Lone Watcher-Hero’s Fall

Aranya written by Serena Firesong

[read with The Lone Watcher: Steelstar.]


Bryon's voice breaks her terrified trance. Wide eyed, she turns and races in the other direction, trying recognize and keep to the path they had followed on the way there.

Racing after the weaver, the warrior sees her running straight on a path that he wished to avoid... now, he knew, there would be no choice. Diving under a swiping branch, he rounds a corner just behind Aranya and yells to her. "Into the glowing chasm... now, before something worse comes our way!" Ahead, she sees the crevasse he speaks of, its eerie reddish cast, and the steam rising from it giving her a sense of plunging into the depths of Hell, itself.

She sees a ledge meandering into the crevasse, and realises that the footing is quite trecherous. One false step could cost her life, sending her falling to a flow of what seems to be lava, below. Her new, magical garment covers her form, taking the brunt of heat that rises to greet her, as she moves closer to the ledge.

Without hesitation Aranya steps carefully onto the ledge. Keeping one hand on the cliff face beside her and her eyes on the narrow path, she puts one foot in front of the other, and again, slowly making her way forward.

The warrior is suprised, he watches her, as she moves across the trecherous ledge. Glancing back on occasion to see jsut where their persuers might be... praying that the horrifying creatures won't be able to catch up to them until they are both across the chasm.

As Aranya continues to place each foot on the narrow escarpment, she finds that it does become slippery, bits of gravel falling past her ankles make the ledge even more dangerous than before. Her new vestment urges her onward, it's tendrils of thought easing her mind so it can consentrate on the task she is in the midst of.

For a while, just walking requires her full attention. //Left foot there. Right foot there. Left foot there. Right foot -- mind the dip -- here.// And for a time, she is content not to think about the undead things chasing her and Bryon, as she makes her excruciatingly slow descent.

With no more time to spare the young charge he has taken, the warrior turns, ready to face the enemies that vastly outnumber him. As the distance closes, the man hurls a blast of artic air from his fingertips, it's chill breeze mixing with the hot and humid air to create sleet and a slippery approach for the animated dead that press forward.

But after what seems like hours and hours, she finds that she has grown accustomed to the procedure enough that she can afford other thoughts, which begin to swarm around her mind. //It's even darker down here that it was on the surface. Seems like there's at least as much light coming from below as from above. I wonder how close Ice is behind me? Should I turn and look? Should I call out? Supposing something else hears. I'm awfully glad of this cloak. What's so important about naming it, anyway?//

The young weaver gets a nagging feeling from the cloth again, this time, it's urgency nearly making her fall. ~ROCK OVER HEAD!~ It's untrained voice echoes through her mind.

She crouches low with her arms over her head, pressing herself close against the rock face, with the edge of the path scant inches away from her foot.

As the barrage of boulders drops past her, one of them clips her arm, the blow rebounding from her protective cloak, and sending a large chuck of the path ahead of her into the depths below. Along with the rocks, she notices a pair of the undead, falling to their doom.

Aranya gulps. She stands up slowly and rubs her bruised arm, wondering how to continue. //Thank you,// she thinks at the cloak.

And still the path stretches ahead, winding its narrow way between the rocky wall on one side and the sheer drop on the other, lit by a dull reddish glow with no end yet in sight....

Within moments, the woman sees the warrior drifting lazily toward her, without a word, he scoops her up in a powerful, yet careful embrace, and continues their decent to the eerie red glow below them. She is able to note, while they travel downward, that his cloak is what lets them sail lightly to the ground far below, in spite of it's many tatters and slashes.

Once his feet touch a rock ledge below, he releases Aranya, and asks, "Are you hurt?"

"Just a bruise, I think. What about you?"

Before he even answers, she sees that his sides runs crimson, a slash that shows the exposure of rib bone and lung. He merely shakes his head, and starts to press forward, "It's only a flesh wound." He lies to her.

She frowns and opens her mouth, but snaps it shut again and looks away for a moment. "As you say, sir."

He draws his sword again, looking about, his keen eyes peircing the darkness that leads into a grouping of tunnels. "I think our destination will be down this passage." He gestures to one of the pathes on the right. The woman's cloth whispers of danger to her mind, but she has no idea just where that sense of forboding might be coming from .

"Should I go first or second?"

"Why don't you go first, that way nothing takes us by suprise from the rear." He says, gasping slightly. Her companion then draws forth a small flask and takes a drink, offering to her next.

Aranya accepts the flask and takes a small sip.

The light, chilled wine feels good to her parched throat, and the coolness drives off the effects of the heat, a little.

She starts walking on the indicated path, hands curled unconsciously into loose fists.

As she moves onward, she hears the warrior's footing slip behind her, gravel falling to the depthes below.

Aranya glances backward, her anxiety evident on her face.

Ice holds fast to the wall of the chasm, the strain evident by his shaking arms, as he continues to keep himself from falling into the endless looking darkness below.

Ahead, two shades race toward her, ready to strike when they reach their target.

With Aranya's statuesque pose, the great warrior grabs her waist, and they spiral into the vast emptyness below them. The shades, undaunted, take wing to hurry after their prey.

Aranya holds on to his shoulders, trying not to put pressure on Ice's wounded side.

The shades drop after their prey, one hissing as it draws close enough to just miss them with it's razor like claws.

"It seems these two will take a bit more persuation to leave us alone." He says in a near whisper. His cloak billowing in the breeze of their fall, suddenly opens and lifts them upward, catching a current of air that sends them directly toward the fearsome spectres of darkness.

The shadows roll and turn, trying to grasp the warrior and his cargo... still, he is moving much faster, and more sure than they are able, and he soon leaves them screaming with ravaged voices after him.

"How much farther til we are safe?" she murmurs back.

Four shades drop at the pair, as Aranya asks her question. But they dare not come to close, as they watch the warrior shift the woman to his bad side, and form a ball of blazing purple-white light in his palm. One tries to strike at him, anyway, and learns the folly of such a move as it disperses into the oblivion that created it, the others retreating to watch from a perch, their eyes trying to seek a weakness in the man's defenses. "I-eeeesssss, I whill k-hill y-hou thissss time." One says, it's cobalt eyes glowing with a deep seated hatred for the man and his companion.

Aranya's eyes narrow. ~Can you make me fly like Ice's cloak?~ she thinks at her yellow cape. ~Or can you at least make me a lighter burden for him?~

~I can do as you wish me to do, my lady.~ The beautiful cloth says to her mind, it's masculine voice like a gentle whisper to her thoughts. ~I am capable of giving you wings, but the effort is much that I would not be able to protect you as the Master wishes me to. Still, I feel your concern is great, I am able to allow you to work your own gifts and mend the tear to his flesh, as you can already with cloth.~

[continues in The Lone Watcher: Crossover.]


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