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  1. The witch seems to have forgotten. She's forgotten how to think, how to breathe, how to feel. So instead she stands and stares. As her mind slowly descends back into her body, a soft gasp escapes her. Thin, pale fingers travel to her face, resting on her still wet lips. Myriana's thoughts slam into her all at once, causing her eyes to flutter shut as she tried to make sense of the chaos in her head. Above all the noise, one word stood out, so loud she could've sworn it was whispered by the wind. "Vansin." The word slipped through straight white teeth and parted lips. The wind tore violently into the shuttering cabin, doors and windows flying open as if to make way for the god. Her hair was blown astray, whipping into her eyes. Nonetheless, she remained still, staring at him with an expression of wonder. At that moment, it all made sense. The power of the god settled, melting into her own. As a wicked grin stole across her features, Myriana knew she was now a force to be reckoned with.
  2. A predatory smirk cracked the witches icy expression, her tongue gliding over her dry lips. She was having trouble focusing her mind with the god standing in such close proximity. Her eyes kept traveling across flesh without her mind's permission. Flexing a muscle in her arm brought out the iron nails that attributed to her name. She tilted her head, the god's words still swirling in her mind. "But of course." She purred, keeping her eyes on his face but trailing a sharp nail down his chest. "After all, blood is my favorite color." A cheeky grin replaced the smirk on Myriana's face. The smile looked foreign, as if such a human emotion couldn't belong to a being as inhumane as she. Her blood hummed with excitement at the promise of carving his name into the minds of the mortals. This was definitely an opportunity she had no interest in declining.
  3. The Witch raised a brow as the girl tore her own flesh apart. She was careful to keep any emotion from flickering across her face, but try as she might, she could not help the smirk that spread across her lips. The god was truly something else. "Unpleasant? I beg to differ" She mused, her eyes drinking in the sight before her. It was a scarce occurrence, seeing a god in his physical form, and she relished in the few seconds of staring she permitted herself. She recovered from her blatant gawking and sketched a dramatic bow. Myriana never quite knew how to act in front of authoritative figures, for it was rare to find someone she considered above herself. Her attention was focused on the horns protruding from the god's head. She'd never seen anything remotely like it, and to say she was intrigued would be an understatement.
  4. Her thumb moved to rest on her nearly blue bottom lip, a habit that arose whenever she went deep into thought. She made her decision eagerly and quickly but pretended to think for a while longer. Myriana fixed her stance in the snow, already feeling her boots beginning to soak through. Her nose and cheeks were red from the biting cold, and her fingers were nearly completely numb. Yet she stood quietly for a solid two minutes, thinking and rethinking her decision. "Fine. How could I resist a sales pitch as enticing as that." She said, finally breaking the silence with an expected bite of sarcasm. Moving back towards the door, the witch glanced behind her to where the god still stood. "Best come inside before the poor girl drops dead." She spoke over her shoulder, before making her way into the house. Plopping into a chair, she removed her wet boots and placed them near the wall before calling out. "You know, you should really consider becoming a salesman"
  5. Her lips pursed into a moue as she mulled over the two options. He made it seem like a treacherous decision, but how dangerous could it be? "Accept you fully in what way?" The Witch asked, crossing her arms over her chest and narrowing her gaze at the girl. "Would I be a vessel as well" Myriana was not one to be controlled, and if accepting his power meant relinquishing her body to him, then she would have to decline. A choice as risky as this one could not be made easily. She would undoubtedly need more information, and she should probably try to summon magic on her own. A Witch isn't known for her patience, but she will need to take her time with situations as delicate as this one.
  6. The Witches black eyes narrowed at the god's vessel, swiftly detecting the challenge in his statement. She considered reminding him that Ironteeth Witches are born with no magic, just odd physical abilities, but decided now was not the time nor the place. Instead, she silently planted her feet in the snow, an almost pleasurable chill running down her spine. The cold was her element. Whether she was wandering amongst snowy mountains or cutting through icy winds on the back of a Wyvern, she enjoyed it all. Myriana mulled over his words once more, trying to focus her mind on the cold. She waited for some sort of sensation, something indicating the rise of magic, but nothing happened. Closing her eyes and taking a deep, icy breath, she tried once more. She tilted her head to the side, picking up sounds from underneath the earth, down in the mines. The wind whistled in her ears, whipping her hair across her face. But the Witch ignored it all, and instead, focused on the feeling of cold that brought goosebumps to her pale skin. Nonetheless, nothing happened. Just a small tingling sensation running down her arms, but that might have just been the cold settling into her bones. Cracking open an eye, Myriana looked at the girl and sighed deeply. "I don't think it's working...Nothings happening." She mumbled, refusing to be embarrassed by her lack of skill.
  7. The Witch stood from the chair, her simple wool cloak fluttering behind her as she dramatically bowed. A mocking smile crossed her features as she examined the body the god "borrowed". "I can't focus on the cold if I can't feel it." She mused, ever the resilient thing. "Might we take this outside?" Myriana's tone was respectful, but her eyes glinted mischievously. Dancing with death seemed to be a hobby of hers. She often tested the god's patience, toeing the line of respect. She knew she can handle any punishment doled out, and the teasing was merely entertaining for her. The Witch had an odd habit of treating everything as a game, tossing jokes in every which way. Nonetheless, the god seemed to have a never ending patience, and perhaps he was amused by the odd behavior. She strutted to the door, ready to open it for the small-bodied god if need be.
  8. Only one soul lingered in the cold, wooden house. Seated in the shadows, a young witch flipped a small silver dagger between her fingers as her gaze settled on the green flame. Her legs were kicked up on the table opposite the candle. A small smirk tugged at her lips as she waited for the arrival of the only being she deemed higher than herself. She'd been nearly bored to death the past few days as she killed time in the barren, icy wasteland they called a town. She got bored of traveling the clouds on Einar's back and found herself back in the place of the God, hoping for a new task of sorts. "Welcome Back" She spoke into the empty room, the flame flickering at the sound. And as she waited for a response, Myriana knew that the next few days would be anything but dull.
  9. Myriana watched the others flit about with a calm look. Her eyes narrowed in on the hand she left resting on the counter as she walked over to join it. Plopping down in the barstool, the witch stretched and relaxed, settling in to wait for the next bout of action.
  10. Myriana quickly grabbed hold of the opposite side of the stretcher, and together they hoisted him up. They started walking back towards the tavern, small groans emitting from the wounded man with every jostle of the stretcher. As they passed the doorway, the witch gazed up at the healer with a questioning look. "Where do we place him?" She asked, surprisingly not at all short of breath.
  11. Myriana nodded curtly, following the woman closely. Her eyes narrowed at the man sprawled out on the floor as she waited for further instructions. As the woman began to lay out the stretcher, the witch let her gaze wander across the area. She watched passively as the battle continued on around them, no one stopping or giving them any attention. Myriana knelt beside the woman, ready to help her lift the man onto the stretcher. @Pickled
  12. A look of confusion crossed the witch's face as she was once again left with the bloodied hand in her possession. She dropped it on the counter of the bar, wiping her hands off on her cloak. With another glance at the retreating woman, Myriana plopped into a bar-stool and listened to the sounds of battle. She absentmindedly watched the sleeping patron as she used a small dagger to clean the dirt from beneath her fingernails. With a deep sigh and a made up mind, the witch stood from the stool and made her way to the door. Stepping out, she leaned against the outside of the building, her black eyes darting across the field, looking for the woman. A lazy smile crossed her features as she pondered over whether or not she should join the fighting. Ultimately deciding against it, Myriana chose to wait until her help was truly needed, or asked for. @Pickled
  13. Myriana strutted into the tavern through the door that was left wide open. Stepping in, she hooked her foot around the large door and kicked it shut behind her. She grinned up at the people already inhabiting the strange bar, her sopping black hair framing an elegant face. Narrowing her eyes at the weary-looking woman that she assumed was a healer of sorts, Myriana lifted an arm, revealing the severed hand she held between two fingers. Her small nose scrunched at the bleeding mess held in her lithe, pale hand and she suppressed the urge to drop the hand. "Found this outside." She mumbled, walking over and holding it out to the woman on the stool. As she waited for her to take it, she used her other hand to straighten out the black cloak she had pinned over her shoulders, covering the worn leather and linen beneath.
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