05-19-2016, 02:30 AM
Hot steam blew from her nose as her legs carried her to the next patch of light, lead by the trail of flashlights she had let down. She was counting her blessings that the angels hadn’t chased her, when she heard the smash of the mirror. How in the world?! Christa exclaimed, and her pace quickened still. She nearly ran into the bar that fell across the cave’s opening horizontally, and Christa dove down into the ground, sure she could hear the angel’s snickering, as it echoed through the cave behind her. She cast a glance back, and swiftly gathered the pup in her backpack in her arms before crawling behind a rather large tree, as her fumbling, shaking fingers made contact with the singular button of her detonator, and an explosion ricocheted across the walls, and pulsed through the Pale Moors for a good mile.
Christa’s arms had wrapped around the dog in the backpack, her eyes had closed, so as to escape the burning of the heat as it roared past her with a rush of butter-melting wind. Her eyes opened when she was sure it was safe to, and the tree, remarkably enough, had shielded her from ninety percent of the blast. The heat had scorched her skin, and the edges of her face were glowing bright red and blistering. The jacket she had worn was crispy, now resembled mostly coal.
At the stirring of her movement, the ash fell apart and broke into little crisps before falling into the ground. The rogue sighed a breath of relief and her eyes opened, half-expecting to see an angel’s face plastered inches from her nose, with teeth as sharp as daggers. Instead, she saw the aftermath of the fire wave’s destruction. Cinders filled her sight as they fell from the smoggy black sky, and scorched trees lay all around her, including the large oak she had chosen to hide behind. Its branches and leaves were reduced to near nothing, but the stalky stump remained, and the mark where her shoulders had been remained lighter, and a part where the bark still appeared alive.
Her eyes then fell upon the cave, which was now no longer what it once had been. It resembled a rock pile, and the medium-sized boulders had been strewn across the air and misplaced about the destroyed parts of the forest. The air tasted of smoke and scorched earth, and Christa could not pull her gaze from the remnants of the cave, her fear, fueling her fixation on the angels’ tomb.
Even after she had set back out for Darkshire, Christa found herself, hesitant to blink.
...
Upon her arrival to the town, Christa had followed the routine. She knocked, eyeing the skeletal soldiers donning warrior’s armor and waited for the guard to approach.
“Who goes there?” his voice called down, it was the young fella again, this time however, it was daytime, and she could see him in the light. He had dark hair and eyes, and immediately Christa was reminded of Abner, but the clothes and height were all wrong. The man in front of her wore but scraps, and was much shorter than the spear that angled next to him.
Though, the rogue could only imagine what she looked like, her face and hair had been singed by the fire, and though her wounds had mostly healed on her way back Christa’s skin was coated in a black film that wouldn’t come off. Christa shouted back as she was hailed, “Christa, here to see Mornel.”
His expression changed, as though he had been forced something very bitter inside his mouth. Then he screwed up his best false expression and told the girl, “You mean you haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?” Christa echoed and she heard the gate enter. There was a thudding descending the creaky wooden stairs behind the rising gate.
Christa now looked at the guard completely, he held his spear in hand, and the top of his head fell just below her shoulders. She blinked at him, worried, expectant, and eager to hear what the guard had to say. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to break this to you, but Jesse’s dead.”
Hollow shock rang out through her crispy skin. Christa stared at the empty air, and then rubbed her ears in disbelief. Surely, she had heard him wrong. Surely, her act of valor, the destruction of the enemy that had caused his aged decline, would have saved him. “What?”
“Yeah, it happened late last night, all the old timers suddenly just... Yeah.” the guard finished, reading the Prime’s expression as it rippled from anger to sorrow. He did not want to hang around to see which one would stick. Instead, however, his eyes caught on the wolf’s nose, poking out of the back over her shoulders, it was rubbing against the cold iron snout of her sniper. He gasped and nearly shouted as his spear readied in his hands, “Gah- GET THAT THING OUT OF HERE!”
Christa looked at him blankly, and walked right by him.
“Do you know how many of our people have been killed by mere wolves, just like that? Some grow to be the size of monsters, giant, some people actually ride the creatures, thirsty for human blood alone! Worst monsters of the Moors, if you ask me, and, and-HEY! Where do you think you’re going?!”
Christa had made her way to the bar, and asked her for a drink, her ears had numbed the helpless howls of the guard's voice, complaining behind her.
Christa’s arms had wrapped around the dog in the backpack, her eyes had closed, so as to escape the burning of the heat as it roared past her with a rush of butter-melting wind. Her eyes opened when she was sure it was safe to, and the tree, remarkably enough, had shielded her from ninety percent of the blast. The heat had scorched her skin, and the edges of her face were glowing bright red and blistering. The jacket she had worn was crispy, now resembled mostly coal.
At the stirring of her movement, the ash fell apart and broke into little crisps before falling into the ground. The rogue sighed a breath of relief and her eyes opened, half-expecting to see an angel’s face plastered inches from her nose, with teeth as sharp as daggers. Instead, she saw the aftermath of the fire wave’s destruction. Cinders filled her sight as they fell from the smoggy black sky, and scorched trees lay all around her, including the large oak she had chosen to hide behind. Its branches and leaves were reduced to near nothing, but the stalky stump remained, and the mark where her shoulders had been remained lighter, and a part where the bark still appeared alive.
Her eyes then fell upon the cave, which was now no longer what it once had been. It resembled a rock pile, and the medium-sized boulders had been strewn across the air and misplaced about the destroyed parts of the forest. The air tasted of smoke and scorched earth, and Christa could not pull her gaze from the remnants of the cave, her fear, fueling her fixation on the angels’ tomb.
Even after she had set back out for Darkshire, Christa found herself, hesitant to blink.
...
Upon her arrival to the town, Christa had followed the routine. She knocked, eyeing the skeletal soldiers donning warrior’s armor and waited for the guard to approach.
“Who goes there?” his voice called down, it was the young fella again, this time however, it was daytime, and she could see him in the light. He had dark hair and eyes, and immediately Christa was reminded of Abner, but the clothes and height were all wrong. The man in front of her wore but scraps, and was much shorter than the spear that angled next to him.
Though, the rogue could only imagine what she looked like, her face and hair had been singed by the fire, and though her wounds had mostly healed on her way back Christa’s skin was coated in a black film that wouldn’t come off. Christa shouted back as she was hailed, “Christa, here to see Mornel.”
His expression changed, as though he had been forced something very bitter inside his mouth. Then he screwed up his best false expression and told the girl, “You mean you haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?” Christa echoed and she heard the gate enter. There was a thudding descending the creaky wooden stairs behind the rising gate.
Christa now looked at the guard completely, he held his spear in hand, and the top of his head fell just below her shoulders. She blinked at him, worried, expectant, and eager to hear what the guard had to say. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to break this to you, but Jesse’s dead.”
Hollow shock rang out through her crispy skin. Christa stared at the empty air, and then rubbed her ears in disbelief. Surely, she had heard him wrong. Surely, her act of valor, the destruction of the enemy that had caused his aged decline, would have saved him. “What?”
“Yeah, it happened late last night, all the old timers suddenly just... Yeah.” the guard finished, reading the Prime’s expression as it rippled from anger to sorrow. He did not want to hang around to see which one would stick. Instead, however, his eyes caught on the wolf’s nose, poking out of the back over her shoulders, it was rubbing against the cold iron snout of her sniper. He gasped and nearly shouted as his spear readied in his hands, “Gah- GET THAT THING OUT OF HERE!”
Christa looked at him blankly, and walked right by him.
“Do you know how many of our people have been killed by mere wolves, just like that? Some grow to be the size of monsters, giant, some people actually ride the creatures, thirsty for human blood alone! Worst monsters of the Moors, if you ask me, and, and-HEY! Where do you think you’re going?!”
Christa had made her way to the bar, and asked her for a drink, her ears had numbed the helpless howls of the guard's voice, complaining behind her.
![[Image: -Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif]](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/35600000/-Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif)
"I have never met a strong person with an easy past." -Atticus