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Witches Brew

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About Witches Brew

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  • Gender
    Female
  • Location
    In the woods somewhere
  • Interests
    Reading, writing, anime, drawing, painting, Marvel, Game of Thrones, and Witchcraft
  • Occupation
    College Student

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    Witchy#2102

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  1. Witches Brew

    New Friends and New Adventures

    Dead blue eyes stared at her, frozen. The pupils were just starting to cloud over. The blood that ran through the veins before had frozen over. They stared relentlessly at her, not blinking. One tear rolled out of the corner of her left eye, cascading down her blood stained cheek. Mythandriel is frozen, staring at the disembodied head in fear. “You did this, you’re a killer. Monster. All elves are monsters.” Her chapped lips moved slowly, the voice was raspy. The woman’s body started to move behind her, her limbs moving stiffly, her bruised body aching as she got to her feet. The body shuffled towards its head, it’s feet dragging. But it did not grab her head, instead the shambling body reached its arms out, and her broken, bloody hands grabbed Mythandriel’s neck, her thumbs digging into her throat. “Monster, monster, monster!” Mythandriel gasped, unable to move. She felt woozy, her knees crumbling. The hands tightened, the thumbs digging harder and harder into her skin. “You’re a killer-“ Myth woke with a cry, her hand going to her throat. She woke alone, and in pain. The door to the bedroom was closed, so she figured Ioreth and Viscerex were in the living room. She she moved, she gritted her teeth as her wounds oozed. She removed her shirt slowly, and used the ruined fabric to press against her nearest wound. Her hair hung in front of her face, her eyes closed as she pressed the fabric against the bleeding. She didn’t want to bother Ioreth, or Viscerex. She’s bothered them enough for a lifetime.
  2. Witches Brew

    Ancient Rites and Reunions

    Mythandriel was still recovering from her near death encounter, but she was almost nearly healed at this point. It still hurt to move certain ways, but she was making the best of it. Ioreth has “grounded” her, which was a punishment of sorts. She wasn’t really allowed to leave the cabin’s grounds unless accompanied by her cousin or Viscerex. And despite the guilt the two felt towards the incident, the two had become quick friends. At this moment in time, Mythandriel was making herself some hot bean juice, and she was boiling more water for her cousin’s dirty leaf water. Myth was not a fan of the dirty leaf water, or “tea” as Ioreth called it. It wasn’t strong enough, and it didn’t give the Elven girl the buzz she needed in these mundane mornings. When the beverages were ready, she sat in the dining room, sipping at the dark liquid with her eyes closed, and a soft smile on her lips. She loved the bean juice, she simply loved it. She spoke briefly with her cousin, managing to flick a cube of sugar at the woman’s nose as she wrote in her ledger. She giggled loudly, a hand covering her mouth to hide her grin. She excused herself from the table after that, and grabbed a basket of apples from the couch, and headed outside to feed Dorian. The elk bleeted impatiently, huffing as she laid eyes on the apples in her Mistresses’ arms. Mythandriel could feel her cousin’s nervous eyes on her back through the window, making sure she didn’t slip away. Guilt pained Mythandriel’s core, she felt awful for making the woman worry. But, she had promised not to do so again, she hated to make her worry. As Dorian chowed down on the apples, Mythandriel’s hands roamed the white elk’s fur. She scratched her just behind the ears, and under her chin. Dorian’s back leg rose a bit, and waved slightly in the air, her head tilting backwards. The elk bleeted again, but this time, her tail swished back and forth happily, she was enjoying herself. Mythandriel laughed, and wrapped her arms around the Elk’s neck, and buried her face in her soft fur. She’d have to thank Ioreth again for looking after Dorian while she was gone. The snows had stopped after a while, and now the sun shone brightly ontop of them. A harsh wind blew, blowing back Mythandriel’s stark silver hair, and the dark cloak her cousin gifted her. She saw a figure in the distance, it was tall, and it’s gait was graceful. It was a man, but what kind of man was he? Mythandriel loosened her grip on Dorian’s neck, and stepped back towards the door, rushing inside. “Iory, someone’s coming, and he isn’t from this land.”
  3. Witches Brew

    New Friends and New Adventures

    Mythandriel was hoisted up, and she was placed on the Barbarian’s back, her arms draped around his neck, her head resting on his shoulder. Her pack was in the corner of the tent, and she made sure to remind Viscerex to grab it before they departed. She didn’t feel well, as Viscerex assumed. Her back stung, and every time she tried to adjust herself, her fresh wounds screamed at her, blood seeping from the scabs that would break, and then reform. Her breathing was slow, and as they stepped outside of the tent, she felt the full force of the blizzard occurring as the wind started to whip through the trees, snow hitting the two travelers mercilessly. It hurt, but she didn’t complain. Viscerex had too many things to worry about, she’d rather not bother him with the pain she felt. Just hours ago they thought they were going to die here in these woods, their bodies strung up in the trees, their flesh and bones would have been used to make this ground anew, to flourish with new life. But not the forest would have to live with it’s new vicitims, those who sought them pain instead. Her eyes lingered over the mutilated corpses of their attacker’s, the most gruesome to her being Carter’s mother. Her decaptitated head still staring at her, her blue eyes seething with hatred, and fear, and they had now clouded over with rot. She was not a fan of her eyes. She’d see them in her dreams from now on. Despite the tougher weather, Viscerex pushed on. His body generated so much heat, she found herself clinging tightly to him, wanting to soak up as much warmth as possible, but with that much snow whipping against her back, she still found it impossible not to shiver, her teeth chattering slightly. She slept once, it was an accident. She didn’t mean to, but at one point the pain she felt was just overwhelming, and it was the only way she could escape it. When she woke, Viscerex was still walking, and it was nighttime now, the moon taunting them as it sat idly in the sky, it’s nightime companions blazing brightly, leading them home. The rest of the journey was a blur to her, she didn’t know how close or how far away they were, she was delirious from pain, and her back and wounds felt hot. She was getting tired once again. They stopped in front of Ioreth’s door, the smell of the stew lingering in her nostrils. She could hear Dorian bleet for her from the side of the house by her cart. The beast was worried, her hooved feet clawing at the ground as she felt her Master’s fear. Mythandriel opened her eyes just in time to see Dorian, a soft smile on her face, just before they dipped inside her cousin’s cabin. It was so warm inside. She was gently placed on her stomach on Ioreth’s bed, her body surrounded by plush furs and warm quilts. Her body shuddered at all the sudden warmth, and she could feel her cousin’s lingering touch. She eyelids felt heavy as she heard Ioreth’s voice, and she grabbed her Cousin’s hand before she departed, and looked into her soft violet eyes. “Forgive me.” was all she could manage to whisper before falling asleep, her hand slipping out of Ioreth’s, her body going limp and she finally relaxed, her face pressed sideways into the furs.
  4. Witches Brew

    New Friends and New Adventures

    It was strange, seeing the Barbarian this way. He had been so serious and stoic the entire journey here, and now he seemed like he was a puddle of emotions. She didn't know how to deal with this side of him, but it was nice to see he had other emotions other than the previous one's she's witnessed. She closed her eyes as he brushed her hair away from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek just for a moment. She loved stuff like this, these tender touches. She didn't get a whole lot of those either. "Yeah, it seems like I'm going to be okay." She said, her mouth and throat dry, her voice cracking. She was thirsty, but it seemed her need for water could wait. He squeezed her hand, and turned away from her, so that she couldn't see his eyes. Was he upset? She gasped as she moved, her hair falling back over her shoulders, and she slowly sat up, careful not to move around too much, but she got herself upright. She took a shred from her shirt, and wiped some of the brain mush from his helmet. "What's wrong? Are you hurt? Are you upset?" She asked, and she winched as she lowered her arm back down. Who the hell stabs someone in the armpit anyways? Fucking prick.
  5. Witches Brew

    New Friends and New Adventures

    She took three more stabs into the back before Viscerex was able to get to her, and everything happened so quickly. She was screaming into the man's hands, her eyes wide and starting as she watched the mother's head pop off like a cork, and it bounced twice on the ground before settling. The woman's eyes blinked once at Mythandriel before staying still, and that led to more horrified screams from the young elf. Viscerex charged at Carter, wiping him out in one fell swoop, and then she was alone. Blood dripped down her back, soaking her clothes. Her shirt was ruined completely, it was tattered, and barely on her body. Shreds of fabric clung to her, the only thing keeping the shirt together were the sleeves, which remained untouched. Her body seized with pain, her torn flesh throbbing. Each cut cried their own scarlet tears, staining her pale skin. It was harder to breath now, she stretched her toes so that maybe she could grip something, to keep her from swinging gently back and forth. Her wrists squirmed in their bindings, but she was losing focus. It was harder to keep her head up, each breath was slow to come, and too quick to go. She wasn't ready to die, but her eyes were so tired. Her head hung low as she heard screams in the distance, her long silvery hair now saturated with her blood, clumping together as they formed scabby knots on the back of her head. Each time she blinked, she felt like she could feel each muscle working together slowly to force her eyes open and shut, and she could feel each of her eyelashes as they hit her cheek. Where did Viscerex go? Was he coming back? Her head rolled back as she felt her body give way, and there was a comforting warmth that spread over her body as she moved. She felt like she was flying. The pain was less now, and all she could feel was the warmth of whatever was around her. Her eyes slowly opened to spy Viscerex's gore covered helmet. His eyes were focused, and somewhat panicked. What troubled him? She wanted to ask, but she couldn't find the words to express what she wanted to say. Her lips parted only slightly, but no words came to her aid. Her flight ended as she lay on her stomach, her wounds breathing in the open air. Silently she lay still, as Viscerex so carefully cleaned and dressed each wound. And ever so gently he sat beside her, taking her much smaller hand in his, his callused thumb grazing over her knuckles. She stared at him, a soft smile on her face. She felt no pain now, only the love and warmth from their budding friendship. She gripped his finger as hard as she could, her entire hand barely managing to wrap around it, and her eyes closed slowly, and she drifted off to sleep. She slept for what seemed like forever, but it was merely hours. The pain had returned, and Mythandriel was growing restless. She was a nocturnal being after all, and hearing the crickets chirp and the wind blowing harshly as more snow cascaded down upon the camp woke her. Her eyes snapped open, and she went rigid. She squeezed Viscerex's finger as hard as she could, her mouth opening to sharply take in some cold air. The bleeding had stopped, but the wounds were still fresh, and had just started to clot. She wanted to move, but it hurt too much too. She looked at Viscerex, still covered in gore. He was starting to smell, but she didn't mind. "I'm sorry."
  6. Witches Brew

    New Friends and New Adventures

    Myth watched with wide eyes as the red haired boy kicked Viscerex without mercy, and she opened her mouth to shout, but she was quickly intercepted by a boy of her own. He couldn't be past twenty, he was so young, yet his eyes were full of hatred for her. She didn't understand how someone so young could hate her kind so much. She felt herself fall, ever so slightly, yet the rope caught, keeping her suspended over the ground. She was now eye-level to this boy, and she could see his hatred so clearly now in his brown eyes, she almost felt sorry for him. He spoke to her, called her a monster, and then struck her with so much force, her chin hit her shoulder. Her lip that had scabbed over, was now broken open and bleeding again. She hissed, and gritted her teeth as her face stung in pain. Just out of the corner of her eyes, she could see Viscerex, once still, now straining against his bondage. She turned to face him, to get a clearer look, but suddenly her breath was being beaten out of her as the boy's fist connected with her soft stomach. She doubled over, gasping for air as she tried to regain focus. Tears dripped from her silver eyes as his hand grasped her breast, his nails digging in through her ruined shirt. He mocked Viscerex, his voice playful yet cruel. She struggled to free herself form his grasp, but his nails dug in more and more into her soft flesh, and she kicked out at him. That's when it happened. With a roar Viscerex erupted into green flame, and the boy released her breast, and Myth looked up to see what had startled them so. The red head that had kicked the Barbarian now lay in a crumpled heap of blood and carnage, his face collapsed into his broken skull. It was absolutely disgusting. She had never seen anything like that in her life. The boy who had hit and groped her was now crawling away like a coward, and Mythandriel took this opportunity to catch his neck with her legs, bringing him back to his feet. Her legs tightened around his neck, and she squeezed as hard as she could, wiggling her hips to try and make sure her calves and thighs were working together to squeeze the life out him as quickly as possible. The screams from the red head had alerted the others, who were gathering their weapons to come and attempt to stop Viscerex and his flaming rampage. Carter, the leader, was standing in the back of the camp, in awe of what he saw. Just five minutes ago he had things under control, now the largest man he's ever seen was aflame, with a strange green fire he had never seen before, and that elf slut was choking out one of his brethren with her thighs. Elves truly were monstrous creatures. He would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid, and it was horrifying, what he was seeing, but he had to be strong, he had to beat down these monsters, and his biggest threat at the moment was Viscerex, who had taken down yet another one of his men. The elf finished off his comrade, but she was still bound, dangling from the tree. If he could kill her, he could then focus on the massive hulk of flaming man-flesh. There were only two of them left, and while he left his mother to fight, he snuck around the tents towards Mythandriel's tree, his knife drawn. He could do this, his father had killed countless elves, and as did his grandfather before him. This was his destiny, this was the only thing he knew. As he crept up behind the tree, he gripped his knife tighter in his palm, and he lunged, the blade sinking into Mythandriel's soft flesh, carving into her back, just beside her spine. The elf let out a scream so loud, he felt his chest hair's curl under his tunic. Her blood stained her clothes, and his heart raced. She wouldn't die from this wound, but perhaps more would do the trick. He clamped a hand over her mouth, and stabbed again, higher this time, just below her shoulder.
  7. Witches Brew

    New Friends and New Adventures

    How could she had been so foolish to believe that she could be strong? That she could kill five armed fiends on her own? She was a fool, and she had let everyone down. As Viscerex spoke of Ioreth, she too felt her heart pained with sudden sadness. She had just found her cousin again, and to lose her because of a foolish thought, it all seemed so stupid. She wanted to go home, she should have listened when Viscerex said he could do it on his own, he probably could. She just dragged him down, and it was obvious now. She was hanging from a tree, waiting for her death. "I love her, and I will never see her again." Mythandriel's head popped up, and she heard the man's voice cracking from grief. She could hear his sniffles echo in his metal bucket face. Her heart broke. "Hey, hey hey hey, no! You're going to see Ioreth again, we're not going to die here today, we're gonna make it out of this." Myth said, and she looked above her, seeing her wrists nearly fused together by the rough rope they had used on them both. She turned her attention back to Viscerex. Maybe he could break out? Maybe he could free himself, and they could escape? Myth didn't know Viscerex felt this strongly about her cousin, she wanted to help him. If they could make it out of here, Mythandriel would do everything in her power to get Ioreth and Viscerex together. She made a promise to her Gods, she swore down to her core it would happen. As Mythandriel tried to comfort the massive Barbarian, two men approached their new prisoners, giddy at the order they were just given. "Bleed, make them bleed, but don't kill them, not yet." Serious orders, but perhaps the best orders they've had all week. The taller one, the red head, looked to his comrade and elbowed him gently to get his attention. "I got the big one, yeah? You get the girl?" He smiled. There were no limits to what they could do, they just needed to be alive at the end of it all. Once roles were established, the red head stood in front of the bound barbarian, and he spun a knife around in his hands, the blade poking into his finger. What could he do, that wouldn't kill this man, but could seriously wound him? He wanted to hear this big touch guy cry out in pain, especially after making him vomit up that roast boar from earlier. That boar was delicious, and now it had been wasted. Stupid fucking barbarian. The man had a number of things he wanted to do to this Barbarian, but first, there's nothing like a little physical violence. After all, he started it. He didn't speak as he looked the man up and down, and he grinned. He brought his leg back, and swung it around swiftly, landing his foot in between his ribs. He brought his leg down, and again he swung, launching his foot into the man's ribcage. The sound of his foot making contact with the man's bones made him excited, more excited then he's ever been. He began to laugh, landing more harsh kicks into each side of Viscerex's chest. This was so much fun! But soon, he grew tired of his kicking game, and decided that he needed something different, in terms of making this man scream. He'd need a moment to prepare, but it should be entertaining, for a moment at least.
  8. Witches Brew

    New Friends and New Adventures

    "Viscerex, don't-" Mythandriel started to say, but then the blade was pressing harder into her throat, threatening to cut. The man holding her smiled, and his grip on her tightened. Her heart beat loudly in her chest, and she felt like a damned fool for letting herself get beaten this early, and this easily. Viscerex was counting on her to do a good job, to slaughter at least one man. She had seen him take on four people, all at once! How could it be that she was so bad at this? "That's it Big Guy, drop the knife, and she doesn't get hurt." He said, and his eyes lit up as the Barbarian before him did as he said. His mother ran off to go grab rope to restrain the two, and he couldn't believe it. They actually managed to catch them. He had spotted them lurking earlier in the morning, but he didn't think they'd actually attack. He couldn't believe their luck. He was also lucky that the Barbarian cared enough about the Elven whore to actually drop his weapons. They couldn't defeat the man on their own, with their best fighter out on a mission in Coth. The Barbarian threatened him, and he laughed. "Oh! I won't hurt the Elf, not yet." He said with a devious grin, his pale teeth bright against his dark skin. When his mother returned, the Barbarian was bound first, after being led to a thick tree, his arms tied behind the trunk, and he was allowed to sit. The elf however, was strung up from a branch, her arms above her head, her feet dangling above the ground. They wouldn't attempt to do that with the Barbarian, he looked too heavy for one, and it just seemed scary to have a giant man dangle from a tree, what sense would that make after all? Mythandriel tried to fight as she was dragged over to the tree, having watched Viscerex surrender. She felt awful, and her legs lashed out as they hoisted her up, taking away her pack. Once they were securely immobilized, Myth let her head hang there, and she held back tears. She was not going to cry, not now. The woman was tending to the wounds Viscerex had inflicted, and they were left alone. "I'm sorry." Was all Myth said to him at first, but then she continued. "You put your trust in me, and I let you down."
  9. Witches Brew

    New Friends and New Adventures

    When Viscerex patted her on the back, and complimented her, her eyes lit up, and a smile grew on her face. She felt giddy, like how a child might feel when their father or a mentor would say they were proud of something they had done. She wanted more of it, she wanted to make Viscerex proud. She would listen to every instruction with enthusiasm, and execute each command with immediate obedience. For over two hours they watched the group, they seemed like some strange dysfunctional family of sorts. The woman was older, she didn’t seem like she was anyone’s mate, and she was more affectionate towards two of the more taller men. Her sons maybe? One of the sons was a tall, dark skinned man, with tight curly black hair. Was that Carter? Her eyes narrowed as she watched, her hatred for the unknown man was clear, and the others had to die also, just from being associated with him. She didn’t care who they were. It was when they settled around a fire, and the woman started cooking was when Viscerex had more friendly advice to share with her. She drank it all in, each word he whispered hung heavy in her ears, and she nodded, ready to finally strike. They crept slowly, carefully, keeping low to the ground while making sure they were careful about where they placed their feet. Myth couldn’t feel her toes at this point, but the adrenaline she felt numbed her entire body. She was ready. Slowly she withdrew her knife, keeping it in front of her at all times, ready to strike at any moment. They stopped behind a tent, and Viscerex said it was time to throw. It doesn’t have to hit, it’s just there to surprise them. They have to strike immediately after, no second chances after this. She had to be ready. She withdrew a second knife, it was smaller, easier to throw. When he asked if she was ready, she nodded, and took a deep breath. As he readied his axe, she stepped out from behind the tent slowly, and in one lightning fast whip of her arm, the knife let loose from her fingers, and ripped through the air, slashing a man in the arm. She gripped her dagger tightly in her hand, and ran forward, ready to start her assault. However, a yell rang out through the air, and everyone was on their feet, ready for the two invaders. This was not going to be as easy as she thought. They were already armed, and charging at them both. Mythandriel gasped, and ducked as a sword slashed towards her head, the man who’s arm she cut was grinning at her, his dark eyes full of pain and excitement. Swords were drawn, arrows were unleashed, and smiles were all around them. They had been ready for them. Myth slashed out, wanting to just cut anything she could possibly manage too, but the man was faster than she was, and grabbed hold of her wrist, bending it in the opposite direction, sending a sharp pain up her arm. “You didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you?” He sneered down at her, and Mythandriel drew back her lips and hissed, baring her teeth at him, like a feral cat. She then ducked low, and swept her leg around, trying to knock him out from under himself. He however, saw that move coming, and used his elbow to knock the wind out of her, jamming it into her stomach. She crumpled to her knees, her dagger dropping from her hands. Viscerex was still fighting, she could hear his grunts, and the cries of his victims as they attempted to fight the giant man. The man who held her wrapped his hand around her throat, pulling her up to her feet, and turned her around, so that her back was pressed up against his stomach and chest. He picked up her dagger, and held it tightly to her throat, so that if he wanted, with one swift move, her blood would spill over the broken earth below them. “Hey! Giant man, drop your weapons!” The man demanded, and he tightened his grip on the elf. Myth’s heartbeat quickened. She didn’t want him to stop fighting, he had to kill them all! He had too! “Drop your weapons, or your elf bitch dies here!”
  10. Witches Brew

    What emotion does your character most evoke in others?

    Merida, according to friends, is just innocent and cute. She has been dubbed “Blind Flavored Cinnamon Roll” by @KittyvonCupcake and @LikelyMissFortune. Although, these past few threads she’s been in have mostly made people feel upset and deeply sad for Mer. Poor bby. For Mythandriel, she’s been said to have a child-like attitude, and she’s pretty cute and funny. Calling Viscerex “Buckethead”, and calling coffee “Hot bean juice”. Though @Vansin told me she might be a sociopath because of her lack of respect for the rules of life and death, but that’s mostly just because she’s a wild elf just learning how to live in a civilized manner.
  11. Witches Brew

    New Friends and New Adventures

    Myth half expected him to sling her over his shoulder and take her home, like her father would when she’d venture out too far, but he didn’t. He just took the note, and started walking onwards. East. Like the cordinates said. Hours passed before he even asked her the first question. Had she ever fought? “No, I haven’t. I’ve never really had to fight, until today. I’m very good at hiding though.” She said, and her toes got caught up under a stick, making her nearly trip over her own feet. Another hour passed, a second question. Have you ever hunted? “Of course! Smaller game though, I couldn’t bring myself to kill deer with Dorian around.” She said, and again she nearly tripped. This time however, she got fed up, and she untied the laces and yanked her boots off her feet, and shoved them in her pack. The snow was cold, but her feet felt free, and she’d be fine as long as they kept moving. Elves weren’t meant to wear shoes after all. Lastly, the final question was asked as the sun reached its highest peak in the sky, and she shook her head. “Yes,” She said, and her eyes lowered to the ground, her hands tightening into fists. “I was smaller then, and she lured me in. I was just protecting myself.” She didn’t want to talk more about it, she hasn’t killed anyone after that, not until today. She shuddered to think about it. But somehow, her answers pleased the Bucketheaded man, and he spoke to her again, gracing her with his muffled buckety voice. He wanted to teach her to fight, to kill, like she had hunted. She wasn’t sure how to do that, most of her hunting skill was setting and laying traps, making sure the dumb rabbit didn’t escape, and once she had it, making sure she slit the right vein so the rabbit didn’t kick and bleed all over her face. But she knew what he meant. He killed big game all the time. He left them all over Ioreth’s door, so that meant something, right? “I understand.” She said, and she flipped her hair out of her eyes. They were getting closer now, there was smoke rising from the tree tops. A fire. “There, see it?” Myth said as she pointed. With her vision, she could see about five others, and there were tents and horses. “Four men, one woman. Six horses. One of those must be for Bastard when he ‘returns’.” Myth sneered.
  12. Witches Brew

    Fangs and Inkwells

    Duncan Greeves Basics Name: Duncan Harrison Greeves Age:28 Species: Werewolf Occupation: Mediocre Author/Storyteller Hair: Long, shaggy, often pulled back into a messy ponytail Hair Colour: Blackish brown Eye colour: Grayish brown Height: 6'2" Weight: 185 lbs Build: Tall and strong, slightly toned. Fun Stuff Special Interests: -Cats -Moonlit forests - Whiskey Glasses - Oversized jackets More Jackassery Personality: Duncan is a very smart individual, but likes to take shortcuts in every aspect of his life. He enjoys writing, but often finds his stories coming up short because he doesn't take the time to write them out, taking more shortcuts to make it to the climax. He's got a short temper, often finding himself in bar fights that he often loses. Clothing Choices: He often finds himself in dark colours, cause it takes too much effort to actually put an outfit together. He likes to wear jackets that are too large for his build, and he wears glasses, just prefers not to wear them.
  13. Witches Brew

    New Friends and New Adventures

    “Well, I don’t know exactly, but I do have cordinates, and it shouldn’t be that hard to find.” Mythandriel said, digging out the note from her pack, and showing it to Viscerex, assuming he could actually read. She had no idea if the Barbarian was literate. “I don’t know how many there are, but as of killing them, that’ll be easy. Just stab them with the pointy end on this,” She pulled out a long dagger from her pack, and showed that to him also, “And it should be easy. Like cutting rabbits!” She was proud of her plan, but truth be told, she’s never gone after this many men by herself before. She knew how to kill, but she never sought to kill anyone, she’s only ever killed in self-defense. She assumed this would be easy. Sneak in at knife, jab the pointy thing in their throats, and then burn the whole thing to the ground. It sounded easy at least. Mythandriel nearly flinched when Viscerex touched her shoulder, it felt strange. No one has really touched her before like this, not as gentle as Viscerex was. She smiled at him, thinking he was going to offer his alliance, that he was going to let her ride on his back, with their blades on fire as they slit every man’s throat and retook what they stole from her family. Instead, he offered to do it himself, and send her back home. Her smile fell, and she stepped back, his hand falling off her shoulder. “I appreciate what you’re saying, but these people have hurt me. They could hurt more. They need to die, by my hand.” She said, her eyes narrowing. “You can come or go, but I’m not stopping till either one of us is dead.” Us meaning those Elf Hating Bastards.
  14. Witches Brew

    New Friends and New Adventures

    Myth watched him, her body tensing up as he removed an axe from his belt. Was he going to kill her? Was he going to start juggling? Or was he going to make sweet, sweet love to the axe in front of her till she died, disgusted by his acts of metallic love making. He did none of those things, instead, he threw the axe with extreme precision and accuracy, she didn’t even flinch. The branch creek and cracked under her weight, and it finally gave way, and she found herself falling. Instead of landing into the powdery white mess below her, she landed softly in mounds of tanned fleshy arm muscle. He was surprisingly soft, and was not made of rock like she had suspected. He let her down gently, her boots crunching the snow and fallen leaves that were under her. She scooped up her pack and securely placed it over her shoulder. She looked at him, wiped her tears, and dipped her head in silent thanks. When he asked her what she was planning to do, Myth scoffed, and crossed her arms over her chest, her hip popping out to the side ever so slightly. “Well, I’m going to kill them, obviously.” She said, and she flipped her long silver hair over her shoulder, her bangs still falling over one of her eyes. “They’re too dangerous to be left alive, especially since Bastard probably told his Bastard Buddies where Coth is. No Elf from Coth to where ever this place is, is safe.” She said. It wasn’t the protection of Elven kind that made her want to do this, it was the protection of one elf in particular, and the protection of memories of Elves left behind.
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