Rebuilding the Past

[Jen]

Isabella shifted so that she was, unintentionally, standing between the creature and Vylrath. It was not her place to protect, that was just how the system of events played itself out. She glanced back over her shoulder at Vylrath before walking out of the water, her finger pointed at Trydian.

"Get your mother, protect your sister." Vylrath had no power here in the world of man and mortal. He was all ethereal these days, dreaming of gods and new races. Procreation, the womb, mothering -- thats how these races came to be. He would come to know that at some point, but at the same time Isabella didn't particularly care to be pregnant. Vylrath was a bag of hot air filled with a power that he was just coming to understand. He hadn't been thrown to the wolves, dealt with dignitaries, or even signed off a piece of legislation in his entire existence. This world was Isabella's. This was her domain. Now there was some thing staring back at her with eerie yellow eyes discussing shadows.

Isabella's thoughts wandered to the scenes she witnessed deep in Purgatory with Death. He let her see, sometimes, how things were evolving in the world of the living -- and she remembered shades, shadows, vicious terrible things that shredded the world as humans knew it. Isabella visibly tensed as she looked at the yellow eyed abomination. He really wasn't any more an abomination than she was, or anyone present. It was her maternal instincts, however, that sent Trydian to protect the one truely innocent creature among them.

Sebilla.

"What do you want?"

-----------

As if connected to the thoughts of her mother, Caela stepped out of the foliage merely five feet away from the creature with yellow eyes. She was startled at first, seeing the creature -- and yet she felt an almost kindred presence with him. It was odd to her because her Demon aspect was slowly slipping through her fingers and this creature, well he didn't look like a demon.

"Mother?" Her long curly blonde hair danced on the lightest breeze rustling the leaves of nearby trees in the jungle. Her own instinct was to make sure her son and daughter were going to be okay. Sebilla, a seeress of one of the finest degree, was completely mortal and needed all the protection she could get in a crazy mixed up world.

[Vylrath]

“…Father?” He looked toward the figure who reminded him of a globular slug. What the Hell was going on now? He wondered if Isabella should be silenced again, so she didn’t get them killed with her mouth. He missed that mouth….his thoughts reverted back to the current happenings.

His father was the only person who could bring that kind of fear into Vylrath- but it did not belong to Gaar. Instead, he was face-to-face with what looked like a child in the eyes of the Vuri Lord. However, he knew the tricks of the undead, the demonic and the otherwise unholy nature. Isabella was still naïve. Tricks could easily be played on the innocent. This form may not be the true form of the creature before them. If it was a challenge, he wondered what type of foe would come about the new being.

He tried to make peace before they had their world usurped again.

“I do not know you…but you are welcome…so long as you do not cause trouble for us!” He motioned toward his son, his eyes falling on the Chaos Sword. It was a personal signal: attack at your own free will.

They were all at risk.

[Iskander]

"Protect your sister." The words rung clear in Trydian's head. He didn't need to get his mother, and if he fled now he'd only lead the creature to Sibella. He was left with no choice. Trydian brought the chaos sword up to rest the flat of the blade on his shoulder and he stared at the creature. If looks could kill, the intruder would be a smear of blood and gore on the beach.

He felt anger rise up, hot and bitter in his throat, and the Chaos Sword hummed to him. It was a song of destruction, and Trydian heeded its call. He hummed low beneath his breath, mimicking the tune that his sword played in his mind. Two dark orbs the size of marbles formed, one over each of his shoulders. He felt a slight chill come to the air as heat was drawn into the two bits of shadow.

"Who the fuck are you?" He snarled at the intruder. He didn't want his coronation ruined by some... kid. This was his day, not Vylrath's, not Isabella's, not the intruder's. His.

[Nayt]

Immediately following Vylrath's inquiry, the man responded. He spared no time, and though he temporarily ignored the other two, he wound up answering their question anyways. It certainly helped that they all had the same question to ask.

"What, you don't recognize me?" the man asked as he tapped himself on the chest.

If he was frowning or smiling, one might never know. The Glasgow smile greatly reduced the number of expressions he could show. He was always smiling-- always, perhaps no matter how he was truly feeling inside. But no matter, it would merely make him that much harder to read.

"Good . . ." he whispered to himself; were it not for his constant smile, he would have grinned.

By that time, Caela had emerged from the brush. The man addressed her with only a side-ways glance. It appeared as if he were glaring, but it was only momentary. The stare became less of a glare and more of a suggestion-- the suggestion that he'd address her later.

"My name . . ." he paused once again, but only to take an assessment of the situation again. Good, seemed like no one else planned to join them. ". . . is Zaero."

Incidentally, Caela would recognize him, even if Vylrath did not. The name would provide them no familiarity, nor would the voice-- but the body . . . that was a different story. He was five feet and ten inches tall and looked as if he weighed somewhere in the late 100's, 180 or 190 pounds at least, weight that was evenly distributed and comprised muscle more than anything else. He even had a familiar hair style. Had he worn a mask, the little differences might well have been nigh noticeable . . . but, then again, with his skin so pale, eyes so strange, and the stitched up cuts across the corners of his lips, his real face looked much like a mask in its own right.

But the differences might well have made the similarities harder to notice, and perhaps for the best. Zaero preferred it that way. Nonetheless, he needed to address a particular situation, a situation with a name: Trydian Xanathi. This was supposed to be his day, and perhaps he could continue to enjoy it, but not here, not at this like, and not with his father present.

"And I have business with our respective father," the intruder pointed to Trydian, only to motion nonchalantly to the east, "So go play king of the shit-pile elsewhere."

[Vylrath]

Vylrath studied the man for a moment, before taking in the information. Son? He only knew of Roen and Trydian- his current pride and joy. In a single moment, Trydian exhibited his powers with minimal effort. He was finally able to feel impressed by his own blood line.

“Zaero? I’m unfamiliar with that name. You must be the son of Barclay? I have no other son’s, except Roen- who is dead, and Trydian who you see before you.” It would be up to Trydian to attack, but Vylrath just wanted peace for the time being.

He sighed, gathering his thoughts and looking toward Isabella. Should he summon Kahlan? He wondered if he ought to hide his family. There were too many random wanderers.

Kahlan…if you hear this call, answer me. I fear for the safety of my family. I need to make sure that my wife and my children are safe. You have allowed Sebilla into your realm for safety, so I am pleading with you to allow the others…I will return the favor.

The thought was private. He had learned eons ago to block intruders from extracting personal thoughts. He had once been telepathic- now he only knew how to send requests, not necessarily true telepathic abilities. His true emotion would be shared with Kahlan, briefly, of his feelings for her.

“I will not be afraid to join my son in battle if you mean to threaten us!” He stood by Trydian, which would be an odd sight for all of them and went into position. If the stranger did not mean them harm, he had given himself a bad first impression. All of their nerves had been wound and ready to spring into anxiety- their fight would not be an average one.

[Jen]

Caela, herself, was barely recognizable these days thanks to her father's "gifts". She once had blood red hair, straight and fine like silk, now her hair was a brilliant blonde -- long and spiral curled. Her eyes had been violet once too, but now they were a deep midnight blue with a scattering of silver pinpricks throughout, not unlike the sky at midnight on a moonless evening. Her body was soft and round as it always had been, though she appeared a little paler, a little more blue, as if life itself had begun to drain from her. She looked healthy to all eyes, however, so death was not an option for her.

Perhaps, maybe, the intruder would notice the foliage around Caela changing as he looked at her -- as she studied him. The foliage that once had been green was now a strange blue green -- different and off on some level of reasoning. She still looked the same, save for the various differences bestowed on her by Vylrath -- but it was obvious that her body and her gift had changed. The demon was less evident, though she still held some of the angular characteristics of the race. It was as if the Vuri in her body was consuming the demon within her, slowly, delicately, leaving in its wake a newer and fresher woman than before.

The creature looked somewhat familiar, but Caela wasn't sure why he did. His voice didn't sound familiar and his eyes certainly did not. However, were she to base judgement on looks then she herself would be a hypocrit. When she spoke, it was with a softer and calmer voice than before.

"Trydian, Sebilla is coming. Can you assist her? She doesn't realize we have a guest."

If this was the stuff of legends, then the three Vuri standing scattered among the humans and demons were surely near the top of the list.

---------------------

Isabella peered closely at the creature as it spoke. It spoke of fathers and other things. She had only two children to her at this time, and one was dead. Vylrath had given her a token of his from purgatory. Instinctively she felt at her waist for the bag. He had been her first child and she had loved him and his betrayal was still fresh to her, even after twenty or more years. She had died giving birth to Caela and the news of her son's betrayal beforehand was enough to make her heart sink.

Bella paused, realizing that the small bag given to her by Vylrath was with the rest of her clothing. She frowned a little and crossed her hands in front of her. It didn't look like Roen and it didn't act like him either. She was entirely unsure of what to expect from this creature, so she kept quiet even as Vylrath opened his mouth and threatened to the creature.

[Iskander]

"So go play king of the shit-pile elsewhere." The words rang hot in Trydian's ears. The rush of blood pumping through his veins blocked all other sounds, and his world became awash in red. The pathetic little cock slobbering, mother fucking, shit muncher had just spoken to him, the new Demon King of Xexoria, in such a way? It didn't matter that Xexoria really was a shit-pile. There were rules of respect to be shown to a King, even if his land was worthless, and this creature out of a necrophiliac's wet dream had ignored them. Trydian's family might have thought to send him away to avoid this very thing, but it was far too late for that.

"You little motherfuckingshitlickingemosonofabitch!" Trydian didn't just shout his anger, he screamed it. Though his skin remained the same ebony color, Trydian had turned red.

The Chaos Sword's song grew louder in his mind, and Trydian gave himself over to it fully. He didn't listen to anything anyone said, he didn't hesitate, but opened his mouth and let out the song that would signal the intruder's death. The orbs above his shoulders grew to the size of grapefruits, and the cold washed over him immediately. Frost etched across the rings of his armor and spread down to the ground, where its tendrils reached out like the roots of a tree. He'd brought his sword down and into a one-handed ready position, the tip of the blade angled between himself and the intruder.

[Nayt]

Zaero furrowed his brow. "Barclay? Who the hell is th--"

But he was cut off almost as soon as he began. Trydian Xanathi was offended, and possibly with good reason, all things considered-- then again, he could very well have been overreacting a bit. This Chaos Sword seemed to have some degree of ice-type ability. Either that, or Trydian himself could use the frost somehow. The cold had worked its way down Trydian Xanathi's body and wormed its way beyond him, as if power were spilling from his form-- enough, perhaps, that he could not contain it all.

That was actually kind of impressive.

At last, Zaero turned his attention away from Vylrath, and focused strictly upon Trydian. In an instant, the priority of different individuals had changed. Vylrath no longer held a candle to Trydian, as far as an order of importance went. Vylrath could do a lot of things, but unless he did something much flashier than Trydian had, Zaero was just going to have to accept a brief attention shift.

"Well . . . he never met you, but . . ."

Zaero was talking to himself, ideally. Sure, it was possible to hear him muttering under his breath, but it was obvious enough that he was simply thinking out loud. He more than likely had a bad habit of this, as this had been the second time in less than a minute.

". . . I'm sure you would've killed him," Zaero muttered with a shrug of his shoulders. He then spoke up, specifically for Trydian to hear him. "Sure, fine. I don't mind embarrassing the "king" on his first day. Come at me, then, if you think you've got the balls."

He did not specifically arm himself, nor did he take an aggressive or defensive stance. He merely remained where he was, arms by his side . . . simply waiting. Only time would tell if Trydian would attack, or if he'd be held back by his parents. In the worst case scenario, both Trydian and Vylrath would be attacking, but the potential for this did not seem to bother Zaero much.

[Vylrath]

His mind craved the Chaos Sword above everything else. He could care less about the man in front of them. Something innate was happening to his tired body. The rush was naturally imminent when Trydian displayed his superiority. It was impressive, but not a feat that Vylrath hadn’t seen in his younger years. It just mean that, well, Trydian was becoming a full-fledged demon in control of his very essence. He rolled his eyes toward his wife, who stood with her arms crossed- a stance he was used to. Isabella would just have to get a grip and realize that they weren’t a typical family.

“Isabella! Watch my coat…I don’t need it to get ruined during this pissing match!” He took off his coat and flung it toward Isabella- where it would land gracefully across her feet. Vylrath smugly smiled at her and rolled up his sleeves. This asshole either needed to be wounded, or eliminated.

He smiled, knowing something his opponent lacked the knowledge of. It was close to evening, the substance of the world was now in his control. He could feel his body ignited with a scathing reminder of the new creature in him: Vuri. Dark substance poisoned his mind, forcing him to focus his energy into one single core objective- his new soul.

The ground underneath him wilted, leaving a dark path. His entire form looked like it was reflecting only partial light, his body eclipsed with the wave of his Vuri powers. His facial features looked twisted, ever-changing with his new mood. His fangs were present, but his voice was not. He would wait for his sons move, knowing that they would be ready for this one-time battle.

While there was the feeling of coldness, Vylrath only felt smoldering heat rising from his body. The two beings were completely parallel of their natural/unnatural powers. He stood still, not feeling the need to express his anger any further. Both of his fists were clenched, where the enemy could see where some of the dense power had saturated itself.

The moon would normally be pearlescent, but its body was now brimming with obsidian. The other Vuri would undoubtedly feel his onslaught. Some might even cower in fear. Now he would be in an unpredictable state.

[Jen]

There was no fear, only annoyance. Isabella felt the coat fall across her feet and looked down at it. One might find the strife incredibly unbearable -- but having birthed two children was far worse. Isabella was the strongest woman Vuri in the group and she wasn't afraid of death. It might be the fact that she had spent so much time being dead and with the God of Death -- that she really didn't fear dying again. In a fit of frustration Isabella kicked the coat back at Vylrath and with it a shower of sand from the beach.

"There will be no more blood shed on these sands unless it is by sacrafice or by my hand." For Vylrath's heat, Isabella had the ice. She didn't have to wantonly display her power like a freakish piss ant to get attention. She wasn't male, and she sure as hell wasn't willing to mark her territory with blood. Trydian might think that being King meant something to this world, to this land of torn people, but Xexoria hadn't been ruled by a male successfully in a milennia. The wars fought since the last Benglasse died were because the male population had a problem with female authority. Why men felt the need to destroy life, as women created it, was beyond the scope of Isabella's ability to comprehend.

Bella glanced at Caela and saw her nod. She could see the blue black hair of her granddaughter emerging from the treeline, and so began to walk to her -- to the point where she stood between the raging creatures of night and the patchwork creature. She wasn't afraid, there was no point in it.

"Do you three see that?" Isabella pointed at Sebilla, whom stood perplexed a good fifty yards from the current well of hate and emotion. "That is what I am trying to protect. Innocence and human mortality. If you two are going to wreck that desire for rebuilding a nation that has known nothing but war and strife and hardship since I died -- then I suggest you pack your things and leave this island." Isabella didn't have to look at Trydian or Vylrath to drive her point home. Neither did she have to direct her attention to the creature on her other side or her daughter standing but a breath away from him. "I died to give life to this world, and I will die again to make sure that it is sustained. I do not know if there are any gods with which to salvage what soul I have left -- but if this be a godless world then I daresay there is no hope for man, woman, or creature."

Isabella smiled as she watched Sebilla edge closer, curiousity a mask written clearly across her face. She was young and beautiful, with a gift no one here could ever wish on another. She saw blood and war, peace and bounty, it was a gift to her just as much as a curse.

"Sebilla, darling, we have a guest. It would seem that no one here but your mother and I saw fit to ask his name." Isabella still spoke without looking at anyone but Sebilla -- but her open ended remark was no doubt a question directed at the creature.

-----------------------------

Caela inhaled as her mother stepped directly into the path of family and potential foe. She relaxed as her mother spoke, somewhat involuntarily. It was true, no one had asked the creature his name or his origin. She glanced at her daughter and moved out of the foliage to her, drawing the girl into a hug. It was not in her nature to kill wantonly unless her children were to be harmed -- and then Trydian's oath had been broken. He had promised, in the womb, to protect his sister at all costs to the detriment of his own sanity and health. In refusal to comply with his grandmother and mother, had he doomed himself?

Caela sighed heavily and kissed the top of her daughter's head and smiled at her.

"We are a part of a strange family, my child."

----------------------------

"I would say it is almost legendary in its insanity, your family." Kahlan stepped from the well of darkness in the jungle and smiled. Her fiery blonde hair and fresh cream colored skin shone like a beacon in the clearing as the sun began to set in the distance. She wore a white dress made of rose petals with tiny fresh water pearls in her hair. As she turned to bypass a fallen stump, a stray bit of light fell across her gown to reveal a myriad of gossamer spiderwebs, delicate in the extreme. The longer she stayed in the realm of the Fae, the closer to the creature she became. Oh there was angel there still, quite a lot of it -- in her infinite care, her ability to ascertain need, and her ability to heal and fight.

"Hello, Vylrath. I see you have been up to no good since last we spoke." Kahlan had an easy smile, her lips a delicate pink. Could it be that she had consented to give him a child? That she truely existed anymore? Kahlan was a creature of habit, in many senses, and she enjoyed returning to the realm of humanity with increasing regularity -- if not at Vylrath's desire.

In her current state, Trydian would feel agitated and might back away. He was the only fully fledged demon among them and she the only Angel. He could try to best her, and he would fail. She was so much older than he and so versed in the art of war that he wouldn't have a chance -- and that were if she wanted to toy with him. Her touch, as an Angel, would be death to him. In his insolence he might find her less a delicate target than she appeared.

"Trydian, would you like to see your sister die?" Her intense eyes, so like the ocean, sought out Trydian in his heightened state of awareness and arousal to fight. She smiled -- Kahlan was always a dangerous target. Her raptor's gaze fell on Isabella and she nodded briefly, sharing a moment with the woman before turning her attention to the patchwork creature.

"Oh, hello. Who is this?"

[Iskander]

Trydian's attention was split between the intruder, his cow of a grandmother, his mother, his sister, Vylrath, and the Fae-Angel creature. His sword lowered slightly and he placed his face within his palm and shook his head.

"You stupid cunt," he spoke at Isabella, "You all want me to protect her, but you drag Sebilla right into this asshat's attack range? Tell me, how the FUCK is that keeping her safe? You stupid fucking bitch, the only thing you're good for is spreading your fucking legs. Vylrath," he shot a glare at his father, "Made a mistake in letting you think you had a brain."

He pointed his sword toward Kahlan, "My idiot father might have called you here, but you can't stay forever. When you're gone, the moment you leave, the instant that your back is turned, I am going to kill my grandmother. I'll kill him, too," he jerked his head to indicate Zaero. "You better plan on settling down here, and never ever resting, or turning away. Because no matter how long it takes, I'll kill you all; even you, father."

The Chaos Sword's song rose in his head, threatening to drown out all sense, all reason, with its desire to rip the very bones from their bodies. Trydian held his control through force of will, and the knowledge that his grandmother, mother, and Kahlan had all turned against him. While he had no qualms with murdering Isabella, or desecrating the Angel that had decided to interfere, he was loathe to harm his mother, which might well require him to kill Sebilla as well.

After a pause, Trydian snarled and turned to Vylrath. He whipped the Chaos Sword around so that the flat of the blade shot for the man's head. He doubted the blow would kill his father, but it would be a clear sign of his displeasure. "That, you stupid ass, is for summoning your woman here to interfere. If you do it again, I'll run you through on this sword, no matter who tries to stop me. Got it?"

[Vylrath]

The coat met his form and disintegrated on contact. It was followed by a swift hissing sound. Damn. His coat had just met its end. It had been a great coat: saving him from the harsh climate of Xexoria. At least he hadn’t had any money in his pockets- ah well. Sacrifices had to be made for the greater cause. His eyes met Isabella in an unforgiving manner. He was royally pissed off and he wasn’t going to hold any of his powers back.

He had been the first to be with Isabella.

He had been the first demon to make serious impacts.

Most of all…

He had been the FIRST to touch the Chaos Sword.

It was natural for him to think that Trydian was seriously attacking him. He could feel the essence of the Chaos Sword nearing his body. He immediately dropped to the ground, balancing himself and hooked Trydian’s left foot. The momentum and force would inevitably break Trydian’s concentration. The pull of his instep would cause Trydian to fall backward. He never thought he’d be attacking another son, but the thought hadn’t completely left his mind.

He pushed himself up with an uncanny grace that only motivated him further. Before Trydian could realize what was happening, he had grabbed his sword hand. Placing some of the weighted essence against the demon, he twisted Trydians arm, so that his body twisted face-first into the ground. His vice like grip had been near the wrist. He heard the painful snap of bones.

Without thinking, he took hold of the fallen sword.

His son would be in immense discomfort. He wouldn’t be able to necessarily gather himself into another fighting position. The sword was now in the first owner and he wasn’t likely to give it up. He looked toward Zaero, smiling momentarily before looking back at his son, who was laying face first in the sand.

He grabbed hold of Trydian’s clothing and forced him to lie on his back. The sword spoke to Vylrath, but not in the sense of words. His free palm soon rested on the chest of Trydian. He was going to feel even more discomfort…
It might have been all of the anger that had pent up over the years, but he felt a great relief when he saw his son writhing in pain and humiliation.

“Fledgling.”

He didn’t move. The power would need to be concentrated and saturated into a different destination then his own- Trydian might feel like his very self was being ripped apart by something unnatural. His form would be cocooned into a large mass of Vylrath’s essence. His breath would be choked out of him, while his demon soul battled against the onslaught.

Moving away from Trydian, he noticed the effects immediately. His body would be in an inner battle with itself, but he couldn’t help him now. He had other business to take care of.
Zaero.

He didn’t know who he was, but he was still a son- maybe a better son. He had sought him out, maybe not necessarily to kill him.

His son Trydian hated him no matter what form he would take. But at least he would have more control. Isabella wouldn’t have the perfect son and he wouldn’t have the perfect lineage. It was what it was: chaos.

The elements changed around him. The heat became almost primordial in existence. Kahlan wouldn’t have an impact on him. Her voice might have been his siren before, but her essence would only fuel his anger. She had come too late- how could someone of divine essence be late to a calling?

He motioned for her to come forward. His mind constantly working out a problematic situation- the sword would have to be hidden. It needed a God or a Goddess to destroy it entirely. He was none of that.

Take this to your realms and hide it in a sacred place. It cannot be destroyed by normal means.

Looking toward Zaero, he was still perplexed by his arrival. “You say you are my son…of what time?” He had been no fool in this world. He had seen Goddesses, Gods, and had even been brought back to life. It wouldn’t put it past him if someone had sought him from a different time. Another question plagued his mind. One that he wanted answered. “Who is your mother?” He couldn’t imagine himself with Caela, or Kahlan, so that only left one option.

[Nayt]

There was a brief moment when Zaero dived into his own imagination. Isabella Rivenfelde had said something about blood only being shed, on this land, by her hand only. Zaero imagined what it would have been like to sever the woman's arm. It probably would have hurt like a bitch for her, but under any circumstances where a man deliberately severed another person's arm, it was unlikely that the man really gave a damn how the other person felt. Then, he could have held her arm like a sword, holding it at the shoulder like a hilt, and using her fingernails as cutting weapons. That way, her hand would be the one spilling blood. And if she wanted to be technical enough about it, he could always have grabbed her by the left hand, and used the nails of her left hand to dig into her right shoulder, and after she had spilled the blood by her own hand, he could just take her arm and call her word the law.

He was tempted to tell the woman that could be arranged, but before he opened his mouth, a new arrival found herself upon the field, yet another person to get between he and the whole reason he had come. First, it was Trydian, then Isabella, and now this new woman. An angelic person? It didn't matter, really. She was just another obstacle. Zaero sighed. This was getting convoluted quickly, but something told him that even if he were to come here when Vylrath Xanathi were alone, this whole mess would happen anyways--and probably a bit quicker.

This person didn't know his name, which was only going to lead to more time wasted. Again, Zaero sighed. Zaero was going to introduce himself to this new arrival. but then something happened. Kahlan, and Zaero by extension, had been interrupted by Vylrath.

Vylrath's display only seemed to irritate him. Zaero had frowned, but unfortunately the Glasgow smile made it seem as if he were still, indeed, smiling. For the time being, he ignored it. However it was to play out, if Trydian fought back or not, didn't matter much to Zaero. He wasn't the one fighting Trydian, so anything that happened there was bound to be an utter disappointment.

"My name is Zaero," Zaero replied to Kahlan with a mack-bow. More than likely, he was passively mocking common social customs. "And for all of you . . . people . . . I'm here on personal matters with my spiritual father."

He made it a point to motion towards Vylrath. He hadn't outright answered when or with who Vylrath had fathered him, but more specifically placed emphasis upon the word spiritual when talking of him.

"And since I'm only hungry enough to eat one of you," he addressed the entire group, "I'd rather not waste the energy putting all of you down. So, if you would kindly step out of the way, I'll do what I came here to do."

Zaero might have carried a haughty tone, but he was at least being civil, much unlike Vylrath and Trydian. It was funny, in an ironic sort of way. The only civil person here was the one who genuinely intended to harm them. Not only did he have some degree of patience, but he could even be reasoned with. He stuffed his hands into his pants pockets again, and waited for Isabella and Kahlan to either comply or resist. Vylrath didn't have a choice in the matter, but the two of them could choose to let Zaero through or not, and considering the fact that Zaero had already proven to be more reasonable than Vylrath Xanathi, it might have been the most logical choice.

[Jen]

First, it was Isabella. Then Kahlan, followed quickly by Caela and Sebilla. A chorus of female laughter filled the clearing as Zaero's words dawned on them. A spiritual father? Sure, the guy had spirit and spontanaity, but spirtuality was not a forte that Vylrath held dear. So as the women wiped their eyes and quieted their chuckles, Isabella was the first to speak.

"You would, ah, like to have Vylrath for breakfast then?" Another fit of giggles came from the women and as Isabella composed herself, Kahlan was the next to speak. "He tastes like sweat and sand I'd wager." When Isabella and Kahlan looked at each other again they both fell into yet another fit of laughter.

"He really tastes more like dirt and grass." Caela chimed in and smirked at her mother and god mother with increasing amusement. Three of the four women in this glade had children by the very man that Zaero wanted to consume, and so -- of course being women there were many wisecracks to go around.

"Zaero, you can try to taste him if you like -- but I doubt he'll take kindly to it. I'm fairly sure that none of us will either. You could have the demon child if you wanted it though." Isabella kicked sand at Trydian's upturned face before walking to where Vylrath had him pinned. "Fat cow? Grandson, you will be lucky to survive this day. I AM your leader and you WILL obey my orders." Isabella grabbed her grandson by the throat and squeezed. Oh he could struggle if he wanted to. He could fight and flail. Isabella was a Vuri and she had Vylrath's powers in her blood, in her body, and in her mind. He was being assaulted by Vylrath's powers, and even if he could speak, it would feel as if a cart load of sand had been dumped on his face. "You sicken me, you fledgling bastard. You are bound by blood to your younger sister and you defied our commands. Do you know what that means?"

Isabella still had her hand around Trydian's throat, and he might be surprised to find himself anchored there by her own physical power. She had never touched him in anger before, and her sheer physical strength was augmented by the power of Vylrath and her own Vuri blood.

It was Caela that would save Trydian that day, for that moment, as Isabella felt her daughter's hand on her right shoulder.

"He will not be killed by you." It was a simple statement, and yet a command.

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Caela glanced down at her son encased in Vuri magics so deeply that he would be lucky to survive. He had promised, in her womb, to take care of his sister and his mother. His sister was the most important in that bargain. They had all paid in blood, and the only one who had failed was Trydian.

"I gave birth to you while the walls were falling to pieces during the Yuurei Invasion. I saved your life, knowing that you would become great some day. I did not think that you would let power go to your head. I am your mother, and I have always been your guardian and protector -- I have always done what is right for you. I have given my blood and life for you so that yours might be better. Your father is not your enemy, and if you can't see that then perhaps you need to leave this place. I cannot protect you from yourself."

Caela knelt next to her son and touched his forehead, sliding two fingers across his brow and touching his chest. It would do nothing to him for now, but he might feel the touch burn when he thought of his mother and his sister.

"You are bound by blood, by honor, and by your own sanity to your sister's wellbeing until she is either dead, or immortal. If she is dead then you are bound to find her killer until they and their entire family burn in effigy for the power that was lost from this family." Caela, while the Vuri magic was still strong, drew a sharp nail over her wrist and smeared her blood across her son's forehead and across his cheeks. Her blood would not turn him Vuri -- but it would bind him further to his sister.

Caela gained her feet and glanced at her own mother and nodded, her right wrist leaking rivulets of a purplish blood that quickly started to darken to a blue black. Wherever Caela's blood dropped, the grass and foliage along the ground changed to that strange bluegreen color.

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Kahlan nodded at Caela as she passed and walked to Vylrath.

"Consider it done." She grabbed the hilt of the Chaos sword and for the briefest of moments -- one that some might miss if they didn't pay close attention to the transaction -- Kahlan's form blurred and her true nature was revealed. Waist length blonde hair, wings as white as snow, and robes as pure as light itself. Then the sword would reveal, just as quickly -- the other side of her nature. The unpredictability, the white robe stained with black and silver blood, the wings as black as a moonless night, hair like a raven's wing after war -- stained with blood. Solemn grey eyes would pierce Vylrath briefly before it all faded -- the whole transaction taking less than fifteen seconds.

Kahlan had been a fallen angel once, long ago. It was largely the reason that demons did not affect her -- because she had not sought redepmtion at the gates of heaven. Her life had made more sense, more impact, in the realm of humanity -- so she had stayed when God beckoned her forth to heaven. There was only so much that Kahlan could stand of Gods and immortals -- but having lived as long as she had she understood that some things occurred out of necessity.

"Trydian, I suggest you listen to these women. I am a lot worse than you might think." For a moment Kahlan stood silent, still, the Chaos sword pointing downward at Trydian. All was quiet, breathless, as the Angel stood over the Demon. The threat loomed like the Chaos sword once flared to life -- it was silent now, quieted by a mistress that was capable of great chaos.

[littlebean]

"My son? No way, I've never impregnated a woman before!"

Barclay was defensive to the accusations of the horrible creature being his son. Actually, he didn't want any kind of offspring at all. Personaly he didn't like children, and in this day and age it would be unwise for such an irresponsible man to raise a child in such threatening times. That's just how it was, and he knew all too well how things were.

Crowds of people were gathering to confront the stranger, the offender smiling eerily. Smiles were for happy people as far as he was concerned, and even with being confronted by more than one person, each possessing superior strength far outshadowing his own, the zombie still smiled. Despite the unfathomable odds he faced, he still grinned. Either he was over confident, or possessed terrifying strength.

"Geezes fuck!" In a rush Barclay started gathering what he could carry of his things. He brought with him the bottle in one hand, and began collecting the bag of nuts, bread and marshmellows with the other. While the others were arguing among themselves, insulting one another and displaying their powers to eachother, Barclay felt now would be the perfect time to high tail it out of there, while everyone was distracted. Vylrath had said he had til the next full moon to decide whether or not he wanted to be immortal and his answer was a stern no. No way to how. This entire situation was a complete fuck up that didn't deserve or need his attention.

Just a day ago he was relaxing comfortably in his camp before a group of strangers tore it down, and threatened his life over a fish. Stories were shares about demons and invasions, but remained stories only. The tales lacked any evidence of their royalty, none of them could prove to him they were immortal kings and queens. When trying to place power over a person and a whole nation, nobody just takes somebody's word for it, and Barclay had only that, their word. He was basically approached very forcefully, told by a stranger that he was an immortal king and he had a limited amount of time to make a decision over an offer that he didn't ask for. The only truths in his story was that these people DID possess amazing abilities, which he saw with his own two eyes.

There was no doubt that the bunch were dangerously powerful. Why should he stay? He met them only yesterday, what did he owe to them? Nothing. With the few of his possessions gathered Barclay turns around to try to leave quietly without saying a word....