...Caged Resolve...
"The most delicious of fools is he who is wiser than to trust the tameness of a spider... but still his choice is to climb into the web."
Where we stepped out under the Gelkmaros sky, we took a wind stream over a balaur infested area, tilting our wings ever so carefully to guide us around to a safe haven. Having rifted very little, I could not tell you where we stood but the templar knew the lay of the land and led us to a well-hidden spot to plant a kisk. They are wonderful little contraptions that act as a temporary obelisk so that you don't have to run the whole way back if you die. Their portability makes them weaken quickly, though, so they only last about a few hours. Again, the templar left the rest of us out of the loop, charging ahead like a brax-bull at full speed. A few balaur spied us as we wove through the trees and stones, slowing us down from whatever our objective. We eventually found a small box, killed the nearby monsters and the chanter slipped the contents into his cube before we charged ahead to someplace else.
Searching for our next target led us close to the main roads that we were seen by two Asmodians. Common strategy is to kill the spirit master or cleric first. Our spirit master was no exception, being forced to run as fast as she could while her pet flew at her pursuers and the rest of our team converged to kill the duo. More came along the road, myself as a prime target and it was my turn to round around while the chanter acted as healer. While I would not name myself an elite cleric, it is certainly a comfort when working with elites because everyone seems to know their responsibilities well and the team can adjust accordingly to most any situation despite not having worked together before. The balaur we were after was nearby and we stole his documents once we dispatched of him. Our third target was also in the area, but the Asmodians we had met were back, throwing curses at us, shouting for us to go home along with some more distasteful messages. I died at least once, resurrecting myself nearly straight after and throwing a magical shield up so that the chanter and myself could heal while I was weakened. The spirit master also died, but our group pulled through. I resurrected her and we carried on with our objective to find another balaur, killing several since they all look alike. I doubt the Asmodians will miss the extra few.
Our "friends" came back once more in force and the templar called a retreat. I rooted when I could afford to look back, the chanter and spirit master as well, and the ranger would throw down her traps if she could. All six of us ended up jumping into a ravine that the aether was strong, opening our wings and flying to the other side. Our stay was most unwelcome, being met by a line of crimson eyes in our path. As a healer, one of the most frustrating things is having to heal in flight. Air-borne battles involve whole new strategies from diving, aerial traps, and concentrating on your wings. It was futile against the pincer attack, but I tried to see us through that fight, chasing down each of my allies in an attempt to save them, only to be a breath too late and feel the despair take hold of me as I felt my own wings tangled, beaten and left to fall to the bottom of that bird cage. I followed the thread of aether back to the kisk, taking breath there and healing us as we all rested. The tears could not be stopped, but I at least held in the sobs and the sniffles. If they noticed the wet trails, no one commented. The templar rose and led us back out there without a word, and I followed, wiping my cheeks dry as I prepared to enter that vulture pit once more.
They were still waiting for us, a cloud of ink-colored feathers tinged with blues, purples and reds. I glued myself to the spirit master - a gamble since we were the most appealing targets - but I kept us alive as best I could. I crashed my shield against an assassin that tried to backstab her, fighting until she could fear them, spirit riding the wind as it snapped and howled ferociously. We died again, regrouping at the kisk. This time, the templar gave me a solid nod. Again, he said, before charging back with us in tow. Obviously, I could heal well enough on ground. He wanted to see what I did on the wing. He ran us out there until the kisk gave out, and we died every time, but there were some personal victories like seeing us tackle one of the Asmodian generals, killing him before we were decimated. After that round, when we returned, the general was waiting again with the rest flying in formation behind him. We halted, flying in place as he made motions and five enemies joined him. He was an assassin, joined by a templar, chanter, ranger, spirit master and cleric. Their general was asking for an equal match. Same numbers, same classes. One claw beckoned to our assassin, and it was clear he wanted it verse your opposite. The Asmoth rumbled from his mouth, declaring this a true test of skill and he expected each of his team members to prove their worth. I eyed their cleric, sizing him up and saluting. What our fight would be was up to him. Of us six Elyos, I might have been the only one who knew their language, but we all understood the fight to come.
There was no signal, just a flash of blades before the thunder as we all engaged our counterpart. The assassins were a flurry of motion, the wind pets were ripping into one another while spells charged the air. Arrows rained down that all twelve had to be wary. Plate rang as the templars traded blows, wings beating to hold them in place in their aerial duel. My assassin was losing badly, and I threw my fastest spell at him. Angering a general is perhaps the wrong thing to do. I felt blades at my neck as he pinned me, wings crushed that it was his strength that kept us both aloft. He promised to come for me personally once he finished my friends. His blades no longer bit against my flesh and I had to heal my own wings that I might fly. Their cleric came at me with a cruel looking staff. The stench of oiled leathers still filled my nose, and part of my attention was constantly glancing to see if the assassins had a winner. The staff crushed one of my wings and I would have fallen had a clawed hand not grabbed my dominant arm. He was swinging at me, which I blocked with my shield before trying to smash his face in. It clipped him enough to let go, only to catch my foot instead. Vertigo gripped me that I nearly lost my mace and shield had they not been strapped to my wrists. When my vision was straight, a sudden fear gripped my soul. The Age pendant was dangling from my mace, and being made by Asmodian hands, there was no guarantee it would return to me when I resurrected. I tried to grab it, but I was relying on an Asmodian to hold steady while I was dangling from my ankle. Next thing I knew, I was right side up and being body checked against the cliff face.
Even in my delirium and pain, my concern was for the pendant and I looked forlornly at my mace when the golden chain was no longer there. I recall vaguely launching off of the rock, grappling with that cleric that he could not swing his staff at all while I forced him to support both of us in flight as I smashed my pommel into him. I shouted all kinds of obscenities at him, every swear I knew. Vision swimming with tears, I glanced at the other pairs and saw nothing but black wings. I was the last Elyos to be killed, and yet the pendant was still my prime concern. I threw a blow at his wings and disentangled as we fell, summoning my wings in a dive to the rocks below. The Asmodian had barely caught wind under his wings when I let incantations fly from my lips. He finally crumpled, and I cast eyes about for the necklace. If there is one thing I am guilty of, it is telegraphing what I am most focused on. The assassin general was keeping good on his promise, locking me in place with a dagger to my throat once more as he dangled Voltaic's gift before my face. He made a joke about how pigeons don't normally seek shiny things, that I was much closer to a magpie (I inferred. I know of very few birds that would fit what he said). I spat back, calling him a bastard in his own tongue as I made a grab for the prize. The pain that ripped through my neck was terrifying, my own force having cut me before he could let up on the pressure. Hearing Asmoth from my lips let surprise slip into his voice and a smirk on his face, no doubt. His chuckle was low in my ear, though, laughing about how the pigeon would peck a crow, and how I was being foolish over something so sentimental. Restrained and unable to heal myself, I died slowly in his grasp, slumping against him as I weakened, watching as my fingers let go of the chain, refusing to take hold again before I was pulled back to my obelisk. The templar was waiting for me, helmet underarm and brow furrowed about why I had lived so long compared to them. I couldn't give him an answer - my throat was swollen shut as I confirmed that the pendant was gone.
The trial was over. The templar-of-few-words-grunts-and-other-sounds told me I could return to my legion house. His gaze was judgmental as I tried to hold myself together before I was dismissed. I asked what I could work on, to which he said I already knew my weaknesses. I made my way home in a stupor, holding in every emotion that I might save face. What friends I saw at the legion house all rose to greet me despite my being gone barely over a day. I passed them all, aiming for my room, Danna's company, and a bed I could cry into. Once I crossed the threshold, the emotions could do what they pleased.
Danna was not in the room when I finally made it there. Darkness greeted my eyes as I softly clicked the door in place and let memory guide me to my bed. I vaguely recall scooping up the small, black ball on my pillow and cradling Squee in my pathetic state. She chirped and clicked at me as kircas do, and tucked up under my chin as I fell asleep.
I woke to gentle fingers brushing my hair from my eyes and a wet cloth wiping my face. Danna had come home, offering me a warm smile as she spoke very lightly. Reality was not far behind, and the tears started up again. Her mouth lost its smile as whimpers rose in my throat, evolving to sobs as she hugged me gently. The wonderful thing about Danna was that she was caring without probing. She knew people would tell her in their own time and skipped straight to the comforting. She undid the fastenings of my armor and set it aside, leading me away to the bath. Gentle fingers pulled the soiled cloth off of me and undid my hair, setting aside the golden hairpin Voltaic had made for me. I picked it up, holding it tight as the tears threatened to form anew. She figured it out, then, and I knew she wanted to ask. As best I could, I said it was gone, fallen off of me in battle and failed to return when I did. She reached the same conclusion I had - that an Asmodian made item would return with us only if we were touching it. It was not a soul-bound item because our aethers were just different enough. Fingers gripped my shoulders affectionately as she said, You should take comfort that he gave two gifts.
I still felt the loss and despair, but I knew I was fortunate the pin had not slipped out during the battles. Danna was just trying to cheer me up, but with good reason. I had to report to Brigade General Relee, and the rest of legion would be curious what my trial had been like. Still moving in a daze, she helped me to dress in clean clothes and brush out my hair. I don't recall moving from the bath room to Brigade Relee's quarters, but his voice bade me enter and I was standing at attention before him. One eyebrow raised to see me so soon after my summons in Sanctum. As per usual, he knit his fingers tightly together and leveled a steady gaze as I recanted everything I could, from the panel discussing my battle history, the group assembly, Silentera Canyon, Gelkmaros objectives and ending with our fight with the Asmodian general. Relee took particular interest there since this was something he, too, would have done. I was made to describe him as best I could. Shan had entered the room quietly - or perhaps not so quietly, but I was not paying close attention. I recall being very distant from myself, then, almost as if I was dead and hovering over my body, emotionless. Shan watched me passively and named the general Sirrus the Sadist. I would not have named him as such then, but Shan had more experience dealing with high ranking Asmodians than I, so I took his word for it. I later confirmed that nickname for myself. They were very curious about that battle and asked for thorough details to better assess the information. It was easy enough to state how Sirrus threatened me after I healed my assassin, and how the dark cleric had beaten me. I left out the detail that concerned me most, both as a protection for the Age and to ease my own hurt. As far as they were concerned, I killed myself on purpose to deny him whatever he had in store for my death. The corners of Relee's mouth twitched as he fought a smile; Shan gave in to it. It would be any number of days before we heard what the bull-templar and my panel made of my short trial.