman tearing grimly at its side.

It was the bold figure of the First Knight, the Champion of the Golden Eagle, Jehan Leitdorf of Olbina. Legs braced in the loamy earth, longsword held high in challenge, the very brash daring of the knight’s stance goaded the Crane into attack.

Its beak descended from up high, a thunderbolt of divine retribution manifest in a horse-length of serrated bone. With contemptuous ease the knight sidestepped, moving swifter than anybody clad in so much armour had right to. His longsword sang joyously as it drew a spurt of rich, foul-smelling blood from a slice across the monstrosity’s cheek. Swiftly the tip of the blade repositioned, once again Jehan’s footwork making light of the layers of castle-forged steel he wore.

And then it stabbed through the Crane’s murderous left eye.

But before the longsword could complete its arc, the beast’s shoulders shuddered in a brutal approximation of a shrug. And then the knight flew through the air, battered by force a siege ram would have had trouble bringing to bear. He flew and he flew, desperately keeping hold of his weapon, until a cluster of thick bushes broke his bone-crunching fall.

Forth charged the Crane in his wake, fixated on the arcing glint of metal that had hurt it so, ululating in a shrill howl of vengeful triumph. Both Seth and Lionel managed glancing blows as the monstrosity barrelled past, but for all their efforts they would have had better luck trying to bring down a keep with a smithing hammer. For the briefest of moments, involuntary fear of the worst gripped their battle-hardened visages.

Then their champion rose again, bounding from the bushes albeit now missing his helm. Blood streamed from his closely-cropped scalp, but his longsword stayed poised and hungry. Jehan’s pale green irises flared in the heat of battle, in glorious glorious battle lust, as his chest birthed a mighty deep-throated cry.

“For Olbina!”

“For Olbina!” Lionel roared back, scimitar hewing at the beast’s leg, as Seth waded into the fray once more with features creased in a hungry grin.

“FOR GLORY!”

[Lillith]

All trace of the Oni’s poison faded from Lillith’s body. In her newfound, though temporary freedom, she immediately became more focussed and driven. As the trio of knights fought on, Lillith watched, calculated, and waited.

“They are foolish…,” she whispered. “Though they are also brave,” she added.

She watched Neko fly through the air, winced, and looked away as he crashed into a tree. Her feet made short work of the distance between them, and she dove into the undergrowth to his side.

“You, on the other hand,” she barked, “are completely stupid!” She wrenched him upright. She flicked leaves from his clothing, and picked the branches from his fur.

“Did I kill it, Lillith-sama?” he gurgled through bloodied teeth.

Lillith shook her head.

“You barely scratched it.” She patted his large, shaking paw. He looked at it gingerly, whiskers twitching. When he saw that the blood on their tips did not belong to the Crane, he frowned. “Use daggers next time. You can’t claw at a god and expect to get anywhere.”

Lillith doubted even a cannonade could have damaged the Oni, but she clung to hope for Neko’s sake. She had to stay strong for the brave knights laying their lives on the line as well. She looked over her shoulder.

“Come on, we have to help them…”

Lillith broke out of the undergrowth in a flurry of leaves and birds. They took flight in sudden flocks, their sanctuary in the corners of the woods safe no more. Neko pounced after her with a defiant and extended leap. His howl ripped through the clearing and joined the echoes of the knightly battle cry. The two noises drowned out the twittering of the flock as it vanished over the treeline.

“Help the First Knight!” Neko screeched, before pounding away on all fours. He moved with feline grace and blistering speed towards Lionel. He flashed two long daggers into view from sheaths strapped to his shins, and joined with the swordsman in slashing at the beast’s lower limbs.

Lillith found herself agreeing with his plan. His eye for detail was hawk-like, and as she veered around the thrashing form of the Crane, she came into view of the man in question. Lionel was feverishly hacking and slashing, ducking and diving, and riotously inspiring his companions well enough. Jehan on the other hand was injured. Lillith could smell the blood. She could smell the ebbing spirit of their leader falling to the winds.

“Stop!” she roared. She made to block his passage to the Crane, but she was too late to prevent his raised weapon swinging blindly. She ran to his side, spread her blades, and locked eyes with the Oni. Every nick, every cut, and every scratch they inflicted only angered it.

As Neko, Lionel, and Seth battled on the Crane continued to flail. It raked the earth with its claws, pecked its beak at the ground, and kicked up craterous clods of earth. In the short space between battle’s commencements, the clearing came to resemble a crater. The Crane was the comet that had fallen from the heavens.

In the commotion, Lillith finally got between the knight and the Crane. She could feel the wing beat on her back, and his scowl on her forehead.

“Out of my way lady!” the bloodied knight barked. He tried to get past her, but she stood defiant. “The beast is mine!” he roared louder still. He could hear the clash of sword, scimitar, and dagger in the background. It called to him, even though the demonic screeching caused his ears to bleed as he tried to listen.

“Lead your men. You are no good to them a corpse.” She forgave a momentary slip of etitquite. They stared at one another with passions ablaze, nostrils flaring, and tempers raging.

Lillith saw his eyes widen just in time to leap upwards.

“Kaya!” she screamed. She exerted her energy to trigger Neko’s kanji. She vaulted so high she rolled into a natural backflip as she began to descend. The very soul of the wind filled her lungs.

The Crane’s beak pierced the ground where she had been standing. The First Knight stumbled back, his face shielded by vambraces. He remained upright on pride and strength’s virtue. He saw his opportunity. He watched Lillith land on the long, rainbow neck, and nodded at her when they locked eyes.

“In Olbina’s light, we go forth!” Jehan cried.

Lillith echoed his cry, though she found no solace in its piety. “In Olbina’s light, we go forth!”

As Jehan charged, Lillith stood. Neko, Seth, and Lionel all renewed their assault. The Tanto that held the spirit of the Jurugumo flashed in the sunlight, and descended into the Crane's spine. The tide turned in their favour as his thrust pierced an all seeing eye.

[Glories of Myrmidion]

The Crane screeched again, an angry cry of pain and defiance tearing shreds in the already-ravaged canopy. Bladed fury ripped past Jehan’s exposed face even as he wrenched it to the side, his neck bulging and taut. Shards of shattered armour raked his cheeks, drawing thin red lines of blood. His eyes never wavered, cold frostfyre blazing in their turquoise depths.

I grow mighty tired of your voice in my ears. Monster.

He drew black his blade, a heavy slab of wrought steel tapering to a stabbing point now glistening with stagnant blood and vitreous humour. If he’d noticed it, the cadaverous stench might have churned his cast-iron stomach. Instead he simply swung again, the sword a natural extension of his muscular arm, the monster before him just another foe he had to exterminate.

Jehan Leitdorf had faced his fair share of horrors in his score and seven years. Lost in the moors of the far north, his homeland faced the ravages of all manners of beast and daemon, minions of the dark and hungerers in the night. The elders of his order would consider the Crane as little more than a chick in its mother’s nest compared to some of the tales their legends told.

But unlike those legends the Crane loomed tall in front of him in the moment of the now, batting aside his sword with a contemptuous stab of its diamond-hard beak. Unlike those legends he had only two knights and a pair of uncertain allies with which to face his foe, rather than a Grand Coalition of Orders.

Unlike those legends, he could not guarantee that any of them would survive to tell the tale.

Spitting blood and pus and other unspeakably foul liquids from its punctured eye, the Crane charged once more. Wings beating wildly, it fought for balance amidst its newly mangled perception. Jehan heard Seth’s grunt of pain as the buffeting feathers struck home, heard the song of Lionel’s blade as it carved another wound upon the monster’s flank. He heard the warning the native woman shouted, though he could not make out her words through the rush of blood flooding his ears.

For Olbina!

Something akin to a leonine roar rumbled through his chest. His body moved more by instinct than by design. Fresh pulses of battlelust surged through his veins, molten lightning galvanising him to greater effort.

His sword rose again to slam into the Crane’s cheek. Again to graze across the fiercely unblinking eyelid remaining to it. Again to carve a grievous slice into its bony shoulder. For three breathless seconds power met power in soundless clash, and man stood tall to hold his ground against maddened deity.

In that moment of eternity, everything in Jehan’s vicinity simply clicked into place. Seth’s gritty determination focused his mind as the grizzled templar braced against the warhammer planted in the loamy earth. He shared in the white-hot fury etched upon Lionel’s handsome ebony features as the scimitar drew fresh spurts of blood from the monster’s flank. Their love for him, and through him Olbina, flowed as warm and as life-giving as the blood through his veins.

The woman too, and the beastman she called friend, fought with every bit as much honour and courage as his knights. Jehan touched momentarily upon the mysteries hidden in the back of her mind, the tasks she had set for herself that she would never leave undone. Neko’s thoughts were barely comprehensible, alien and unfamiliar in that brief instant of clarity, but even then his fierce protectiveness over Lillith shone like a beacon in the darkness.

And the Crane. Wounded and weakened, battered and bleeding. Yet so much more powerful than them all, so much more mindless and angry. Its wings beat again and again, but the ruins of the forest hemmed it in still, and the insects biting at its sides would not give it the time to rise.

The mind behind that one remaining beady eye finally grasped the seriousness of the trap it had fallen into.

Jehan regathered his strength, raised his blade again in roaring challenge.

“We finish this! God or not, this monster does not leave this grove alive!”

For love of his country, glorious Olbina so far to the north.

For love of his men, so far from home.

That they might live on for all eternity.

[Lillith]

Though traction felt earned against the Crane, the impromptu hunting party was fighting a losing battle. The smell of blood, desperation, and fear was thick in the clearing, and Neko, who could smell it a mile off, was reeling in the quagmire. He stumbled away as the Crane’s wing lashed down, threatening to clip his life short.

“Every strike weakens me as much as it,” he spat. Blood had continued to pour from his bleeding gums as he fought on. The fur on his legs matted in clumps with sweat. His armour was battered, bashed, and muddied with conflict.

“We cannot give in now ser!” Seth cried. His own blade, bloodied and feeble, rose in tandem with Jehan’s battle cry.

Neko did not seem to find strength in the knight’s encouragement. He found only weakness, pain, and suffering. It was not until Lillith whirled into his point of view that his heart stirred. He twitched his whiskers. He sliced and diced his blades feebly. He tried to seem ready, prepared, and vengeful.

“Neko…you must go.” Lillith’s tone was solemn, but poignant. The Crane’s death throes behind her added a cacophony of uncertainty and madness to her command. “You…must…go…,” she repeated.

“No…,” the Nekojin mumbled. He slurred his words and wavered on his elongated feet. “I…” He trailed off.

A thundering rise in tension struck the Nekojin, and the assassin, in tandem. Lillith turned just in time to see the Crane’s wing lower towards her. Neko, dazed, beautiful, and confused, lurched into action with no time to spare. He pushed. She fell. The wing tip struck him square in the chest.

The sound of breaking bone and bruised knees was sickening.

“Neko…,” Lillith wheezed.

She rose, slowly, but surely. As quickly as the Crane felled her companion, it turned its fickle attentions to the other members of their ragtag party. She turned her head, curled her lips, and resigned herself to vengeance another time. She resumed her sympathy for the nekojin, dropped to her knees on her own terms, and stroked his fur on his neck.

“I…,” he hissed. “I am fine, m’lady.”

Somehow, Lillith knew that he was not, but rose again anyway. She bowed, whispered a word or two in Akashiman, and span violently. Her eyes turned red. Her hair danced with prehensile grace. The same rage and fervour, and blind, pious, and zeal-filled emotion took her.

“You will not steal him from me today!” she screamed.

As her voice left her lips with fury and wrath, the ground beneath her feet bloomed with flowers. The petals glistened with purple hue and danced with inner light, until they all too fleetingly withered and died. Seth ducked under the Crane’s far wing, and the creature started to turn. Lillith only became more enraged. She was not going to suffer ignorance.

“Lord Jehan, Seth, Lionel, listen to me!”

All civility and tact left her. There was no time to adhere to tradition and valour now. She could feel Neko’s life-force ebb and flow away from his body. It was a gruesome sensation to endure whilst one fought for their own life. It threatened to drag her down with it, into the darkness of his death that would be final. Even if she fell today, she would rise again. The same was not true for the others. She had to be strong for their sakes.

“It is injured. You cannot kill it. You must weaken it, bring it to its knees, and hamstring its rage!” If they did that, then she could perform the ritual on her own strength. If they fought quickly enough, then Neko’s parting words could seal the last of the Greater Oni in her blades.

“Hold on my friend…,” she whispered.

She leapt towards the Crane’s bloodied feet. She hoped her show of courage could at least match the men around her, who, with a triumph of war cries, continued their fervent display of heroism. They fought in the name of a lord Lillith was swift coming to believe in.

“We are so close…,” she thought, as pain rocked her body, and fear filled her lungs like acrid smoke.

[Glories of Myrmidion]

A hundred thousand times he’d swung his blade in battle, a thousand thousand times more on the sparring field. Never before had it felt so heavy, so much heavier than the ballast of solid rock that had weighed down the courier vessel he’d sailed on from Turicum. The muscles in his arm burned with every effort, screaming as he worked them taut.

And still it screeched. And again it struck.

Seth slammed his warhammer home, grunting with exertion. Grizzled features creased in a vicious grin as he visibly dented the back of the monstrosity’s knee. Then it shifted weight suddenly, and the tip of an iridescent wing caught him blindly in the temples. He went down, hard, helm visibly dented.

And still it screamed. And again it struck.

Lionel roared wrothfully, ebony skin glistening with a sweaty sheen. His scimitar sang a steady song of scything spite, though barely one in three of his heated slices pierced the thick leathery hide covering the Crane’s flank. He never saw the beak that reached down and tore open his shield-shoulder like so much soggy vellum.

And still it squawked. And again it struck.

Ordinarily Jehan might have rolled away from the descending claw, away from the razor sharp talons that could shear through steel with ridiculous ease, into the next of the Crane’s blind spots. But this time he could barely step back before it struck, his vision clouding in a deluge of iridescent plumage. Dirty clods of mud splattered against his armour, plumes of breath erupting steamy and fierce from his heaving lungs.

His longsword rose to kiss the clouds, the Falcon reaching for the sky one last time. Glinting there it drew the beady attention of the beast’s remaining eye, away from Seth’s silent heap, away from Lionel’s grit agony. Its point wavered wearily, chipped from abuse, but still it caught the dawning sun in one last flash of glory. Blinking blood from his eyes, Jehan tried match its relentless intensity in his glare.

He failed.

The woman stumbled defiantly to a halt alongside him, though her pet was nowhere to be seen. Had he fallen in battle?

The pang of loss startled him. He shoved it aside. His concern was for Seth, for Lionel, for the lady Lilith, for the villagers who would suffer if he didn’t…

Jagged beak parted without warning. Unseen force caught Jehan square on the breastplate. Lacking the overwhelming clout demonstrated at the beginning of the battle, if his blade had not been raised to cleave the brunt of the blast in twain, if his legs had not been braced in anticipation of standing his ground, he would have been bowled head over tail like a pebble caught in an avalanche. His preparedness meant he merely staggered backwards two paces, off-balance and flailing as cramping muscles finally gave way.

Thunderous crashes, staggered in rapid succession upon the muddy ground as the Crane limped slightly even in its short hop forth. Downbeat wind battered the exposed crags on Jehan's face, the stench of fear and blood and defeat suddenly stark in his lungs.

When he looked up again, the Crane loomed over him. Triumph gleamed in its one remaining eye. This close, this vulnerable, Jehan gagged helplessly at the rancid death on its breath, the ancient musk lodged beneath its claws, the foetid pus leaking from its wounds.

And it screeched one last time. And it…

… fell backwards, rearing in pain as something drove like a ram into its unwounded knee, the one Lionel had been slashing at ineffectively for the best part of the entire battle.

Jehan gaped.

“Hec?” he managed between breathless wheezes. “Little brother?”

“First Knight.” The templar somehow managed to salute him formally with sword and shield, before driving the blade once more into the wound his charge had created. Though he had to shout to be heard over the flailing monstrosity’s cries, his words were clear and strong. “I entrusted my message to a clan of peddlers I overtook on the road, also fleeing this beast. They assured me they knew the roads and the villages better than I ever would. And thus I returned with all haste, hoping to add my blade to your fight.”

Again he struck, and again, his precise technique more than the equal of Seth’s grim determination and Lionel’s hot-headed flourishes. Fresh blood flowed from the Crane’s flanks, its scrabbling ripostes falling harmlessly from Hectorus’s shield. The youngest of the knights seemed almost to laugh as he added,

“You didn’t think you’d keep me from the glory that easily, did you, elder brother?”

[Lillith]

Lillith froze, incredulity petrifying her bones, amazement binding her limbs. With every carnal swing of the knight’s blade, she felt a part of her die. The evil that threatened to consume her released its grip around her heart as Hec’s sword relinquished the life from the immortal frame of the Greater Oni.

“I have never been more relieved to see an unfamiliar face,” she roared triumphant. She would have punched her fists into the air, but her arms ached so much she felt as though they would refuse her command. She had fought so hard, and they had all lost so much, that the promise of the knight to find aid at the outset of their endeavour faded in a humid, heady haze of confusion.

“For this deed, all the glory of the heavens is yours!” Jehan abandoned his dark demeanour. He teetered back and forth, uncertain about the Crane's death throes.

Lillith had no time to respond. It was the First Knight’s turn to save her, he pulled her by the arm, with much effort, and they streamed to the right out of the meteoric mass of feathers, blood, and glistening embers. As the beast fell, and its hold on reality wavered, its plumes resplendent withered, died, and dimmed.

Hectorus did not once relent in his onslaught. The surprise attack had, by skill and providence, given the Crane no chance to mount a counter attack. He clambered up the long, scaly limb, drove his blade’s tip with high temper into the place he assumed the tendon to be, and removed any chance the beast had to stand again.

Lillith immediately dropped to her knees. She let the tanto in her hand fall to the barren earth. Her gaze glazed over. Her heart beat so loudly she rocked back and forth.

Neko passed from this world, and formed in the twilight realm alone.

The wounded shoulder and dazed brow of Jehan’s companions suddenly seemed trite, superficial scars marking progress through life compared to the final, ultimate, and ending patterns of death on the Nekojin’s broken form.

“He’s gone…,” she whispered.

The Crane bent its neck skyward, and with a single, teary eye, it looked to the heavens and cumulus one final time. Without ceremony, it dropped its skull to the ruination it had caused earlier, and let out one final cacophony.

“Stop it!” Lillith screeched louder than the Crane, and louder than any banshee. “Just stop!”

She rose sharply. She ran forwards. With hair dishevelled, and skin pallid, she stood before her enemy broken hearted and desperate. Even as the Crane left this world, and its spirit returned to the Eternal, she continued to scream. Her voice soon became hoarse, and Jehan ventured to her side to try to calm her. The second he pressed a shaking hand onto her shoulder, she spun wildly, and flung out her fist at his face.

It stopped an inch away.

“I…” she bumbled. “I…” She stumbled backwards, tears streaming down her face, dark tendrils of mascara trailing down her face like war paint. “I…I don’t know what to do…”

“My lady, the battle is won.” Even the first knight did not sound convinced. The victory was with too high of a cost. “What else could there be to do?”

Lillith looked at the knight with endearing heart. “It is not over…” she seethed. “Quickly.”

Her heart began to race quicker than it ever had. She was still only a pupil, and Neko was her master. He was the spirit warder, ancient, venerable, and able to command kami to sleep and oni to rise. Without him, the last trial would need all their combined strength of heart and spirit of mind to overcome.

“We have to honour the wind.” She turned sharply, pointed to Hectorus, who was gloating uncouthly atop the corpse, “you!” she roared, suddenly authoritative, “stand on the tip of the right wing.” She turned back to Jehan. “If the others can still walk, get them to the tail, and you must stand on the left wing’s tip.” She did not wait for a reply, or for further questions.

With a skip, a limp, and a sigh, she retrieved her blades, stooping awkwardly and painfully, and walked slowly and reverently to the tip of the Crane’s beak.

“Centuries have passed since we last met <rokudenashi>…” she spat. She knelt, rested a palm flat against the warm, dirtied bone, and closed her eyes. “You defeated me then, but today, I bind you to my very soul.”

Lillith opened her eyes, and observed the movement around her. When the knights gathered in their locations, they would all revere the winds, and the skies, and birds above in solemn vigil. She did not care what Olbina was, or what faith the strange brothers commanded in their lives…

Today…in Radasanth, the only Gods were those fickle creatures that stole friends and masters away without reason.

[Glories of Myrmidion]

“Lord Jehan…”

“As she says.”

“But she just…”

“As. She. Says!”

The First Knight’s voice had regathered some of its authoritative hauteur, enough at least to cut across Lionel’s half-hearted protest. The ebony-skinned knight clutched at his rent shoulder, grimacing weakly as blood flowed freely through his fingers. But discipline and stubborn pride kept him on his feet, and the same discipline and stubborn pride made him obey. They also granted silently moaning Seth the strength to cling to Hectorus as the younger man dragged him unceremoniously to the designated position at the Crane’s tail.

Jehan met his brother’s eyes as, finally, they too moved to obey Lillith’s choked commands. Only when he saw the reassurance there, the unspoken message that neither Lionel nor Seth were in any immediate danger from their injuries, did the Champion of the Golden Eagle allow himself to relax somewhat. Abruptly he grew aware of the wet soppy mess of hair clinging to his head, the numerous bumps and bruises crying out for attention upon his torso and limbs, the grating in his abdomen that told him he’d probably cracked a rib or two. But at least he could exult in his pain, the myriad of delightfully addicting sensations screaming to him that he was still alive. The lady Lillith’s companion, that dainty thing she had called Neko, would never again taste the same joy.

Unbidden, he relived again in his mind’s eye the blind horror etched upon her fine features, the grief that had prematurely mutated her delicate youth into world-weary misery. He tasted again of Neko's protectiveness for her, and realised that undoubtedly she had cared for the little thing too. Perhaps as much as he cared for his steeds Aeton and Abastor, perhaps even as much as he cared for Lionel and Seth and Hec.

Pondering on the wonder of that realisation, a new thought shattered his reverie.

“Hec,” he called, basking in the stabs of pain beneath his breastplate as he inhaled deeply to give voice. “Little brother, how does one honour the wind?”

“Not with cries of battle or bloodied swords, I would presume,” came the eventual response. Hectorus’s words carried enough weight to reach Seth and Lionel at the Greater Oni’s tail, but his thoughtful gaze remained fixed on Lillith’s trembling, kneeling form to his fore. He took in the way she fought to keep her fingers from shaking as she traced esoteric symbols in the air, the way her lips stumbled in concentration over the silent words of some mystic ritual. She had no further instructions for them, though, so… “I suppose we would best serve her by enacting the Silent Vigil until she is done.”

The First Knight grunted agreeably, again relishing the complaints of his tired muscles. “Let it be so,” he ordered, and his men dutifully obeyed.

Satisfied at last, Jehan closed his eyes to the biting touch of life upon his wounded scalp. Stood tall and unyielding in the centre of the clearing, he reached with practiced ease into the depths of his soul. Almost at once he arrived at what the Justicars of his order called the Inner Truth. Peace flowed through his veins, bleaching the Crane’s corruption from his body with the lightest of breaths through his tousled hair and the faintest hint of incense in the back of his nose. Briefly he even thought himself blessed by the presence of the Lady of Olbina herself, though how that could be the case on these distant shores he could not fathom.

Today, in the foreign lands of Corone, the only Gods were those murderous monstrosities that now lay dead at the blades of him and his men.

[Neko]

It took Neko a while to recognise what was amiss. Moments ago, he had been on the battlefield. He had fought with all his heart against the very thing that threatened their existence. Now, with grace, he looked down upon it, ascending to the heavens without goodbyes and revelry.

“<Lilith-sama>,” he moaned, though his words touched only the ears of spirits as they danced in the grey folds of the in-between. “<I have failed you>.”

Had he a stomach to feel bile and guilt, it would have churned.

He watched as the knights, stoic and dignified, gathered in a circle about the scintillating corpse of the Great Oni. Even in death, it instilled hatred and loathing in the nekojin. It was clear to him that they were beginning the ritual, though what possessed the assassin to do so without him present, without any priest present. He could only pray she was ready.

“<Your soul already carries too much, Kazumi,>” he whispered.

With the warning, his body began to fade into the late afternoon sunshine. His eyes, sparkling with a tear, vanished last of all. Below, muddied bloodied and scrawled on the broken earth, the nekojin’s body began to grow cold.

[Lillith]

“<Our ancestors gave much to bind you,>” Lillith began, finally breaking her contemplation. Her words were thick, full of sombre reverence, and spoken in a dialect of Akashiman unheard south of the Jagged Peaks in centuries.

“What is she saying?” Hec whispered. He craned his neck to try to make out her words.

Jehan made to silence his companion, but Lillith cleared her throat and continued in stolid common. Here and there, Tradespeak pronunciations peppered her words.

“Today, we shall lay you to the earth’s dominion for eternity.” She held out her right hand, and unsheathed a tanto with her left. The hilt bound in red cloth. The blade was simple polished steel, untarnished by war, and untainted by malefic energy. Unlike Spider, and Crab this blade was pure.

“Offer your heart to the cause…,” Jehan mumbled. He fell silent, and though he had not shouted with authority, Hec did the same. Each of the knights lowered their heads in piety and grace, and continued to listen in reflection and remorse.

“Once, you represented our spirit. Now, you represent only our arrogance.” Lillith levelled the blade’s tip to the Crane’s right eye. Her own pupils glazed over. She had offered her services to the protection of Akashima so many times in the last year the glory felt diluted, worthless, and without worth. Too much sacrificed to silence the anger of the gods. “In the sight of these witnesses, and the intensity of their bravery, I condemn you to dwell in my heart forever more.”

As a fragment of Oblivion, a Forgotten One, the rite was literal. So long as Lillith lived, breathed, and walked the surface of the world, the Crane’s spirit entombed in her tanto. Until the end of the world, and the end of her immortal body, the Greater Oni would linger. She would eternal smell of ambrosia and vanilla, jade and vomit, wine and worry.

“Bow your heads,” she shouted.

The knights of Olbina did as instructed, and only the sound of armour, bones, and stamina breaking broke the eerie null of the clearing. Jade green leaves fell from withering tree branches. Birds, free of their tyrant’s cry, flew overhead in migratory delay. Squirrels, badgers, and rats gathered at the edge of the clearing. Nature awoke as chaos died.

“I take your soul into my body. Defeated, you will not resist. These are the old ways.”

A flash of light burst from each of the Crane’s eyes, and the balls of energy, the ying and yang of the Great Oni shot into the tanto’s tip. Lilith flew back with a thud, crashing into the rubble in a flailing mess of arms, hair, and cloth. Hec made to rush to her side, but Jeren’s glare stopped him. They had vowed to maintain a vigil, and they would break it for no one.
Slowly but surely Lilith rose. With her shoulders hunched, and her eyes dropped to the floor, she struggled to remain upright. She could feel the disease-like presence of another ancient soul seethe and roil in her chest. There was a brief, uncomfortable reunion as the Jurugumo, the Crane, and the Crab argued, and then silence. Peace. Sanctuary.

“It is done,” she spat. A trickle of blood rolled down her cheek in the wake of her gobbet. She stepped forwards, in the direction she remembered Neko falling, and danced with reflected light as the corpse of the Crane began to shift, ebb, and flow from the world.

Its wings began to fall apart first. Feathers rose on thermals, then more rapidly, as though plucked with furious hands. The creatures broke out of the trees, and began to nuzzle and nip at the creature’s limbs. Its eyes shed mist, and then sunk into its skull. The bright plumage, dimmer now than its first descent towards the knightly host, vented the last of its colour. In the place of the Crane, there was nothing but a rotting, hideous crow.

Lillith dropped at Neko’s side. She held out a gentle hand, and caressed his cheek.

“But the cost was too great…,” she rasped. With a bedraggled face, sweating back, and aching limbs, Lillith felt like she too could lay on the ground and fall into the ever after. She would receive no such reprieve from her burden. With ease, and with virtue, she broke into free falling tears and grief stricken cries, and embraced her friend.

[Glories of Myrmidion]

“Why does she cry? We have won a mighty battle this day! We will go down as heroes in the Annals, as legend!”

Lionel’s crowed triumph rolled like thunder over the Crane’s carcass; the bloodied glade shivered beneath its wrath. It gave him the strength to ignore the terrible wound in his shoulder, but equally it bore no respect for Lillith’s anguish. Only Seth’s restraining hand, as the elder Templar tried to stop the bleeding, at last modulated his voice.

“The lady’s pet has fallen,” he said gruffly, his detachment not born solely from the concentration required to apply first aid.

“… and?” A handsome eyebrow rose above brilliant green eyes, genuinely puzzled. Lionel winced as Hectorus returned from the saddlebags with clean water, swabs, and needle and thread, but his gaze remained on the grieving lady. “It was only a demi…”

He trailed off as Jehan stood tall in the centre of the cratered clearing, battered armour creaking in protest. He even choked upon the remainder of his sentence when the First Knight turned towards Lillith, offering condolences with a gentle inclination of his head.

“My lady, I know not of the funeral customs of this land. But with your leave, I would take a lock of your companion’s fur to the halls of my order. I would scatter its… his ashes over our land, as I would any of my men’s, such that our sons and our sons’ sons would know of his valiant death.”

Doubtless the reaction of his companions betrayed the unorthodox nature of the request. Fraught consternation worked its way through Seth’s grave features. Barely controlled disgust contorted Lionel’s handsome cheekbones. Sudden contemplation furrowed Hectorus’s brow.

“The Grand Council…” Seth began at last, only for Jehan to cut him off with a curt chop of his good hand.

“… can listen to and accept what I have to say about this. I will abide no argument.”

“It does go against a thousand years of tradition, brother.”

“Then the tradition is mistaken, and we must change it,” the First Knight replied, words grating in the depths of his throat. “In some lands it is tradition to buy and sell in human flesh, to sacrifice virgins to the gods, to murder a man’s family when he refuses to obey his lord. That does not make these deeds right. If it is one thing I have learnt today, it is that neither gods nor tradition is infallible… and no more will I be swayed from the righteous path by such meaningless words.”

Green eyes as stony as any jade clashed with thoughtfully soft brown, such starkly contrasting colours in features that had otherwise been sculpted with such similar lines. Hectorus nodded in acquiescence after brief consideration. Which left…

“Sir… Lord Jehan… that thing… that demi-human…”

“That thing gave its life in battle alongside us, Lionel.” Somehow the quietness of Jehan’s delivery, the stillness as his voice reached the lowest octaves of their range, seemed to frighten the Templar. The warrior whose stride had not once faltered in battle against a god, now froze beneath his superior’s fury. “It… he… fought as selflessly and as courageously as any knight, despite bearing neither sword nor shield of our order. He called for Olbina’s glory just like one of us, despite never having rode upon its grassy seas.”

Jehan paused briefly for breath, and just for an instant – the briefest, most fleeting of instants – something glimmered in the corner of his eye.

“If we cannot honour the memory of such an ally, such a companion, such a friend with at least this small gesture, then it is we who are not worthy of our knightly forefathers. Would any of you disagree?”

None of them did.

“Let us honour him, then,” Hectorus whispered as the four knights turned back as one to the dumbstruck Lillith. Remembering her words of earlier, he added, almost as an afterthought,

“Let us honour the wind.”

[Mordelain]

Workshop complete (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25871-Honouring-The-Wind-Workshop).

Lady Oni receives 1014 experience and 200 gold.

Glories of Myrmidion receives 936 experience and 150 gold.

[Mordelain]

Experience and gold added.