Monday, July 23, 2012

Escaping the house itself was easy. Most guests were sleeping, and the servants were being their usual unobtrusive selves. A Gnome bows to him as Keon slips through the shadows cast by moonlight, pointing to an area of pavestones ringed with benches. It is almost as if the creature knew exactly what Keon was seeking. Then again, the blade at his hip and the way he moved could have given it an idea. The Dark Lord was quite sure Mortuis and Silk needed somewhere to sword dance, and knowing Silk, it had to be away from their living quarters. The Gods alone knew what she can do when lost in the Dance.

Standing in the center of the design, Keon takes a moment to gather himself. He eyes the pattern below his feet, noting the five elements of life weaving a great celtic knot. There are stones of green and brown for earth, red and orange for fire, white and pale blues for air, deeper blues and mixed green/blues for water. The spirit stones of black and white marbling are what draw his eyes. He kneels in the center where solid stones of black and white pick out a symbol he has never seen before. Dark fingers trace the image and a sense of stability encompasses his mind.

Rising to his full height with a grace that would take the breath of any watching, Keon draws his blade smoothly. His stance changes slightly, balance shifting to compensate for the added weight of his sword. The Dance begins. His feet slide over the stones, creating a pattern of their own, as his blade moves effortlessly through the air. Moonlight and the subdued focus lighting makes the silver shimmer as if alive. His dark eyes close as he listens to the rhythm of his heart and the quiet sounds of the surrounding night. He cocks his head as he hears a step, then the soft sigh of something ethereal passing. His long dark hair flares out as he turns, adding another soft sound to the night, and another color as the blue strands catch the light. The Dark Sidhe hears the melodies of Nature and Self, embracing them and using them to guide his movements. His final steps bring him to one knee, sword upraised and offered to the Gods.

He opens his eyes to find himself alone, yet feeling as if he had the total attention of someone. Bowing his head, Keon lowers the sword to the stones and weeps, knowing that it is time to mourn the injuries to close friends, and the passing of one of Tannr's true friends.

His words, spoken softly, seem to ripple in the night's stillness.

"Bandia, cabhrú linn ...."

(Goddess, help us....)

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