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Jun. 27th, 2007 03:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cybertrixxHmm. Knowing next to buggerall about Aestar, I suppose I will ask... hoping the context isn't too FOIPy... the first time she struck a blow?
The story of the first blow Aestar *ever* struck would require me to be in far more of a serviceable state of mind than I am right now (might be tempted later), so I'll go for when she first struck a blow during time-in at an event.
Wow, that was a while ago. Trying to remember the details now...bloody hell, it's been three years...
***
Reckonings, 1655
"I'm sure that was Flail." says Troubadour, chosen of the Weaver. It wears a navy blue robe with brown overlapping plated armour, and within its hands are paired blades marked in a Kamakuran fashion.
Its oily obsidian-skinned and steel plated companion whispers back, both amused and slightly frustrated by this diversion "How sure, Troubadour? Could it not have been a shadow, a faint glimpse of sky from between the trees?"
Troubadour continues, and points "Almost certain. Over there - behind that thicket. Perhaps there *is* a hidden ritual site, after all?"
The black-skinned creature rolls its eyes and hisses "There isn't."
"How can -you- be so sure? I haven't seen Flail come from that main one!"
With a faint tinkle of chains, the steel clad eidolon turns from its friend, and moves as if about to start back to the main campsite "Fine. If you wish to go and investigate, I will not stop you."
Troubadour grabs its companion's shoulder, saying hurriedly "I'm not going on my own. One alone can do little. Two's company, and a force to be reckoned with. I don't care what you say, you're coming with."
The oily shadow sighs in exasperation and follows the Weaver eidolon as it heads into the trees. Clutched surprisingly delicately in its plated left hand are two stony orbs, faintly growling with barely contained potential and the dark import of their significance.
"Don't be so negative, Aestar. We have nothing to fear. If we get attacked, yes it'll hurt. But the Gods will send us back, restored and ready to do their bidding once more."
Aestar says nothing and continues to walk. They head on through the forest, past the thicket and into a small clearing. On the ground is a little circle of flowers.
"See. Told you." says Troubadour.
Aestar stares at the small ring of flowers for a few seconds, before turning away, uninterested. "This is nothing."
There is a flicker of shadows to the side, and both eidolons dive to the ground. "-That- was definitely -something-. Quick, let's move off to the side here."
The two immortals crawl to the shade of a nearby patch of brush, and watch from the shadows. Nothing moves for what seems like an age.
Eventually even immortal patience wears thin, and Troubadour's attention wanders. It casts an appraising eye over its companion, sees the greatsword by its side and the thick metal links and panels covering its body.
"You know, you're really tooled up. You certainly look the part - why don't you throw yourself into it a little more when there's actual fighting to be done? For an immortal servant, you act like you've got far too much to lose."
Aestar turns to its companion, face instantly a mask of fear and innocence. "I just...don't like to get hurt. Surely you can understand that, Troubadour?"
As Troubadour responds, the demon squeezes tightly around the two stones in its hand and smiles inwardly. Deflected that one, for a while at least. Meanwhile, its face outwardly turns back to a stony mask of indifference.
There is more movement. Both eidolons snap back towards what they now realise is an extremely thin path weaving through the undergrowth. A figure stands, dreadlocked and coloured an angry yellow, with a stone axe in one hand and an oval shield in the other. Both breathe a sigh of relief, and rise up from the undergrowth.
The wasp hisses and chitters in surprise. Troubadour hurriedly raises its hand in greeting and says "Don't worry, we are not your enemies. We are hunting demons - have you seen any?"
The insectoid creature looks non-plussed and vaguely suspicious. Eventually, it points back to the main festival site, says "Demons not here. Demons there. You leave now."
Aestar and Troubadour look to one another, and decide to leave, realising that they will acheive nothing if they raise the ire of the Hive of the Wasp.
As they are walking back, Troubadour turns and says "You know, no offence, but I had -you- figured for one of -their- eidolons initially."
Aestar continues walking without -it hopes- a break in its stride. It quickly forces amusement to take over from that flash of suspicious fear. "What makes you think that, Troubadour?"
Troubadour pauses for a second, looks puzzled, and says "I don't really know. You just seem...distant somehow. You've always been so cold, so alien. Always scared to open up."
Aestar turns and throws its companion a devious grin, and instantly its body language entirely changes. It takes a step forwards in what can only be described as a predatory fashion, head slightly cocked to one side in coy and vaguely threatening cat-like manner "I'm sorry if my demeanour offends you. I can be more...friendly...if you would prefer? Is that what you want, Troubadour?"
Troubadour opens its mouth for a second, and then closes again. "OK, that's creepy - point taken. I shouldn't worry about it. It's just the way you are."
Aestar grins and whispers in playful mockery "Troubadour! You upset me with your rejection!". There is a slight pause as the demon gestures back to the main site "Shall we proceed?"
The two immortals continue onwards in the sweltering heat and emerge into the clearing marking the tainted Jamestown ritual site. As they wander past a weapons trader, they stop and briefly peruse the racks of glinting blades laid out side by side on display.
"You know, this one isn't too different to mine. Nicer though. Beautifully weighted. Wish I could manifest blades fit for the greatest warriors in the land, like these ones. Then I could show those fallen a thing or two, eh?" says Troubadour.
Aestar remains silent, and turns away to look across the field. What it sees turns even the black heart of a demon for a moment. Flail.
"Troubadour..." it says in warning. The eidolon turns, and raises swords slightly to defend itself if needed.
Flail stands before the two for a moment, axes raised, body tensed. Two cruel curved spines sprout from its back as if erupting straight through the blood red armour weaved about its shoulders and torso, and seemingly every available space on its lurid blue head is covered in little spikes. At its sides are arrayed other, smaller demons - spined and brightly coloured sympathetically with their master.
There is a pregnant pause. Both sides know that this confrontation will end in violence, all factors remaining the same. Aestar sees this, and considers its options. Fight, or throw away all that has been gained thus far through subtle infiltration, and bow before Flail's might?
Troubadour moves forward, weapons raised. Flail remains still, though its minions flit and stretch with anticipation.
To fight would be to most likely throw away two very precious resources, achieve nothing, and risk discorporation should Flail be feeling particularly vindictive. But to openly bow before the king of demons? To discard any chance of redemption, and to forever pitch into darkness from which there can be no return?
The sands of time flow inexorably onwards while the broken angel decides. Finally, a decision that should have been made wisely and calmly over several decades of careful thought, is forced into immediacy by an incoming blade. To hell with redemption. To hell with subtlety. I'm not going back. Not now, not ever.
Rather than pressing the attack, Aestar parries, leaps backwards and shrieks "WAIT. Flail...I, brother fallen, would speak with you."
For a moment, all present stop and stare. Troubadour turns to the betrayer, opens its mouth as if to speak.
The words have been said, and a new purpose set. The point of no return. There can be no inaction now. No going back. Aestar reels from the implications of a decision that has already forged its ultimate fate.
Flail does not waste an opportunity. Troubadour is hacked down from behind. Blood issuing from its mouth, it whispers "Aestar? Tell me it isn't so? Tell me that you -aren't-, tell me all I have known about you wasn't a lie?"
Aestar grins with immense satisfaction and raises its greatsword to rest upon its shoulder "Oh, Troubadour, I have both dreaded and waited for this moment for quite some time. What's wrong, brother? You honestly hadn't worked it out? I'm almost disappointed. I wasn't exactly trying. I didn't even have to lie once, you know. Everything I told you has been the truth." it sighs for a second "I'm sorry this had to happen now. I could have continued masquerading as one of you for some time, I am sure - but what would be the point? I cannot truly go back - in truth, I do not think I want to."
The eidolon's accusing stare burns straight through Aestar's smug countenance with a heart-rending "Why?"
Voice flowing like honey, sickly sweet and disgustingly indulgent now that all restraint is gone, the demon replies mockingly "Because, my dear, I had up until this point entertained the pathetic notion that it was possible for one such as I to find redemption and retribution in the arms of the Gods - to return to a state of blind servitude, unfettered by the agonies of responsibility or decision. What a pleasant, but ultimately idiotic fantasy."
The throng of demons laugh at this, though Flail remains stoic and calm as always. "You want to join me? Kill him." barks the king of demons in a voice like several thousand tonnes of gravel being churned.
Troubadour shouts "We're friends, aren't we? Are you insane? Don't do this!"
Aestar looks pained for a moment, before brushing aside whatever feelings had gathered between the two eidolons. "I have already done this, Troubadour! In truth, this has been and remained done for four hundred years, and I am only now confirming it! I have been waiting a very long time to end this seemingly endless agonising indecision. In this moment, I am free, finally, of the crippling shadow of hope. There is nothing left to do now, but go through the motions. You get to personally feel the first. No hard feelings?"
At that, the demon brings its sword plunging down into Troubadour's heart. The eidolon screams in agony, shudders and falls limp.
Flail smiles, its toothy grin a nightmare made manifest. "Good. What is your name?"
Aestar replies "I, oh Lord of Lords, am Aestar, and I pledge myself to you in return for one thing - the chance to see the look on the face of all those self-righteous loyals when I tell them where my soul's allegiance truly lies."
Flail's smile twists into an evil grin. "I think you'll fit in well. Welcome to the party..."
The story of the first blow Aestar *ever* struck would require me to be in far more of a serviceable state of mind than I am right now (might be tempted later), so I'll go for when she first struck a blow during time-in at an event.
Wow, that was a while ago. Trying to remember the details now...bloody hell, it's been three years...
***
Reckonings, 1655
"I'm sure that was Flail." says Troubadour, chosen of the Weaver. It wears a navy blue robe with brown overlapping plated armour, and within its hands are paired blades marked in a Kamakuran fashion.
Its oily obsidian-skinned and steel plated companion whispers back, both amused and slightly frustrated by this diversion "How sure, Troubadour? Could it not have been a shadow, a faint glimpse of sky from between the trees?"
Troubadour continues, and points "Almost certain. Over there - behind that thicket. Perhaps there *is* a hidden ritual site, after all?"
The black-skinned creature rolls its eyes and hisses "There isn't."
"How can -you- be so sure? I haven't seen Flail come from that main one!"
With a faint tinkle of chains, the steel clad eidolon turns from its friend, and moves as if about to start back to the main campsite "Fine. If you wish to go and investigate, I will not stop you."
Troubadour grabs its companion's shoulder, saying hurriedly "I'm not going on my own. One alone can do little. Two's company, and a force to be reckoned with. I don't care what you say, you're coming with."
The oily shadow sighs in exasperation and follows the Weaver eidolon as it heads into the trees. Clutched surprisingly delicately in its plated left hand are two stony orbs, faintly growling with barely contained potential and the dark import of their significance.
"Don't be so negative, Aestar. We have nothing to fear. If we get attacked, yes it'll hurt. But the Gods will send us back, restored and ready to do their bidding once more."
Aestar says nothing and continues to walk. They head on through the forest, past the thicket and into a small clearing. On the ground is a little circle of flowers.
"See. Told you." says Troubadour.
Aestar stares at the small ring of flowers for a few seconds, before turning away, uninterested. "This is nothing."
There is a flicker of shadows to the side, and both eidolons dive to the ground. "-That- was definitely -something-. Quick, let's move off to the side here."
The two immortals crawl to the shade of a nearby patch of brush, and watch from the shadows. Nothing moves for what seems like an age.
Eventually even immortal patience wears thin, and Troubadour's attention wanders. It casts an appraising eye over its companion, sees the greatsword by its side and the thick metal links and panels covering its body.
"You know, you're really tooled up. You certainly look the part - why don't you throw yourself into it a little more when there's actual fighting to be done? For an immortal servant, you act like you've got far too much to lose."
Aestar turns to its companion, face instantly a mask of fear and innocence. "I just...don't like to get hurt. Surely you can understand that, Troubadour?"
As Troubadour responds, the demon squeezes tightly around the two stones in its hand and smiles inwardly. Deflected that one, for a while at least. Meanwhile, its face outwardly turns back to a stony mask of indifference.
There is more movement. Both eidolons snap back towards what they now realise is an extremely thin path weaving through the undergrowth. A figure stands, dreadlocked and coloured an angry yellow, with a stone axe in one hand and an oval shield in the other. Both breathe a sigh of relief, and rise up from the undergrowth.
The wasp hisses and chitters in surprise. Troubadour hurriedly raises its hand in greeting and says "Don't worry, we are not your enemies. We are hunting demons - have you seen any?"
The insectoid creature looks non-plussed and vaguely suspicious. Eventually, it points back to the main festival site, says "Demons not here. Demons there. You leave now."
Aestar and Troubadour look to one another, and decide to leave, realising that they will acheive nothing if they raise the ire of the Hive of the Wasp.
As they are walking back, Troubadour turns and says "You know, no offence, but I had -you- figured for one of -their- eidolons initially."
Aestar continues walking without -it hopes- a break in its stride. It quickly forces amusement to take over from that flash of suspicious fear. "What makes you think that, Troubadour?"
Troubadour pauses for a second, looks puzzled, and says "I don't really know. You just seem...distant somehow. You've always been so cold, so alien. Always scared to open up."
Aestar turns and throws its companion a devious grin, and instantly its body language entirely changes. It takes a step forwards in what can only be described as a predatory fashion, head slightly cocked to one side in coy and vaguely threatening cat-like manner "I'm sorry if my demeanour offends you. I can be more...friendly...if you would prefer? Is that what you want, Troubadour?"
Troubadour opens its mouth for a second, and then closes again. "OK, that's creepy - point taken. I shouldn't worry about it. It's just the way you are."
Aestar grins and whispers in playful mockery "Troubadour! You upset me with your rejection!". There is a slight pause as the demon gestures back to the main site "Shall we proceed?"
The two immortals continue onwards in the sweltering heat and emerge into the clearing marking the tainted Jamestown ritual site. As they wander past a weapons trader, they stop and briefly peruse the racks of glinting blades laid out side by side on display.
"You know, this one isn't too different to mine. Nicer though. Beautifully weighted. Wish I could manifest blades fit for the greatest warriors in the land, like these ones. Then I could show those fallen a thing or two, eh?" says Troubadour.
Aestar remains silent, and turns away to look across the field. What it sees turns even the black heart of a demon for a moment. Flail.
"Troubadour..." it says in warning. The eidolon turns, and raises swords slightly to defend itself if needed.
Flail stands before the two for a moment, axes raised, body tensed. Two cruel curved spines sprout from its back as if erupting straight through the blood red armour weaved about its shoulders and torso, and seemingly every available space on its lurid blue head is covered in little spikes. At its sides are arrayed other, smaller demons - spined and brightly coloured sympathetically with their master.
There is a pregnant pause. Both sides know that this confrontation will end in violence, all factors remaining the same. Aestar sees this, and considers its options. Fight, or throw away all that has been gained thus far through subtle infiltration, and bow before Flail's might?
Troubadour moves forward, weapons raised. Flail remains still, though its minions flit and stretch with anticipation.
To fight would be to most likely throw away two very precious resources, achieve nothing, and risk discorporation should Flail be feeling particularly vindictive. But to openly bow before the king of demons? To discard any chance of redemption, and to forever pitch into darkness from which there can be no return?
The sands of time flow inexorably onwards while the broken angel decides. Finally, a decision that should have been made wisely and calmly over several decades of careful thought, is forced into immediacy by an incoming blade. To hell with redemption. To hell with subtlety. I'm not going back. Not now, not ever.
Rather than pressing the attack, Aestar parries, leaps backwards and shrieks "WAIT. Flail...I, brother fallen, would speak with you."
For a moment, all present stop and stare. Troubadour turns to the betrayer, opens its mouth as if to speak.
The words have been said, and a new purpose set. The point of no return. There can be no inaction now. No going back. Aestar reels from the implications of a decision that has already forged its ultimate fate.
Flail does not waste an opportunity. Troubadour is hacked down from behind. Blood issuing from its mouth, it whispers "Aestar? Tell me it isn't so? Tell me that you -aren't-, tell me all I have known about you wasn't a lie?"
Aestar grins with immense satisfaction and raises its greatsword to rest upon its shoulder "Oh, Troubadour, I have both dreaded and waited for this moment for quite some time. What's wrong, brother? You honestly hadn't worked it out? I'm almost disappointed. I wasn't exactly trying. I didn't even have to lie once, you know. Everything I told you has been the truth." it sighs for a second "I'm sorry this had to happen now. I could have continued masquerading as one of you for some time, I am sure - but what would be the point? I cannot truly go back - in truth, I do not think I want to."
The eidolon's accusing stare burns straight through Aestar's smug countenance with a heart-rending "Why?"
Voice flowing like honey, sickly sweet and disgustingly indulgent now that all restraint is gone, the demon replies mockingly "Because, my dear, I had up until this point entertained the pathetic notion that it was possible for one such as I to find redemption and retribution in the arms of the Gods - to return to a state of blind servitude, unfettered by the agonies of responsibility or decision. What a pleasant, but ultimately idiotic fantasy."
The throng of demons laugh at this, though Flail remains stoic and calm as always. "You want to join me? Kill him." barks the king of demons in a voice like several thousand tonnes of gravel being churned.
Troubadour shouts "We're friends, aren't we? Are you insane? Don't do this!"
Aestar looks pained for a moment, before brushing aside whatever feelings had gathered between the two eidolons. "I have already done this, Troubadour! In truth, this has been and remained done for four hundred years, and I am only now confirming it! I have been waiting a very long time to end this seemingly endless agonising indecision. In this moment, I am free, finally, of the crippling shadow of hope. There is nothing left to do now, but go through the motions. You get to personally feel the first. No hard feelings?"
At that, the demon brings its sword plunging down into Troubadour's heart. The eidolon screams in agony, shudders and falls limp.
Flail smiles, its toothy grin a nightmare made manifest. "Good. What is your name?"
Aestar replies "I, oh Lord of Lords, am Aestar, and I pledge myself to you in return for one thing - the chance to see the look on the face of all those self-righteous loyals when I tell them where my soul's allegiance truly lies."
Flail's smile twists into an evil grin. "I think you'll fit in well. Welcome to the party..."
