Thread: To thunder against the heavens (Alexander and Crvenqueenie)

There wasn't any sound at all, not the tearing of flesh as he expected, or the clink of metal upon metal, as befitted the protection that she seemed to have. Cyncus was quite confused by his first taste of the unnatural upon his lips, though in time to come that would be a stream from which he drank deeply. The piece trembled in his hand for a moment, before he thrust it forth again, with a similar effect as the first time, as it was deflected away off her skin. The man tried to rationalize his situation where he could not explain the failure in his strike, superstitions coming to mind first. It was a new tool to him, he had not fought with this weapon before, so could it possibly be cursed? He tossed it to the side, and his hand swept to his belt to retrieve a more trustworthy dagger, held by him much longer than an infantry weapon. The figure cowered seemingly defenseless before him on her knees, her arms raised above her head and her gaze pointed towards the floor, and he seemed almost a giant in comparison as he loomed over her. He slashed once more, but no matter his attempt, despite throwing all of her strength behind his blow, nothing would pierce her. The woman kept her cries flowing through the air but did not flinch, as if she were unaware that he had just tried several times to wound her, and his teeth gritted together as he tried to contain his outrage at this mockery. This wasn't the way that it was supposed to go, his mind thought. He and his group had been far, far to the south, participating in upholding their country's honor through conflict. The passage to and from took a pair of months, but it had a way of feeling like an eternity, and each man would have sworn that the days down there had lasted twice as long. Many listeners to that story might agree, if they took notice of the effect of those long suns had upon the returning soldiers' skin. Slowly, reinforcements had run short, supplies had been cut ever tighter, and eventually the ships stopped coming at all, forcing a retreat from those lands. After an agonizing voyage back towards more familiar seas, it became clear why they had been abandoned so. Ever since he had returned to empty water where his home had used to be, having held out hope even after they passed each missing isle, wondering if maybe his had been special and remained when all others had been washed away as if they were grains of sand, he had sworn vengeance. He cursed Ailis for allowing this, and his heart was crushed when he later learned that it was by her own hand that this all conspired. He recalled how directionless all on their ship had felt, having lost hometowns and families, wives and children and pets all gone. It had become a sort of ritual for them from then on, to find an Oracle who could help them come to terms with their fate, only to receive a vague clue or empty prophecy that held little relevance to them, and hoping that the next one may hold better value and greater wisdom. Indeed, one finally gave Cyncus a proper measure of his fortune, though she hardly seemed suitable to the rest of those in his companionship. It was a girl in her middle teens, a bright and cheery thing, newly appointed to dispense her predictions after the end of the ancient old lady who preceded her. Cyncus alone held hope in one so unproven, and he entered the Seer's station, where she told him more truth than divination. A story of a minor fisher's town, little more than a dock and rickety boats, sworn into perpetual poverty by the decree that they must provide in full for one special woman and her children. Unable to garner many provisions for even themselves, it might have been better to shirk that duty, but the lady in question was said to be of Ailis's blood herself, and it would not do to mistreat any daughter of a god, especially THE goddess, the one who stood above all others, the one who had so recently wracked the ultimate price upon an entire nation for the great slights and lack of reverence they showed for her. He pleaded for the location of this town, so that he might set right the arrangement, though he knew so little of it... Cyncus had to come to terms with the failure of his attack at one moment or another, and he let out a deep sigh before disengaging from the woman. Once his back was fully turned, and he began to walk away, a foreign thought shot through his mind. Not seeming of his own voice, and certainly not his usual train of logic, but an idea had occurred to him. He had tried to overwhelm a demigod with a mortal's tool, and it would have been folly to expect success. He peered out to his companions, their hands raised towards the night sky, almost indistinguishable in hue from his own jet hair, holding their torches aloft. His eyes focused upon one of the dancing flames, considering the warmth it could bestow upon his skin, the flavor it could enhance with much of his food, its ability when concentrated to bend a piece of metal as if it were a rope. For an unexplainable moment he was overcome with wonder, when it finally hit him. Yes, of course, fire, the original gift from the mythic to the mortal! Not of human manufacture, but such a common tool that he had overlooked it until that moment. He marched himself towards them, and the light was exchanged to his empty hands. He took a glance back at the woman, who had shifted to the opposite wall, but had made no attempt to flee yet. The blazing beacon rose in front of him, his lids blinking over his chestnut colored eyes as the light become much more fierce, and its fiery tendrils licked the air, blocking his sight of her. From this altered vantage point, she was as good as gone from his view. When he lowered it, she was still there of course, and yet, now he had the sense that he would learn much from her, as he began to approach her for the second time...