( It... is a wretched thing, to abuse a sword so. To step, physically, upon the contorted body of a spirit. Yet, they must, as last recourse. Hand trembled in his brother's, he assumed position, arms balanced artlessly at each side as he remembers and recalculates his footing. Always different, to ride the sword of another, and not your own.
In his hand, Bichen thrums in waiting howls, anticipating her moment, begging action. He turns her, sharp of her facing the ground in silvered chills, and waits until Xichen has commanded Shuoyue in proximity of the flame.
A blessing, as heat starts to lick at their feet, to threaten but never deliver crisp charring: Bichen may travel down without requiring his arm, his strain, his exposure to open fire. She thrusts once, again, at each turn returning hot and strained to his hand — until he hisses, once, at the blistering of it, and turns his face away, deploying her once more. In the end, the unburial is done, and the last of Bichen's assignments delivers the sliver of heart, now nearly darkened as it stays vulnerable to open flame, on the tip of his sword.
He holds it parallel to the ground, knowing to accept it with them — yet loathing its presence. )
no subject
( It... is a wretched thing, to abuse a sword so. To step, physically, upon the contorted body of a spirit. Yet, they must, as last recourse. Hand trembled in his brother's, he assumed position, arms balanced artlessly at each side as he remembers and recalculates his footing. Always different, to ride the sword of another, and not your own.
In his hand, Bichen thrums in waiting howls, anticipating her moment, begging action. He turns her, sharp of her facing the ground in silvered chills, and waits until Xichen has commanded Shuoyue in proximity of the flame.
A blessing, as heat starts to lick at their feet, to threaten but never deliver crisp charring: Bichen may travel down without requiring his arm, his strain, his exposure to open fire. She thrusts once, again, at each turn returning hot and strained to his hand — until he hisses, once, at the blistering of it, and turns his face away, deploying her once more. In the end, the unburial is done, and the last of Bichen's assignments delivers the sliver of heart, now nearly darkened as it stays vulnerable to open flame, on the tip of his sword.
He holds it parallel to the ground, knowing to accept it with them — yet loathing its presence. )
Retreat.