{lead|me|into|the|light} // McReven

[Cap'n Sankari V.]

They had to do it, though the world would scorn their fight as hypocrisy if they had been found out -- clouds obscured the moon, but it didn't really matter -- they could navigate blind if they had to. Her fingers were tight around the rope, her hair whipping back against the wind that came gusting forward, pushing her back as if pushing her away from her goal. Her smile was small and unimpressive: it was in her eyes that all of that emotionlessness was overcast by a seizure of feeling. Excitement pulsed, need devoured -- she wasn't without fear, but that went hand in hand with death, and everyone knew the Drone dearly loved to dance with death.

What they didn't know, what they could never know was how utterly in love with the battle against death she had become; how enamored that cold brush of weight against her shoulders - even the ache of constant agony didn't destroy the little cruel smile at the corner of her mouth (as if she couldn't quite contain her amusement despite all of her effort). The crew kept their distance, and she was alone as they descended through the clouds, through nightfall, steep and hellbent on one thing: theft.

Some of them hung back, uneasy -- but the Drone threw her head back, hair falling over in a tangled mess, her eyes as fierce as the scourge at her side. It was theft, or die before they could ever truly make a dent into their enemies; to Sankari, their death was her everything. It was the only reason she moved, though she was so heavily injured, though even on the best day, she limped with crooked joints and agony. Her breath came harsh as they dipped below the cloud line, cutting the sound of the engine to drift closer, and closer. The Moon was gone, leaving only a stolid grey and black that infected every corner of forest and gate. They would never see; they could never see -- it seemed to her that her blade pulsed, as hungry for blood as she was for food.

Even Cook, that stupid boy, had given up -- it was too dangerous to send him into the encampment to buy food, so this would do. The wind rose up as if to greet them, roaring through the trees as if to disguise the sound of their ship coming to a hovering stop a quarter mile from the orchards. Sankari didn't even give a command; she swung down from the ship without a backward glance and shuffled off into the forest, her joints pinpoints of fire, her arm, still unfinished and sparking from the least motion, basically useless at her side. Everything hurt -- the chain, her shoulders, her back, her stomach, her head, pulsing, pulsing, a migraine of steady pressure exploding in slow motion behind her eyelids. There would be no peace for this woman. Not until death -- so she moves forward, stubborn with life, her pale skin the worst camouflage in this darkness; splattered with bruises from the river fall, battered and haggard, she was more of a ghost than a woman as she went through the gate, looking over her shoulder to see if anyone had followed.

A few, but nothing to be hopeful for. They lingered out of sight, as if frightened of being seen by her scathing, dark gaze. Sankari simply stared before moving out into the rows, hiding in the shadow as she reached for one plump peach sitting restfully on the branch. The smell alone made her stomach twist in knots.

Like a dog starved she bit into the peach as if it were heaven, juices dripping down her chin as she sloppily devoured it, a hungry light igniting her fierce blue eyes. She was nothing but an animal really, finally finding food after a week of near starvation. The cavern between her ribs and her sharp hips was pitiful to see; wretched creature, her fingers were long as she devoured one peach, then another, trying to sate the hunger that wouldn't go away. How many pits littered her feet like bones of a fallen foe? Five, ten? Fifteen, even? With a barely concealed groan, she bit into her tongue, feeling sick, and began to stuff the bag of peaches. Perhaps some sort of vegetable afterward.

word count;; 729
tags;; Cinead McReven
OOC;; w00tage ;3

[Montag]

Cinead was in a foul mood. Not that his demeanor was any different on this moonless night than any other, but there was not joy that touched his eyes. He walked with a light limp, but his pace was brisk as ever. There had been reports of pirate activity in the area, and though news rarely traveled fast enough to do anything proactive he would at least like to cast a glare at the stern of the ship. The cold air felt good, and the walk would help clear his mind. The streets were mostly abandoned, with the odd stranger here and there, certainly no one that would give an old priest any kind of thought. The reports had come from the watch beyond the walls of the orchard, meaning they might be headed strait for the market street. That or jumping over to steal a mount from the stables. It always amazed him the kinds of things people would do after they shy away from the light of God.

He walked on through the city, but stopped as he passed the gates to the orchard. He could swear something was moving. No animals could get in, of that he was sure. But perhaps some urchin was stealing food again. The poor in the streets was overwhelming at times, people who did not carry the weight of the lord often dropped away from the graces of the government. The ship was gone, perhaps he had time enough to speak to this troubled soul who would so ungratefully rob the city.

He strode into the conglomerate of trees, purposefully and making fully aware his presence. He stopped short of the peach trees and scanned with all his senses. There was more than one, that he could be sure, but age had dulled the sharpness and clarity that he had enjoyed during the crusades. He may be walking into an ambush, he thought. He was unable to tell how many people there were, but he was not afraid. The fallen scare easily, and would probably flee back into the city as soon as he made himself known. From a large pocket he procured the Holy Scripture, and from it he read aloud:

“Though I am surrounded by my enemies, I fear them not. The Light surrounds me, as it surrounded the seeders of the world, and all those who strive for the seeder's progress.”

He lowered to book, and looked out into the darkness of the night.

“Children, this is not your place. Go back, and contemplate the gifts you were given.”

[Cap'n Sankari V.]

There were sounds everywhere: the crashing of branches together, crunching like bones -- like her shoulders as she straightens from her position. Silence between sounds -- not wholly of the silence, for her breath punctuated it, soft and nearly sibilant: even her tongue was made of iron. Hah, hah; no point in speech. She was alone this time, this night. Like always, like her dreams, her nightmares, where the dead are raised from the ground, surging about her feet. Would she have the strength to cut them all down, or would she linger in this hesitation and let them over take her flesh and drag her into the pits of hell?

She pauses too long, long enough to be overwhelmed -- her crew had disappeared. Or perhaps she had simply lost track of their movements. Pig-headed girl, she rode death hard, vibrating in delight at the trembling that started in her toes. Yet it wasn't her toes that ached now, but her fingers as she tightened them around her blade, her gums as she ground her teeth together, her eyes alight with the allure of violence. Food was important, but so was life: so her dilemma began to unfold before her. Would she leave it all to dust and return as she was: empty handed? Full.

Sankari no longer knew what guilt felt like; much like the wolf, she was ready to retreat into darkness, swallowed up by all that shadow. Yet something stayed her feet as she retreated an inch, a foot, hesitating under the reach of the tree. Even moonless nights could not conceal the brightness of her skin, the grey, the death, the life that she clung to so fiercely with anything around her. Blood pulsed in her temples, fingers tightening, tightening, around that damned blade: would she do it? Who was there? How stupid, if it was only a rabbit come to munch away at the carrots.

Eyelashes flickering she stilled, like stone, no, no, like metal, infusing that stillness until her bones became like her arm: unmovable without effort. Even breath evened out into near silence -- only her hair blew in the haphazard currents of wind, tangling with branches as she leaned against the trunk. Was the bag near her hand? Sankari goes to reach for it, but her only open hand cannot work properly; it sparks, groaning as her joints creak.

Then came the voice, like the tempter come to lure the virgin out into the cold white snows of winter; Sankari knew snow, and it always invited blood. “Though I am surrounded by my enemies, I fear them not. The Light surrounds me, as it surrounded the seeders of the world, and all those who strive for the seeder's progress.

Emotions tumble into meaninglessness; he spoke to shadows because he could not see them -- there was a light in his voice that she could not ignore, a cut to his jacket that called to her gut regardless of the risks. Let her crew disappear with what they could carry. This was quickly becoming other. She takes a step forward just as he says to her, Children, this is not your place. Go back, and contemplate the gifts you were given. -- oh yes, the fire has been churned, the embers blazing molten hot in her bones, flesh bleeding away to metal as she forces the broken cords to function, though they spasm and sputter.

Sankari's face is a mask as she emerges, her hair all tangles, a hollow in her flesh as if she were some skeleton who found a human skin and donned it for shits and giggles. There is no point in smiling, "I smell a fed." she makes a show of sniffing the air, the bag of peaches in her hand, the katana at her side still sheathed, the hilt no longer gripped, but loose and left to open space. "You're less human th'n me." she spits to the side, blood from some inner wound unhealed discoloring her tongue.

word count;; 672
tags;; McReverend T_T
OOC;; ~ <3

[Montag]

The pitiful sight before him was certainly not the urchin he had been expecting. In fact he was caught so off guard by the sight of the girl he very nearly missed the blade she carried. Nearly. Cinead shifted, taking the weight off of his hurt knee and onto the other, and gripping the cane he was using much like a rapier. No point in taking necessary risks. Even a child with a knife can be dangerous.

She had a funny way about her. Wasn't quite right. He had seen many heathens and twisted creatures, some defile beyond recognition, and though he had seen so many the sight was never one that the wished to see. Often these twisted souls were beyond salvation. Who was this poor girl, so twisted that had fallen so far? He stared at her for a second, before speaking. His tone was deliberate, but soft. It was as though he knew already she was forfeit, but had to cling to the hope that all the creations of God were capable of salvation.

“Human? Perhaps not. I gave up my humanity to become an instrument of God. But you. You are but a crippled child, stealing from the hard working people of this land. Have you no shame? Do you not see how by forsaking God you have only been punished?”

[Cap'n Sankari V.]

They didn't know pain; they didn't know life -- her crew, the shades of her parents, her lover, her friends, the men she killed with pleasure, the cold satisfaction in her stomach. They didn't know what it was like to feel pain, to know that grief wasn't just an emotion that would leave a mark and then fade away from the mind. No, real pain remained deep in the bone, it remained imprinted in the flesh, ached when it was cold, when it was hot, when it was raining. IT was more than a memory because it hovered no matter how hard you smiled, no matter how hard you chopped their heads off and watched them roll and roll and roll.

These were the people that laughed at her, that plotted against her and forced her crew to flee in the skies for dearest life. Dearest, fucking life. Her face was made of metal, like her arm, now. Made of hard glinting lines, harsh and unyielding in the face of this opposition. As if the men and women couldn't spare a few peaches. As if, this very man hadn't stuffed his face night after night, gorging himself on the work of others; or worse, use his ignorance as a curtain to shield his delicate sensibilities. If she had been a dog, perhaps her hackles would have been raised, a glimpse of fang -- but all she had was her blade, and it was fang enough. In stillness she stared, her lids dropped down heavy, only a glimmer of her blue eyes seen through a vale of shrouded eyelashes.

Forsaken? Yes, yes -- she embraced this hate as she had embraced all the pain in her life. She used it for strength, not an excuse. Was she foul? Yes, yes. An urchin come to beg at the heels of society? Was her skin glowing from the sheer effervescence of his words? His emotions were like ants, judging her as they climbed up her broken skin. She couldn't fight properly, but it wasn't in her to back away when there was no reason to. What was one old man with a book? Even if he had been twenty, younger men, she would have remained in between the tree and himself, in between freedom and enslavement.

The hero wasn't anything to look at -- she wasn't some grand beautiful woman from the stories, with the magical power to make everyone fall at her feet in love. She was harsh, she was brutal. The gods had chosen her; the true gods had chosen her because she was a tool carved of hate and fearlessness. She had been tempered in the fiery forge of all that hate. He could pity her. It didn't matter. It wouldn't make him any less dead if he tried to stop her.

Do you not see how by forsaking God you have only been punished?

[/i] -- The woman is still, her heavy-lidded eyes looking sleepy and glimmering even in this darkest of days. Punished? Yes, let's follow that -- let's be punished, if it meant that false gods forced her to her knees and let them take her arm. Let the false gods encourage the evil in men, the insatiable cruelty in men; it will be a woman who devours their hate and destroys them from the inside out. "Your fake God means n'thin' to me." she turns her head and spits to the side, tasting blood. Tasting the meddle of her determination making her stronger, giving her a reason to live: long enough to kill him if necessary. Long enough to kill them all.

"Got n'thin' else t'say?" Sankari finds strength enough, hate enough, to unbend her crooked metal joints, to be a little more mecha than human, to hold onto all of the anger, all the rage, and pain; her nose twitches, but otherwise there is no motion. She lifts the bag of peaches up, feeling the agony of even such a simple motion spark lines of fire through her muscles, her nerves a blanket of electrical currents, bursting in miniature explosions throughout shoulder and arm. The woman doesn't even flicker; not even that grim mouth, set in hard, blank lines doesn't change. Is the pain truly so bad? She would die to make it stop, if she hadn't a path left before her. [/color][/blockquote]

word count;; 728
tags;; Cinnyboy
OOC;; Ah-hah! Shoots and Ladders makes the world a happier place.

[/size]

[Montag]

Fake.... Gods....

The words resounded inside his head. He was too old, and too experienced to let it affect him. That is, he told himself he was not to be affected by it. Fake.. What did this fool girl know of anything? Could she even know God? Or was she machine, cold calculating and without any grasp of divinity. Killing her would be nothing, there was no soul, like squashing a bug as he had done so many times before.

But could he, in his age? Could he if she had friends in the area? Could he kill a child with nothing?

Though these thoughts echoed in his head he remained steadfast and gave no outer appearance indicating the inner conflict, save a harder gaze. He would not strike her. Not here, in the sacred city. Just a child, an urchin. The book did not punish the weak of will, just as a shepherd did not kill a sheep that had wondered astray.

And a good shepherd also knows when to let the sheep come back on it's own. This was not such a case, it would seem.

”And what would you do, child? Would you strike an old man? Would you, who can barely stand? What of your friends? They don't seem to support you, but I have friends that would find me, and hunt you. You can't escape! Your only hope is salvation! Come with me, child, back to the church. There you can cast aside your sins and join us in the pursuit of truth.”

He would not strike her. He would not let her leave. The latter had precedence. If she tried to escape, there would be no alternative.

[Cap'n Sankari V.]

Her eyes were heavy, dreamy, watching through a void of indifference; would he choose life, or death? She itches, but does not scratch; she aches, but does not move to try to alleviate the pain. It is all about life, about this death that hovers so sweetly she cannot bear to contain it anymore, but she does -- she does. Sankari has the patience of poison, slowly circulating, knowing the end was near, unafraid of what might come. Would she die? Perhaps, but she is cannot back off when he stares at her so. She cannot let him leave, when looking at him only reminds her of blood and ruin, of a woman she had loved so dearly, and never got to see again. A woman she could never hold again, touch again, know again.

Perhaps it was his son that had raped her; perhaps his nephew, his niece that ordered it done. Or perhaps, and more likely, it had nothing to do with him -- but because he wore the uniform, he had to die. Because he sided with such vile people, she would kill him. It was her vow to the dead, and it was not a vow to be taken lightly. Her fingers grasp the bag of peaches tight in her hand, her eyes watchful, but small, all of that indifference masking the emotional volcanic eruption that she sent inward, spiraling out of control, inward always. Toward the center, toward the heart, a cavern of emptiness that could not be wounded any further. There is endlessness within her, and she swallows it all up, feeding on it, desiring it as much as she loathed it. Loved the loathing all the more because it made everything sweet.

His confusion, his bafflement made her grim; he could not believe her words, could not believe the option she had laid before his very feet. Go, she thinks, but her thoughts are like knives, cutting even as they hope to save. Destroying, even as they hope to protect. Will she destroy him, while trying to find salvation? Will she close the gap between them and find death together? His words are the catalyst that starts this dance: but she is not in this for games. She does not play, like a cat. She is more forceful, more terrifying clear in her goal: a clean death, a sword through the heart, through the brain, she does not need to be satisfied by screams. Only blood that must run red and hot over her hands.

And what would you do, child? Would you strike an old man?

[/i] -- her hands grip tight the peaches, knowing the choice he is going to make, and wishing he would stop, wishing she could stop the words from flowing out from his mouth. Stop him, now, quickly, before the words that cannot be taken back escape! Would you, who can barely stand? What of your friends? They don't seem to support you, but I have friends that would find me, and hunt you. You can't escape![/i] -- her jaw clenches. The words have come. She drops the peaches, letting them roll and roll, bruises breaking the skin of such fragile ripened fruit. Your only hope is salvation![/i] -- the katana aches for blood but remains in it's sheathe. Come with me, child, back to the church. There you can cast aside your sins and join us in the pursuit of truth.

Sankari spits, blood pulsing in her temples -- it was time, time, time again for this stupid act. For a thing she had never wanted to do to this old man; but he wore the uniform, spoke the words -- proved himself as nothing less than militant scum. She walks closer to him, "I'll come with you," closer, closer, her eyes lowered, the peaches left behind, all of that bone, all of that thin skeletal death hanging on her shoulders like so much disease. She is a plague -- there is no saving the twice damned, but she walks as quietly as she can, her body bones creaking, her joints jostled, hurting despite everything. Five feet, three -- she looks up, at him without smiling, a serpent that doesn't need to show it's fangs. So slow, she walked, so injured, but a cornered animal was dangerous, an injured one, more dangerous still; Sankari proved to be both, and by the time her body tensed for motion, she was already moving, her hand around the hilt of her katana as if had never left it, all of that force, all of that unnecessary weight of that almost broken left arm pushing that blade deep into his guts without pausing; she clenches her jaw, her eyes dreamy, unmoving from that expression, that hollow, vacant stare of the sleep-walking. "I only know one truth, sir." and she splits him from naval upward, swinging around and slicing at his neck.

Does he fall? Does he have a weapon? Sankari does not care -- even more he is truly dead she is walking away, bloody katana in hand, reaching with her right hand for the peaches that had fallen. [/color][/blockquote]

word count;; 862
tags;; the dead man o.o;
OOC;; I don't know if you wanna close the thread with his death or just leave it as is... @cymmie: HE LET ME DO IT!

[/size]

[Montag]

She moved quickly, which did surprise the old priest. But surely she could not think he would go down so easily. A quick movement of the wrist, use the cane to knock away...

But his wrist did not move. Too late, and cold erupted within him. Crimson poured forth, a river of life emptying onto the soil. Why... God...

Is this how it needed to be?

Is this girl special?

He fell to his knees, cane falling away and landing softly beside him. His dark silhouette against the blue sky was nothing more than a man praying in the streets, on his knees with his head bowed. It did not last, and he slouched forward onto the cool earth, rolling onto his side as he fell.


Forgive me God.
I was yours to command.
I failed you, this I see

In my years, and I must thank thee for the many years, I did all I could to prevent the spread of heathenism. On this shallow night I have been bested. I could not strike her down. Is it part of your plan?

Kyrie, eleison.

I will join the damned, this I know. My light shine forever in this place.

”Tu autem, Domine, miserere nobis? Forgive the sheep of the world”

Stillness filled the air as the last red drops flowed forth from the weathered form that was Cinead, the last misted breathe expelled from his chest, and heavy eyelids closed.

---

The sun had just started to chase away the morning chill, it's rays trickling through the small trees within the orchard. Over a huddled form stood too men, pressed military uniforms adorning both. They spoke softly, yet quickly, to one another, as if realizing they intruded upon the otherwise peace of the morning air. More likely, as though they feared being overheard, and wanted their conversation to be strictly private.


“A high ranking officer and a hero. Who would do such a thing? And so close to the city?”

“It wasn't as though he had many friends.”

“To hear such a thing from you, your family. At least have some respect.”

“He was my father's brother, nothing more. Any witnesses?”

“Nothing. Night watch said they saw a ship, not telling who or what was on it. Idle speculation is all we have at this point. The way he died, he must have met someone good in battle. I suspect pirates, there are many that would jump at the chance to kill a war hero such as he.”

“Or he finally tried to save someone that didn't want saving.”

“Harsh, again. I suppose you won't be happy to know that your orders are to investigate his death. The Admirals want whoever killed him, to make an example of I would reckon. The death of Cinead will ripple among the military, people will know and fear unless justice is served. This is an important task. You are to use whatever means you must.”

“Whatever I must? That doesn't sound like something the Admirals would say. And why me, just because I'm family?”

“That's what most people will assume. But this goes beyond the death of a priest. The pirates are gaining power day by day, and we need to know why. We chose you because we expect results. Infiltrate and unearth secrets, those are your orders. Your day begins now.”

“Yes Sir.”