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About -Lilium-

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    The Body Merchant
  • Birthday 09/22/1986

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  • Occupation
    Fighting Disillusionment

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  1. [Nymeria] Bone collector.

    There are times when Paulianna finds herself to be cruel, or unjust to the woman before her. Having felt so undeserving of her mother's kindness for so long. She forgoes watching Eilwen's arms gliding back down to their sides because of it. It is a jilted pang of regret that follows, but if not for the continuance of conversation she may have graciously bowed out by stepping further away. How can she be so? Not even she is certain. There is a longing in her heart waiting to be filled, though she has yet to allow such a thing. Fear of more loss, perhaps? A niggling thought that always trails her mind. Those two masks bringing forth such a powerful need of remembrance. Their faces, so distant now, beg to be defined. Yet she cannot seem to so much as imagine them. However, when she turns again to look at Eilwen, the woman holds a visage that Paulianna knows she will never forget. Though she does hope there are points of reference that never resurface. Images too private to have been shared, that were witnessed and blinding. It makes her blush and laugh suddenly.Taking the cake she follows Eilwen, to stand by her chair. Taking a few bites before answering the question. "It has not been easy. At first I thought you might have been punishing me, even when I knew you were providing your best guidance toward my outcome. We have learned to be stealthy and quick. To live in and breathe the shadows we must scour. Listening, watching, fighting when we had to." It runs a chill down her spine. These thoughts of being able to manipulate the world and it's information to her-their benefit. "I truly enjoy it." And that is the truth. From here an elopement occurs, a flounder of legs and arms as they reach out for the woman's shoulders when she leans downward, to give a gift she barely ever offers. A hug. "How have things been while I was away? Is Uncle still fawning over your every...uhh...word?" She clears her throat and lets the woman go in order to better observe the cake nearly floating off of her plate from the movements she was making. "This is delicious!"
  2. the grave of mononoke

    Even vivid observance cannot teach certain creatures everything they need to know. Although the faint cloudiness of her expression shares with him the distance her mind had traveled, Kaede’s words usher her to look back toward his face. Back to her reality. And it is here she finds that more than just his lips bear questions. Every facet of his eyes from the way the edges crease, lashes flutter as he blinks, as well as the tone of hue deep within their iridescent pools. Are the unraveling of things she may never understand or have a voice in which to dispel them. Caught in a moment of reaction, she had forgotten to release his wrist and does so now with care. Vaguely aware of the intention of his asking, she merely pulls at the sleeve of her robe. The saucer still held out with the replaced and empty cup. Much like a painting, the end of the white adorning her skin comes at the space beneath her elbow. And farther along her arm still, she pulls the fabric away, to show him the silvery marking on her metallic-obsidian bicep. K.A.R.E.T.A.O. Though translucent, it sparkles where light shines upon it. Simple, and to the point. Soon thereafter she allows the article to slide back down, covering the lines that break the contrast between paint and flesh. Which is which, better left unsaid. Even laden, her hands fold together and she bows as taught, in respect. There had yet to be a time where she changed her routine, defining the pure aspect of her behavior. Intent, unjust or otherwise, never portrayed in movement, expression, or sound outside of the diligent care she attains to provide him. Actions she never seems to divine on her own, without help of some kind. Here in this moment she stands, and holds her bare hand out. Offering Kaede a source of stability to pull himself fully to his feet. He would have to walk to regain some strength and energy. And Karetao will assist him in this. As she always does when necessary. Today, however, there is a curl to those fingers; a bend and wave to coerce him to ‘come along’. While her head tilts just-so to gaze down upon him in graceful opaqueness.
  3. the grave of mononoke

    A flurry of fabric snaps against the silence of the temple. Long waves of magnificent color trailing the air and eventually falling to the ground at Kaede’s side. Slender fingers curve with feather-light texture as they encompass the forceful wrist at his chest. If only to deter any further encroachment of his nails and fingers from cutting into his own flesh. While her other hand very carefully balances a small ornate saucer on the tips of milk-white fingers. An offer presented toward his feverishly bowed head. Words are never spoken from her lips, as they hardly ever move in any sort of gesture that would provoke an emotion. The mannequin face, simply empty and unwrinkled by the annals of time from lack of motion. To which it bears a facade that is eloquently frozen in observance. Patiently, she maintains this posture. Awaiting his movement in order to determine her next action. It is here that she has found herself many a time. Knelt at his side in aid of those sickened moments. Always quietly assisting to bear his weight and do the care so diligently instructed her by Rin. It did not begin in this way, however. Kaede had simply saved her from a fate she neither fought nor argued against. He had implicitly urged his people to let her go, to not allow a doll to be a doll. For this marionette, there is no gratitude nor fault of indiscretion. But merely a set of duties to which she adheres without a sound. Dressed the part, playing the part, being nothing more than a shadow to a great man to whom she never speaks. That is the Karetao he knows. Though something centered too deep within to grasp, begs a question… Who am I? It is an irregular occurrence; potentially the blossom of something that may grow or wither away and die.
  4. Does anyone have a reporter type character?

    @supernal I plan on getting to it this evening, also have to get back with @danzilla3 about collaborating.
  5. The Spinster.

    Time is fluid and concise. It neither slows or quickens and is never a true parallel to the beat of a heart. Keanu’s beats wildly. Caught in a breath of remembrance only distorted by the small changes and the lack thereof. A sudden gust of air at her back sets wisps of white hair dancing about her head. Were she to turn at this point, the small vessel would be gone. /David what do you thi-./ The unfinished sentence is abruptly halted by the emptiness filling the space to her right. Lowered and tilted, with an irritated sigh, her realization pushes her forward. It is me, and only me right now. There is no quelling the feeling of openness in her chest. It’s wide abyss as cold and forlorn as the black pits of her eyes. Flashes of garnet follow the lanes people use as passage, the flickering halogens overhead giving a faint discoloration to those strangers faces. Beneath the fraying straps of her pack her shoulders roll forward and back. Almost repeatedly for about a minute. Keanu cannot deny the anticipation she feels at being on somewhat familiar territory. To once again test the limitations of her form. It would have to be in more ways than one, exercise came easily in the woods where outside life barely crosses your path, but this… It’s unpredictable and wild. Untamed spontaneity at every turn. Before too long she stops, taking in the view of what lies downward outside of the port. Thick glass panels separate her from the rest of the city, but not for too much longer. It is here that she moves away from the bustle. Possibly a lost tourist trying to find a landmark. Still in her left hand is the small black box the woman from the airship had given her. With little need for hurry, she opens it now. At first glance the object appears simple. A small chunk of amber dangling from a black cord. In reality, once brought closer to the eyes, she noticed the occlusions in it. Small silvery chips and strands of copper, embedded deeply into the crystalline surface. The black cord a thin rubber like material housing some sort of wiring. This she can feels by rolling it between the pads of her fingers. Unworried by the pilot's words, she pulls it over her head and tucks the small gem into her shirt. The box, well… she tosses it into a domed waste bin. The sounds she’d ignored for sometime begin to grow. The crowds of people thickening with the arrival of new ships and deliveries. People always coming, and always going. A quickly glance over her shoulder reveals nothing of interest, so she pulls her pocket sized HUD from her coat and proceeds with tapping against the screen. ‘Arrived in AK Prime. Got your gift. Update me on package.’ Short, simple, very well to the point. It would have to suffice. Keeping hold of the device she slips her fingers into her coat to search the cotton for a moment in order to find a thin flat card. Keanu doesn’t remove this out pull it out, but the assurance that it is there comforts her to a small degree. It would eventually provide sustenance, possibly room and board, and always the good old bribe. With all that in mind she starts to walk again. Looking for a telecom service in order to update her maps and relays. Should the necessity for an upgraded map and language translator arise further on down the line.
  6. Lights, Camera, Crime!

    Once upon a time in some godforsaken land way across the pond… Nah, nah, nah. That’s not how it goes. Fairy tales don’t exist here, they’re merely manifestations of dreams we all wish we had. Intricate webs of lies and deceit that transform simple things into networks of complicated structure. All things this kid knew nothing about before landing in this dusty dung heap, a city he had never seen before in his life. The last he remembered he’d been following his older brother around in Terrenus, making sure the fool didn’t catch another case of the itches from some random broad he managed to pick up off the street. They guy always drank too much, got into too many fights, and had a tendency to leave dirty panties all over his little brother’s bed. Trophies of his less than honorable rendezvous between the sheets. Truth be told, as much as he hated all of that, he would choose to be using the hook of a wire to pick up all the lace and cloth, his sheets, and his pillow, to throw them out their top story window into the already nasty alley way out back…. Rather than be stuck attempting to survive without being shot, stabbed, or rung up by his neck...in a place no one would ever miss him. Sometimes, he wonders if his brother will show up just to say, ‘Just kidding, you little shit. Let’s go home.’ Though it has yet to happen. On any given day, he has little time to remember the good days of being back home. And instead finds himself stealing and running in order to make sure that lumpy chunk of molding bread, or bottle of liquor-or water-or whatever that green tinted liquid is gets secured in his empty belly. Right now, while perched on the metal railing of a worn out, crumbling set of stairs, he take the time to evaluate himself while staring down into the darkness of the abandoned railway station. I stink, haven’t showered in a while… a very long while. My hair’s a disgusting mess, and way too long. I think I’ve lost weight… I wonder if he’d even recognize me... Raggedy, chipped, filthy nails drag against his scalp as she runs his fingers through the length of his greasy off colored blonde hair. Resting just so for the moment. Sounds of broken tile chips bouncing across the ground echo out of the shadowy depths underground station. Rousing him from his momentary inward reflection. Carefully, he slides from the railing. Using the wall behind him as support in order to lower himself very slowly and very quietly. Apparently it was a bad decision because the rusted bolts holding it into the wall sheared with a loud metallic snap, from their anchors. "Oh shit-shit...ow!" His foot, which was inches from the ground at the time slams immediately into it, and without being able to immediately catch his balance...down he goes. It’s during this time that he wonders if this is what having a girlfriend is like; painful. The rounded edges of stairs slamming into his face and other portions of his body as he flops and tumbles into the darkness below. Albeit agonizingly, he scurries up from his winded landing as quickly as he can. A minute at most. The tightness in his lungs leaving him gasping for breath while he clambers back up onto his feet.
  7. For the Greater Good (Justice)

    The woman in glasses was correct in ascertaining the need for Lyr’s food consumption and the girl smiles and nods to this regard. For the moment the young lass is feeling less apprehensive of her situation and more confident in her ability to answer random questions spun on her by a complete stranger. But the proceedings were better than quaking aftermath she would soon be forced to face. Delusions of romantic chivalry… What on earth could that woman mean? They couldn’t really truly be delusions…. But hadn’t she felt that when she’d arrived in Last Chance. The bottom of a dirty bucket with nothing shiny and gallant to follow. Such a morose feeling began to wash over that she didn’t notice the body moving from the corner of the room to stand behind the woman she had been answering all this time. And when her eyes finally realized his presence, she lit in shock. By the gods we praise… His hair is about as on fire at the top of his head as his incandescently glowering eyes are. The entirety of his stature situated beneath such a ferociously leveled gaze in her direction, made her knees go weak. Any ideas of food shot right out the window. Nervousness takes a front seat as she gulps down the excessive amount of saliva pooling behind the bite of meat she had been chewing… Nearly choking herself in the process. It is a sputtering of successive coughs, with an attempt to remain as polite as possible by covering her face with the back of her empty hand. “Imagine yourself standing in a courtyard. 300 hundred feet from you stands the tyrant. Between you and him are 5 guards. It isn’t a question of can you defeat them, because you have to. However, these guards have families with children. These guards are there protecting their king not because they want to, but because they have to. The king pays them so that their children don’t starve or freeze. If they were to defy the king, others would kill their families. If you don’t kill the king, an entire population will continue to suffer and be held hostage, but in doing so you must slay people who are defending themselves, their king, and their families. What would you do?” From the very beginning of his words, she felt herself drift mentally and emotionally into that position. Could she, would she, if she dared? The importance of her duty, killing this king, would service those guards families, and possibly free them and so many others from his tyranny. Would she cut them down, yes… Could she live with herself after doing so, yes… Cornflower hues glaze over. So very lost in the transition of thought she has no control of her bodily motions. The drumstick becoming her sword as she faces off with the flame headed man and the woman sitting beneath his hands. And with a few steps and a flurry of swishing the chicken leg around she snaps back. The low grumble in her bowel and indication that she is ready for another bite. A bite she forgoes in the face of remembering who was speaking to her. “I would kill them. Because in all possible scenarios, they are fighting for everything they need and want to protect in order to survive, even if at the hands of a tyrant. But by killing them, and their king, the many could be better served than the few. Sometimes we have to decide whether or not what we are doing...is for the greater good. As much as I wish to help the few, I would have to aim for helping many at any cost. In order to stop a snake's body from wringing the life out of someone, you have to cut off it’s head” And with the sudden realization that she had stopped to speak in a striking flair of parry, she quickly adjusts herself and takes the bite she left behind in order to speak. Slowly though. Savoring what she believes to be the last bite of food she’ll have for days. The man's terrifyingly piercing gaze, bites at her like the flames of the spit the hen she's eating was probably roasted on.
  8. [Quest] Adolphus Chronicles: Prelude

    Capria waited silently for the others to flow into the room. They came mostly in ones, but also a set of to. Though she never truly took the time to turn and view, or greet them, she gazed at those she was able from her peripheries. One things had settled and all apparently counted for, the man behind the desk began the song and dance of explanation. She listens to all of it. She nods when necessary. She does not move from the spot she'd made her own upon her arrival in it even when their host decides to walk the room. Whether or not she truly agrees with the current goings on of this foreign land, is moot. The point being that it was suggested her that she make herself useful in this ares of the world. And with that she chooses, again, to stay where she is as his first speech sinks into their ears. Not budging for the door to leave, as he suggested they should if they somehow found themselves unable to acquiescence to the notion of war and their survival of it. "I am here and will stay as such. I am at your service, sir."
  9. The Spinster.

    ‘Need favors returned soon. Found another friend of yours, more to follow on that. David will be fixed very soon now. First favor, Arachnid’s Eye in Arcadia Prime info incoming. Time for you to return home.’ smiley face; kissy face. ‘You’re ride is on the way. See you soon.’ Messages, one after another, beep through her comm line. Nearer the end a heavy sigh exudes from the once thinly pressed line bisecting her nose from her chin. Maybe it was cruelty on that loony woman’s part or possibly a hint that it was time to finally live again. Either way, any idea of Alterion being home had died with...him. Although Keanu knew she would eventually have to repay the odd woman for the help she’d lent, having to revisit that place had not been part of her original agenda on making such an accord. The necessity of making a quick exit from Alterion was tremendous at the time. Back then, she sorely needed to believe in her ability to start a new life; to begin fresh again. And of course, things did not go as expected. Instead she was plagued by waking dreams in daylight and horrific nightmares during slumber. All barely subdued by the inoculation Dr. Concordia had given her when Keanu had explained her predicament. Perhaps it had more to do with not having the strength to forget. Which inevitably led to too much time passing between injections. Needless to say those fickle and fragile emotions eventually took their toll. And instead of reverting back to the productive member of society she used to be, she became a recluse. Hiding in her childhood home, reinforcing and fortifying the reflective domes to further deter wanderers from stumbling onto her property. Keeping silent, keeping gone. Unfortunately, she finds Concordia’s enactment of her ethics to be acceptable. A favor is a favor, and she had racked up too many to not make due on returning them. So she packs her bags. Without knowing the current conditions of Arkadia Prime, she has to wonder what it's like now. Would there be new life and connection there? Arguably, only if one let oneself fall under the spell of such idealistic philosophy. Keanu does not. Rather, she endures herself the freedom to complete the request, with the assertion that she will return home until the next is requested of her. Once she had donned the appropriate vestiges and places what she believes will be useful into an old sack with straps, she throws it on over her shoulders. It is a few moments hesitation before she starts out the door, automatically grabbing and able from the basket near it as she steps out. When she got the message the sun had been alive and bright in the sky, but now she meets with darkness. She locks everything up securely. Home, dome, and perimeter before trekking into the landscape of tall bare trees. Watching, waiting. While she sits nestled against one of the thicker tree trunks she remembers the apple. Keanu brings it to her face, not to bite it but to just lightly allow the smooth cool skin to rest against her lips, satiated by the feel and the aroma of the ripe fruit. For a moment her eyes close, her mind drifting into a memory… That is suddenly interrupted by the whir of an airship engine. Without suppression she stands and walks towards the lights coming down from overhead into the clearing shed been dropped off in all that time ago. And with a quick toss the apple is discarded and forgotten. There are no questions asked, or words spoken when she climbs into the open hatch of the small vessel. Rather than converse with the pilot, Keanu takes her seat and shuts her eyes and keeps them that way all the hours it takes to get to Arkadia Prime. When they reach their final destination, it takes little preparation for her to get ready to exit. That is until the pilot pops into the cabin. “Here, take this.” a small rectangular box is shoved hurriedly in her direction with a quick explanation to follow, “Open it, and put it on. It’ll keep you safe, for the most part.” Keanu does as told. All the while staring at the woman shrouded in funeral colors. “Do I….know you?” She cannot shake the kindred sentience she feels at the woman’s proximity. The same aura as her own, but so minute it is hard to tell if it is coming from the woman or herself. “Just make sure to put the necklace on, and keep it on if you don’t want to be found. Alright?” All annoyance and no class. “Right, thanks.” “Don’t thank me… And you probably shouldn’t thank her either. Watch yourself.” And with that the woman turns back to the cockpit, shutting and latching the door. Solidifying the fact that the ride-and their conversion-are over. The hiss and pop of the hatch catches her attention, and she exits through it. And with that first step, she is back on Alterion. @Reign
  10. Good Ol' Days

    'Need favors returned soon. Found another friend of yours, more to follow on that. David will be fixed very soon now. First favor, Arachnids Eye in Arcadia Prime. Time for you to return home.' smiley face; kissy face. 'You’re ride is on the way. See you soon. -Lilium' Once they reach the glory that is the inner sanctum, Lilium gives a broad smile to every and all the people of Alterion's higher society. Not that any would know this or it's reasoning. Finally, she had completed her task and would tell the High Mason himself that his wish is now a fruitful reality. An electronic notification would not suffice. So impersonal as they are. Lilium’s next step is to have Erioza run off and play with the other children. To learn new things, to socialize and fill that irritating void of hers with something… something more. The genetic material she'd bartered for in order to create her, something of an intriguing keystone. A flush rolls from the clothed flat of her belly and flushes her neck and chest as the notion of being able to wield such raw energy herself, rises. A look towards the well guarded Princess Nadia Royce, causes her to focus in on the faces present. Closer, closer, quickly closer. And before too long almost standing right in front of the posted protectors of Cosanastre most darling princess. Though her current actions make her no less volatile in nature, than that of her older brother. The ultimate deceiver. But Dr. Concordia appreciates that in the young Royce, she had learned quickly under his tutelage and would be a great adversary for any daring to smite her some day. Magnificent really. In this very moment, her plans change dramatically. From her coat pocket she pulls a small tablet, the other hand lifting-and pushing them into her hair like a band-sunglasses from her eyes. Once, twice, three times… she takes in the man speaking to her, and bubbling laughter rolls out of her mouth. Is...is this it? Oh my...the timing couldn't be more perfect… Yes, it is time. Goldie, stay where you are. Everyone else...I'll update you later. Let the game begin… “Erioza, head back. I've just sent coordinates for a pick up, if you don't mind. Grab the small black box box from my bag on your way And hand it over to the package. And please be quick about it, darling. We no longer have time to waste.” She doesn't wait for an answer or even turn to see if the woman did as ordered. Lilium just knows she will, and truly has no choice but to do as bidden. It only takes a few quickly unified drops of her thumbs again and again, until she hits send. The tablet simply deposited back into her pocket thereafter. Amid the rainbows of dancers, singers ,jesters, and Ucissore alike she takes in a slow a slow breath. All around entertained by nothing, other than those two youthful faces. Oh, how they ingrained on her senses; the scent of an aura once caught by her, never lost. How would she proceed? Unabashedly, of course. “Oh, please do excuse me for the interrupt. I do hope not to intervene more than a few moments. Young lady, you look absolutely astonishing, and you sir make a very suited match at her elbow. The most handsome couple here, no doubt.” It is done with a genuinely appreciative smile, any lack of illumination would merely be in the shadows of her amber eyes, “Pardon my manners won't you. I am Doctor Lilium Concordia, from Daius Industries.”
  11. Joys, Toys and Jokes

    It's an arduous thing, communicating with the lesser beings of the world. The flash if a light on her handheld device alerts her to a notification. Laboriously slow blinks force it out of her sight for only a few seconds, before she is disrupted into response. Though she chose to claim Daius Industries as her current ‘home’, it still puzzles her to the fact she has to entertain people. Particular investments toward motivated conversations are not unusual, but the description received by security after the front desk called them with a simple request of presence… What she sees on her screen after awakening the flat rectangular paperweight enlightens a brow. It rises in piqued fashion only to lower with the rest of her perturbed demeanor as she lifts herself away from her desk. It's not everyday a child asks for her company. Irregularities such as these tend to energize her spontaneity. Originally quelled intentions at environmental disturbance, reawakened to riotous proportions. It bears life, and featherweight footfall. The length of her strides always measured by purpose and lengthened by a need for completion. This matter isn't of importance to her, so she moves with graceful slowly floating locomotion. Propelled only by intrigue and nothing more. Should you be the one to address this? It could merely be another matter of revenge, you've destroyed many a family. I wouldn't waste the energy, it's not with the expenditure. Send Gemi- Silence… For there is no necessity in calling forth multiple consciences to deal with...a snot nose brat. Albeit cruel in nature, she lacks the nurture to support the commonality of humility in regards to the youths of the world. Even when they are of her own creation. Patience is not something she can take the time to harness, for her work is her life, and that life requires her souls to adhere to the strictness of such a refined regiment. Halls, stairs, secured elevators, and a lot of steps, carry her from the unmarked-on-a-map depths of her fortress. Being able to drop what she is doing at a few moments notice, is no parallel to the ethics placed within her works. Art takes time, no matter the ingenuity driving it. Lilium arrives in time, probably in enough to make the child shift from foot to foot in boredom. Maybe she should have brought it a lollipop or something...? Oh how far she had traveled from terran care, to barely caring. The shock on the desk clerks face at seeing her walk up is not surprising. She can probably count on one hand the amount of times she entered and exited the building by using the front doors. If anything her name is more known than her face. Having a lot of staff to do your running tends to do that to a person; builds them up into some sort of tall tale. Thankfully she is of a good height. “What can I do for you….little boy?”
  12. Does anyone have a reporter type character?

    I'll give it my best.
  13. Does anyone have a reporter type character?

    Eleanor Trapps may be able to assist with this portion.
  14. Artifact Quest Log

    I'm going to start cleaning up my mess this evening. So there will be a lot of reformatting fixes to make the old artifacts list I posted, cleaner and better organized for everyone. @The Hummingbird
  15. Renew.

    It is an expressionless void that mars the facets of a genuinely soft face. Cold, hard, and set in emptiness as dark eyes view the crystalline word of advanced constructs and brilliant illumination through glass. The rolling vehicles increasing speed causes them to melt into refractive streams of radiant color against the night, which forces her to avert her eyes. Turbulence is the thunderous force behind her silent constitution, as a plague of memories and old emotions threatens to falter her rigid form. Ages… It had been so long. Time had gone by so fervently, forever burying the footsteps she'd once tread in the kingdom of Shrine City. It was with bitter perturbation that she acquiesced to return as an Ambassador of Umbra, scouting an alliance she has no hand in. For the girl who had once made her appearance here, fell into the shadow of the woman who now encroaches upon it. And to think it originally began with her father, as most stories start with an inheritance of sorts, all on a foundation laid by simple infatuation with her soon to be host’s sibling. Lady Darim, oh how she had once deeply missed the trappings of such a friendship. But days, then months, then years drew onward to cut a jagged rift of time between them. The tides had shifted and left her wanting something she now believes nonexistent, though she had purposefully sheared through those fraying threads. In order to carve out an eventuality that cannot be deterred. Her father’s death smiting any chances of personal connection thereafter. His loss...a powerful turn of page in her story. Nara deigns not to partake in the last leg of her journey. The start having been so much more pleasant than the tension she now feels welling within.Had she been hiding from the world all in order to keep from allowing one presence to quake her newfound path? This she cannot yet answer. An inkling of regret still holds fast to the unsteady thumping beneath her breast. Sudden stops at checkpoints mark their arrival, unsettling the the still form resting in the rear seat. Their admittance leads the vehicle into a slow curving stop and colors her sullen. In the end there is little to do but slide out of the open door and nod in polite gratitude to the one who had permitted her exit. Daunting is the task of refraining the want to turn back. Absolution from hesitation is born through focus made on pulling long fabrics around her frigid stature and fixing a long wooden handle to her hip. Hung now from her shoulders, the cloak hood is pulled over her poised head in order to shroud her face. The exposure of her eyes liable to suck the soul from any daring to catch a detailed glimpse of her turmoil. Every step closer to the massive doorway is a pain that prickles at her chest. As turbid as the freshly winded feeling may be, she continues onward. Carrying herself through the opened threshold. Guidance to the throne room is done succinctly with the announcement of her arrival before it. Those faces nearby, distorted by her inability to allow adaptation of any and all light not gracing the statuesque lines of her host’s face. “The Huntsman of Umbra.” A nickname from an elder tale. Of a man wielding an ax against forces of Darkness in order to save what little there is in the way of Light. A title somewhat unfitting for comparison between her small lithe stature against that of the ruler. A carefully weighed bow of the head and shoulders moves her a fraction forward in step, “Your Highness.” @Alexei