2018-06-12: Why We Walk
- Log: Why We Walk
- Cast: Talise Gianfair, Ghaleon
- Where: Flooded Cavern
- Date: 6/12/2018
- Summary: Talise returns to a cavern... and finds an unlikely presence.
<Pose Tracker> Talise Gianfair has posed.
Finding the cavern she fell into all those years ago - the one in which Rastaban lay - has been difficult. Talise isn't even sure she remembers the way. It's taken her back somewhere else, at a rare time in which the tide on the obscure mountain river is low and she can sneak into the depths of the Flooded Cavern without bothering the aquatic Cave Dragon that lives within.
The soft sound of a voice drifts over the subterranean lake, the notes of a sweet song from ages gone by. The mysterious Door of Songs chimes softly and slides away.
Talise, alone this time, passes over the threshold and into the ancient ruined hall beyond. Stepping past the heap of stones in the cavernous old chamber that blocks the way deeper into what must once have been a great manor home, she turns instead towards the surviving mural on the wall. Three figures remain: One the lower half of a female figure surrounded by reptiles, one an ancient relief of Dragonmaster Louie, and the last the upper half of a green-robed man brandishing a familiar sword.
Pressing her lips together, Talise draws her sword. Even in the low light down here, Rastaban's blade glints, as clean and sharp as ever. Talise holds it up to again compare it to the weapon depicted on the mural.
Artistic license aside, they're identical - a real sword with an inscription along the lowermost part of the blade in a language Talise can't read, and a mural from what must be the dawn of time.
"I wonder," she murmurs. "Who were you, and why did your sword turn up in a cave miles and miles south of here."
<Pose Tracker> Ghaleon has posed.
"Hm, hm, hm!"
The voice has a slightly mocking lilt, as it ever does. One cannot know how long Ghaleon was down here; one cannot know if he was waiting for her. The Dragonmaster steps out, resplendent in his dark armor and white cloak. His face is starkly beautiful, save for where the purple scales mar it. His smile tilts up, cold and inquisitive as ever.
"You should ask questions to things that can answer," he says. "That sword... for all of its history, I would say it can't sing a song, now, can it?"
<Pose Tracker> Talise Gianfair has posed.
The last sound Talise was expecting to hear rings out. Low, mocking laughter.
With a hiss of breath, Talise whirls. Light flickers across Rastaban's blade as she whips it into a defensive stance. She turns her back to the mural and looks from one side to the other, eyes narrowed with readiness. At first she doesn't say anything. Giving herself away might be a bad idea.
But then, there's a ripple of a pale cloak from the shadows, and Talise's eyes are immediately drawn that way to take in the sight of -
Talise clicks her teeth together and swallows a sudden lump in her throat, acutely aware of how cold her hands have gotten all of a sudden inside her gauntlets. It's him, she realizes as her heart briefly seizes in her chest, like a block of ice bobbing atop a turbulent churn of emotions, awe competing with bitterness competing with respect competing with resolve competing with feelings she can't even put names to. "Dragonmaster... Ghaleon," is all she can say at first, her voice a little higher and more stunned than she really meant to convey.
Her cheeks take on a touch of involuntary rosiness as she firms her tone up and tightens her grip on her sword. Holding the point towards the ground, she doesn't menace overtly just yet. "I don't know what song it's supposed to sing. Or why it's here. And I don't know why you're here, either. Do you always creep up on random girls in ruins?"
Her tone isn't entirely friendly - there's a sullen tension lining it. But she's not jumping him, either. Yet.
<Pose Tracker> Ghaleon has posed.
"I don't make a habit of it," Ghaleon says.
His tone isn't friendly, either. But he makes no move for the blade at his side. After all, does he need to? He is a being of power, a being of might so ancient that he has little to fear on this world. Perhaps that makes his smirk colder; perhaps, though, that means that his dark eyes hide so much more.
His lips curve, gracefully, into a smaller sort of smile. "What song does a sword sing? Its own. We should all sing our own songs, Talise Gianfair. Or else... why do you walk upon this star?"
<Pose Tracker> Talise Gianfair has posed.
That smirk and those words give Talise the distinct impression she's being judged - and something in Ghaleon's eyes makes her feel like she's being stripped out of her mail shirt and measured, somehow. It's unnerving.
Her eyes darken a little, and she glances at the sword, her jaw tightening ever so slightly. The moment is broken by a shock of ice shooting up her back again.
Goddess. He knows my name, she realizes. Why would he know my name?
Her lips curve downwards; she taps the point of Rastaban gently against the ancient stone beneath her. "That all sounds nice," she says, her eyes darkening as resentment creeps into her tone. "But you know as well as anyone that singing our own songs is a sin now."
Her shoulders come up a little as she realizes she doesn't have a good answer for the last question. Why does she walk upon this star? Is anything left for her on Lunar, when the Goddess won't let her sing, won't let her drink and won't let her follow even her silliest girlhood dream of taking the Trials in her own right, just to see if she could ever be what Lady Chloe was?
"Maybe I'm doing what a lot of people are," she finally answers. "Looking for an answer, since you and Althena are so damn quick to take away all the other things I used to walk for."
<Pose Tracker> Ghaleon has posed.
"Blame yourself... or blame the Goddess. Hm, hm, hm. How droll," Ghaleon says, barking out a laugh. A harsh thing, to be sure. The elf folds his arms across the chest, silvered hair hanging idle about his head, framing those handsome features for a moment. "How... droll, indeed. You want an answer, and yet..."
He shrugs his shoulders. "...You still turn to the Dragonmaster and the Goddess. They have no answers for you, girl. The will of the Goddess isn't something we can know. And so..."
His smile remains cold. Cruel, even: life a knife, trying to cut deep. "...You let yourself be defined by what others have taken from you. What others have done to you. Or..."
His eyes flash. "...Am I wrong?"
<Pose Tracker> Talise Gianfair has posed.
The most galling thing about all of this is that Ghaleon isn't wrong. The hint of rosiness at Talise's cheeks probably betrays that more than the coldness behind her narrowing eyes. "...There are people around me who need my help. That's what matters to me. That, and figuring out why the Althena I loved as a girl - the Goddess I sang and told stories about all my life - why the Goddess has turned out like this."
She takes a step back, and with a flourish, brings her sword up across her body, settling into a defensive stance.
"And why she didn't look for someone to take the Trials. Why of all people she chose a thousand-year-old walking corpse to be her champion," Talise growls. "I grew up singing about you and now here you are, a dead man walking!"
Talise lets out a snort, then draws in a breath to steady herself, before letting it out more smoothly. All she can think of is the lesson Uncle Piet taught her. Don't let your anger rule you.
Uncle Piet is dead now. And I didn't even get to say goodbye.
Aloud, Talise says, "But if you want an anwer, then fine. I'll find out why Althena changed. If you're not gonna give me an answer, then I'll go to Pentagulia myself and ask!"
<Pose Tracker> Ghaleon has posed.
"Well, well, well. Jealous, are we? How many youths in Lunar's history, do you think, were like you? Young. Determined to be Dragonmaster. Filled with myth and legend, but not so much sense?" Ghaleon's head tilts, and his graceful lips open slightly for a wider, more wolf-like smile. "Let me tell you a truth, then, Talise Gianfair."
His head lowers. His eyes and his smile harden. "...We are nothing alike, you and I."
He scoffs, then, with a laugh. "And you have much further than Pentagulia to travel, to find answers," he says. "You have to answer something else, first. You talk about the friends you want to help. You talk about who you want to be."
His head tilts again, and an eyebrow raises. "But when will you be satisfied with who you are?"
<Pose Tracker> Talise Gianfair has posed.
Talise Gianfair presses her lips together in a thin line as she's effectively dismissed out of hand by a living legend she grew up singing songs about. It stings more than a little. She clicks her teeth together and lets out a slow rush of breath through her nose, nostrils flaring a little.
"So did you come down here just to pour salt on my childhood dreams, or is there something else you wanted," she asks with a growl. "Maybe you're right and we are nothing alike. But--"
Don't get angry, she reminds herself. Don't get angry. Don't get angry don't get angry!!
Damn it... how can I not?!
The decision is made for her. Some emotional barrier gives way.
"--I'll show you just how different I am!" she shouts as she suddenly surges forward and makes what could very well be one of the most foolhardy decisions of her young life.
She swings her sword out. Rastaban's a fine weapon, far moreso than just about anything man can make today, air particles themselves seeming to slice through with a metallic hiss as she sweeps forward. With a growl, she lashes out in a hard strike aimed at the Dragonmaster's midsection.
She might regret this a little while from now. At the moment, all she can think is:
I beat White Knight Leo. Twice. That means I have a chance.
And Lady Chloe wouldn't run away.
<Pose Tracker> Ghaleon has posed.
"Then I would like to see it!"
Ghaleon's calm breaks, but still, he does not shout. His voice rises, but he keeps a grin on his face -- and he looks down at Rastaban. For a moment, he stands stock still. However, only a fool would think that Ghaleon is not fully invested in the moment. His eyes follow her every moment; he watches carefully as Talise rushes for him, and the sword comes swinging for him.
And then he vanishes. Talise's weapon, fine as it is, strikes through nothing but specks of light that rise up in his wake. The Dragonmaster appears, instead, just to her side.
"My, my!" he says. "How hasty of you!"
He doesn't draw his blade. He doesn't need to -- and he has, perhaps, a point to make here. He thrusts his hand out, open palmed, for the woman's side. When he does, there is a flash -- and a powerful crack-boom, as a wave of concussive force flies out, trying to hurtle her away from him.
<Pose Tracker> Talise Gianfair has posed.
There's a coldly rational part of Talise that knows she's in for the fight of her life if the Dragonmaster decides he's going to take her at all seriously. Even a thousand years ago, Ghaleon was one of the Four Heroes, a man every bit the equal of the legendary Dyne.
Talise Gianfair is a good fighter - maybe even an excellent one. But she's not a legend.
As Ghaleon vanishes, Talise blinks, sucking in a surprised breath. Pivoting and swinging Rastaban quickly around her as if to try and hit anything that appears inside her guard, she looks quickly around to try and spot where he went.
Oh - he's right over there. And not pulling his sword on her.
He doesn't need to. That thunderous force slams into Talise; she lets out a choked growl and shields herself with her sword as best she can, hurled back a few metres before she can catch herself against the immense force. "Damn you," she hisses through her teeth. "Don't think just because you've got spells--"
For a moment it occurs to her that she might be cheating with what she has in mind - but right now she needs every edge, and the trick worked on Leo. And besides --
And besides, she realizes. He's a sorcerer - and I got the short end of the stick when it comes to having Althena's Blessing. Damn it.
The decision is made. Talise drops a hand off of Rastaban, and comes out of her long coat with the shotgun she got from Ida, a round already loaded. With a one-handed grip, she unloads the buckshot.
There's little chance it'll hit Ghaleon; she's shooting from the hip with one hand. But the muzzle flash is brilliant and the boom is loud and the shell will kick up plenty of dirt and shrapnel if it hits the brick at his feet. Maybe it'll distract him.
Long enough for Talise to drop the gun, spring forward, and dip her blade low.
"HOOOOOOOOOOAHT!!" she roars as she tries to follow up the distraction shot with a hard, rising cut - trying to drive through him with her Tidal Blow technique.
<Pose Tracker> Ghaleon has posed.
In a sense, Ghaleon is far more than a sorcerer. He is the sorcerer: one of the few Althenan mages to ever master four elements. He was said, during his first life, to be the greatest mage that Vane ever produced. It was a title that many argued with, but those arguments had a basis in fact.
He is ready, again, for Talise. The buckshot surprises him -- he makes a small, but sharp hiss -- and he blocks it with a barrier, hastil made. A few flechettes still slash through the barrier, and they cut sharply into his armor and cloak. His lips curl back into a grin, though. "Full of surprises, aren't we? But the weapons of the Blue Star... will not avail you here!"
In she comes, and he seems distracted.
Until he isn't.
The barrier condenses down -- it was made of wind, and shimmers as it sinks down into a disc, which catches Rastaban like a buckle. The essence of Ghaleon's sorcery is not power, but control: he can manipulate the elements with a precision that can be shocking.
"I don't need magic to defeat you," he says, and then the 'buckler' of compressed wind shoots out towards Talise like a bullet. "Nor do I need a sword. I ask again, Talise Gianfair!"
The smirk remains. "Why do you walk this star?"
<Pose Tracker> Talise Gianfair has posed.
Talise is about as sorcerous as a rock. Not even one of Leo's rocks. Just a regular old rock.
For just a moment it seems like she's got him dead to rights, though.
But luck's not with her - skill, maybe, but not this much skill. Clenching her teeth, Talise bunches her shoulders and begins to shift her shoulders and hips. Ghaleon is probably skilled enough to tell in that brief split-second that she's going to try and reach over his buckler and grab him.
She never gets the chance; the wind bullet catches her in the shoulder. The impact deflects the tall woman away in a spin; she drops to a knee, left shoulder afire with pain. A few chain links have torn away from her mailshirt and an angry bruise is beginning to spread beneath her tunic.
She's quick to her feet, though. Talise inhales and tries to suppress her anger. She'll never beat him if it's all she has.
Why do you walk this star?
Well? Do you even know, worthless girl?
Another thought intrudes.
You know what, purple inner voice?
Bite me.
"Because someone," she rasps, "needs to make things right. And maybe I'll never be the Dragonmaster. But Lady Chloe wouldn't run away from Lunar's problems."
She surges forward again. "And neither will I!" she shouts.
Talise lets herself go - not out of anger, but out of sheer grit. An awareness that this may be all she has, but it'll have to do. She slashes out not with brute force, but with speed and finesse. Rastaban blurs through the air, dancing in lightning slash after lightning slash, slicing air to ribbons as she practically dances through a cascade of exquisitely smooth and controlled strikes. Behind the bladestorm, her green eyes are focused intently forward, laser-locked on the task of overwhelming the sword-sorceror of legend with the only weapon she's got: Her natural skill and determination.
It could be a work of art if each strike weren't so deadly. But will it be enough?
<Pose Tracker> Ghaleon has posed.
The bladestorm comes in, slash after slash. Ghaleon's armor takes more than a few of the strikes -- and that, alone, is testament to Talise's skill. Her blade bites into armor, but never through it; the Dragonmaster, it would seem, is made of sterner stuff than that. He moves to deflect one blade on his vambrace. Sparks fly.
And then there is a whisper of steel, as his blade flies free, and he catches the final strike on it. Rastaban meets his blade; sparks fly into the air, as his single stroke cuts through it.
His lips split into a smirk, again.
"Is that so? I think you should remember... that when you run at something, you run away from something else." He holds the parry -- he pushes back with his blade. Rastaban moves closer, and closer, and closer to Talise. Rastaban is pushed back, inch by inch, closer to her neck.
"What are you running away from?" he asks. "And what truth is it that you're frightened to face?"
Rastaban is forced backward, his blade shoved mightily against hers. She can feel it's kiss, perilously close to her jugular. "How can you know why you walk on this star... when all you do is run?"
The blade almost meets her skin -- and then, suddenly, nothing presses against her blade. Ghaleon, suddenly, isn't there. He vanishes -- teleporting away in a surge of blue light. Motes of it rise, and Ghaleon's laugh echoes. He leaves Talise there, in the darkness, with only questions.
<Pose Tracker> Talise Gianfair has posed.
She can feel herself scoring hits. That in itself means something, even if he doesn't have a weapon out. Talise doesn't let herself get too caught up in it.
Until there's a screech of steel as the legendary Sword of Althena crosses with Talise's weapon.
There are two swords depicted on the mural. One is in the hands of Ghaleon. The other is in the hands of the mysterious Green Knight. And right now, they're crossed in anger - and one is winning. Talise widens her eyes and plants her heel, shifting her shoulders to try and push back against the inexorable weight being put on her weapon.
She can't do it. Somehow. Talise Gianfair is taller and stronger than most men. She didn't bring her gauntlets of strength; even without them, she can bench-press an armoured knight.
And yet she's losing the bladelock to someone demonstrably smaller but infinitely more powerful and collected. Ghaleon is close enough to look into her eyes.
A sudden fear wells behind her determination. But what he doesn't find is a plea. Talise may be about to die, but she isn't cowardly enough to beg for her life.
So this is how it ends, huh, she realizes grimly as she feels the cold touch of incredibly sharp steel against her throat. Her muscles tense and bunch all the more as if for one last pushback.
She still doesn't run away. Is it because I'm running away from something else...?
Between one blink and the next, though, something changes. She's not seeing pale features and a smirk anymore. Only a fading halo of blue light, a laugh echoing into the distance, and...
...And everything else. The weight on Talise's sword is gone. The weight on her shoulders just grew ten times heavier. Her eyes are wide and her face pale.
Her fingers go slack, and Rastaban falls to the ground with a clatter. She's a second behind it, falling to her knees, then to her hands, breathing heavily.
In the shadow cast by her head, a couple of drops hit the ground. Bitter tears she can't hold back - horrible feelings of inadequacy and shame and relief and defeat and cold shock overpowering her but leaving her unable to do more but kneel there and think thoughts that will consume her tonight.
...But how can I ever walk forward, when no matter how far I run, everything chases me...?