Aspasia - Africa (Part V) - 6/7/2009
The Amazon's jaw tightens. Dropping her arms to her sides, the knife firmly in her right hand, while the fingers of her left curl into a clenched fist.
The air is charged with potent energy. The sky rumbles with impending lightening.
****
As Aspasia focuses her blood and her will, Jack and Inali, watching from the sidelines see two glowing figures start to emerge from the flashes of lightning that punctuate Aspasia's prayer. As they solidify into recognizable forms, there is an unintentional intake of air from both witnesses.
The unity of the Clan...Gangrel first...all that was represented by the Peacekeepers and the battles and the pain and suffering of a Clan to try to make themselves something more. It takes the form of one who represents the strength of Gangrel, but also some of their weaknesses. The love Aspasia has for her clan, and the failures she has seen them commit in the past years.
The Moirae are not merciful.
Dallas.
He is garbed just as before the sunrise, where she took his life. That moment of choice, when she could have turned her back on everyone else and defied society to kill them both. And did not.
Shame and Anger war with momentary relief. Even to her secret self, Aspasia could not admit the fear - that in her foolishness, allowing them to travel with her, she would be called to sacrifice Inali and Jack in return for the knife’s destruction, much as Iphigenia died at her father, Agamemnon’s hands, so the Greeks would be allowed to sail to Troy.
But, the Moirae are not merciful.
The right of a sire in perpetuity. Those childer who have fallen by the wayside. Those childer who drew their sire into their politics. Loyalty and hidden betrayal. Loyalty and love. Honor thy father and thy mother. Respect your elders. Be what your sire wants or suffer the consequences. All of these concepts coalesce into the cruelest of forms.
Hisa.
Her daughter dressed as she was when escorting Nick Ebon to his meeting of covenant. Dressed as she was when set upon by ten assassins, dying in defense of her ward.
Aspasia trembles.
The Moirae are not merciful.
The knife grows warm in the woman's hand. And at the same time certain, undisputed truth is revealed to her soul.
This to be a portion of the cost for her petition. Striking these two down by her hand, her blows will lead to their deaths then.
It is the weight of possibility. Aspasia’s actions create the pattern, that makes their deaths happen. Present and Past are fluid, threads knotting back on themselves.
Then, the Amazon hears a voice in her mind, calm and reassuring, "What is done is done. If they are to be better, you must show them how to be better. Your example can change...everything."
The woman nods to herself as if answering a silent question. She remembers standing on the roof of a building in Chicago, Leonidas at her side. He says to her in Greek, “The gods themselves cannot rescue even one they love, when death that stretches all men out lays its dread hand upon him."
Her stance shifts, body language one of resolve. With a glance at the two figures, and she leans away from Hisa, directing her attention at first towards the duster-wearing man.
He will yield to me, he came to Detriot then, to give over to Raven and I.
…And Hisa is the better fighter. I must take him out quickly, if I am to vanquish her.
Aspasia mouths, "Wolf always comes back." And then a shake of her head, as a blood tear rolls down each cheek and the woman's voice returns to normal volume. "But not this place and time, Karida." In Greek, she adds, "I'm sorry..." And Aspasia launches at the figure of her dead lover, clearly wanting to end this particular torment as swiftly as possible.
Two voices speak simultaneously, the quiet contralto of Inali and the lighter strains of Hisa's tone, blending together. "My Sister and I…”
She strikes, but the first blow is weak and unworthy of an Amazon. Some small part of her hesitates.
“…We trust you to make this right, no matter what the cost… ”
Fate demands the fullness of sorrow. Must I drink even the dregs of this cup?
Aspasia feels resistance as the knife slides in, up through the ribcage towards his heart. Her hand is at the back of his neck, bracing his body. She falls into his gaze. Blood bubbles up, spilling from his mouth. She stabs a second time and blood, his blood is splattered over her body.
... Artemis Argotera and Kore bear witness." She hears their joined voice again, losing their words in the heat of the kill. She knows they speak, but she is captured in the intimacy of predator and prey. The knife is pulled loose and pushed through skin, again and again.
He disappears - not into ash, but as if he was never was. A void that is filled by a rush of air.
Zagreus screams in Greek. She knows it is him, the difference from Jack’s voice as clear as the difference between lute and lyre.
A glance out of the corner of her eye, and she see that he starts to launch himself in her direction. But, Inali and Jack are ready for him and a quick sweep of his legs by the Cherokee lands Zagreus in Jack's waiting arms. Applying an immobilizing hold, Jack controls Zagreus' momentum and takes him to the sand.
She might have understood him earlier, but not now. Not when there are more important matters at hand. Not when ritual is to be completed. Not when grief and anger master her reason.
Aspasia is crouched now, empty hand flat on the ground before her for balance, and her head snaps around to where Hisa waits.
Based on the stranger’s words, she was half-expected her daughter’s shade to have fled into the sandstorm. There is so much Aspasia would speak of, since Hisa did not appear to her at Anthesteria. Does her daughter even know that she was avenged?
*You only prolong what must be.
Do what we do best, Amazon. Let me do this. It will be easier my way.*
Eyes fall closed and Aspasia slips off the chains of her beast. It is not sane for her to do this, to kill her one of her beloved childer, so for the time needed, she will not be sane.
And she is not, when eyes open again to stare at her opponent. The obstacle she will kill.
***
Aspasia only starts to regain her sense of self when Hisa’s form, torn and mangled in her arms, disappears in the same fashion as the first and she is left caked in blood, which plasters her hair to her face and neck, while it streams down her shoulders, back and chest.
Shaken and drained, the woman gets up slowly, perhaps her soul hurting more than her body.
Forgive me. There was no other choice I could make.
Zagreus slumps in Jack's grasp, weeping. His rambling is in Greek and punctuated with sobs."I can't stop him now. Don't you understand? I would have been able to help you...a last chance if all else went wrong. Now...now...now it's just you against his plan.”
The purple lightning crashes louder, ozone causing Jack and Inali's hair to stand on end. The thunderheads move together into one. In the center of the thunderheads, a cyclone appears above where Aspasia stands.
Lightning arcs, blasting the Amazon in the chest and throwing her back towards the others. The stone dagger is caught in the lightning, purple and pink electricity running up and down its stone surface, seeping into its natural cracks and crevices.
And then it explodes.
Shards of stone become grains of sand as lightning bolt after lightning bolt strikes it. The bulk of the sand catches Aspasia in the face, and she chokes, breathing the grit in.
Writhing and clawing at her neck, she can feel the sand move through her body, reaching her heart before she can do anything to stop it. She attempts to change form and her powers do not function.
A second bolt of lightning strikes Aspasia directly in the heart. There is a wrenching sensation, a lessening, a loss. She stares at the storm above, eyes wide in wonder, fear and resignation.
Athena Alea, as thou wilt. I am thine.
The Amazon stops struggling, and stills, yielding to the power coursing through her body, waiting for death to claim her.
As the remains of the knife disintegrate within her, so too goes some of her strength, some of her powers and… some of her knowledge.
And then a second sensation...Aspasia can feel the energy, the lessening spread. Inali is drained, then Jack. And there is that same certainty as before. It is spreading...to sire...to childe...to grandsire...to grandchilde...to broodmates...to all the blood.
She hears Zagreus' scream, as he struggles loose from Jack’s hold before he collapses to the ground weeping uncontrollably.
And then...the thunderheads seem to explode...the clouds push out like a wave of change bourn on winds of fate...the wisps travel so incredibly fast...and all three know they will bring a lessening with them. Everyone will be weakened as they have been.
And then, with a full moon shining down on them, there is silence. The heat is gone. The storm is gone. There is only silence punctuated by Zagreus' cries, so distant to her ears.
I live?
...
Her body is a symphony of pain. But, she rolls to her side and pulls up to a penitant's position, on her knees with head bowed in humility.
Goddess. This was more than Raven guessed. More than I imagined.
Athena Alea, I thank you for granting my petition. For preserving this clan from being subject to this weapon in the Diablerist’s possession.
Slowly, Aspasia lifts a hand to her chest, where skin is black with char marks. Gingerly touching the edge of the wound. The pain is searing.
What if the Unholy had been able in time and with magics - to use this to drain from us, into it or into herself?
My love, know you are right. This could never go into her hands. And now it never will.
OOC: And still - one more part to come. Whew...
The air is charged with potent energy. The sky rumbles with impending lightening.
****
As Aspasia focuses her blood and her will, Jack and Inali, watching from the sidelines see two glowing figures start to emerge from the flashes of lightning that punctuate Aspasia's prayer. As they solidify into recognizable forms, there is an unintentional intake of air from both witnesses.
The unity of the Clan...Gangrel first...all that was represented by the Peacekeepers and the battles and the pain and suffering of a Clan to try to make themselves something more. It takes the form of one who represents the strength of Gangrel, but also some of their weaknesses. The love Aspasia has for her clan, and the failures she has seen them commit in the past years.
The Moirae are not merciful.
Dallas.
He is garbed just as before the sunrise, where she took his life. That moment of choice, when she could have turned her back on everyone else and defied society to kill them both. And did not.
Shame and Anger war with momentary relief. Even to her secret self, Aspasia could not admit the fear - that in her foolishness, allowing them to travel with her, she would be called to sacrifice Inali and Jack in return for the knife’s destruction, much as Iphigenia died at her father, Agamemnon’s hands, so the Greeks would be allowed to sail to Troy.
But, the Moirae are not merciful.
The right of a sire in perpetuity. Those childer who have fallen by the wayside. Those childer who drew their sire into their politics. Loyalty and hidden betrayal. Loyalty and love. Honor thy father and thy mother. Respect your elders. Be what your sire wants or suffer the consequences. All of these concepts coalesce into the cruelest of forms.
Hisa.
Her daughter dressed as she was when escorting Nick Ebon to his meeting of covenant. Dressed as she was when set upon by ten assassins, dying in defense of her ward.
Aspasia trembles.
The Moirae are not merciful.
The knife grows warm in the woman's hand. And at the same time certain, undisputed truth is revealed to her soul.
This to be a portion of the cost for her petition. Striking these two down by her hand, her blows will lead to their deaths then.
It is the weight of possibility. Aspasia’s actions create the pattern, that makes their deaths happen. Present and Past are fluid, threads knotting back on themselves.
Then, the Amazon hears a voice in her mind, calm and reassuring, "What is done is done. If they are to be better, you must show them how to be better. Your example can change...everything."
The woman nods to herself as if answering a silent question. She remembers standing on the roof of a building in Chicago, Leonidas at her side. He says to her in Greek, “The gods themselves cannot rescue even one they love, when death that stretches all men out lays its dread hand upon him."
Her stance shifts, body language one of resolve. With a glance at the two figures, and she leans away from Hisa, directing her attention at first towards the duster-wearing man.
He will yield to me, he came to Detriot then, to give over to Raven and I.
…And Hisa is the better fighter. I must take him out quickly, if I am to vanquish her.
Aspasia mouths, "Wolf always comes back." And then a shake of her head, as a blood tear rolls down each cheek and the woman's voice returns to normal volume. "But not this place and time, Karida." In Greek, she adds, "I'm sorry..." And Aspasia launches at the figure of her dead lover, clearly wanting to end this particular torment as swiftly as possible.
Two voices speak simultaneously, the quiet contralto of Inali and the lighter strains of Hisa's tone, blending together. "My Sister and I…”
She strikes, but the first blow is weak and unworthy of an Amazon. Some small part of her hesitates.
“…We trust you to make this right, no matter what the cost… ”
Fate demands the fullness of sorrow. Must I drink even the dregs of this cup?
Aspasia feels resistance as the knife slides in, up through the ribcage towards his heart. Her hand is at the back of his neck, bracing his body. She falls into his gaze. Blood bubbles up, spilling from his mouth. She stabs a second time and blood, his blood is splattered over her body.
... Artemis Argotera and Kore bear witness." She hears their joined voice again, losing their words in the heat of the kill. She knows they speak, but she is captured in the intimacy of predator and prey. The knife is pulled loose and pushed through skin, again and again.
He disappears - not into ash, but as if he was never was. A void that is filled by a rush of air.
Zagreus screams in Greek. She knows it is him, the difference from Jack’s voice as clear as the difference between lute and lyre.
A glance out of the corner of her eye, and she see that he starts to launch himself in her direction. But, Inali and Jack are ready for him and a quick sweep of his legs by the Cherokee lands Zagreus in Jack's waiting arms. Applying an immobilizing hold, Jack controls Zagreus' momentum and takes him to the sand.
She might have understood him earlier, but not now. Not when there are more important matters at hand. Not when ritual is to be completed. Not when grief and anger master her reason.
Aspasia is crouched now, empty hand flat on the ground before her for balance, and her head snaps around to where Hisa waits.
Based on the stranger’s words, she was half-expected her daughter’s shade to have fled into the sandstorm. There is so much Aspasia would speak of, since Hisa did not appear to her at Anthesteria. Does her daughter even know that she was avenged?
*You only prolong what must be.
Do what we do best, Amazon. Let me do this. It will be easier my way.*
Eyes fall closed and Aspasia slips off the chains of her beast. It is not sane for her to do this, to kill her one of her beloved childer, so for the time needed, she will not be sane.
And she is not, when eyes open again to stare at her opponent. The obstacle she will kill.
***
Aspasia only starts to regain her sense of self when Hisa’s form, torn and mangled in her arms, disappears in the same fashion as the first and she is left caked in blood, which plasters her hair to her face and neck, while it streams down her shoulders, back and chest.
Shaken and drained, the woman gets up slowly, perhaps her soul hurting more than her body.
Forgive me. There was no other choice I could make.
Zagreus slumps in Jack's grasp, weeping. His rambling is in Greek and punctuated with sobs."I can't stop him now. Don't you understand? I would have been able to help you...a last chance if all else went wrong. Now...now...now it's just you against his plan.”
The purple lightning crashes louder, ozone causing Jack and Inali's hair to stand on end. The thunderheads move together into one. In the center of the thunderheads, a cyclone appears above where Aspasia stands.
Lightning arcs, blasting the Amazon in the chest and throwing her back towards the others. The stone dagger is caught in the lightning, purple and pink electricity running up and down its stone surface, seeping into its natural cracks and crevices.
And then it explodes.
Shards of stone become grains of sand as lightning bolt after lightning bolt strikes it. The bulk of the sand catches Aspasia in the face, and she chokes, breathing the grit in.
Writhing and clawing at her neck, she can feel the sand move through her body, reaching her heart before she can do anything to stop it. She attempts to change form and her powers do not function.
A second bolt of lightning strikes Aspasia directly in the heart. There is a wrenching sensation, a lessening, a loss. She stares at the storm above, eyes wide in wonder, fear and resignation.
Athena Alea, as thou wilt. I am thine.
The Amazon stops struggling, and stills, yielding to the power coursing through her body, waiting for death to claim her.
As the remains of the knife disintegrate within her, so too goes some of her strength, some of her powers and… some of her knowledge.
And then a second sensation...Aspasia can feel the energy, the lessening spread. Inali is drained, then Jack. And there is that same certainty as before. It is spreading...to sire...to childe...to grandsire...to grandchilde...to broodmates...to all the blood.
She hears Zagreus' scream, as he struggles loose from Jack’s hold before he collapses to the ground weeping uncontrollably.
And then...the thunderheads seem to explode...the clouds push out like a wave of change bourn on winds of fate...the wisps travel so incredibly fast...and all three know they will bring a lessening with them. Everyone will be weakened as they have been.
And then, with a full moon shining down on them, there is silence. The heat is gone. The storm is gone. There is only silence punctuated by Zagreus' cries, so distant to her ears.
I live?
...
Her body is a symphony of pain. But, she rolls to her side and pulls up to a penitant's position, on her knees with head bowed in humility.
Goddess. This was more than Raven guessed. More than I imagined.
Athena Alea, I thank you for granting my petition. For preserving this clan from being subject to this weapon in the Diablerist’s possession.
Slowly, Aspasia lifts a hand to her chest, where skin is black with char marks. Gingerly touching the edge of the wound. The pain is searing.
What if the Unholy had been able in time and with magics - to use this to drain from us, into it or into herself?
My love, know you are right. This could never go into her hands. And now it never will.
OOC: And still - one more part to come. Whew...