Salvation
The debauchery at the coming of age gathering for the young Dynast of House Cathak was already becoming an event to remember. The festivities of the night were beyond price and imagination; fonts of essence and fire spiraled around pillars and fountains, dancers performed with the heady grace of the element that claimed the House, and the food brought both a rush to the senses and to the desires, immolating both the belly and the groin with distinct cravings.
The centerpiece that would be talked about for years was the supple young girl wearing naught but alloyed chains of black and green jade, the Anathema's caste mark visible on her forehead. It was a golden display of a yellow circle with the top half filled in. A dangerous creature, this Unclean was. Yet the chains that held her would keep her from accessing her dark powers in this gathering. She was brought down by the man of the hour, Dyrius of House Cathak proper, and would be his until the eve of tomorrow. She would be put to death at that time, even as the Immaculates wanted to do it now, the House believed that certain prestige would be his if he could lay with one of these things and live. That time was nigh, as even now the musicians shifted to lower, more sensual tones, and hands found themselves slipping against partners, who all eagerly awaited the beginning of the man-to-be's Veil Dance. The Anathema mainly kept her eyes downcast and tried to hide her shame, drawing away from the touches and caresses of the Dragon Blooded who treated her as if a caged tiger. They clucked in disappointment, she was honestly a pretty thing, in a thin sort of way. Her brown hair had been undone and was now held by a single golden clasp, along with being oiled, and it was her only sort of covering.
Towards the rear of the hall, Dyrius was socializing with friends of his from the House of Bells. He was attractive in a dashing sort of way, with sharp features and narrow slits for eyes. He was long limbed and nimble of finger, and his new armor fit him well. His father, a veritable Dragon until he had graduated first from his class, had purchased it for him, along with a commission commanding a Talon. Talonlord, he mused, it fits well enough. An especially raucous comment from his friend snapped him out of his reverie.
"So, will you be choosing the one in gold or the one in silver to help you subdue that monster?" asked Rain, as Aspect of Water who was known for his jokes and social graces. The rest of his companions, Silvah, Kal, and Tieriel, all laughed at the thought, their cut jewel glasses winking in the fading firelight. Dyrius pretended to consider this for a moment, and gave a shake of his head with a smug grin.
"Who knows? Perhaps it'll take all both of them and a demon to handle my lust," he replied with offhand candor. This brought peals of laughter from the gathering, who were pumped full of the finest wine and quat that jade could buy. Dyrius leaned heavily against Kal and chuckled, raising his glass high for a toast, and in the process spilling some. "Here's to fortune and a long night." The rest of the group gave a hearty cheer with some more colorful commentary in the Low Tongue, and clinked their glasses. The dimming of the fires and essence flows, along with the shifting music indicated the beginning of the Veil Dance. Even if those signals didn't penetrate their haze, the calls for the man to be and the reason the gathering was called did. Stumbling over and supporting one another, the entourage followed to the area reserved for Dyrius, and then sat nearby, giving murmurs of encouragement.
The first strains of flute began to echo through the hall, and the crowd grew mostly silent. Silent with the exception the quiet murmurs of partners enjoying their own fulfillment of the pleasures of the flesh, but still silent compared to the raucous of the party before. Out of one side of the impromptu theatre stepped out a dark Southerner, hair braided with threads of the same silver that covered her body. Most of it was paint, accenting her natural features and providing a contrast to her dark skin, the only metal a piece of small silver leaf that girded her loins, connected only by the thinnest of chains. The golden clad youth was her opposite, tanned like a Westerner with the same attractively corded muscles, and blonde hair that was shaved completely on one side. He wore only the gold leaf loincloth as well, and was handsome in a soft, almost feminine sort of way. It was during these first few steps that an obnoxious clapping that came from the double doors broke the reverence for tradition and the displayed bodies, a singular unappealing sound that begged the question: Who would dare?
He that would dare was actually a young man at first glance. A closer inspection merited the title of adolescent coming into the first stages of manhood. He was much like the dancer in gold in form, both lithe and attractive in a way that's thought of more as a woman's domain. His hair was black and tied back in a long braid that was oiled as well, sucking in the faded light it seemed. His vestments were that of a military Lord, his armor seemed to be of gold. Spikes ran down either arm and swept out from the shoulder, and his knees were tipped by two more protrusions. Images of the sun were emblazoned on either shoulder from which the spikes jutted, and another one was on his breastplate, done in what seemed like several different alloys. A thick orange gem hung in the center of a golden medallion, and a round red jewel sat in the center of the sunburst on his chest. For all of his armor, his only weapon was a finely crafted staff that seemed worked with the same gold, and in that sat another gem, this one a faded blue. For all of his gaudy arms, he wore a simple leather headband around his brow. He picked up his staff and gave a smirk, taking a glass from a stunned servitor.
"Quite the gathering," the boy said to the stunned legion, sipping from the glass and then wrinkling his nose. He unceremoniously dropped it on the floor and let the fine chalice and exquisite wine spill to the carpet. "I've had better in some of the dens of Nexus."
Dyrius' father rose up, trying to shake the haze of drugs that had muddled his wits and the minds of so many others. Perhaps if they had come to the conclusion of what they were dealing with, they would have had a chance. Then again, perhaps not. He roared out, his anima beginning to flare up in fire, "How dare you intrude on this?! State your business or I'll skin you inch by inch for the rest of your lifetime." The boy soldier laughed quietly and shook free his hair, shaking his head in the process.
"My business, as you put it, is that you have something that is not yours. While as children who feel they have free leave when the parents aren't around to discipline you, I am hear to say, however trite it may be, that playtime is over," he said with finality. At this time, a few of the less discombobulated Dynasts put the clues together and shouted out a warning about the same moment that the boy pulled free his headband to reveal a fat disk of gold on his brow that lit up the room. Cries of 'Anathema', 'Demon', and from a few more learned scholars, 'Blasphemer' added to the general din. The Solar fingered his staff and looked around for a moment, blinking only once. Like a serpent, his staff whipped out to indicate the chained Twilight. "She comes with me, and the rest of you keep your lives. Maybe," he added the last word as a mere afterthought.
The elder Dragon Blooded snarled and spat, "How dare you Anathema, come into my house and demand such from me! The aforementioned skinning was too good for one of your kind, and I'll see to it that you die a death that teaches your kind the hubris that you wield has a penalty!" Shouting that, he hurled a lance of fire in the direction of the orichaleum clad warrior. The spear of fire flashed as quickly as the scales on the back of a hunting mospid, but it landed not on the breast of the boy, but instead stabbed through a slave, melting his body almost instantaneously. The boy seemed to have simply sidestepped the fire bolt, looking unimpressed at the display of power. The rest of the congregation, those that could, took it as a sign to begin their own assaults, hurling javelins of wood, shards of ice, bolts of lightning and edges of stone at the demon in their midst.
Carving an odd sigil in the air with his fingers fluttering wildly, the Solar spoke a word of power and crossed his arms over his chest. His caste mark glowed with intensity, and his anima banner flared, immolating him in its white-hot heat, the scream of a mospid following the display. The aforementioned animal sprung out of his back, almost phoenix like, and proceeded to lash out at the assembled Terrestrials. Yet this was nothing compared to the final result. The caster became a focus point for a sunburst that exploded out from him in a release of energy, swelling several yards out in a furnace of cosmic power. The essence bolts met with that and one of two things happened. Either they melted in a sudden release of Essence, or they changed into golden shards of light and shot back at the person who had originally hurled it, outlining the individual in that same gold before they simply disintegrated.
There were only two volleys of elemental bolts, as some were in the midst of throwing their second as the first came hurling back at them. A stunned silence fell, and the corona held for a moment more, almost taunting the assembled before fading back to the boy. He looked around and saw that he had eliminated about half of the revelers. "As I said, playtime is over," he repeated, stepping foreword and not giving a second glance to the Dynasts who glared at him with raw, unfettered hatred, or some or kept their eyes downcast for fear of drawing the wrath of something that was obviously greater then them. Some fingered swords, others gripped the carpet as the Priest of the Unconquered Sun stepped through the parting crowd. There was only a limited degree of what was left of the assembled company's pride being displayed. While a few of the braver or less prudent Exalted showed an inch of their swords or gripped their weapons in a different way, none dared take a swing at someone who could melt you before one could scream.
The Zenith made his way to the Twilight in chains, touching his staff to her bonds. The fell away with an unceremonious clink, and she proceeded to grab at his legs. He shushed and pushed her away, gently, and took off his sunburst emblazoned cloak, wrapping it around her for modesty. "Relax now child, you are in the arms of your people. They who are Chosen of the Unconquered Sun shall receive His Light in the darkest of pits, and His Light shall both blind and burn the foes of His Chosen," he told her, even as she could clearly be his older sister. He laid his staff aside to do this, and as he did so, Dyrius had taken the moment to strike. His prey would not be taken without a fight. If he died, then it could not be said that he had not fought without valor. His red jade daiklaive lashed out at the Solar's back, aiming for what seemed like a weak spot in the armor.
The warrior-priest whipped around in a flash, knocking the daiklaive loose with a kick that trailed white essence, and followed through with a punch that sent the young Terrestrial sprawling. He then proceeded to take a stance, and the mospid in his anima whipped its wings around in a half arch that began on either side of it and then met over its head. As the wings moved upwards, they left faint impressions at first, then becoming thicker and fuller as they rose, until they were the burning eyes of the Unconquered Sun. For a split second they held, and then they became filled to form a circle that surrounded the mospid in more alabaster light before it gave a final cry. Then the emblazoned mospid banner became an ivory circle of essence, an indoor sun. As the Dragon Blooded rose the Hammer of Heaven blazed forward, leaving afterimages of the halo behind him that lingered in the air. They all flashed in unison as he punched through the guts of the Dynast, the only blood on the tips of his glowing fingers.
The aptly named Golden Bull pulled free his unbloodied arm and turned away, leaving his victim to slump to the ground clutching the hole in his torso. He kicked his legs weakly, but lived on. The blow, he would realize later, was meant to teach. The blazing suns were beginning to fade, and his mospid was returning to his banner, reforming slowly. He took the girl in his arms, lifting her up, and walked back towards the doors with his staff slung across his back. Before stepping out the double doors, he regarded the congregation.
"Your masters from the First Age, the Chosen of the Unconquered Sun, have returned. Your purge has failed, we live again. When you next hear the name of Jendai Diarahne of the Zenith, you shall know me as your leader. Prepare for that day," he announced.
And with that, he left the Terrestrials in shock as he winked away from view.
The debauchery at the coming of age gathering for the young Dynast of House Cathak was already becoming an event to remember. The festivities of the night were beyond price and imagination; fonts of essence and fire spiraled around pillars and fountains, dancers performed with the heady grace of the element that claimed the House, and the food brought both a rush to the senses and to the desires, immolating both the belly and the groin with distinct cravings.
The centerpiece that would be talked about for years was the supple young girl wearing naught but alloyed chains of black and green jade, the Anathema's caste mark visible on her forehead. It was a golden display of a yellow circle with the top half filled in. A dangerous creature, this Unclean was. Yet the chains that held her would keep her from accessing her dark powers in this gathering. She was brought down by the man of the hour, Dyrius of House Cathak proper, and would be his until the eve of tomorrow. She would be put to death at that time, even as the Immaculates wanted to do it now, the House believed that certain prestige would be his if he could lay with one of these things and live. That time was nigh, as even now the musicians shifted to lower, more sensual tones, and hands found themselves slipping against partners, who all eagerly awaited the beginning of the man-to-be's Veil Dance. The Anathema mainly kept her eyes downcast and tried to hide her shame, drawing away from the touches and caresses of the Dragon Blooded who treated her as if a caged tiger. They clucked in disappointment, she was honestly a pretty thing, in a thin sort of way. Her brown hair had been undone and was now held by a single golden clasp, along with being oiled, and it was her only sort of covering.
Towards the rear of the hall, Dyrius was socializing with friends of his from the House of Bells. He was attractive in a dashing sort of way, with sharp features and narrow slits for eyes. He was long limbed and nimble of finger, and his new armor fit him well. His father, a veritable Dragon until he had graduated first from his class, had purchased it for him, along with a commission commanding a Talon. Talonlord, he mused, it fits well enough. An especially raucous comment from his friend snapped him out of his reverie.
"So, will you be choosing the one in gold or the one in silver to help you subdue that monster?" asked Rain, as Aspect of Water who was known for his jokes and social graces. The rest of his companions, Silvah, Kal, and Tieriel, all laughed at the thought, their cut jewel glasses winking in the fading firelight. Dyrius pretended to consider this for a moment, and gave a shake of his head with a smug grin.
"Who knows? Perhaps it'll take all both of them and a demon to handle my lust," he replied with offhand candor. This brought peals of laughter from the gathering, who were pumped full of the finest wine and quat that jade could buy. Dyrius leaned heavily against Kal and chuckled, raising his glass high for a toast, and in the process spilling some. "Here's to fortune and a long night." The rest of the group gave a hearty cheer with some more colorful commentary in the Low Tongue, and clinked their glasses. The dimming of the fires and essence flows, along with the shifting music indicated the beginning of the Veil Dance. Even if those signals didn't penetrate their haze, the calls for the man to be and the reason the gathering was called did. Stumbling over and supporting one another, the entourage followed to the area reserved for Dyrius, and then sat nearby, giving murmurs of encouragement.
The first strains of flute began to echo through the hall, and the crowd grew mostly silent. Silent with the exception the quiet murmurs of partners enjoying their own fulfillment of the pleasures of the flesh, but still silent compared to the raucous of the party before. Out of one side of the impromptu theatre stepped out a dark Southerner, hair braided with threads of the same silver that covered her body. Most of it was paint, accenting her natural features and providing a contrast to her dark skin, the only metal a piece of small silver leaf that girded her loins, connected only by the thinnest of chains. The golden clad youth was her opposite, tanned like a Westerner with the same attractively corded muscles, and blonde hair that was shaved completely on one side. He wore only the gold leaf loincloth as well, and was handsome in a soft, almost feminine sort of way. It was during these first few steps that an obnoxious clapping that came from the double doors broke the reverence for tradition and the displayed bodies, a singular unappealing sound that begged the question: Who would dare?
He that would dare was actually a young man at first glance. A closer inspection merited the title of adolescent coming into the first stages of manhood. He was much like the dancer in gold in form, both lithe and attractive in a way that's thought of more as a woman's domain. His hair was black and tied back in a long braid that was oiled as well, sucking in the faded light it seemed. His vestments were that of a military Lord, his armor seemed to be of gold. Spikes ran down either arm and swept out from the shoulder, and his knees were tipped by two more protrusions. Images of the sun were emblazoned on either shoulder from which the spikes jutted, and another one was on his breastplate, done in what seemed like several different alloys. A thick orange gem hung in the center of a golden medallion, and a round red jewel sat in the center of the sunburst on his chest. For all of his armor, his only weapon was a finely crafted staff that seemed worked with the same gold, and in that sat another gem, this one a faded blue. For all of his gaudy arms, he wore a simple leather headband around his brow. He picked up his staff and gave a smirk, taking a glass from a stunned servitor.
"Quite the gathering," the boy said to the stunned legion, sipping from the glass and then wrinkling his nose. He unceremoniously dropped it on the floor and let the fine chalice and exquisite wine spill to the carpet. "I've had better in some of the dens of Nexus."
Dyrius' father rose up, trying to shake the haze of drugs that had muddled his wits and the minds of so many others. Perhaps if they had come to the conclusion of what they were dealing with, they would have had a chance. Then again, perhaps not. He roared out, his anima beginning to flare up in fire, "How dare you intrude on this?! State your business or I'll skin you inch by inch for the rest of your lifetime." The boy soldier laughed quietly and shook free his hair, shaking his head in the process.
"My business, as you put it, is that you have something that is not yours. While as children who feel they have free leave when the parents aren't around to discipline you, I am hear to say, however trite it may be, that playtime is over," he said with finality. At this time, a few of the less discombobulated Dynasts put the clues together and shouted out a warning about the same moment that the boy pulled free his headband to reveal a fat disk of gold on his brow that lit up the room. Cries of 'Anathema', 'Demon', and from a few more learned scholars, 'Blasphemer' added to the general din. The Solar fingered his staff and looked around for a moment, blinking only once. Like a serpent, his staff whipped out to indicate the chained Twilight. "She comes with me, and the rest of you keep your lives. Maybe," he added the last word as a mere afterthought.
The elder Dragon Blooded snarled and spat, "How dare you Anathema, come into my house and demand such from me! The aforementioned skinning was too good for one of your kind, and I'll see to it that you die a death that teaches your kind the hubris that you wield has a penalty!" Shouting that, he hurled a lance of fire in the direction of the orichaleum clad warrior. The spear of fire flashed as quickly as the scales on the back of a hunting mospid, but it landed not on the breast of the boy, but instead stabbed through a slave, melting his body almost instantaneously. The boy seemed to have simply sidestepped the fire bolt, looking unimpressed at the display of power. The rest of the congregation, those that could, took it as a sign to begin their own assaults, hurling javelins of wood, shards of ice, bolts of lightning and edges of stone at the demon in their midst.
Carving an odd sigil in the air with his fingers fluttering wildly, the Solar spoke a word of power and crossed his arms over his chest. His caste mark glowed with intensity, and his anima banner flared, immolating him in its white-hot heat, the scream of a mospid following the display. The aforementioned animal sprung out of his back, almost phoenix like, and proceeded to lash out at the assembled Terrestrials. Yet this was nothing compared to the final result. The caster became a focus point for a sunburst that exploded out from him in a release of energy, swelling several yards out in a furnace of cosmic power. The essence bolts met with that and one of two things happened. Either they melted in a sudden release of Essence, or they changed into golden shards of light and shot back at the person who had originally hurled it, outlining the individual in that same gold before they simply disintegrated.
There were only two volleys of elemental bolts, as some were in the midst of throwing their second as the first came hurling back at them. A stunned silence fell, and the corona held for a moment more, almost taunting the assembled before fading back to the boy. He looked around and saw that he had eliminated about half of the revelers. "As I said, playtime is over," he repeated, stepping foreword and not giving a second glance to the Dynasts who glared at him with raw, unfettered hatred, or some or kept their eyes downcast for fear of drawing the wrath of something that was obviously greater then them. Some fingered swords, others gripped the carpet as the Priest of the Unconquered Sun stepped through the parting crowd. There was only a limited degree of what was left of the assembled company's pride being displayed. While a few of the braver or less prudent Exalted showed an inch of their swords or gripped their weapons in a different way, none dared take a swing at someone who could melt you before one could scream.
The Zenith made his way to the Twilight in chains, touching his staff to her bonds. The fell away with an unceremonious clink, and she proceeded to grab at his legs. He shushed and pushed her away, gently, and took off his sunburst emblazoned cloak, wrapping it around her for modesty. "Relax now child, you are in the arms of your people. They who are Chosen of the Unconquered Sun shall receive His Light in the darkest of pits, and His Light shall both blind and burn the foes of His Chosen," he told her, even as she could clearly be his older sister. He laid his staff aside to do this, and as he did so, Dyrius had taken the moment to strike. His prey would not be taken without a fight. If he died, then it could not be said that he had not fought without valor. His red jade daiklaive lashed out at the Solar's back, aiming for what seemed like a weak spot in the armor.
The warrior-priest whipped around in a flash, knocking the daiklaive loose with a kick that trailed white essence, and followed through with a punch that sent the young Terrestrial sprawling. He then proceeded to take a stance, and the mospid in his anima whipped its wings around in a half arch that began on either side of it and then met over its head. As the wings moved upwards, they left faint impressions at first, then becoming thicker and fuller as they rose, until they were the burning eyes of the Unconquered Sun. For a split second they held, and then they became filled to form a circle that surrounded the mospid in more alabaster light before it gave a final cry. Then the emblazoned mospid banner became an ivory circle of essence, an indoor sun. As the Dragon Blooded rose the Hammer of Heaven blazed forward, leaving afterimages of the halo behind him that lingered in the air. They all flashed in unison as he punched through the guts of the Dynast, the only blood on the tips of his glowing fingers.
The aptly named Golden Bull pulled free his unbloodied arm and turned away, leaving his victim to slump to the ground clutching the hole in his torso. He kicked his legs weakly, but lived on. The blow, he would realize later, was meant to teach. The blazing suns were beginning to fade, and his mospid was returning to his banner, reforming slowly. He took the girl in his arms, lifting her up, and walked back towards the doors with his staff slung across his back. Before stepping out the double doors, he regarded the congregation.
"Your masters from the First Age, the Chosen of the Unconquered Sun, have returned. Your purge has failed, we live again. When you next hear the name of Jendai Diarahne of the Zenith, you shall know me as your leader. Prepare for that day," he announced.
And with that, he left the Terrestrials in shock as he winked away from view.