Enigmatic Immortal
11-07-14, 05:52 PM
Fall in Corone was a special time of year. Harvest festivals were a plenty, the weather cooled from the blistering summer heat, and the leaves turned magnificent shades of gold and red and brown. The activities around the Ixian Castle also increased during this time, from training regimens to general festivities to celebrate the wide diversity of the inhabitants of the Ixian famiy.
Jensen also felt a particular sense of joy this day, walking from the bazaar with a gentle hop in his gait. Flowers were assembled in a nice floral arrangement with a unique rose right smack in the middle. It was a Fallien Desert Rose, for someone who he decided to push his luck and formally ask out to a nice evening. She had pestered him the last time they went out that he never took her anywhere nice. Now in his hands were roses, and in his pocket Zidane Cecil play tickets. Rumors were his troupe was some of the greatest actors and actresses, next only to the Tantalus play group. He was doing this mostly to show some spine in their never ending game of pussy-footing around the other about their obvious feelings. She wouldn’t make the first move, so he decided to do it.
A raven crossed his path, its beak pecking at him intently. He lifted his arm to protect his face and the winged rat grabbed his desert rose flying off towards a low hanging tree a few feet away next to the path. Jensen followed the flight and prepared to run and snag it when a gloved hand lifted out a finger, taking the rose gingerly in his fingers and twirling it around to inspect the beauty of it. The raven cawed before taking flight, hovering to the owners shoulder where Jensen followed to look at the man covered behind the shawl.
“I thought I made it clear, Ambrose, that you were better off alone,” the man said in a gruff, matter-of-fact manner. “You shouldn’t start things with the desert viper. She’s already pumped enough venom into your veins.”
“I don’t recall taking orders from you, Ulroke,” Jensen snapped as he watched the man in the tree give a Cheshire smile, clearly enjoying the momentary control he had over the immortal. But if he had thought he could come in and poke around his mind, he would be rudely mistaken.
“You already picked up some of her mannerisms,” he noted with a twist of disappointment. “Her bards run deep. Better to pull them out now, Jensen, before she grips too tight and you cause another death like Stephanie.” He crushed the rose in his hand, the petals falling in the breeze swinging back and forth in their decent to the dirt below. Jensen growled glaring daggers as Lye let out a grizzled laugh, full of no humor or warmth. He hoped down from the tree branch he had sprawled across.
“I’ll be the judge of my own mind, thank you very much,” Jensen snapped eyeing him down. Instead of feeling intimidation the leader of the Crimson Hand laughed more, this time with some joviality like he had been told something rather fancy.
“You haven’t been in control of your mind in months, Jensen,” Lye said through his fit of laughter, coming up to his full height. “Why don’t you listen to me, and just throw everyone else aside.”
“I won’t let you back into my head, Lye,” Jensen stated firmly. His hands lifted up, as if he prepared for a boxing match. The fire in his eyes intensified as the man smiled warmly, his lips curling in glee. “You better give me one good reason why you are here, or I’m going to shove my fist so far down your throat I’ll learn what you had for dinner last night.”
“There’s the man I want,” Lye said. “I see you still have some shred of that buried away. Tell me, is this a side you hide from her, the desert viper?” He mused his question rhetorically as he lifted up his hands in surrender. “We are going to need that side of you, Jensen Ambrose,”
“Tell me what it is and I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Cassandra Remi,” Lye said with a ghost of concern. “She’s going to ascend to godhood.”
“So I’ve heard,” Jensen replied hotly, prepared to rush the man who’s very presence offended him.
“No Jensen,” he said with all seriousness. “She’s actually going to do it!”
~*~*~
The mansion was on fire, black smoke clouding the entire vision of the immortal. He had to cough between giggles as he moved deeper within the hallways of the Cult’s home territory. Here he had walked upon rooms covered from ceiling to floor in blood, others strewed about with body parts in what was cleary some sick form of artwork. In some rooms there were only men, in others only women and the most repulsive of the rooms had shackled children bound and gagged to the wall. Each horrific sight made the immortal’s blood boil with rage, and every Cultist he found he exacted what measures of revenge he could. Those few Ixians who could keep up joined him in his righteous beating, taking the fight to the enemy in a manner they never before experienced.
The siege had been going on for an hour and already the casualties were immense. After finding out innocents were locked inside, the shelling by catapults had to stop. Instead the forces swarmed in, wave after wave of Ixians, Alerans, Concordians, and any others who had been wronged by the Cult or called upon to help joined the swirling melee. The Cult was not without allies of their own, nor were they helpless fighters now. The projected number of first wave deaths had already been doubled and the Ixian offensive hadn’t made much progress. Outside in the forest the Titans of Dheathain, colossal stone sentinels, collided with the monstrous Concordian spiders, protecting the medical camp as Pierce and Aislinn worked over the wounded with feverish pace.
It was chaos, a mess of blood sweat and tears as the struggle between the two factions became real. Months of violent Cult activity had been unchecked, and now it was time for the world around to pounce them in their home and stop their deluded dark mother from rising. Jensen swore it to them all before they began to advance as he fought with Adolph Gretzle and Lye into the flames of the first engangment.
“Jensen,” Lye shouted. “Behind you!” Jensen turned a half quarter turn, his scythe reaping another head in the fluid motion as he turned and looked behind the man who had spared him an unpleasant death. Without any words he lifted up the bottom of his scythe, hitting a toggle on the shaft to switch the blade upon the end of the adapter rod to retract into the gun mode of the switchblade gunblade he attached. Four darts launched out taking the throats of incoming cultists, and the man turned in time to catch the fifth by the wrist. In moments the Cultist’s neck was snapped, falling to the ground like a used rag.
The two warriors met up as Adolph preached in the distance, the Chaplain keeping the moral of the warriors around him high and spurring them to fight harder and faster. The leader of the Crimson Hand looked to Jensen with a wary glance, unsure what to think of the current moment keeping an eye on the immortal. The knight merely looked back, shrugging.
“We have to find her hole she’s hiding in. I can’t find the basement entrance in this wing. Where else do you think she could be hiding?”
“Oh, not ten minutes ago you were convinced she wasn’t here and that I led you into a trap.” With understandable aggression he shook his head to Jensen, disbelieving how quickly Jensen changed his tune when it concerned Cassandra Remi. The immortal didn’t take the bait, instead looking around them. It was not the best spot to just be chatting. He motioned for Lye to follow him.
“The resistance is not retreating,” Jensen said darkly.
“I noticed that as well. With this much opposition they would have surrendered or ran,” the crimson assassin rubbed his jaw in thought. “They fight like cornered rats on a sinking ship. She’s here alright.”
“The problem is…” Jensen muttered punching the wall, relieving pent up aggression giggling savagely, looking around the mansion walls. “Where?”
Lye stepped next to him, lifting his weapons to the ready as more Cultists began to run at them from the end of the hallway. “Where indeed,” he muttered mysteriously.
Jensen also felt a particular sense of joy this day, walking from the bazaar with a gentle hop in his gait. Flowers were assembled in a nice floral arrangement with a unique rose right smack in the middle. It was a Fallien Desert Rose, for someone who he decided to push his luck and formally ask out to a nice evening. She had pestered him the last time they went out that he never took her anywhere nice. Now in his hands were roses, and in his pocket Zidane Cecil play tickets. Rumors were his troupe was some of the greatest actors and actresses, next only to the Tantalus play group. He was doing this mostly to show some spine in their never ending game of pussy-footing around the other about their obvious feelings. She wouldn’t make the first move, so he decided to do it.
A raven crossed his path, its beak pecking at him intently. He lifted his arm to protect his face and the winged rat grabbed his desert rose flying off towards a low hanging tree a few feet away next to the path. Jensen followed the flight and prepared to run and snag it when a gloved hand lifted out a finger, taking the rose gingerly in his fingers and twirling it around to inspect the beauty of it. The raven cawed before taking flight, hovering to the owners shoulder where Jensen followed to look at the man covered behind the shawl.
“I thought I made it clear, Ambrose, that you were better off alone,” the man said in a gruff, matter-of-fact manner. “You shouldn’t start things with the desert viper. She’s already pumped enough venom into your veins.”
“I don’t recall taking orders from you, Ulroke,” Jensen snapped as he watched the man in the tree give a Cheshire smile, clearly enjoying the momentary control he had over the immortal. But if he had thought he could come in and poke around his mind, he would be rudely mistaken.
“You already picked up some of her mannerisms,” he noted with a twist of disappointment. “Her bards run deep. Better to pull them out now, Jensen, before she grips too tight and you cause another death like Stephanie.” He crushed the rose in his hand, the petals falling in the breeze swinging back and forth in their decent to the dirt below. Jensen growled glaring daggers as Lye let out a grizzled laugh, full of no humor or warmth. He hoped down from the tree branch he had sprawled across.
“I’ll be the judge of my own mind, thank you very much,” Jensen snapped eyeing him down. Instead of feeling intimidation the leader of the Crimson Hand laughed more, this time with some joviality like he had been told something rather fancy.
“You haven’t been in control of your mind in months, Jensen,” Lye said through his fit of laughter, coming up to his full height. “Why don’t you listen to me, and just throw everyone else aside.”
“I won’t let you back into my head, Lye,” Jensen stated firmly. His hands lifted up, as if he prepared for a boxing match. The fire in his eyes intensified as the man smiled warmly, his lips curling in glee. “You better give me one good reason why you are here, or I’m going to shove my fist so far down your throat I’ll learn what you had for dinner last night.”
“There’s the man I want,” Lye said. “I see you still have some shred of that buried away. Tell me, is this a side you hide from her, the desert viper?” He mused his question rhetorically as he lifted up his hands in surrender. “We are going to need that side of you, Jensen Ambrose,”
“Tell me what it is and I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Cassandra Remi,” Lye said with a ghost of concern. “She’s going to ascend to godhood.”
“So I’ve heard,” Jensen replied hotly, prepared to rush the man who’s very presence offended him.
“No Jensen,” he said with all seriousness. “She’s actually going to do it!”
~*~*~
The mansion was on fire, black smoke clouding the entire vision of the immortal. He had to cough between giggles as he moved deeper within the hallways of the Cult’s home territory. Here he had walked upon rooms covered from ceiling to floor in blood, others strewed about with body parts in what was cleary some sick form of artwork. In some rooms there were only men, in others only women and the most repulsive of the rooms had shackled children bound and gagged to the wall. Each horrific sight made the immortal’s blood boil with rage, and every Cultist he found he exacted what measures of revenge he could. Those few Ixians who could keep up joined him in his righteous beating, taking the fight to the enemy in a manner they never before experienced.
The siege had been going on for an hour and already the casualties were immense. After finding out innocents were locked inside, the shelling by catapults had to stop. Instead the forces swarmed in, wave after wave of Ixians, Alerans, Concordians, and any others who had been wronged by the Cult or called upon to help joined the swirling melee. The Cult was not without allies of their own, nor were they helpless fighters now. The projected number of first wave deaths had already been doubled and the Ixian offensive hadn’t made much progress. Outside in the forest the Titans of Dheathain, colossal stone sentinels, collided with the monstrous Concordian spiders, protecting the medical camp as Pierce and Aislinn worked over the wounded with feverish pace.
It was chaos, a mess of blood sweat and tears as the struggle between the two factions became real. Months of violent Cult activity had been unchecked, and now it was time for the world around to pounce them in their home and stop their deluded dark mother from rising. Jensen swore it to them all before they began to advance as he fought with Adolph Gretzle and Lye into the flames of the first engangment.
“Jensen,” Lye shouted. “Behind you!” Jensen turned a half quarter turn, his scythe reaping another head in the fluid motion as he turned and looked behind the man who had spared him an unpleasant death. Without any words he lifted up the bottom of his scythe, hitting a toggle on the shaft to switch the blade upon the end of the adapter rod to retract into the gun mode of the switchblade gunblade he attached. Four darts launched out taking the throats of incoming cultists, and the man turned in time to catch the fifth by the wrist. In moments the Cultist’s neck was snapped, falling to the ground like a used rag.
The two warriors met up as Adolph preached in the distance, the Chaplain keeping the moral of the warriors around him high and spurring them to fight harder and faster. The leader of the Crimson Hand looked to Jensen with a wary glance, unsure what to think of the current moment keeping an eye on the immortal. The knight merely looked back, shrugging.
“We have to find her hole she’s hiding in. I can’t find the basement entrance in this wing. Where else do you think she could be hiding?”
“Oh, not ten minutes ago you were convinced she wasn’t here and that I led you into a trap.” With understandable aggression he shook his head to Jensen, disbelieving how quickly Jensen changed his tune when it concerned Cassandra Remi. The immortal didn’t take the bait, instead looking around them. It was not the best spot to just be chatting. He motioned for Lye to follow him.
“The resistance is not retreating,” Jensen said darkly.
“I noticed that as well. With this much opposition they would have surrendered or ran,” the crimson assassin rubbed his jaw in thought. “They fight like cornered rats on a sinking ship. She’s here alright.”
“The problem is…” Jensen muttered punching the wall, relieving pent up aggression giggling savagely, looking around the mansion walls. “Where?”
Lye stepped next to him, lifting his weapons to the ready as more Cultists began to run at them from the end of the hallway. “Where indeed,” he muttered mysteriously.