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Opposite the statue and far below, the brown stones walls of Edgering ruins sheltered tents of both Disfavored and Scarlet Chorus colors. Bare dirt paths weaved along the mountainside into and out of the camp, routes worn by countless thousands marching one after another. A few wisps of smoke from bonfires rose into the sky.

With the high altitude, the smoke-filled and thread-thin air pulled painfully on laboring lungs, struggling to recover from the excursion they had just extracted themselves out of. Rubbing her dirty hands clean against her pants, Auria took off her helmet. She ran each of her fingers along the arcs and curves of her facial tattoos. First, she swiped her thumb over the oval centered between the brows. Switching to her index, she followed the thick arches that starting at the eyebrows.

The painted skin reached back beyond the hairline, returned to the corner of the eyes, and then cupped the outer underside of the eyes.

Everlasting Spires

For the segment running along the jawline and curling under the corners of the mouth, she scrapped with second knuckle of the middle finger. Where the two sides connected at the chin, the paint reached up to a circle beneath the lips. With her ring and little finger, she rubbed the dot clean, like polishing a round emerald recessed into a platform. The entire process seemed habitual, even ritualistic. I heard you cursing before I was even half way up the trail. From inside her coat, she retrieved her gloves. The leather creaked as she pulled them on and flexed her fingers. What were you doing up there?

Lot of redirections were being coordinated when I arrived. The outpost at the foot of the Eastern range pointed me further west. The detour took half a day. And that was with the utilization of vertical surfaces. Had to detour too, minus the cliffs. Anyway, an Oathbound spotted the trail here. The man jabbed a thumb at the remnants of the path they had just ran down. The rocks of the landslide stacked one upon another, airtight. Only feather-weighed dust drifted still, yet to settle down.

A stab swooped in at the opportunity. Tingles coursed through the bone.

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The wet whiff of rain enveloped the nose. A crack of thunder reverberated in the back of her throat. Though no trees swayed not sand flew, a gall pushed against her. Scrapping against skin, tugging on hairs, it ripped her body apart along unseen seams, carrying her in an upward spiral. In thick, viscous clouds, lungs filled, she overlooked a windswept land barren and scarred, and poured forth her roaring rage in torrents—.

She closed her mouth. A ringing remained in her ears. Bitter metallic aftertaste coated her mouth. She glanced at the other Fatebinder. He too had a look of understanding of what was going on. The magic of Kyros the Overlord had sealed the passage. Remnants of that energy permeated the valley they were in. Any attempts to clear the passage would be illegal. Light skin with a hint of copper, the tattoos and hair. He gave a her hand firm shake as he pulled himself up. Auria sized the man up.

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Life everlasting;

She herself was above average height as normal humans went. Markus exceeded her by half a head, nearing the size of some archons. No doubt some Northern blood flowed in his veins, given the wide nose and thick lips. A beard obscured his lower jaw. Though his features were not uncommon for Northerners, his dark eyes had the intense stare like a fire blazing. In the humid climate, his skin retained a matte burnt texture, and his hair frizzled as if burnt. Warmth radiated from his hands even in the sweltering heat of the Tiers, passing through both their gloves.

The charred smell of parchment and wood lingered about him. So this is the man the Disfavored have been mentioning all these years. Auria smirked at the coincidence. It seemed she was not the only one in this valley who had declared an Edict before. Is it true that nowadays Vellum Citadel burns as bright as the Scar? Markus coughed, letting go and sheepishly rubbing the back of his head.

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Armored shoulder to toe in blue-tinged iron, the young female Disfavored snapped to a salute, fist against her breastplate. Aurora, Commander of the Second Cohort. Around midday, I believe? Thank Kyros she showed up. We were in the middle of being raided by the Oathbreakers.

Though I think we disappointed her when we all jumped to kill the man holding him hostage… Apologies, I strayed from your question. Last I saw her she was headed for the Disfavored camp, escort by some Chorus woman. Some rumors in her head connected. The one who had the Queen of Apex suggesting that her son ask for her hand in marriage? He would be one to make a subordinate clean up their own mess. The Adjudicator would see that clearer than any of us. Second… never mind the second.

Did she mention a reason? Cold sweat gathered upon her forehead. Markus gave her yet another of his glares, and the words jumped out her mouth. Bronze scales over blue cloth, the Vendrien scout froze, surprised that he had exposed his own eavesdropping. How nice of you to show yourself. Now I can avoid wading through grass. Aurora too brought her shield and blade forward. The faster predator, however, closed in for the kill. With a flick of her fingers, she removed the javelin from its cord. She skipped back, weight on her right foot. Spearhead at eye level, she pushed the weapon forward in one fluid motion.

It was like releasing stones from a trebuchet. The javelin hissed, tearing through flimsy leaves and sticks. The realization that his bronze plate failed to protect him came out in a gurgle, a choke. Both grasped him by the throat and squeezed. The last bit of air seeped out in a strangled groan, his death rattle. His body went limp without another sound.

Auria rolled her shoulders and sighed in satisfaction. She patted Markus on the back as she walked by to retrieve the weapon and pilfer the body for rings. I think I will hang on to it as we walk, if you do not mind. Comments and reviews greatly appreciated, including picking out spelling and grammar errors. That being said, it's still up to me whether to accept or reject them. You never know, maybe I intentionally did that and it's not an error.

As the story involves many Fatebinders, I had the Edict arrive four days later than in game. Those who play the game know what that means. It will be explained in the next few chapters. Main Content While we've done our best to make the core functionality of this site accessible without javascript, it will work better with it enabled.

Remember Me Forgot password? Tyranny Video Game Characters: Everlasting, the Spires Sang kittymaverick Summary: Fan novelization of Tyranny. Chapter Text What was it her weapons master once said? Not, in immediate danger of dying. This time it was harder, as if it responded to her taunts.

Perhaps the man was glaring at her. I hate the world!

The world is shadowed and shining. The bright drops in the vial cloud over, her eyes are cloudy too, as she dies the death we all die, having completed herself in time. How late it is. I close the book, turn the light out, and leave the door ajar. Tomorrow will you ask me how the story ended?

Or think you dreamed a dream, strange and unsettling, the way dreams are? What words complete a tale that ends in death for us all? She kept the water, after all. She might have changed her mind. He is free in a way we cannot imagine. He sees her stone and wonders again what made her choose against him. O mortals, do not drink the waters! All is in flux. The world is spread before you like a table, heavy and laden.

Milk must be poured into mugs and drunk down in great gulps, and buttered toast heaped onto plates. The pond is waiting to be rowed on.

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The apple tree, with its reaching arms, wants to be climbed. The fruit on the topmost branch must be taken in hand and eaten.

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The swing, still in the early morning, must be swung on. The dog must have its stick, its ball, even as the mockingbird waits in shadow, waits to mock us all. The tongues of bells are ringing in the sun as we climb the bright hill, pause, and go back down.

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The day Wallace Alan Raynor married his wife, JoAnn, in the Salt Lake Temple was a day of new beginnings. It was the start not only of their marriage but also of . The Everlasting Spires - the Story of the Salt Lake Temple [Wallace Alan Raynor] on www.farmersmarketmusic.com *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers.

Each thing is as it does.