[SOLO][PLOT] A sword in the mountains [Dante]

[Menelie]

It was time for Dante to acquire his last talisman. The sword. The search for this talisman would take him further from home than he'd ever been before. It was perhaps for this reason that he'd left it for last. Not to mention that he hated the cold.

He hadn't wanted to go alone, but it seemed that in his reluctance to make the journey the rest of his comrades had already gone. Well, that was his own fault, then. Dante packed a rucksack with dried fruit and meat, as well as two skins of water and one of wine. He tucked his warm clothing into it as well--he wouldn't do well to wear it at the beginning of his journey, not on the tropical island. A coat and pants, as well as a warm hat and heavy boots. It weighed down his rucksack, but it would be invaluable in the icy mountains.

Dante said a prayer before heading to the armory, already armed with his staff, his favored weapon, and his flute in his pack. He also picked up a shortsword and a leather shield. He'd heard no tales of danger from the others, but one could never be too careful. He strapped the sword to his hip and the sword on his back, nestled between his wings. The staff he would carry, as he always did. The leather thong at the end looped around his wrist, preventing him from dropping it midair.

Saying another prayer, he proceeded toward the launching pad and dove toward the island, orienting himself toward the chilly mountains. He would fly for as far as he could, but he knew his wings could be seriously injured if he tried to fly in the ice and snow. He glided silently through the air on feathery wings, feeling totally unburdened by the things he carried. For now, the Guardians held him aloft, and nothing was too heavy for them!

The air began to turn frigid, and Dante made a hasty landing as safely as possible. A sudden gust, however, pushed him into the snow at the last moment, making him shiver. How he hated the cold! Quickly he pulled on his winter clothes and rubbed his arms with his hands to warm himself. He had to keep moving or he'd freeze to death. He tucked his hands under his arms and began to trudge up the mountain. Luckily there was a clear path, so far, if one covered in snow.  

[Menelie]

On and on and on he trudged, the cold seeping through his clothing, though thankfully he was kept dry. He felt numb, but all he could think about was just keep moving. This mission was not for his glory, but for the will and the holy work of the Guardians. This thought comforted him as he made his way to the top.

Then, just as he was beginning to feel he was close to the frozen battlefield where his talisman awaited, the path...stopped. A sheer cliff face stared him down. He'd either have to climb or fly. Climbing was the obvious option to avoid damage to his wings, but there were no obvious hand-holds. He began to attempt a climb, but the cliff face was just too solid, as if a part of the mountain had suddenly crashed down.

Flying it was.

Dante detached the flap from his coat so that his wings could come out. He shivered. The soft feathers were particularly vulnerable to the cold, and this was not making Dante happy. He flapped his wings briskly, then jumped to get liftoff. Jumping into flight wasn't his favorite mode of flying--it wasn't elegant. His muscled burned as he struggled into flight against the cold and the wind. He rose higher by inches, not feet, but he was making progress.

He could see above where the cliff face ended. It appeared to flatten out. Perhaps this was the battlefield! The thought gave him hope and he renewed his efforts. He just barely got over the cliff face and collapsed onto the ground. He wouldn't be doing any more flying for a while, at least not in this weather.

He stood up slowly, painfully. The battlefield stretched out before him, shrouded by low clouds and snow.  

[Menelie]

"I made it," signed Dante, even though no one was around to see it. He began to walk toward the battle site. Already he was seeing metal glinting in what dim sunlight reached the snow through the swirling storm.

This must have been a massive battle. Dante would have been speechless if that weren't his default state. As far as he could see, weapons and shields littered the ground, frozen beneath ice. He wondered as he walked toward them what could have happened to make such a number of warriors drop their weapons and flee.

As he came to the edge of the battlefield, away from the cliff's edge, he began to get a strange feeling. A sense of foreboding. Something was not right here. No, something was not right at all. This was worse than the fae clearing. Splotches of color came through in addition to the metallic tang of weaponry. He knelt down and brushed some snow away.

He yelped and scrambled backward as the twisted face of a fallen warrior was revealed beneath the ice. He sat there, frozen in terror, panting and shivering, his own face contorted in a shape similar to that of the deceased Pae he'd discovered. Slowly he got to his feet, wheezes coming into his breathing. He looked out across the expanse of the battlefield, and realized the splotches of color were thousands of dead warriors, eerily preserved for Guardians only knew how long.

It wasn't right, having one's remains exposed to the elements like this. These soldiers died in battle, and deserved an honorable burial. Perhaps with time the snow would cover this place completely, and they would have their rest eternal. Dante took a deep breath to calm himself, but that wasn't quite enough. So he knelt there in the snow and prayed to the Guardians. That always calmed his spirit.

Fearless Madaesos, shepherd of the dead, bring to these brave, departed souls your peace and rest eternal. Guide me and give me strength as I fulfill my task and return home.

Now, a practical question. How to get the sword out of the ice? It looked frozen solid. Dante tapped the ice with the butt of his staff. He didn't think he could break it. Perhaps the sword could pierce it. He unsheathed his sword and dug the tip into the ice. It crackled a little, but it was clear he'd have to painstakingly chip the weapon out of the ice, bit by bit. He sighed and shifted to a more comfortable position and began to work. He hummed to pass the time. Perhaps one day, he would be able to sing!

What seemed like hours later, Dante had freed the sword! He stood up slowly--his legs and other parts of his anatomy were numb from the cold. Wincing, he tucked his own sword back into its sheath and held his new talisman in his hands. He smiled. He now had all four talismans, and could be protected while he did whatever work the Guardians set before him.

As he turned to descend the mountain and head for home, one thought stood out above all others:

May it never come to this for us.