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sparkindarknessAt last! At last, some action. A fight scene! (alright, not a sex scene, but a good second. Waaait, when WAS the last time I did a sex scene? That's just shameful. No wonder all the muses are being arsey).
A note on Sitharensor's battle cry because there's been so much dithering that I imagine it's hard to keep track 'the Fire Burns' is the battle cry of his House. Not only does this represent that their enemy is about to become a small pile of poor quality charcoal, but also because the House is called Eternal Fire. When they scream their battle cry, it's not just a threat but a proclamation that the House is here, the House still endures (it hasn't gone out yet), that it is still fighting (it still burns) and that it will continue to do so (it is still eternal).
And that's enough rambling.
Sitharensor flew through the air, bands of solid shadow wrapped around his chest, throwing him with incredible strength across the room. He hit the wall with a deafening crack in the eerie silence, instinct and long training alone allowing him to hold onto his mystical light.
Ilatheril’s eyes cut through the gloom, able to see in even the most complete darkness. Except that one corner, one corner that was too deep for even the gaze of an Unseelie Sidhe to cut. His smile was savage as he charged forwards. His magic enhanced his speed to an untrackable blur. He put his full momentum behind the thrust of his bronze short sword, his arms burning with a burst of magically enhanced strength, more magic flared along the edge of the blade, reinforcing it against a blow that could have driven the sword into solid granite.
The sword hit the darkness with a sound like metal on metal. The darkness cracked, splintered but did not collapse. Ilatheril staggered, stunned by the force of the impact against an immovable force. The sword twisted from his grip, only quick movements and well honed sword skills stopped the blow from breaking his wrists.
The darkness lashed out at the stunned Unseelie, tentacles coiled into fists, edged with razor sharpness reached hungrily for him. He snarled, a pure, instinctual gesture of defiance. The shadows faltered, hit by an incredible wave of Unseelie magic from the fallen Sidhe.
Sitharensor one hand throwing a ray of blinding light at on furiously thrashing tendril. He tried to walk towards Ilatheril but was balked by a mass of thrashing unguided darkness. Darkness swelled by a factor of ten on new power, but with no concentrated will to control it. It flailed like a mortally wounded animal, lashed out like one driven to the very limit of rage. It was blind, unguided but incredibly deadly. The Seelie tried to dance between the lethal tendrils, throwing scintillating beams into the mass, severing huge pillars of shadow. It was like fighting a hydra, for every head he severed another two rose to replace it. He couldn't see through the darkness, it just ate whatever lights he produced. He couldn’t concentrate to call anything larger. Slowly but surely he was forced back to the door.
Ilatheril growled, the low, animal rumbling of a seriously pissed off Sidhe. He turned his gaze towards the creature. It was wrapped in an armour of shadow and darkness, hiding most of it’s ebon, skeletal form. Only the eyes were clear, huge orbs that took up most of the alien, emaciated face, devoid of pupil or iris, they were a sickly, milky white from edge to edge. He threw himself at the creature, a bronze dagger flashing to life between his fingers. Darkness tried to bar his way, grab him and pull him back or form a wall between him and his quarry. He passed right through it, like he would through most He was an Unseelie Sidhe, and this was his darkness.
He hit the shadow clad creature so hard they both flew into the back wall. Ilatheril ended up straddling the creature, bringing the knife down with all the force of his leap and the magic he could call. A skeletal hand sped through the darkness to catch his wrist. His blow slowed, Ilatheril grit his teeth to force his blade inch by slow painful inch towards the creature... His magic began to fade, such bursts of strength could not be sustained, even Sidhe flesh couldn’t hold it.
His blade stopped. His strength was still magically enhanced to far beyond that of a human, it was a level he could maintain... but this creature with the shadows wrapped around it’s arms like an obsidian exoskeleton was far stronger than a Sidhe. He saw a smile through the darkness, a small mouth filled with glossy black teeth. Even on those alien features, he could see a smile of triumph. The grip tightened, he fought against it, fought not to cry out in pain as the bones ground together. The knife fell helplessly from his nerveless hand. Then a second skeletal hand came up, too fast to stop, to wrap itself around his throat.
Sitharensor was aglow with power. The creature couldn’t be this strong! It was not Sidhe! It could not face him! But it had lurked here for an unknown length of time, days, weeks, possibly even months or years. Possibly ever since the building was constructed or before. It was its lair, wrapped in shadows and darkness and power time and time again. A trap even a Sidhe should hesitate to enter. .
Worse yet, his power called it. Not the power of the Sidhe, but the power of the Seelie, the power of the Light, Every time he called his power the shadows thickened and hunted him more aggressively. With every ray of light the shadows became more focused, more intent. He could not even see his assailant through the unnatural, light eating darkness, it could be anywhere in this vast room and he had no power to flail around madly in hope of catching it. His back was to the stairwell now, he was fighting every instinct to turn and flee. Turn and leave Ilatheril to his fate... And what? Return, alone, in failure? Return having abandoned his husband? His eyes caught fire with the rage that the thoughts brought.
DEATH BEFORE DISHONOUR! TRUE LOVE CONQUERS ALL!
With the Seelie’s most sacred laws echoing through his head he set himself to redouble his fight against the darkness, to whatever end.
Ilatheril pushed uselessly against the vice like grip with his free hand. His wrist was crushed, bones splintering beneath the incredible pressure. He tried to scream, but it came out as a choked, gasping sound lacking the air to give it voice. Pain and lack of oxygen sent his head spinning, nausea raised up his gorge and his vision began to blur. He reached out desperately for anything that could help. He called his magic, his power and cursed himself, mentally howling in pain and frustration. All this magic, all the power of the Sidhe, of generations of Unseelie, and he couldn’t even begin to think of a way to use it that would save him from being strangled to death! Him, a Sidhe! Strangled!
With the last of his hope, and on the very edge of consciousness, he buried his pride and reached out to the only thing that had a chance of saving him.
Sitharensor’s heel hit the bottom stair. Reluctantly he stepped up to avoid one lashing tentacle before he burned it to nothingness. He cursed, calling a quick sheet of light to push back the darkness enough for him to retake that step. It was useless, not even a full minute passed before he had to climb the step again. Step by step he would be driven away.
He gritted his teeth, narrowed his eyes and made his choice. Better to die in attack than in retreat.
Then he felt it. Ilatheril’s power touching him. It was faint, weak just clinging onto the edge of existence. For a brief second he felt bands around his throat crushing off his air. He felt a stabbing, sickly pain in his wrist that was crushed and useless. For a second his vision doubled and he saw two alien milky orbs staring at him above a small, triumphant grin of glittering black teeth.
The distraction forced him to take two steps further up the stairwell, before he could force the shadows back. He smiled grimly. A third option had presented itself.
He reached for his full power, abandoning his defence for one split second. Shadows battered him, darkness sliced at him. He stood in the onslught, mind concentrated through the pain from decades of magical meditation. His power was gathered into one cutting, focused and devastating ray of light. He threw it forwards, sending it out with his battle cry on his lips;
“The fire BURNS!” The ray cut straight through the darkness, slicing through any attempts of defence.
Ilatheril heard the shouted battle cry even as the world seemed to fade away. Then there was light, intense, agonising light. He stood on the very edge of destruction, of being pushed over the edge by that searing beam. He reached out yet again, instinct guiding him more than anything else as he wrapped the darkness around him in desperate protection.
Sitharensor staggered forwards. The darkness was cleared and his small orb of light that floated just over his head illuminated the vast chamber. He limped around the edge of the room, using one wall to keep himself upright as he made it to where the two Unseelie lay prone on the floor. It was a slow, painful process. He was sure several bones were broken, including several shattered ribs. His right leg had a deep, brutal gash running down it and he bled profusely from numerous wounds. He didn’t think he had an inch of skin that was not severely bruised. Before he reached them, Ilatheril had managed to pull himself to his feet. He held one wrist weakly in his other hand and he had a necklace of bruises round his throat. He swayed from side to side as if still near unconscious. His skin was red, skin peeling in massive chunks and forming into blisters. He managed a faint smile as his husband finally approached. Ilatheril tried to say something but it was choked and unintelligible, his voice harsh and useless. He grimaced painfully.
We won. Even his mental voice sounded vague and exhausted.
Sitharensor nodded, carefully, looking down at the charred wreck on the floor. It was utterly unrecognisable now. Yes, we won. Let us claim what we came here for and return to our peaceful home.
Beating this is one thing, but our home being peaceful? That might be beyond both of us.
Sitharensor smiled and together they began to search.
A note on Sitharensor's battle cry because there's been so much dithering that I imagine it's hard to keep track 'the Fire Burns' is the battle cry of his House. Not only does this represent that their enemy is about to become a small pile of poor quality charcoal, but also because the House is called Eternal Fire. When they scream their battle cry, it's not just a threat but a proclamation that the House is here, the House still endures (it hasn't gone out yet), that it is still fighting (it still burns) and that it will continue to do so (it is still eternal).
And that's enough rambling.
Sitharensor flew through the air, bands of solid shadow wrapped around his chest, throwing him with incredible strength across the room. He hit the wall with a deafening crack in the eerie silence, instinct and long training alone allowing him to hold onto his mystical light.
Ilatheril’s eyes cut through the gloom, able to see in even the most complete darkness. Except that one corner, one corner that was too deep for even the gaze of an Unseelie Sidhe to cut. His smile was savage as he charged forwards. His magic enhanced his speed to an untrackable blur. He put his full momentum behind the thrust of his bronze short sword, his arms burning with a burst of magically enhanced strength, more magic flared along the edge of the blade, reinforcing it against a blow that could have driven the sword into solid granite.
The sword hit the darkness with a sound like metal on metal. The darkness cracked, splintered but did not collapse. Ilatheril staggered, stunned by the force of the impact against an immovable force. The sword twisted from his grip, only quick movements and well honed sword skills stopped the blow from breaking his wrists.
The darkness lashed out at the stunned Unseelie, tentacles coiled into fists, edged with razor sharpness reached hungrily for him. He snarled, a pure, instinctual gesture of defiance. The shadows faltered, hit by an incredible wave of Unseelie magic from the fallen Sidhe.
Sitharensor one hand throwing a ray of blinding light at on furiously thrashing tendril. He tried to walk towards Ilatheril but was balked by a mass of thrashing unguided darkness. Darkness swelled by a factor of ten on new power, but with no concentrated will to control it. It flailed like a mortally wounded animal, lashed out like one driven to the very limit of rage. It was blind, unguided but incredibly deadly. The Seelie tried to dance between the lethal tendrils, throwing scintillating beams into the mass, severing huge pillars of shadow. It was like fighting a hydra, for every head he severed another two rose to replace it. He couldn't see through the darkness, it just ate whatever lights he produced. He couldn’t concentrate to call anything larger. Slowly but surely he was forced back to the door.
Ilatheril growled, the low, animal rumbling of a seriously pissed off Sidhe. He turned his gaze towards the creature. It was wrapped in an armour of shadow and darkness, hiding most of it’s ebon, skeletal form. Only the eyes were clear, huge orbs that took up most of the alien, emaciated face, devoid of pupil or iris, they were a sickly, milky white from edge to edge. He threw himself at the creature, a bronze dagger flashing to life between his fingers. Darkness tried to bar his way, grab him and pull him back or form a wall between him and his quarry. He passed right through it, like he would through most He was an Unseelie Sidhe, and this was his darkness.
He hit the shadow clad creature so hard they both flew into the back wall. Ilatheril ended up straddling the creature, bringing the knife down with all the force of his leap and the magic he could call. A skeletal hand sped through the darkness to catch his wrist. His blow slowed, Ilatheril grit his teeth to force his blade inch by slow painful inch towards the creature... His magic began to fade, such bursts of strength could not be sustained, even Sidhe flesh couldn’t hold it.
His blade stopped. His strength was still magically enhanced to far beyond that of a human, it was a level he could maintain... but this creature with the shadows wrapped around it’s arms like an obsidian exoskeleton was far stronger than a Sidhe. He saw a smile through the darkness, a small mouth filled with glossy black teeth. Even on those alien features, he could see a smile of triumph. The grip tightened, he fought against it, fought not to cry out in pain as the bones ground together. The knife fell helplessly from his nerveless hand. Then a second skeletal hand came up, too fast to stop, to wrap itself around his throat.
Sitharensor was aglow with power. The creature couldn’t be this strong! It was not Sidhe! It could not face him! But it had lurked here for an unknown length of time, days, weeks, possibly even months or years. Possibly ever since the building was constructed or before. It was its lair, wrapped in shadows and darkness and power time and time again. A trap even a Sidhe should hesitate to enter. .
Worse yet, his power called it. Not the power of the Sidhe, but the power of the Seelie, the power of the Light, Every time he called his power the shadows thickened and hunted him more aggressively. With every ray of light the shadows became more focused, more intent. He could not even see his assailant through the unnatural, light eating darkness, it could be anywhere in this vast room and he had no power to flail around madly in hope of catching it. His back was to the stairwell now, he was fighting every instinct to turn and flee. Turn and leave Ilatheril to his fate... And what? Return, alone, in failure? Return having abandoned his husband? His eyes caught fire with the rage that the thoughts brought.
DEATH BEFORE DISHONOUR! TRUE LOVE CONQUERS ALL!
With the Seelie’s most sacred laws echoing through his head he set himself to redouble his fight against the darkness, to whatever end.
Ilatheril pushed uselessly against the vice like grip with his free hand. His wrist was crushed, bones splintering beneath the incredible pressure. He tried to scream, but it came out as a choked, gasping sound lacking the air to give it voice. Pain and lack of oxygen sent his head spinning, nausea raised up his gorge and his vision began to blur. He reached out desperately for anything that could help. He called his magic, his power and cursed himself, mentally howling in pain and frustration. All this magic, all the power of the Sidhe, of generations of Unseelie, and he couldn’t even begin to think of a way to use it that would save him from being strangled to death! Him, a Sidhe! Strangled!
With the last of his hope, and on the very edge of consciousness, he buried his pride and reached out to the only thing that had a chance of saving him.
Sitharensor’s heel hit the bottom stair. Reluctantly he stepped up to avoid one lashing tentacle before he burned it to nothingness. He cursed, calling a quick sheet of light to push back the darkness enough for him to retake that step. It was useless, not even a full minute passed before he had to climb the step again. Step by step he would be driven away.
He gritted his teeth, narrowed his eyes and made his choice. Better to die in attack than in retreat.
Then he felt it. Ilatheril’s power touching him. It was faint, weak just clinging onto the edge of existence. For a brief second he felt bands around his throat crushing off his air. He felt a stabbing, sickly pain in his wrist that was crushed and useless. For a second his vision doubled and he saw two alien milky orbs staring at him above a small, triumphant grin of glittering black teeth.
The distraction forced him to take two steps further up the stairwell, before he could force the shadows back. He smiled grimly. A third option had presented itself.
He reached for his full power, abandoning his defence for one split second. Shadows battered him, darkness sliced at him. He stood in the onslught, mind concentrated through the pain from decades of magical meditation. His power was gathered into one cutting, focused and devastating ray of light. He threw it forwards, sending it out with his battle cry on his lips;
“The fire BURNS!” The ray cut straight through the darkness, slicing through any attempts of defence.
Ilatheril heard the shouted battle cry even as the world seemed to fade away. Then there was light, intense, agonising light. He stood on the very edge of destruction, of being pushed over the edge by that searing beam. He reached out yet again, instinct guiding him more than anything else as he wrapped the darkness around him in desperate protection.
Sitharensor staggered forwards. The darkness was cleared and his small orb of light that floated just over his head illuminated the vast chamber. He limped around the edge of the room, using one wall to keep himself upright as he made it to where the two Unseelie lay prone on the floor. It was a slow, painful process. He was sure several bones were broken, including several shattered ribs. His right leg had a deep, brutal gash running down it and he bled profusely from numerous wounds. He didn’t think he had an inch of skin that was not severely bruised. Before he reached them, Ilatheril had managed to pull himself to his feet. He held one wrist weakly in his other hand and he had a necklace of bruises round his throat. He swayed from side to side as if still near unconscious. His skin was red, skin peeling in massive chunks and forming into blisters. He managed a faint smile as his husband finally approached. Ilatheril tried to say something but it was choked and unintelligible, his voice harsh and useless. He grimaced painfully.
We won. Even his mental voice sounded vague and exhausted.
Sitharensor nodded, carefully, looking down at the charred wreck on the floor. It was utterly unrecognisable now. Yes, we won. Let us claim what we came here for and return to our peaceful home.
Beating this is one thing, but our home being peaceful? That might be beyond both of us.
Sitharensor smiled and together they began to search.