Tuesday, August 30, 2011

As Star gallops away HellHounds slide from the trees, pacing her racing steed as Irish Wolfhounds did the Hunters of Old. Wish nods in satisfaction as their spine chilling howls call to the Riders hidden further ahead. She turns to Inari and bows. She kneels beside Ghaunt, touching the pale grey hair.

"*Codladh i síocháin, Ghaunt cara. Do rith, Tá mbeidh fearg mo Pike beloved is beag eile a rinneadh i céadta bliain."

Her eyes meet Inari's, then turn to the battle behind her. Sparks begin to dance among the tangled chaos of her hair, turning the brilliant strands to flashing neon. A breeze rises, whipping her wild mane into a writhing mass. Inari follows Wish's gaze to a Drow dragging himself along the ground. The man lies still when someone steps near him, feigning death. As soon as the fighters step away, he drags himself just a little closer to Ghaunt and the two women with him.

A snarl escapes Wish's lips. Gone is the dainty teen for which she is so often mistaken. Power builds, raising the hair on everyone's arms and necks. The Drow still standing edge back, out of sword's reach, warily watching both the fighters they face and the glowing figure behind them. She points and a swirl of sparks engulf the crawling Drow. He screams, arms flailing as if warding off a swarm of insects. The sparks intensify as the petite wyldfae laughs.

"You cannot have him Darklings. Ghaunt has given his life for a noble cause. You and yours shall not defile that."

Her voice is cold, bringing the terror of that unseen thing which haunts one over the frozen wastes of nightmares. She smiles, yet the sweet smile fills the Drow with dread. A twist of her hand and the ensorcelled man bursts into flames. His screams last forever, even though he is reduced to ash in mere moments.

She turns her back on the warriors and kneels again to touch Ghaunt. Her other hand is offered to Inari. Without a pause, Inari grasps the delicate hand and a bubble encloses the trio.

"As my Mistress wishes."

They blink from sight.

*Sleep in peace, friend Ghaunt. Your passing will anger my beloved Pike as little else has done in centuries..

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