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Everything posted by vielle

  1. New era, new guidelines! If you're interested in medieval fantasy and wild adventures, check out Ursa Madeum! 😍 (And maybe swing by the Queendom of Svanhild for funsies? 😉)


  2. Ah, but there is a kernel of truth in Miss Sheathe’s words, now that Cecily thinks about it. Boring really does mean safe, out here in the dangerous wildlands. This realization brings an embarrassed flush to her cheeks, but she’s not about to stoop down and let Steffan see such a weakness. She’ll be damned if she lets him know how affected she is. To her left, Lord Caerdonel stoops down and peers closely at the tracks. His fingers brush against the indentations made in the dirt with careful inspection. “Hmmh, I cannot identify them either. My experience tells me this is a two-legged creature, but there cannot be much of those aside from humans in these parts. Unless, of course, nonhumans have entered here.” “Possibly,” Steffan snorts mockingly, and Cecily gives him a very rude hand gesture, just because she can. The look on the bastard’s face is worth it. Ignoring this exchange, Willard straightens up and looks around the assembled people in thoughtful silence. “Yes, perhaps we could, Miss Sheathe. Let us keep moving to—” —the bushes nearby shake, leaves rustling against each other. A blur of something fast-moving leaps out from the shadows of the undergrowth. Cecily screams.
  3. vielle

    [GS] Libra

    The Mistress’ companions can’t help the stunned silence that befalls them in the wake of her cleaving of the boy and his mother with her sharpened sword. Strangely enough, there are no wounds visible on their bodies, no blood gushing out from deep and dangerous blade wounds. Between one breath and the next, they are suddenly made whole and hale again, the power of Baeoi stitching their injuries back together. “I could’ve helped,” Samael mumbles to himself, but ultimately he manages to dredge up a wide smile for the two villagers as they thank the Mistress profusely, almost stumbling into the dirt with how eager they are. “You have to share where you got that sword,” Ephah quips, raising an eyebrow at the sword in the white-haired woman’s grasp. The boy is inclined to agree. And then the earth shakes once more, and the moment of levity is gone. A pair of Zodiac Knight appear from the greenery, silver armor gleaming in the sun, and while one of them ushers the mother and her son away to whatever safety lies beyond the treeline, the other turns to them and gives a considering glance at the Mistress’ sword, Ephah’s blood gaze, Samael’s glowing necklace. “We need all the hands we can get,” he murmurs, bowing in greeting to the group. “Can you fight with us?”
  4. • • • With the pictures Nima has painted of the Demon Wolf—or are there Wolves? She had implied that there are more of these twisted creatures running amok in the demon world, and isn’t that a frightening thing to imagine? He does not think he has the stomach for adventuring into such a terrifying place—Garrow can now fully imagine the young woman as a strong warrior capable of fearsome feats. It only goes to show that there is more to an individual than meets the eye, that one must not judge a book by its cover. Perhaps there is some truth to his grandmamma’s teachings after all. The gentlemouse twirls a finger around his whiskers, nodding along to his companion’s words. “I see, I see! You must be a most esteemed warrior! I do not know what this chakra you speak of is, but I must infer that it might be some form of magic,” he trails off, mumbling to himself about some incomprehensible things before he straightens up again, an enterprising smile on his mouth. Nima appears to have some form of interest in his kind. The roads are dangerous for lone travelers, and much more so for a gentlemouse of his stature. Perhaps—perhaps he can persuade her to join him on his travels, acquiring both companion and bodyguard by his side. Ah, but it’s a most brilliant idea! “Would you like to accompany me to my hometown, then?” His nose twitches excitedly, and he looks to the red-skinned woman with barely-concealed anticipation. “If you are not needed elsewhere, that is! I’d really appreciate good company when traveling.” @? ????
  5. Hearing her new title still sounds strange to her own ears, but Varda is not one to argue against the reality of her new position. She opts instead to smile and incline her head in greeting towards the crowd gathered in the hall. Watching her companion employ some sort of magic—it can only be such a thing as mystical as magic, with the way the sounds of the crowd suddenly pop out of existence—Varda smoothens down her skirts and focuses on the words she’ll need to open the discussion for her plans. “I’ve a proposition to offer you, my Lord,” she begins, smiling in Rufus’ direction. “As you know, my noble house has only recently come into great wealth far beyond what had been our means, with the establishment of the Queendom. Thus far, we’ve been granted the capacity to build and protect that which is our own. However, alliances must be forged in these strange new times, and in the spirit of solidarity, I’ve decided there can be much use for our considerable assets in helping to promote said alliances.” Varda folds her hands on her lap and nods firmly. “I propose that the Queendom aid you in establishing your claim more securely here in Misral by providing resources to help build a town under your jurisdiction. Authority over this land will be yours alone, but we’d like to create opportunities for our people as well—perhaps with jobs and commissions within this town. In this, perhaps we can find other ventures to work on in the future.” She finishes with a bright grin, brimming with possibilities. “Is this a viable plan? Pray, express your thoughts, my Lord.” @danzilla3
  6. My price is this hand I hold now. It is strange, how the words seem to come to her like scattered dust mites, how they do not register and instead float about the room in disjointed fragments. My price, Varda, is you as my wife. I will accept nothing less. She does not think she’s heard Quinton right, at first. And then he draws her close, hand wrapped around her waist like a honeyed vise, and all thoughts fly out the windows, lost to the expansive greenery beyond. Varda gapes at him for quite a considerable amount of time, and with no other forthcoming words to further explain the declaration he has just placed upon her shoulders, she begins to tremble within his grasp. “You—you would—ask for my hand?” Personal self-doubts aside, she’s long known the costs of leadership are the choices she makes for her own self, that she might marry for benefits and not for love. But—she might learn to love Quinton Swan, might learn to cherish him and hold him for her own. As it stands now, she is fascinated by him and overly so, but this does not immediately mean she can build a lifetime on fleeting bouts of mystique. She cannot be too sure of this match’s ultimate survival, not while she has not yet been given a chance to understand this man. However: this bride price he offers can be a great boon for the betterment and advancement of her fledgling queendom. That is not something she can easily ignore, not when her house’s coffers continue to dwindle by the day as they build up their cities and roads. Her position as royalty might mean more strategy is needed to decide the future lord prince of the realm, but it’ll benefit from a suitor with his pockets lined to the brim. This will require some deliberation, then. “Allow me to think on this, sir,” Varda breathes, quietly disentangling herself from his grasp, taking a proprietary step backward in case someone walks in on such intimate behavior. “I—I cannot give you an answer today. This is all—very sudden, and forgive me, I’ve been left reeling in the wake of your request.”
  7. • • • The gentlemouse cannot help the astonished gasp that crawls up his throat and out into the musty air of the tavern around them. Demonic magic, indeed! How strange. Some might even call it dangerous, according to his readings: something to be feared and rejected whenever it is encountered. However: the red-skinned lady has been kind to him, has even offered him the courtesy of feeding him bits from her meal, and so Garrow shall reserve making any sort of judgement for later. He opts instead to nod thoughtfully, quill tip flying across the parchment as he scribbles down Nima’s explanation. This shall make for a good topic to write about for his village’s collection of tomes. “Interesting! You must be quite the warrior, then?” He cocks his head to the side, humming as he stares at her lean arms, as if he’s trying to picture out how she might move when using her abilities. “I’m very curious how this magic works—we mousefolk do not have the capacity to wield magic, sadly. We are a very common sort of race.”He has crossed paths with many wizards in the past, and the faint curl of envy never ceases to appear in his gut. “Ah, well. So, this Demon Wolf’s bone you mentioned—is this like a deity that walks the earth? There are plenty of those around here.” Garrow taps the quill’s feather against his chin. “Or perhaps a normal wolf infused with demon energy? Ah, my imagination is running wild, and so is my fear!” He chuckles amusedly, motioning with a hand to let Nima explain, if she so wished. @? ????
  8. At the mention of the newly-crowned king her house has recently forsaken to crown her instead, Varda hums, a faint undertone of anxiety simmering in her voice. She’d rather not discuss anything related to the other kingdom who shares Ursa Madeum with her own realm, and so when Lord Rufus continues on, there is a curl of relief in her stomach. “Perhaps they’ll come around and pay you due respect, soon enough,” she murmurs lowly, as much of a reminder to herself of the other noble contenders in the islands as it is to her companion. The Viridis estate rises high and proud amidst the craggy landscape of Misral, and despite the telltale signs of recent reconstruction along its stone-brick face, it speaks of experience and power. She does not yet know if the Viridis family has come into wealth in their time away from the islands, but with the efforts made to rebuild themselves in their homeland once more, it is a likely assumption. One that is to be the driving force for her visit today. “I see,” she replies to Lord Rufus, smiling gratefully for his apparent honesty with her despite their recent acquaintance. “I’d very much like to meet the rest of your house soon. Perhaps a bigger audience—and more authoritative figures to witness—will be beneficial for the discussion I’ll be having with you.” @danzilla3
  9. vielle

    Argentspire I: Delivery

    SUMMARY: Kuiperal city guards Quirin Saussure and Pascal Baudrillard are tasked by Khartes to travel up the slopes of the Argentspire and set up sansiuk probes. They complete their mission, encountering twisted monsters birthed by the blending of Yh'mi and Taen properties and a strange reflective portal named the Argentscar along the way. @Csl
  10. vielle

    Argentspire I: Delivery

    The thundering fervor of battle falls away slowly, leaking out of Pascal’s limbs like a rubber ball pierced through, air coursing out. She stumbles towards her companion across the short distance, nodding in response to Quirin’s inquiries about her state, and lounges back against the boulder they’ve appropriated as a makeshift seat. So maybe her partner isn’t all that bad, incessant chatter aside. She’d held her own in the battle, done most of the heavy lifting when it comes to the probes. Perhaps they might come to know each other more, learn to be friends someday soon. And there will be a someday, if Pascal has any say about it. It’s a long way away from the relative safety of the city borders, the idyllic life she has led—and yet, she feels nothing but excitement. Hot blood coursing through her veins, joy and amazement and an unyielding sense of wanderlust. She thinks this journey might’ve been a sign of change, a sign of renewal. Perhaps she has been meant to travel the road less worn after all. “Yes,” she murmurs to her companion, mind a thousand miles away from the slopes of the mountain and onto whatever lies beyond. “Let’s go.”
  11. @Hani soft bump for a post! Also, bumping both you and @The Fire Heart to please roll in the dice rolling thread and PM me your results! Some fun story stuff shall ensue. ?
  12. • • • Garrow tilts his head in consideration over Nima’s words. A Grim Spirit? What on earth is that? He’s never heard of such a thing in his travels nor his studies. Clearly, this is a point of discussion he must get to the bottom of, for the sake of his own curiosity. Perhaps this can even be valuable information he can bring back to his clan in the name of research. Yes, he must definitely learn more about this woman and her nature. By then, he’s so caught up in the excitement in his head that he almost misses Nima’s offer to share her food. The words to decline the food are at the ready on his tongue, but then his stomach makes a telltale grumble, and—well. Never let it be said he is not one to seize an opportunity. “Ah, well, if you’re sure, madam,” Garrow trails off, heat flushing his cheeks warm under his fur as he bashfully requests for a piece of bacon from her sandwich to eat. Once he’s finished, the gentlemouse cleans his hands and then takes out a folded piece of parchment and a tiny quill from his satchel. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take notes and ask questions about, er, your kind? Your race?” He grins sheepishly and waves his arms in the air. “Forgive me; I’ve simply never encountered a Grim Spirit before. The moniker sounds very—mystical.” A spark of interest lights up his beady eyes. “Could you perhaps wield magic?” @? ????
  13. • • • What a delightful turn of events! How wonderful indeed, thinks the gentlemouse, and he bows lowly to the woman with utmost gratitude. “Thank you, madam! This old mouse needs to rest his weary feet, and you’ve provided just the place.” It takes him a few moments, but soon enough, he finally clambers up the other free chair and onto the table, a comfortable distance away from the lady’s meal so she is not disturbed by his presence on the surface she had been eating on. Sitting himself down, the gentlemouse allows his legs to dangle over the edge of the table as the woman wipes her fingers down and introduces herself as Nima. “That is a lovely name, madam. I am Garrow,” he introduces himself, reaching halfway to take Nima’s finger in a tiny version of a handshake, “and I am a member of the stalwart Meadowgard clan.” He puffs his chest out with glittering pride; the mousefolk do value strong familial ties. “I’ve been sent on a quest to study the lands beyond our humble borders. I am a scholar of sorts, you see, and so they have granted me the honor of this journey.” Garrow smiles, adjusting his spectacles on the bridge of his snout as he turns towards his companion. “And you, my lady? Where have you come from? I’ve never seen a human with such an interesting color before.” @? ????
  14. vielle

    [GS] Libra

    And so the trio weave their way through the thick treeline, the enraged roars of a god ringing loud in their ears. Soon enough, they come across a clearing with burned trees and craters of earth. Bodies lying still in death are strewn about the forest floor, and where there had once been huts and stone walls are now burned to ash. “This might’ve been a village,” Ephah begins to mumble under her breath, but then Samael’s ears prick at the sudden shout coming from behind one of the trees. He whirls around, hands raised in preparation as he confronts the stranger. “Who’s there?” Samael asks, peering closely at the base of the trunk. There’s a hint of trembling cloth sticking out through the grass, and he relaxes his stance enough to try and calm whoever is there. Whoever they are, they are clearly not hostile. “Come out; we won’t hurt you.” It takes a few seconds, but then out from the hiding spot emerges a woman carrying a young boy, his left arm burned and mangled beyond recognition. Samael gasps at the sight, unbidden. “Help! Please, help us!” The woman wrings her hands at them, face tear-streaked and dirty with soot and ash. “Please, are you—are you here to slay him? Libra?” Her voice wavers like a dying animal.
  15. • • • It is indeed a busy day at the tavern, but then the day is thus rife with opportunity. This brings together the most unlikely of folks, and that alone is a marvelous thing. The tavern door opens to let yet another weary soul in to take refuge in its warm halls. The gentlemouse tips his hat at the doorman, allows the boy to take his ornaments away for safekeeping as he examines the room at large. With the size of the assembled crowd, every table must be occupied by now, and so he sighs, moving towards the bar to look for a potential place to— Ah, but wait. There is one who sits alone in the corner: a woman with striking red skin and long white hair. The gentlemouse considers this scene for a moment, nose wrinkling in thought, and then he nods to himself, a decision made. He weaves quietly through the throng of bodies, nimble steps avoiding stray puddles of booze and any wayward toes. In no time at all, he stands before the woman, and he clears his throat to draw her attention away from her meal. “Good day, madam,” the gentlemouse nods in greeting, peering up at her through polished spectacles. “May I request that I sit with you at this table? I don’t take up much room, as you can see from my diminutive size,” he gestures to his furry countenance, standing a mere two feet off the floorboards, “and I find myself in want of some company this fine day. Whether that company is to be stoic or conversational shall lie within your jurisdiction, my lady.” @? ????
  16. The man’s words bring Varda pause for a moment, her steps halted with disbelief. “Is that so? None of the other houses have paid you tribute thus far?” It’s a strange thing to hear, but nonetheless, this information brings forth much more importance to their meeting now. She will not see the opportunity be wasted or let Viridis think their affairs are of little concern to the Hildebrands. “It is their own failure, then,” she nods firmly. “Lead the way, my Lord.” She links her arm to that of the man’s, and together, they begin to stroll along the length of the beach, seawinds blowing across the sands in a gentle caress against their skin. It is well-known, Varda’s love for the untameable sea, and she takes the opportunity to breathe in the fresh air and admire the beauty of the shoreline. A few minutes pass this way in silence, and then she turns her attention back to her present company. “I’m curious, my Lord, and I hope you won’t take this with any sort of offense, but how many among your house has come with you to reclaim your noble titles? I’ve read that House Viridis had five branches—is it still so in this present day?” @danzilla3
  17. Ah, but he is a clever, charismatic one, yes? Where his gestures court the body, his words court the soul. Varda’s heart shudders in the wake of Quinton’s declarations, sweetened like honey on the tongue, like spring showers and summer warmth, and for all that her brother tells her she is fickle when it comes to silver-tongued folk, her shields threaten to shatter at the faintest notion of the man’s apparent high regard for her. But then here is the danger that ensnares her: she does not know enough of him, even now where she stands before him no longer as a noble lady but as a queen. Even now, he remains an untouchable presence with a mask that both captivates and frustrates her to no end with how worryingly little she has any knowledge of what lies beneath. She is Queen now, and so she must learn all that she can in order to make the right decisions. The best decisions. And so, there is a plan. A plan she’s concocted in the privacy of her own mind, under no influence but her own. Jasper would have a fit if he knew. “I—I’d like to offer you a place in my royal court,” Varda stutters without meaning to; the man’s closeness is heady, and she feels drunk with it. “Your presence would be of great value to the Queendom, and I would want those whose counsel I trust and respect to be within my ear’s reach, so that I may be guided well.” With Quinton’s position in the Queen’s Court, should he accept it, she’ll be given the chance to keep him close, keep him near where she can observe him, begin to study the inner workings of that shrewd mind of his. She can seek him whenever she wishes to, and he could be there: in the flesh, close enough to touch. (Perhaps, she muses in the unrealized darkened corners of her mind, perhaps I may even be allowed to keep him. This is a wish she will not allow to come to light.) Varda allows a few moments for him to digest her words and then continues. “But—this price you ask for,” she murmurs, eyelashes fluttering against her pale cheeks, aiming to make a jest to brighten the air between them, “I hope it is not worth a Queen’s ransom, lest my newfound crown crumbles before it is ever given a chance to settle upon my brow.”
  18. Same, to be honest; I got excited for half a second ?
  19. • • • The Queen arrives with her entourage in a dazzling ensemble of green and gold, with the banner of her new Queendom flying at the mast of her ship. She’ll never get used to all the frivolity and formality that her new station provides her, but nonetheless, she can admit: it does inspire quite an impression. She leads her party down to the shores of Misral, and upon approaching Rufus, she leaves her retainers a few paces behind. Trust is an important part of forming alliances, and in the spirit of camaraderie, she finds she’s more than willing to make friends. All the more’s the better, as her brother would say. “Hail, Lord Viridis,” Varda offers in greeting, a bright smile on her lips. She’s heard of the noble house Viridis and their exile from the islands in the days of the Tyrant King, but she’s never had the pleasure of meeting a member before now. She inclines her head in greeting, and then turns her gaze out to the tumultuous waves, mirroring her host as she deliberates over her next words. “I am grateful you’ve agreed to meet with me, even if my house has not yet had the allowance to greet you a welcome return to Ursa Madeum.” And even in the separation of my state from that of yours, she does not say, but it is implied all the same. But first: she must hear information of how Viridis grows. “How goes the rebuilding of your estate? I hear tell it’s been a few months since you’ve made your home in Misral once more.”
  20. The Captain rubs at his chin, the bristly beginnings of a beard bending under his fingertips as he considers the questions that have been raised. “I suppose the only things I can warn you about with absolute certainty are the Xer’Orians.” Ah, finally something she’s at least well-versed in. Juno interjects, sliding into the discussion soon after Arran’s words as seamlessly as silken thread. “Massive insectoids. They care only for the conquest of other races and will not hesitate to slaughter us on sight should we encounter them. Either we kill them, or they kill us.” A momentary pause. “Yes, thank you for your insight, Juno,” Captain Arran shakes his head, an amused smile tugging at his lips, “but indeed, the Xer’Orians are hostile and very dangerous. Nothing a well-prepared group of adventurers such as ours can’t handle, however, but it is best to be prepared.” (No amount of preparedness saved us from them, screams the sirens in Juno’s head. What, then, had it all been about, if not the world’s lack of any mercy?) “And, well. The only rules are to keep the group alive and to scavenge as much as you can.” The Captain looks about the room and grins. “As you do.” Juno turns her face away from the group and closes her eyes. There’s nothing left for her to speak about anymore. “As for magic, you are free to use all the abilities at your disposal. Upon initial observation on the mountain, the worldrift portal seems to have no ill effects on the use of magic on Eriadnus’ slopes. However, as I’ve kept impressing on you all, preparedness is of utmost importance.” Arran picks up an earpiece and places it in his ear. “Taen is a strange place, wondrous as it is dangerous. We cannot be sure what exactly to expect, but we must merely learn to adapt to the circumstances. I daresay we make a fine pack of adventurers regardless; it’ll be a lively experience.” The Captain gathers his own items into his pack and nods at the group. “So, shall we? • • • And so, they set out, the silver scar in the sky seemingly their compass pointing north as the slopes of Eriadnus loomed beyond the horizon like an eerie spectre. Pine trees dotted the greywashed landscape, intersped with the odd boulder and fallen tree trunks amidst rocky terrain. As with most peaks in the mountain quadrant, the summit is covered by a wreath of clouds, and there, glittering beyond, is the yawning abyss of the worldrift portal. “We call it Eridani,” the Captain explains from where he’s situated at the head of the group, “out of affection, of course. It’s tradition for the Conclave Tel to name portals and put them down in our log book. We speak words of gratitude in its honor, should the particular portal be the cause of a newfound fortune for us Collectors.” Juno rolls her eyes, hoists her pack further up her shoulders to keep it from slipping down as she walks. It’s silly, but it is tradition. She’s never really partaken in any of it, though. Arran looks at the map in his hands and then continues to press forward into the thinning treeline, looking over his shoulder to ask a question of the others. “So tell me, folks: what brings you all the way out here in the last vestiges of civilized society?” • • • @Fierach @Hani @The Fire Heart
  21. vielle

    Argentspire I: Delivery

    Spaghetti crab? Weird nickname aside, Pascal doesn’t have time for this. Somewhere between dodging the creature’s vine-dagger tentacles—great, she’s already making weird nicknames too—she’s lost her hold on her spear, the weapon clattering against the rocks and into the dirt. She rolls out of the Marfa’s advance, the sudden crack of Quirin’s whip distracting it for a few moments, and she uses this opportunity to grab her spear and shield, the power of the worldrift ebbing and flowing like ripples across a still lake. She watches as her companion lashes at the creature with the whip, her fingers reaching forward in the way Pascal recognizes to be a stunning attack. This thought pushes her into a brisk run, readying herself for the inevitable clash with the monster. (All her life, she’s been prepared for something worse than urban criminals and the odd tiny creatures that are nothing more than nuisances. Here on the slopes of a desolate mountain, she finds her courage.) The moment Quirin stuns the twisted Marfa, Pascal jumps onto the creature’s back, drives her spear clear through the tangled vines, and bashes her shield against the pole. The worldrift shudders at the force, a violent shockwave emanating from within the creature’s body, and it’s all she can do to hold on to the anchor points of her weapons as the Marfa’s tendrils begin tearing themselves apart. Like spools of thread broken by scissors, as her mother would say.
  22. Her fingers are itchy, and it’s not because of the mosquitoes. Birdy trails behind the butler as they move down the hallway, looking about her surroundings with wide-eyed awe and no small amount of kleptomaniac hunger. It won’t reflect kindly on her relationship with their host if she were to steal anything, however, and so she forms fists out of her hands to control her urges, gluing her gaze to the servant’s back as they move into the waiting room. Despite some notable evidence to the contrary, she seems like nothing more than a little girl who’s been gallivanting around the forest without her mother’s permission: twigs caught in her tangled and wild locks, speckled leaves and mud forming dappled patterns against her legs like an abstract painting. Well, she can’t really do anything about those, not in any way that might work the way she wishes it to, so in the spirit of formality, Birdy opts to adjust the leather headband against her blonde hair just so, arrange the folds of her white dress to cover the worst of the dirt on her. In truth, perhaps the veneer is required; perhaps the disguise is necessary. She’ll never get to do anything she wants without it. The butler leads her into the room where everyone else had been waiting, and for a moment, her attention is caught by the large statues of insects. How strange, those, but she is not one to judge on another’s taste in interior decor, especially not the man who might provide her a job today. Birdy plunks herself down onto an empty couch and studies the other people seated. They are all terribly tall and terribly, terribly stoic as most adults are, and no no no, that just won’t do. “Hello, everyone,” Birdy chirps, a sunshine grin splitting her rosy cheeks as she greets them. “How do you all do? Am I the last one to come? I like your scary horns,” she waves at the tiefling, “and your skin—it’s just like mine, see?," she points out to the man with tree bark flesh,” and your fluffy cat!” She finishes with a pointed finger at the familiar seated at the other woman’s feet.
  23. And with that, they push on into the darkened depths of the Greywood. The path is littered with twisted ivy and gnarled tree roots, poking out from the soil like a broken battlefield after a gruesome war. There is a distinct smell of dampened decay, if one has the nose for it, and with his capabilities as a skilled tracker—and sobering lack of alcohol in his system to bog him down—Steffan can very clearly distinguish what is in the forest and what is definitely not. There’s no sign of any woodland life here. There is only trees and silence. Well. Mostly silence. “Perhaps your incessant chatter should be kept away when our journey comes to an end, Cecily,” he can’t help but sneer in her direction, but true enough, the woman turns her nose at him and harrumphs. Stubborn girl that she is. “Are you frightened, Steffan? I thought you weren’t afraid of anything.” She smirks triumphantly, waving her hand in Holly’s direction. “I was merely making sure Miss Sheathe isn’t bored to death by the lack of any action around here.” He growls at her, eyebrows knitted in frustration. “Perhaps you should be ecstatic there’s no action of any sort, you dolt.” “Enough, you two,” Lord Caerdonel intervenes, sighing wearily. He calls their attention to some tracks on the ground half-hidden beneath the foliage. “What do you make of this, then? Animals? Horses or some other sort of creature? What do you all think?”
  24. vielle

    [GS] Libra

    “But,” Samael yells, though the rest of his sentence is drowned out by the force of the impact: energy to unyielding rock, the essences of fallen gods. The world shakes with Libra’s anger, and when the deity finally deigns to speak, it is in a booming, thunderous voice. “??? ???? ????, ??????, ???? ??? ??? ??????????? ????????.” The god’s hooves strike the earth, trees bending and boulders flying into the air like mere dust under his heel. Earthquakes are spun into being with every step grinding down into the soil, deep wells carving its way down into the forest floor. “We have to keep moving,” Ephah advises her young companion, and when Samael hesitates, she takes his hand and runs further into the heart of the vast greenery. Libra takes his mighty halberd and swings it in the Mistress’ direction, the sharpened blade as high as the tallest trees in Renovatio. It hums with arcane energy, startlingly similar to the woman’s own mystic sword.
  25. Will be posting tomorrow! @The Fire Heart please do feel free to post whenever you'd like within that timeframe! ?
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