Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

[Cezanne Abella]

---

“Paragon!” Cezanne ducked a spell as a golden-hued Lich Lord turned his vengeful eye on her. Frantically, she strummed the strings of her lute, trying to keep her song soft and peaceful, but in her haste to escape, she missed a note, and the song failed her. And failed him. Nothing had been the same since her visions began, since this feeling of impending doom had descended upon her. She tried to atone the only way she knew how, by protecting her clan. But protecting them from what? A fate as horrific as what she faced in her dreams every night? Or worse? At least here, she could see her enemy and give it a name. Here she could protect Paytience, Chad, and Arahim with her music. Here, the danger they faced was not brought on them by herself.

Arahim turned back toward her as the hiss of the angy Lich gave away Cezanne’s failure. The paragon was bearing down on her as she urged Covenant forward, his hooves clattering furiously as her skirts and cloak flew out behind her. Without warning, a cold, gutwrenching spike doubled her over Covenant’s neck. The horse faltered for a moment, rearing his head back, unsure of the command. A second spell hit her squarely from behind, as the Lord gained ground quickly. The force of the spell nearly knocked her from her mount. She screamed through gritted teeth as shock and pain broke her, body and spirit.

“NO!” Came a scream from somewhere behind her. Her body wracked with pain, she could only watch helplessly as Arahim’s war axe flew, taking a chunk of rotting, fetid flesh from the shoulder of the Lich. She reached into her pocket for her silver flask, and took a mouthful of the bitter liquid, swallowing against the wave of nausea that fought the elixir.

Her nerves somewhat calmed, she cried out as the abomination turned his full attention on Arahim. She was failing. Again. Quickly, without thinking, she shouted a spell as he took a direct blow to the chest. “In Vas Mani!” He steadied on his feet as she steeled her nerve again and sidled closer to the paragon to draw his ire. Enraged, he turned again to face her down. This time, Covenant only backed away a step at a time, keeping just enough space between the Lich and himself to give Cezanne time. Her fingers flew over the strings of the lute in a song so soft and beautiful that it lulled the Lich Lord into a trancelike state. He paused, and Arahim took the opportunity to destroy the creature as a gutteral cry tore from his throat. Cezanne’s song did not stop until the lich lay dead at Arahim’s feet.

[Cezanne Abella]

---

Arahim searched the robes of the Lich Lord, pocketing an item before he dumped a gold pouch into his pack. “Songbird. Come with me for a moment?”

Cezanne nodded, wiping a smudge of soot from her cheek with the palm of her hand. She took another mouthful from her flask and swallowed before pocketing it, and followed Arahim to the base of a hill to the north. There, he dismounted and tied Glowian to a tree. Cezanne did likewise with Covenant and smoothed her cloak and skirt, still rumpled from the fray.

“What is it, Ara?”

“I have something for you.” He grinned almost boyishly, looking for all the world like his young son had earlier in the day, upon presenting Cezanne with a great toad he’d found in the garden of the theatre. Cezanne couldn’t help laughing as Arahim closed her hand around an object still harbouring the chill of the corpse from which it was liberated.

“What?” Arahim looked at her quizzically.

“If this is another toad…” Cezanne broke off, laughing.

Arahim smiled. “It’s not a toad.”

Cezanne opened her hand to find a bracelet, sturdy and brilliant, bearing the arcane markings of alchemy. It shone dimly in the evening light, as if imbued with some power of its own. The bauble of an undead alchemist, no doubt, now bound to do her bidding instead.

“Ara….” Her words were cut off with a shiver that wracked her body. Even now, she felt the cold eyes on her in every evening shadow. Waiting, watching.

Arahim beamed. “Since you won’t ever split the gold. I got that off his corpse. He messed with the wrong girl.” Carefully, he took her left wrist, examining the bluish-red scar that encircled it completely, creating an economy of flesh there. Scarcely enough skin to cover bone, and not a bit to spare. He wrapped the thick bracelet over the scar and fastened it around her wrist, protecting and hiding her flaw.

Cezanne smiled solemnly at the gift. “Thank you Arahim.” If only it were so easy to hide the rest.

[Arahim]

---

Arahim leaned forward in his saddle, a wordless, primal shout on his lips. His white blade hissing it's righteous indignation as it arced downward catching the lich at the base of it's neck.

The creature crumpled as though a discarded marionette.

Glowian whickered and pranced sideways daintily, reluctant to trod upon the dessicated corpse.

The scent of rot, and the unnatural decay of years caught her nostrils as surely as it did his own.

Nothing was so abhorrent as the undead, and this place was heavy with it's awful touch.

It clung to his skin.

It left a sickening, sweet stain on the back of his throat that he could taste for hours afterwards. It's lingering like a pervasive reminder of the grave's cold, and lonely inevitability.

Only Cezanne seemed to him untouched by the horrible miasma here.

Gone was the playful mask she wore when she assured him of her ferocity. In it's stead, a concentration and determination that belied the peaceful soul he knew her to be.

And something more, just below.

[Arahim]

---

Cezanne stayed close to Arahim, making certain to allow for his quick movements, but keeping a careful proximity to him, and never losing direct sight.

Her song bolstered him; so very different than the chorus of damnable moans and dry, mirthless cackles that threatened to engulf them should their defenses falter.

Near her, her music sang clear and pure, lulling even the unquiet dead into calm reverie laden with remniscient visions of what life once was before.

A sadness touched briefly at the corners of her green eyes, yet dimmed not their light.

This place, so troubled by death, so littered with the lost, was no place for her.

"Songbird, come away with me for a moment?"