Post by FireAngel on May 26, 2008 8:50:23 GMT -5
((New C... Just for kicks. ~*Grins*~))
I stood silently, facing the Council of Sisters, my face as stony as theirs. Nine masks stared at me, nine visages, each with their own, statuesque beauty, each with their own story chiseled into features of unreadable ice. They stared at me: Lyric, Shyla, Seiryann, Revlyn, Merridian, Brys, Alyx, Vonaria, Dalsinn, my Sisters, stared at me, and judged one of their own. I am the Tenth Face of the Council of Yevess, the Council of Sisters. My swords, my markers, my blades-of-blood, were thrust in the sand half the length of the blades before me in an ‘X’ as I stood in the circle of sand before the dais where I faced the Council of my Sisters. Wind whipped through the open auditorium where great, ivory pillars soared to a roofless height. Sun blazed down on my head, heat rippling up from the ground under my black-sandaled feet, but I was impervious to the heat under the weight of those nine sets of eyes.
I could tell they were each one considering my petition. It had shocked them to the one when I had voiced my request, but out of respect for one of their own, they had listened as I asked to be stripped of my name, of my rank, and allowed to leave Yevess to hunt a man down.
”Tell us why, Nadely.”
Lyric was her name personified, her voice both rich and musical to the ear, soft yet carrying and with such a depth of quality that she was near-siren like. Alone of the Sisterhood did Lyric not wield the blade, yet it made her no less the formidable foe. I have seen her fell a cavalry mid-charge with a burst of power from song-formed lips. Too was her Guardian, a hell-beast bonded to her and who protected her bodily and with a horrible violence when provoked. I looked at Lyric, and read a mild trace of confusion in her eyes. And well could I see why. Very few had ever asked to be made Unnamed, and the last had not happened in over two hundred years.
Dark hair swished over my shoulder as my head dipped to her very slightly. They would still hear me out, then. My swords quivered in the breeze, a white-blue light glimmering as it traced up the edges of my blades-of-blood. More than mere swords, blades-of-blood were bonded to those accepted to wield them – not precisely living, but neither were the weapons forged merely of metal and steel. They held a power that was all their own, and only the highest of Sword-Mistresses could claim blades-of-blood. With the exception of Lyric, each of the Council of Sisters wielded blades-of-blood. I considered before speaking.
”There is a blood-debt owed me. A dishonor to my sire’s House, and it falls to me to see the guilt is collected.”
My voice was low, stretched taut. Since receiving the missive clutched in my hand, I felt driven by a purpose, hardened by need, frozen by anger. My dark eyes were nearly black as they moved along each face before me. I could see that I had not convinced them yet, and waited in taunt silence as they formed their next point of protest, and like a spear hurtled into my chest that moved with unerring accuracy to that which gave me most pause.
”Yevess is your House now.”
Revlyn could be as cold as ice at times, ruthlessly so, viciously so, and that ruthlessness came through in the snapping of her words, hurled at me as if I were betraying them all. I had to remind myself that Revlyn had no House, but instead had been adopted into the Sisterhood at a young age, learning blades and tracking at a time when most young girls had learned weaving and cooking. There was no doubt that Revlyn could look on a field of battle and plot the most strategic place to stage an attack, but give her a loom and yarn and she would be utterly defeated. I was hardly any better, but I had been sent from my sire’s House to Yevess instead.
”As a blade can have many names, so can a blade-master have many Houses, my Sister.”
My pointed look to where Revlyn’s hand was curled around the staff of her own dual-headed pike left little doubt as to what I meant, her own two-headed weapon legendary and each head given its own name when blooded in her bonding ritual with the weapon. She did not like it, her mouth closing, lips tightening almost imperceptibly, but a swift nod of her head accepted my response as truth. The Nine Sisters looked from one to the other then, a message I could read as silently as it was spoken. They did not like it. Another question lingered in their minds, however, and I could see them deciding who would ask. It was Brys who spoke, the petite, curvy woman still utterly feminine despite the lean muscles hardened by years with the blade.
”What will you do when you find this man you seek, Nadely?”
Purpose filled me, drove me. It allowed me to answer without hesitation, my voice low, cold, unwavering in my resolve.
”I will challenge him to absolve his blood-guilt to my House.”
They looked from one to the other again, and then at me, eighteen eyes pinioning me to my place. I waited, silent, still, so utterly still I think perhaps I could not move at all. I asked to leave Yevess, to be made Unnamed, stripped of honor and rank, to be allowed to kill, to murder a murderer.
Lyric finally stepped forward again, her eyes filling with compassion and understanding on me. Her hands lifted, palms out, to gesture to the auditorium where we stood, the audience of sisters melted into the shadows around the pillars and holding their breath to await what would be said, awed into silence at what was witnessed. I found I was holding my breath as well, my dark eyes fixated on the woman who captivated with a graceful motion of her hands.
”Nadely, Tenth Face of the Sisterhood of Yevess, Blooded to the Council, we hear-by declare you to be Unnamed, removed of Rank and Title, Authority and Voice in the Council and Cast from Yevess…”
Even though it was giving to me my own request, the very thing I asked for, I still felt my stomach lurch at the words, my heart twisting violently in my chest before thumping hollowly, an icy chill run through my veins. Being Unnamed was a punishment that for some of the Sisterhood was worse than death. Removed of honor, banned from Yevess for the rest of their lives. Trained by the blade, living with their Sisters. That is our life.
I think I might have perhaps flinched, because Lyric then held up a hand to stop what thoughts I had, her eyes glistening wetly on me. She was close to my own age and too had lived her entire life in Yevess and we knew one another well, Lyric and I.
”…For the space of a year. At which time, you will return to Yevess and report to the Council of your actions, and be judged on the measure of your success.”
A year. It was more than I had expected. My Sisters were going to allow me a chance to redeem my honor, then, so long as the guilt-debt of my house was collected. It was not very long, truly, considering I had little details to go on in finding the man responsible for the death of my House. Which meant I had to find him, and kill him, and fast.
Dark hair gleamed as my head dipped to the Council of Yevess, my Nine Sisters, marking that I understood what was not said. Success would redeem my honor, my status and rank among my Sisterhood. Failure would see me remain Unnamed. My hands reached for the hilts of my blades, curling around the grips and feeling my fingers fit like old friends around the grips, and in a motion of long practice, pulled them free. Crossing the blades over my chest, the flat edges pressed into my torso from shoulder across to hip, I bowed at the waist to the Nine, closing my eyes and feeling stretched tight enough to snap.
”Thank you, my Sisters. Sith’hallay.”
‘May you sit with the Gods’. As I turned to leave the auditorium, striding past the silently gawking Sister-Warriors of Yevess, I do not look at them. I can’t, feeling as if I might crumble if I do. They have never seen one of the Council made Unnamed. Neither have I, for that matter, nor anyone else that was still alive of the Sisterhood. My horse was packed and saddled, waiting outside for me as I passed through the last of the pillars, moving past the women who spilled out to watch me go. My swords were sheathed into the harness riding snug on my shoulders, crossing my back and within easy reach as I mounted the dappled gray horse and looked upon them all again. I felt empty, hollow in a way, and then I felt that emptiness filling slowly, quietly, with a boiling hot rage.
Turning my horse and setting my heels to his quivering flanks, he grunted and sent tiny spurts of sand flying under his heels as he lunged down the path where I pointed his nose and gave him his head to run, to carry me away from my Sisters, to carry me closer to that dark place where vengeance lives.
I stood silently, facing the Council of Sisters, my face as stony as theirs. Nine masks stared at me, nine visages, each with their own, statuesque beauty, each with their own story chiseled into features of unreadable ice. They stared at me: Lyric, Shyla, Seiryann, Revlyn, Merridian, Brys, Alyx, Vonaria, Dalsinn, my Sisters, stared at me, and judged one of their own. I am the Tenth Face of the Council of Yevess, the Council of Sisters. My swords, my markers, my blades-of-blood, were thrust in the sand half the length of the blades before me in an ‘X’ as I stood in the circle of sand before the dais where I faced the Council of my Sisters. Wind whipped through the open auditorium where great, ivory pillars soared to a roofless height. Sun blazed down on my head, heat rippling up from the ground under my black-sandaled feet, but I was impervious to the heat under the weight of those nine sets of eyes.
I could tell they were each one considering my petition. It had shocked them to the one when I had voiced my request, but out of respect for one of their own, they had listened as I asked to be stripped of my name, of my rank, and allowed to leave Yevess to hunt a man down.
”Tell us why, Nadely.”
Lyric was her name personified, her voice both rich and musical to the ear, soft yet carrying and with such a depth of quality that she was near-siren like. Alone of the Sisterhood did Lyric not wield the blade, yet it made her no less the formidable foe. I have seen her fell a cavalry mid-charge with a burst of power from song-formed lips. Too was her Guardian, a hell-beast bonded to her and who protected her bodily and with a horrible violence when provoked. I looked at Lyric, and read a mild trace of confusion in her eyes. And well could I see why. Very few had ever asked to be made Unnamed, and the last had not happened in over two hundred years.
Dark hair swished over my shoulder as my head dipped to her very slightly. They would still hear me out, then. My swords quivered in the breeze, a white-blue light glimmering as it traced up the edges of my blades-of-blood. More than mere swords, blades-of-blood were bonded to those accepted to wield them – not precisely living, but neither were the weapons forged merely of metal and steel. They held a power that was all their own, and only the highest of Sword-Mistresses could claim blades-of-blood. With the exception of Lyric, each of the Council of Sisters wielded blades-of-blood. I considered before speaking.
”There is a blood-debt owed me. A dishonor to my sire’s House, and it falls to me to see the guilt is collected.”
My voice was low, stretched taut. Since receiving the missive clutched in my hand, I felt driven by a purpose, hardened by need, frozen by anger. My dark eyes were nearly black as they moved along each face before me. I could see that I had not convinced them yet, and waited in taunt silence as they formed their next point of protest, and like a spear hurtled into my chest that moved with unerring accuracy to that which gave me most pause.
”Yevess is your House now.”
Revlyn could be as cold as ice at times, ruthlessly so, viciously so, and that ruthlessness came through in the snapping of her words, hurled at me as if I were betraying them all. I had to remind myself that Revlyn had no House, but instead had been adopted into the Sisterhood at a young age, learning blades and tracking at a time when most young girls had learned weaving and cooking. There was no doubt that Revlyn could look on a field of battle and plot the most strategic place to stage an attack, but give her a loom and yarn and she would be utterly defeated. I was hardly any better, but I had been sent from my sire’s House to Yevess instead.
”As a blade can have many names, so can a blade-master have many Houses, my Sister.”
My pointed look to where Revlyn’s hand was curled around the staff of her own dual-headed pike left little doubt as to what I meant, her own two-headed weapon legendary and each head given its own name when blooded in her bonding ritual with the weapon. She did not like it, her mouth closing, lips tightening almost imperceptibly, but a swift nod of her head accepted my response as truth. The Nine Sisters looked from one to the other then, a message I could read as silently as it was spoken. They did not like it. Another question lingered in their minds, however, and I could see them deciding who would ask. It was Brys who spoke, the petite, curvy woman still utterly feminine despite the lean muscles hardened by years with the blade.
”What will you do when you find this man you seek, Nadely?”
Purpose filled me, drove me. It allowed me to answer without hesitation, my voice low, cold, unwavering in my resolve.
”I will challenge him to absolve his blood-guilt to my House.”
They looked from one to the other again, and then at me, eighteen eyes pinioning me to my place. I waited, silent, still, so utterly still I think perhaps I could not move at all. I asked to leave Yevess, to be made Unnamed, stripped of honor and rank, to be allowed to kill, to murder a murderer.
Lyric finally stepped forward again, her eyes filling with compassion and understanding on me. Her hands lifted, palms out, to gesture to the auditorium where we stood, the audience of sisters melted into the shadows around the pillars and holding their breath to await what would be said, awed into silence at what was witnessed. I found I was holding my breath as well, my dark eyes fixated on the woman who captivated with a graceful motion of her hands.
”Nadely, Tenth Face of the Sisterhood of Yevess, Blooded to the Council, we hear-by declare you to be Unnamed, removed of Rank and Title, Authority and Voice in the Council and Cast from Yevess…”
Even though it was giving to me my own request, the very thing I asked for, I still felt my stomach lurch at the words, my heart twisting violently in my chest before thumping hollowly, an icy chill run through my veins. Being Unnamed was a punishment that for some of the Sisterhood was worse than death. Removed of honor, banned from Yevess for the rest of their lives. Trained by the blade, living with their Sisters. That is our life.
I think I might have perhaps flinched, because Lyric then held up a hand to stop what thoughts I had, her eyes glistening wetly on me. She was close to my own age and too had lived her entire life in Yevess and we knew one another well, Lyric and I.
”…For the space of a year. At which time, you will return to Yevess and report to the Council of your actions, and be judged on the measure of your success.”
A year. It was more than I had expected. My Sisters were going to allow me a chance to redeem my honor, then, so long as the guilt-debt of my house was collected. It was not very long, truly, considering I had little details to go on in finding the man responsible for the death of my House. Which meant I had to find him, and kill him, and fast.
Dark hair gleamed as my head dipped to the Council of Yevess, my Nine Sisters, marking that I understood what was not said. Success would redeem my honor, my status and rank among my Sisterhood. Failure would see me remain Unnamed. My hands reached for the hilts of my blades, curling around the grips and feeling my fingers fit like old friends around the grips, and in a motion of long practice, pulled them free. Crossing the blades over my chest, the flat edges pressed into my torso from shoulder across to hip, I bowed at the waist to the Nine, closing my eyes and feeling stretched tight enough to snap.
”Thank you, my Sisters. Sith’hallay.”
‘May you sit with the Gods’. As I turned to leave the auditorium, striding past the silently gawking Sister-Warriors of Yevess, I do not look at them. I can’t, feeling as if I might crumble if I do. They have never seen one of the Council made Unnamed. Neither have I, for that matter, nor anyone else that was still alive of the Sisterhood. My horse was packed and saddled, waiting outside for me as I passed through the last of the pillars, moving past the women who spilled out to watch me go. My swords were sheathed into the harness riding snug on my shoulders, crossing my back and within easy reach as I mounted the dappled gray horse and looked upon them all again. I felt empty, hollow in a way, and then I felt that emptiness filling slowly, quietly, with a boiling hot rage.
Turning my horse and setting my heels to his quivering flanks, he grunted and sent tiny spurts of sand flying under his heels as he lunged down the path where I pointed his nose and gave him his head to run, to carry me away from my Sisters, to carry me closer to that dark place where vengeance lives.