from skeleton to skeleton

Some might have a bone blade sharpened from some older skeleton that had since fallen into an unanimated state. Others might carry the metal equipment they held when they served alive. Others still might just claw with unnaturally sharp bone fingers. Doesn't seem like the kind of thing Adedra particularly made certain for there to be a set equipment/uniform for her undead legion in the making.

Aranwen walked through the market stalls, passing by all manner of people interested in all manner of wares. She had to admit that the sheer variety of goods on display was more than she had anticipated. There was one thing in particular she was on the lookout for, a black mask. Probably would be marketed as an antique or something, she was sure. If she could track down its place of origin, then maybe...

A light touch caused her to stop in her tracks, and she looked down at the little girl who had placed a hand on the wooden scabbard she carried.

"Pretty!" The little girl ooh'd, letting her hand run along the engraved wood.

With a soft chuckle, Aranwen knelt down, "Where are your parents, little one?"

The girl gave a shrug, "That way maybe?" she made a vague gesture, pointing further into the city, "They let me wander. I'm looking for toys!"

Aranwen frowned. By all rights, she was certain that it was not safe to let a child wander alone, "Here, let's go find them," She offered.

The girl gave a wide smile, "Okay!"

Passing through the merchant district, Aranwen and the girl started towards the residential areas. As she vaguely wondered who the girl's parents might have been, that's when she heard it. Screams.

"Stay back," Aranwen warned the girl, "Find your parents, and tell them you need to get home quickly."

"What's wrong?" The girl asked, her eyes widening a bit

"I don't like those sounds," Aranwen muttered. But before she could take a step, the girl placed a ribbon in her hand.

"Okay, I go. Good luck, Miss!" The girl offered before she ran off.

Aranwen tilted her head, before looking at the ribbon she was given. It was loosely tied in a bow. She shrugged her shoulders and put it in her bag, before she advanced forward, her pace quickening.

She only had to see the skeleton charging at other civilians to act. Drawing her blade, Aranwen advanced with a gentle hymn, hardly raising her voice as she sliced into the skeleton's rib cage. Though resilient to her blade, the attack had the intended effect - the skeleton turned to her and swung with a jagged bone blade, easily parried with her own as she lifted her voice, then descended to piano as she followed the blade with her own and brought it through the skeleton's neck. It crumpled under the attack.

"Get off the streets!" She told the people she had just saved, "Where'd it come from?" She asked.

So Aranwen pursued, from one set of people to the next, chasing the skeletons back towards their point of origin in a chain of misfortune and blood. Eventually she stood at the gate of Adedre's keep.

"I can't let you-" The guard spoke, but Aranwen cut them off.

"I've reports that undead are coming from this gate," Aranwen spoke, brandishing the voice of authority as she had been trained to do so in the past.

"We know of no such-"

Aranwen hurled a broken rib at the man, "Explain!" She commanded.

"I er, that is to say,"

"Is this something you can't explain?" Aranwen asked, her golden eyes boring into those of the guard.

"I-I only guard the gate, ma'am," He replied

"Then do your duty and open it! We haven't all night! There's skeletons in the residential district and if they aren't from here, I'd like to verify that so we can find out where they are actually from!" Aranwen retorted.

Wincing under duress, the guard finally acquiessed, and opened the door.

"Thank you," Aranwen spoke in a tone that made clear her disappointment at the delay, "Now, where do I go to get to your employer?"

A shaking hand directed Aranwen as the guard meekly provided some directions to the bladesinger. She nodded her thanks, and stormed into the keep proper, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief that her ruse had worked. She had no reason to assume this had any relation to her own reasons for coming to Dravnor, but she knew one thing. Bodies had to come from somewhere, and that somewhere might be connected to the slavers she fought. Or she hoped, anyhow, even as she made her way further into the keep at a brisk pace.

Aranwen rounded a corner and found herself face to skull with more skeletons.

"Well, were I actually a city guard, I'd say I found my proof," She observed.

Bringing her blade forward, she drew herself into a fighting stance and took a deep breath. Aranwen began to sing, deep, strong vocals of a wordless language that echoed around her and through the halls as she rushed forward to meet the skeletons head on.

With regards to the fact she's trying to draw on primal energy, especially using Ch'dau's blood. And what is more primal than the biological urges?

Looks like Aranwen has a few bones to cut to size...

Hugs for everyone

To a Bladesinger, their personal code, those oaths they take, I feel those hold more weight to them than a code does to a Paladin, as shown by the class description.

"Code: The Bladesinger must live up to the strict standards of their own code. Discipline is usually ingrained to the point where any individual would rather die than break even the smallest tenet (i.e., a dishonored sword is left on the battlefield, regardless of immediate danger). However, a Bladesinger that breaks his or her vows can expect to be hunted down and executed by the rest of the order."

Saeriel's oaths included "to protect those who cannot protect themselves," a very dangerous promise to make. Even if the order had decided she was not at fault, as a personal code it's more important how the individual feels of themselves...

422 E.R, Northeastern Sendria Forest, Sendria-Sylvari border

Before them, Saeriel and Aranwen saw a wooden mannequin with a tattered cloak around it, adorned with an almost featureless black mask. The only feature it had was the bright red lips it wore.

"How?" Aranwen grit her teeth, "Did you hear anything approaching, Saeriel?"

You are both keenly observant, well trained soldiers. But even you don't look at things that are already present before you arrive. It's in my interest to watch over my things.

Saeriel took a breath and drew her blade, as Aranwen drew hers, "What are you, demon?"

I am no denizen of the abyss. Nor would I care to become one. I am Morgana, and you may have the pleasure of enjoying this as your last performance.

Raising its hands, the mannequin's fingers grew longer and visibly sharper, until they were as blades, gleaming silver and red by the setting sun. That was the only warning before it had rushed the bladesingers. Metal rang against metal as Saeriel and Aranwen blocked a hand each, beginning their duet once again. It was different this time, however. Neither of them could read the movements of this construct. It moved as a humanoid, but without any of the tells, no tightening of muscle, not even seeming to care for center of weight as it jerked about erratically with dangerous blades.

Swipe after swipe, the creature forced the bladesingers back. Neither Aranwen nor Saeriel were willing to let it go unchallenged, however, as they together sliced into the creature's wooden body, again and again, sending wood chips flying with each successful strike. But they could not prevent the creature from returning the favour, as it landed a hard slash into Saeriel's right shoulder, and Aranwen's left forearm. For a mercy, neither were the dominant arms of the respective bladesingers, but as they felt lifeblood leaving their body, their strength also began to wane. It was a race to see what would happen first - would the construct be broken by their combined efforts, or would it land a grievous blow first?

The battle was interrupted by a scream.

Always looking forward, like good wooden soldiers lined up in a child's toy army. Never do you look at what you want to protect.

Aranwen turned and felt her blood go cold. Mithwen was futily stabbing at the arm of another mannequin, one that had gotten a firm grip on the Syl's shoulder. The mannequin's free hand went to the mask it wore.

You are MINE.

The black mask was placed on Mithwen's face, smothering her scream even as the mannequin collapsed harmlessly beside her. Mithwen reached up, but her hands stopped short of the mask, frozen in place. She was breathing rapidly; her breath was not smothered at least, but the rest of her limbs didn't move even as Aranwen could see muscle straining and even her hands twitching as she struggled against something unseen.

I would have preferred you brought to me, but I must not be stingy about exerting myself as the need arises.

Mithwen and the black mask appeared to shimmer in the air, then they were gone.

Saeriel brought a hand to her lips in horror, "Dear Adaron, she is- no!" She clutched her forehead, training barely keeping the grip on her blade, "What is that? No! The child!" The colour drained from Saeriel's face, and she fell silent.

"She's... gone? What happened to her?" Saeriel finally asked.

Hm? You can see things beyond where you are? An interesting gift. I imagine you don't think of it as such right now.

Aranwen grabbed Saeriel by the shoulder, quickly taking her blade with her own, "Sae! You're here, not there. Snap out of it!"

Saeriel slumped to the ground before Aranwen could support her, tears flowing from her eyes.

Well, that's unfortunate, Morgana gave a long sigh, You both showed such strong will. I thought I might be able to claim all three of you for my trouble. But it seems I was mistaken. I need not waste my efforts then.

As the mannequin turned its back, Aranwen so desperately wanted nothing more than to strike it down, but she relented, glaring at it as it moved away. It was more important that she and Saeriel were no longer in danger. Sheathing her blade, she sat with Saeriel, and gingerly returned her sword to her sheath, before carefully embracing Saeriel, avoiding her wounded shoulder, "Sae? Sae? We're here. You're with me. We're still alive."

"But we failed," Saeriel whispered, her voice hoarse.

Aranwen shook her head, "No, we did everything we could," She tried to give a reassuring smile, "Come on, lets patch ourselves up."

Saeriel nodded finally. They took their armour off and Saeriel pulled out a satchel of bandages. She carefully applied them to Aranwen's arm, and Aranwen returned the favour for hers. Once they were sure the bandages were set and they had done what they could to make sure they wouldn't bleed out, the two bladesingers donned their armour once more and stood.

"We should head back," Aranwen spoke.

Saeriel averted her gaze, before shaking her head, "Aranwen, look."

Aranwen turned back to Saeriel, for a moment uncertain what she was supposed to be looking at, then she saw it in Saeriel's trembling hand, "No..."

Saeriel no longer carried the full of her soul's blade. The elegant curved blade of a dancer had snapped in pieces, and all she held left was the hilt.

"You understand, don't you?" Saeriel looked into Aranwen's eyes, desperation etched into her own violet eyes.

Aranwen shook her head, "No, no, you just need... you can reforge it! That's something that's done right?" She asked, "Please, I won't tell them. It can't be like this."

Saeriel sighed, looking helplessly at Aranwen, "My oath is broken; my blade is undone."

Aranwen shook her head again, unable to keep tears from her eyes, "No. How many times before have I thought I failed, for you to hold me up and keep going? Please, let me do the same. Just tell me what to do. You know those blades. You know the spirit. You're a seer, an artist, a warrior, and my wife. Please, tell me how to help you!"

Saeriel gave a hollow laugh, "Even if I knew how long it'd be until I could make new oaths and reforge that blade, pretend it never happened, how long could I hide that fact from the others? You know what I'm talking about."

Aranwen grit her teeth, "There has to be something. This isn't right!"

Saeriel sighed, "I have three options. I can return and accept my fate, accept the judgement of the order. I can run and be branded a deserter and oathbreaker. Probably die alone somewhere to some other bladesinger's sword."

Aranwen clenched her fists, "I'd sooner fight them to protect you. What's the third option?"

Saeriel looked directly at Aranwen, her eyes damp and with a sad smile, "I can choose to die here. At least then I'd spend my last moments with you."

"That's NOT AN OPTION, Sae!" Aranwen screamed, before she fell silent, "And what, what of my oaths?" she clenched her hand at her chest, "I can't even fathom-"

"Your blade won't break here," Saeriel replied, giving a smile, "I don't think yours can break. You know, you made yours with far greater foresight than me. It makes me happy to be one small part of it."

"Stop talking like you're going to die, I won't let you die here," Aranwen spoke firmly, "I won't-"

Saeriel sighed, taking a long breath before she drew her sword, "Don't hold back. Please."

"Sae!" Aranwen recoiled, narrowly dodging a diagonal slash from Saeriel's blade. Saeriel's movements weren't as quick or fluid as they used to be, but her swings were still wide and arcing like a graceful dance, "Sae, stop! Stop!"

Saeriel had closed her eyes, using muscle memory alone to weave her sword around recklessly. She winced but didn't stop when she inadvertantly cut her own leg with the blade. Finally, Aranwen drew her blade, parrying a slash that she would not have dodged. Saeriel opened her eyes, "Ara," she spoke, her voice cracked, far from the confidence she held as a singer, "Don't die for me."

"Then why do you get to?!" Aranwen retorted, bringing her blade upward into a counter slash. If she could just knock the sword from Saeriel's hands...

But Saeriel dropped her blade, and walked forward into the strike.

Aranwen's hands went to her mouth in horror, sword forgotten as both it and Saeriel fell to the ground. Her own blade cracked as she watched Saeriel cough in pain, her body unwilling to give up even as her spirit had.

"Ara?" Saeriel whispered.

Aranwen was at her side in a heartbeat, tearing at the leather armour Saeriel wore, and already pulling the bandages from Saeriel's satchel. The bandages dropped from her hands when she saw the wound.

No more words were said. Aranwen took Saeriel's hand and held it to her chest. She stayed that way until she felt it limp.

She screamed into the night sky.

I was considering holding it until some time later, buuut if you're both keen on it... grab a friendly plush or pillow or whatever suits you and I'll get this copied over

I did it. I managed to write Aranwen's worst memory. I'm not even sure I have the heart to post it to be honest.

Kithran flashbacks? Now I'm very curious to see the things in her memories

I also note with a giggle that normally blood outside of a room would be a giveaway to battle having occurred recently, but if that is a bleeding room, then it's like 'ugh, was it even cleaned from last time?'

It is quite interesting how, even aside being stuck in the same situation, the two of them are largely on the same wavelength with regards to finding a strange kinship within the inner fire each has. That will to push forward despite obstacles they see.

Bonding over sass  

PS I forgot I had heard this song some time ago. I'm beginning to suspect that's where a good portion of Morgana's inspiration came from... 

Look at how much things change

A doll with a black mask bearing a smug, red smile swayed above a dark wood surface, the threads holding its wooden body taut and jerking about in an erratic dance. Then another doll was brought into the candlelight, this one wearing a white mask with a sorrowful blue tear, held up by similar threads. 

And yet, things also stay the same

The black was brought to the white with an arm raised forward, and they were drawn into a twirl. The other arm vaguely gesturing outward. 

Watch them clamour, watch them dance, something new, something fun is happening in town

The white was brought away, and its hands were brought to its lips in a mock display of shock. 

Such a mess, letting ants out of her farm, will others take notice? Will others object? 

The black's arms were lifted and dropped. 

But it's no matter to me, as long as I get

The white and black were brought together again, and as their hands were lifted to touch, they blended into the other. There was no visible spot where one ended and the other began. 

As long as I get

Threads coiled around the doll, and the two masks became one, though the white mask disappeared into the black instead of a split of the two. With one final twirl, the doll kicked the candle with force. 

Life

The flame hit the well dressed corpse laying upon the bar, and the fire took hold.

Time to get paid

Why do I get the feeling Aranwen will make for a soft landing for Kithran?

There's two rough sequences of events I had in mind based on what we have already seen and set up

First option is Kithran and Ch'dau opting to retreat out of the alarum of the full alert keep. Not what they want to do, but both are no longer in peak condition, and fighting their way to the witch is less than ideal in this circumstance.

The second option is Adedra's undead minions, so recklessly commanded and sent off, starting to enter the city proper, and causing no small commotion. Aranwen would respond to this threat and make her way inside under guise of aiding the city guard (or the claim of such anyhow).

Neither option is mutually exclusive, and there's far more that can happen in the 'how', but these are the very rough threads I can see to guide the story forward and the trio together

Slight edit to my previous post to include a subtle reaction to Ch'dau

Death cultist priest needs a new tune

I imagine a sharp hymn will do wonders

Courtesy of my blade

- Aranwen

“Forgive,” Ch'dau rumbled, not quite softly, “I spoke where I should not have and out of a place best left far from here.” His eyes lifted, again, and found Davena and Garn; “I am grateful for all you have done…”

Aranwen gave a gentle smile in return to the Kazari, giving a slight nod and inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. It was not wrong of Ch'dau to have his suspicions, nor voice them even, but the situation called for them to be allies in the here and now. It was past the time to voice suspicions, better to hold them ready for that situation were they to pass. She dearly prayed such a situation didn't come. She knew Davena, at least so she thought, based off of what she managed to glimpse of the woman. Yet, in the worst scenario where it did, there was one other reason why the bladesinger had opted to place Ch'dau behind Davena.

Turning to the door, Aranwen looked at her hands. Did she truly have the resilience Davena spoke of? Aranwen was fairly sure, between the stories she had heard, and her recent experiences, but this would be a far greater test, one taken where the results would be readily visible, and without battle waged around them. Steeling herself, she reached forward.

Aranwen gasped at the sudden chilling pain in her hands, but breathed deeply, gritting her teeth to endure. Even as she opened the doors, she could feel the doors trying to hold her in return. A cold, dark grasp. Without the distraction of an attacker to keep her from thinking of it, she remembered that feeling from some where, some time completely different.

I will not submit. I didn't before, and I won't do so now. 

Holding her blade of will close to her heart, Aranwen forced herself to keep moving, until the doors were wide open. Withdrawing her hands, she inspected them. No visible harm, but that was not unexpected with foul magic. Rubbing the feeling back into her fingers, she surveyed what she could see in the room beyond. 

"Empty," Aranwen whispered, "Better than the alternative, but by how much?" she mused to Kithran beside her, who certainly had more experience entering places uninvited than she did.

No secret 2e Sylvari resistance to that sort of damage  

26th Day, Ternoth Ore, 452 E.R., Davnor, Sendria.

Aranwen looked up at the Obsidian Gate of the capital as she approached, her golden eyes making out a few city guards on the ramparts. She knew the capital was reputed to be 'the city of temptation', but had never ventured this far into Sendria before. Now that she was here, she felt herself a little uncertain. A place of trade and commerce was not a place that approved of claims, let alone a place such as this where even loyalty could be purchased with sufficient coin. How many of the city guard were paid to look the other way on certain things? How did she expect to find the head of the snake she wished to kill? How did she expect to find out who it was?

Reaching the gate, a guard hailed her, "State your business, Syl!" 

"My business is not your business!" she retorted, a gambit on her part, as she anticipated a certain personality would find less troubles in this city. 

Fortunately, she was right. "Ah. Aye, go on through then," the guard returned, leaving Aranwen to pass.

The sight of the bustling marketplace was a bit of a shock, as well as how normal the people seemed. She had been anticipating something less than civil, if she were honest. Aranwen was certain, however, that probing questions would find their way to ears she did not want to have her words. So, instead, she travelled further into the city, keeping attentive of the conversations going on around her. 

She'd strive not to let her purpose reach the ears of others, but she'd certainly take the opportunity to let the words on the streets reach hers.

"The priests led us to believe that the undead would be present here, along with others of their order," the blonde woman replied, ”They gave no details of defenses, nor did they mention passwords or keys." Her tone shifted ever so slightly towards ice as she continued. "Had they done so, we certainly would not have failed to mention it."

“You failed to mention any of it when first we met,” Ch’dau chuffed flatly from his place at the back of the line, “Forgive us for verifying before we blindly trust.”

"We are quite close to Sendria, dear friend," Aranwen pointed out, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice at speaking the name of that cursed land, "Just as our experiences have led to us at times being wary of what we share openly, I know that the same is true of them," she observed, looking directly at Davena with softness about her eyes, "We are not enemies here."

If we were, what reason would they have to lend their aid? At least, that's what I hope at this point.

* * *

With no clear spot to place the amulet, Aranwen nodded dutifully and stepped forward, "Don't worry," She smiled, attempting to reassure Ch'dau, "and we've no visible alternatives anyway."

With that she moved forward and attempted to open the door.

I had my mental compass inverted and kept referring to east and west opposite what they should have been. Very minor detail but now fixed

Also, creating undead in a more or less literal pool of blood is a bit chilling o_o

My mind just would not let go of a possible link between the two, and my imagination kept considering different possibilities as to what may have transpired as a result. So I finally had to ask. I did anticipate it was just a coincidence I was just going crazy with

According to the map, as well as the first on-the-road post, we're somewhere in the wilderness not too far from Daviena Castle.

I couldn't help but make a connection

Has it ever been asked if Davena is of any relation to Daviena?

Ch'dau reclassed as a squishy?! What is the world coming to?

Silliness aside, I think it's safe to post. There's only so many reactions a player can have to a mysterious door after all. I think giving them the opportunity to react to what's inside the door is good

Given Kith was the one carrying it, we can potentially rule out a matter of proximity with the door, since if proximity was all that mattered, the door would've opend on Kith's approach