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Fallen Joy

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About Fallen Joy

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  • Birthday 05/31/1990

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    Little.tyche

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  1. The sailor glanced up when a cascade of darkness shrouded his ambiance. He caught a glimpse of the urgency upon Tyveres’ face before everything went black. The ground quaked and debris rained hell upon them, making the man queasy with discomfort. He instinctively and protectively held the delicate princess underneath him, so if it should not hold he could barricade her. He closed his eyes and tensed every muscle within his body, waiting either death or salvation. The only thing that followed was silence. “Are you alright?” Broken by Tyveres. The concern in the stone-faced assassin’s voice was enough to inform the sailor that he was not the one addressed. He slid his fingers upon the princess, touching her soft torso without lust and confirmed both her breathing and her pulse between her breasts. “The lass fainted,” he answered. “Exhausted per’haps. You able ter hold up this shield just a bit longer? Might be able ta move this and stop it all from piling on us.” Tyveres would feel the slender body of the princess suddenly residing on his thigh as the sailor lean her against him. As her breath warmed his leg, the sailor grunted as he used both his hands to push the bit of desk ontop the trap door. Assuming Tyveres’ barrier didn’t have a bias of what it did and not barricade, the desk must have made it inside. With his full strength, the large man pushed it aside towards the edge of the barrier, freeing the cellar. The air squeaked briefly when he lifted the door, and the smell of stored food and wine rose in the up drift. It was the storage of the inn with supplies for both horses and guests alike. He grabbed the princess again. “Mmm,” she moaned as her body shifted. For a second, cerulean hues peaked into the darkness. When she saw nothing but black, she closed her eyes again, perhaps assuming she was floating between the lines being awake and slumbering. “This way,” he started down the ladder with her on his shoulder. When Tyveres joined, he’d find himself in a dim lit room of shelves, shacks, and barrels. There was a second closed door, a stony ground , and a cold air. The man detached a tarp from the wine barrel tops and laid it out before resting the princess down. “There.” He nodded and looked to Tyveres. “She just looks ter be sleeping. This is the second lot of trouble I’ve caught ya red handed with. If yer drop the gargoyle look son and tell me what’s goin’ on, I may be able ter help yeh.” He glanced down at the princess. “She saved meh life. I don’t know if she’s some kind’o angel, but I owe her my thanks.” ~ ~ ~ Trevor’s lips spread in a deviant and sadistically satisfied grin as he looked at the wreckage. Imagining the crushed bones of the princess would have been enough to fuel his satisfaction, but he knew his comrades would need a body. He took a few steps towards the hill of rubble when the distant sounds of whistles and trot of horses froze him. The guardsmen in this town were more on point than he gave them credit for. “Damn it.” He disappeared from the spot, not a trace of him left when five horsemen armed with swords transpired upon the scene. They marveled at the destruction for only a moment before orders were barked to clear it and search for survivors. As they approached, a sudden tromp startled them. A piece of the debris collapsed several feet (when Tyveres released the shield) and clanked loudly. The men were curious and so was Trevor on a nearby rooftop. Trevor narrowed his eyes as the men started to remove the debris, waiting to see the results of his efforts. Suddenly a presence was at his rear. He clenched his fist for just a moment before he spoke out with presumptive knowledge. “Wasn’t my fault,” he lied smoothly and blatantly. “The roof collapsed during the battle with her bodyguard.” He turned nonchalantly to the stare of the two other rogues. Before he could say another word, one reached down and grabbed him harshly by the scarlet collar to pull him close. “I wanted her alive.” He slammed the man harshly to the ground, who winced then spat vulgarly beside him. “Hmph. She was dead weight. Why do we need her anyways? Let’s just take the king by force now. We don’t need this damn blackmailing non-sense.” He paused for a moment. “Bringing her could be detrimental anyways.” “What do you mean by that, Trevor?” Trevor shifted his eyes away, thinking about the golden glow of the princess. He also thought of the vigorous look harnessing the passionate and determined gaze of a queen ready to take back her throne. He burned and tattooed into his mind. They didn’t need to know that. “…Nothing, forget it.” A silent tension thickened the air between the two before the third broke it. “It is not just about getting the throne,” he said. “It’s about making the King suffer in the same way he made the kingdom suffer. The princess is all the King cares about. That and power. We will force him to lose both at once and watch his mind and body crumble into submission when announces his thrown then we slice her neck before his eyes.” Trevor tensed his brows before coming to a stand. Then guards beneath drew their attention. “There’s no one here!” A guard said, standing where Tyveres and the others once were. “Something must have just broke underneath it.” “Not finding any here either." “Nothing here. Looks like no one was injured.” “Well keep looking, clear everything just in case.” A fist abruptly hit Trevor’s face sending him to the ground. He barely had time to taste the blood before the shiver sheen of a saber pressed close to his neck. The leader figure of the trio stared down at him with blazing eyes, hand trembling with the urge to end his comrade's life from anger. “You couldn't even kill her, right! If she slips onto the ocean because of your stupidity and incompetence, Trevor, I swear to all there is that it will be your blood smearing upon the ground before the King’s.” Trevor tightened the expression on his face, beads of sweat shimmering on his forehead despite the chill in the air. Lips in a fine line, he gave a silent and curt nod. The man removed the blade and looked to his other comrade. “Send word to those in Terrenus that the Princess might find her away to the ocean. We must keep scourging the town for her. Take their horses, they should be near by. And you,” he spat at Trevor. “You will stay here until every piece of your mess is cleaned up. Make sure they’re gone or dead.” Trevor furrowed his brow. He thought it was clear they weren't under the rubble, but he knew he was being punished. “Tssht,” he grunted and turned back towards the guardsmen at work, indicating that he understood. ~ ~ ~ The princess finally opened her eyes, the previous darkness replaced by lanterns and lights shining upon glass bottles—all was hazed from her enervation. Her memories were also obscure. The power once more slipped her conscious mind behind a veil as it blossomed. This time she remembered being upon the sailor, focusing her energies, and being cascaded in a sunrise of beauty before there was nothing. Then there was another moment she remembered . Tyveres’ smell and warmth upon her—but not just that. She felt as if she were surrounded by him in that moment. It was as if his arms embraced her from all angles and protected against the tribulations of the world and her mind. The security was brief but meaningful—the first time she felt at peace for months. Her thoughts settled as her vision cleared. She recognized the sailor and Tyveres hovering over her—perhaps talking to each other. “Everyone is okay…” she whispered out gratefully. Slowly she rolled to her thighs, pressing her palms to the ground and sitting up. A hand combed the wild hair from her face. “I'm glad...Where are we?”
  2. Suddenly Tyveres was beside her, descending like a shadow to her rescue after a strike of metal from his bow. The princess began to turn her eyes at him, but in that very moment his hand gripped her shoulder and shoved her to the side. The force that sent her falling hard to the ground, but safe from the projectiles whisking through her lagging locks. She opened her eyes in a temporary stun, sparse strands of severed ebony falling around her face. The fall knocked the wind from her and needed to breathe for a moment. Her moment would not be granted to Tyveres. As he tried to gaze at the princess and secure his concerns of her safety, Trevor moved with a merciless assault and frightening speed. The same sound that accentuate force to this fist added speed to his stride and he was threatening Tyveres’ proximity in seconds. A primed luminescent fist aimed for his chest—a deadly blow if successful—whilst the other withdrew a silver dagger for a second strike. The rouged man attacked and moved like sound, giving him the title and gratification as one of the king’s personal guardsmen. His eyes were sharp and sadistic, permeated with thrill of an expectant kill. Tyveres would soon find himself in a battle with one of the kingdom’s most deadly warriors almost instantly. When Cecilia gathered herself, violent sounds drew her attention over her shoulders and she shot her gaze in their direction. It was as terrifying and marvelous as brawling lions, pausing a beat of her heart and stabbing her mind with apprehension. Yet while she wanted to gawk like a nail-biting spectator, the groans of the sailor tore her distraction and rekindled her original focus. She moved to her feet and rushed over to the old man, sliding to her knees beside him. The sailor coughed, crimson speckled on his silvery thick beard. He was pale, confused, and his situation appeared grave. The princess placed her hand on his heart and her attuned senses to vibrations felt the organ racing at a lethal level. The shock throw his heart in an arrhythmia of outstanding speeds and his blood was barely keeping up. But the heart was there; a direct blow to the chest usually meant a bursting organ. “Are yer...okay, miss?” The sailor said with a delirium signature of his condition. The princess smiled and placed her hand on his cheek, nodding minuscule. "Thank you for your bravery..." She said while trying to retain her own bravado. She fought to be a beacon of comfort despite her knowledge that the man was going into shock. She had to return his heart pace to normal. She thought hard into her training. Though her specialty was candent motions of her body rather than cadence itself, she learned about all the techniques. With this knowledge, she clasped her hands upon each other and his torso. Closing her eyes, she focused on the frantic rhythm, capturing the frequency within the focus on her hands. All she had to do was synchronize it. You can do this…Tyveres is fighting for you. Don’t make this all for naught. Her own thoughts added pressure and urgency to her situation and she felt her palms suddenly sweat. She rolled her lips into her mouth and clamped down, feeling the tears rising from a failure that had yet to come. Her fear was still so prominent, like a cascading demon upon her shoulders. She couldn’t do this. He was going to die. Why did she think a spoiled little princess could ever help someone? The sailor’s hand reached up weakly and touched hers. It brought her back. No. I can't give up. An entire kingdom would soon depend on her strength and courage. She couldn’t lose herself to possible consequence; she had steel her soul and fight through the tribulations of her people—she had to be their pillar of stability and stay that way when they crumbled in doubt. These thoughts rang through her hand and oscillated through her fingers. Her beautiful raven tresses practically bleached from the golden magic coursing through her. Her brilliance brightened the entire room and for the second time, those glorious butterfly wings transpired. In an opportune moment of their fight, winning or losing, Trevor suddenly leapt back from Tyveres. The light pierced his peripheral and drew his attention. He canted his head slightly towards it, eye widening at the miraculous sight. The symbolism that drew Calvin’s breath threatened to pull his. The vibrations from the princess' wings intensified and suddenly shot down her arms and into the sailor’s chest. In an instant his breath gasped sharply, feeling the power pulsate through his chest and manipulate his heart back into its normal rhythm. His eyes brightened with life as the cloud lifted from his delirious mind. Though when he caught a glimpse of the angelic figure beside him, he could have sworn he was ascending to heaven. The wings broke and shattered into dust. Once more, Cecilia fainted, landing upon his chest. “Tsk.” Trevor spat, the grimace and hatred on his face suddenly intensifying. Unlike Calvin, this guardsman lived for war and destruction—this rebellion granted him that. Cecilia’s symbolism meant its possible termination and peace. He knew the stories of the savior with the golden wings bringing the kingdom together through times of chaos and darkness, and he could not stand for it. He rather her dead. He snapped his gaze up at the ceiling and rafters holding it together before jumping into the air and enacting a series of artistic waves of his fists and foot. Each move produced a notable shock that collided with the sound of thunder and vigor of boulders into the underside of the rooftop. The building instantly quaked and debris ominously rained down from the ceiling in at first dust, splinters, and glass from the skylight windows, but soon would be the entire foundation of the second floor and exposed rooftop. Trevor, being the closest, made a rush for the door. His swift legs carried him out the threshold quick and once outside he performed a skillful back flip back towards the establishment. The thrown boots over his head produced a sound wave that collided into the overhang of the door, collapsing the exit. They would have at most thirty seconds to escape. “He’s collapsin’ the damn building!” The sailor exclaimed, standing with the fainted Cecilia in his arms. “This way, ter the cellar!” The old man huffed and stumbled towards a trap door at the rear of the front desk—but in the tussle, the desk had fallen upon it. With Cecilia still in one arm, the sailor used his other to try and start pushing it. The desk was a receptionist one and easily counted as heavy lift furniture. It skirted slightly at the large man’s insistence, but needed much more force.
  3. The Matriarch gauged Namiko’s question curiously. Though in this world, her visions rekindled its sense of color, her interpretation was blind through her lack of understanding and experience. She saw the energies that migrated through the body on a metaphysical level, allowing her to predict and understand intention, emotions, and concepts much more complex than what the eyes gathered though body language. Thus she engaged the crowd one more time with greater focus. A mother gripped her child’s hand and urged him forward with more insistence than one would expect and an expression of bewilderment from the child was returned for her urgency. The Matriarch looked around some more. The amount of swordsmen in this area was heavy, perhaps too heavy. From this alone, the Matriarch gathered that there appeared to be something at this time and place that caused an increase need of both escape and protection, but not panic. She considered this. It must be a familiar danger. She thought to herself. Something everyone acknowledges and can do nothing about but take precaution. Something familiar and routine, but unwelcomed... The concept reminded her of her slavery days within the orc camp. She had lived there for years upon years, but was always regarded with fear invoked hatred that devolved in abuse and violence. Something here accomplished the same, but had not yet devolved. Negative energy always left a cold trail of emotion and darkness within its ambiance. The center of such focus always bled with misery. This fell into that complexity of Third’s Eyes vision. This was something she could see. She could feel its terrible shiver rattling the bones in her spine like the horrid memories of her old days. Its cold hand reached out from the intangible void, laced her fingers in its palm and guided her into its misery. And it led to the north of them, the direction Namiko had already began to trace. As the Matriarch followed in pursuit, she wondered if she too felt that chill of discomfort and fear thickening the air. Their travels led them to destruction. The once vibrant colors of the architecture died into scorched colors of grays and blacks. The pavement beneath their stride became infected with crepitation that eventually crumbled into nothing but ebony dirt. The flames around their bodies wavered as if blown upon by the devil’s lips and consequently the vision began to blur and shift between white noise. The Matriarch starred into their new scenery, not expressing wonder upon her countenance but taking in a breath at the feelings suddenly within her. What they stood on was undoubtedly still Dougton, but it was a patch of the city robbed of all sense of life. As if a great explosion occurred, a bald spot of ash and destruction existed within the town. No one bothered to repair it. In fact people seemed to try their best to avoid it. The witches stood at the edge of this 15mile diameter of sheer travesty. After a moment, the Matriarch folded her knees and sat on her calves, looking into the dirt. She breathed deeply to harness the magic in the ground and the air. It was indeed dark. And potent. It’s cold ambiance was like a blizzard. What she didn’t understand was why something so horrible existed so casually in this city. What she didn’t understand also turned into a revelation. If she were a dark and demented group of elves seeking both rich grounds of dark magic and secrecy, the center of this town’s fear would be quite favorable. Traveling into such an accursed land would not be pleasant, but under the insistence of her premonition, it was completely necessary. She barely had a moment to turn her attention back to Namiko before their flames doused and the vision ended. The wind was combing briskly through her raven locks when she awoke. The was found herself no longer sitting next to the campfire. The world was once more completely dark and the exhaustion of her Third Eye made it darker still, but she could feel that she was riding upon a steed. During their vision, the orcs had packed the camp and set off with their bodies. The Matriarch was within the arms of the Bodyguard, who rode on the back of an enormous hooved beast. Namiko was on her trusted steed, secured with a makeshift leather belt upon the back of Kana who held the reigns. Surrounding them were the other orcs and the orc hounds, all racing through was appeared to be somewhat dense forestry, rivulets of water, and wet rich mud. The wet fur of the orc steet and the droplets of moisture upon her face told the Matriarch they has traveled through water at some point. The Matriarch stirred and opened her misted eyes, the Bodyguard did not turn his away from the route. She spoke to him in orc softly, he responded deeply. She learned that the vision had lasted a total of 6 hours. She felt this in her body, for it was hungry and stiff. The vision itself was short, but the meditation, though it felt brief, was hypnotically and deceptively long. Time was easily lost with focus. The Blue Hills were long behind them, now they were in Coconino Creek.
  4. As the witches mediated, reaching into their memories and magic to pull and thread the lost fibrils of time, the future began to weave within the flames between them. Its dying amber breath suddenly gasped with life and heat rushed to their minds engorged with flashes of imagery. The Matriarch’s eyes shot open with a flashing white that burst and arched cross the chaotic flames and into Namiko’s own orbits. The foundation of her unique magic merged with the strength of her sister, pulling their astral spirits from their body and descending them into flames. Through the passageways of the element, they could search for a hidden ounce of the future. They were within the skies, flying through clouds of fire that guided them and over palisades of the mountains until the cleft of their valleys between them revealed the farmland city of Dougton. The city infrastructure manifested beautifully until the crimson blanket of the sunset, the air sweet with floral and fruit aromas of the day's harvest. The dusk like revealed it to be before the evening of the ominous summoning, through when was uncertain. When their bodies landed within the city, they were covered in fire and their flesh was transparent. People passed through the streets and sidewalks, ignoring the sudden landing and burning bodies. At this point in the future, they did not exist. Not there. Not in this possible outcome. The Matriarch opened her eyes and only waited for Namiko to absorb it. “We stand in the most likely possibility of the future, guided by the great spirits to this location, this time, and with these people.” Matriarch took a moment to look around, yes look, for when looking through the vision of her Third Eye, she was not blind. There was something in this moment of time that they were meant to see, something they could intervene upon or utilize to reach the greater mystery. “Keen your eyes, sister. There is something here we are supposed to find and use for our search. Is there something here that speaks out to you?” To the ordinary eyes, everything appeared mundane and uneventful. Denizens hurried long the streets to turn in before the impeding darkness, bars opened, and authority swordsman stalked the pavement. The Matriarch strode forward upon the street, seeming to adamantly imbibe every details, the buildings, the people, the even debris on the roads. Perhaps Namiko would discover what it was they were meant to see. Perhaps what she saw within her mind’s eye, she would feel within her heart.
  5. Closed

    Alynn’s golden hues fluttered and blinked when Xander pulled his hand so deliberately from hers. She pirouetted back over her nude creamy shoulder when the cold touched her palm. The single movement was exquisite. Flawless. It was surreal how a thoughtless change of posture seduced such rhythm to her body. Her ebony locks bent and accentuated the treasure of her aesthetic countenance like a portrait and her shone like gems under the kitchen light. Her existence was breathtakingly surreal down to the very flow of her virgin dress. Perfection defined from the countless breaths of awe. On the ball of her petite foot, Alynn glanced to his hands then rose to his face with a gentle disappointed cant of her head. Those coral lips parted to speak but he beat her voice with a question. Settling fully on her feet, she clasped her hands at her waist, fingers fidgeting with loss as she shrugged. “Ah, good morning Xander,” came a voice from the hallway. There was a bit of strain on the breath. “Chanelle is getting dressed and will be out soon.” Chanelle’s mother entered the kitchen with a decent sized chest burdening her arms. She sat it down heavily and dust rose up to make her cough and wave the air from her nose. It was an old vessel with broken cobwebs spindling at the golden handles and rust on its locked nose. Producing an equally dilapidated key, she knelt down and unlocked the chest—the rust made it take a few tries. “This is something I brought back with me two decades ago…” She placed her hand on the dirt laden surface and sighed. “And I hoped to never have to open it again.” The chest’s hinges cried hungrily for oil as she lifted the top and revealed a variety of materials. The doctor reached her heads in and searched for a moment. The first thing brought out was a brown pouch pregnant with jingling objects. She handed this to Xander. “These are gold and silver pieces, something used in earnest in that world. You’ll need it for food and shelter when time calls. But preserve it as much as you can. The last thing you want is to look for ways to make money.” She looked back into the chest. “Ah and this here,” she removed an old parchment of tan colored paper rolled like a scroll. “This is a map of Terrenus and will also be useful in navigating your way through the lands. Here’s a compass to go with it.” She handed him a silver pocket watch necklace that when opened revealed a compass. The doctor moved so nonchalantly that it was clear she was anything but. Her movements were rapid and distracted, as if she were attempting to seal away her emotions with her physical motions. She rarely made eye contact, focus glued to the contents of the chest as she rummaged and rustled. Several items were removed that were simply set aside, either too rusted or broken. Finally she paused when her fingers grasped the real object of her search. Her entire posture froze, the apathy crumbling under the impact of the treasure within her palms. She stood slow to her feet. “This is for Chanelle.” Within her hands was a sheathed dagger. The sheath was beautiful, designed with amethyst and sapphire jewels that shone bright under the light despite the dust they gathered. Between them were whirls of golden metal, articulated like gaskets around the jewels and conjoining together into roses dyed carmine. She clenched it tight, rolling her lips into her mouth and eyes glistening mildly. “What is it?” Chanelle’s voice came from behind them. Her mother whipped to see Chanelle standing in the hallway, her backpack fastened and eyes curious. The doctor exhaled a breath and smiled, turning fondly towards her daughter and extending the dagger out. “It was a reliquary of our family name. Passed through the women for protection.” When she handed it to Chanelle, the young girl curiously pulled the blade out. The blade was as crimson as the roses on its sheath and slightly curved. Despite years under the sands of time, the edges glistened with a threatening and untainted sharpness. Not an ounce of rust. Chanelle held it to the light for a moment and as if she did something eerie stirred inside her. The crimson shade of the blade, it reminded her of the light in her nightmares. The red that pierced her like a thorn of a rose. Roses…She thought about those too, for the spherical shape of the light was like the blossom of the flower within the darkness. Was it coincidence? It had to be. But then…Why did she suddenly feel heavy and cold? Her eyes traveled slow to Alynn, standing innocently within the corner and hosting her own brilliance of perfection through the slight cant of her head and curve of her heart shaped lips. “Chanelle?” Chanelle blinked rapidly and turned to her mother, who was staring at her with a concerned expression. The girl suddenly realized her fingers were trembling on the dagger and clenching it so tightly that her chocolate fingers appeared to pale. Immediately she relaxed, the warm returning to her body as she re-sheathed the blade and lowered her eyes mildly. “Mom, it’s pretty, but I….I don’t know how to use a blade. Are you suggest that I will need to ki—” “ Absolutely not.” Her mother grasped her hands tightly and stared into her hazel eyes. “This is only for protection, Chanelle. You will only use this blade when there is absolute need for it. No matter how dark and demented the world is, a life is a life. Never take one unless there is no other choice. Do you understand me?” Chanelle frowned and nodded. “That goes for both of you.” Chanelle’s mother turned to Xander and glanced at Alynn. “You’re going to a world where life is even more fragile and taken for granted. Do not let that consume you. The magic of this place is easily influenced by the feelings inside our hearts. Let darkness poison you and it will only grow strongly from there.” She turned back and stroked her daughter’s cheek. “Depend on each other and keep each other true.” Chanelle produced a smile to comfort her mother, then turned to Xander to beam brighter. “Hey mom, don’t worry,” she suddenly said with her normal bounce of tone. “I’ll keep him straight with a few knocks on the head.” She walked over and punched him playfully on the bicep. “But if you start growing horns, Xan, I’m outta there.” Chanelle placed the dagger in her bag and slid her hands into her pockets, looking back at her mother. She had to dismantle the tension. For both him and herself. “So mom. How do we get there?” Chanelle’s mother paused for a moment, gauging her child, but ultimately smiled. “If you two are ready, I’ll take you to the opening.”
  6. "Having trouble with Chrysanthe I assume?" The she-orc visually tensed and flinched at the voice, hunching her shoulders and gradually looking over the left to see the exquisitely dark Appolonia looming at her shadow. Something unpleasant shivered down her spine. The coven had a large variety of witches, from the overly cheerful giddy ones that made the orcs gag to the extensively brutal ones that the orcs felt at home around, but indefinitely afraid of their own vulnerability. Appolonia was a newer witch that the orcs has not grasped. She only had a demeanor, and man did she have one. Appolonia held herself like a fine rose garden in the courtyard of the Beast, beautifully elegant and refined for all the senses, but holding an ominous threat that growled and lurked in the darkness for the chance to spring the moment a single flower was plucked. Ferrah, not wanting to pluck the flower, immediately straightened her posture and bowed her head slightly. An orc bowing was unheard of, even before the forgotten Orc King, for it would sooner lead to an ax through the neck than acknowledgement. But as if an invisible rope lassoed her crown, she always bowed before witches. It was the devil’s magic that she didn’t understand and was not intelligent enough to explain or ponder. She only knew that she didn’t like it. “Dragon is wake,” she responded in her limited know-how of the common tongue. To the second request, Ferrah scrunched her countenance mildly; not in delinquency but in bewilderment. She stupidly scratched her head and seemed uncomfortable. “I…go in tower? Witch in tower?” When and if Appolonia confirmed this, Ferrah gave a second uncomfortable nod. She ran passed Appolonia is a rush and found herself quickly at the tower. She looked up, squinting her eyes to see where the impressive structure ended. The amount of orcs needed to build this was substantial and it was the only piece of the fortress that Luna had personally assisted in. Her magic made things easier but intimidating. The sweat and blood put into the tower still made her legs shake with weakness from the experience. Ferrah banished the thoughts from her head and approached the doors. She hesitated. Only the general orcs were allowed inside. But Appolonia told her to retrieve Morwenna, so that was permission right? However, when she reached towards the entrance, her carmine eyes widened as the handles of the door disappeared. Immediately she felt her temperature simmering to a boil, oh how she despised magic! Clenching her lids tightly to attempt and calm herself, she lowered hands to her hips and instead spoke to the door itself. “Mor-weenn-ay” she tried to pronounced the name. “Dragon wake. Need Mor-waa…Mor-ween” Ferrah clenched her fists so hard that her nails started to blend against the tenacity of her palms. “Mor-weenn-eay.” That was right, right? The water in which Morwenna rested her toes in was deep within the witches tower; the crystalline pool manifested from streams of water raining down the interiors of the tower and streaming at its base level like ribbons—supposedly it sourced from the Hyrdra’s cavern and was cleaned through magic embedded in the stones it shifted through. Morwenna’s peaceful moment would be disturbed by the sudden appearance of a rough and unpleasant voice. Though she was not there, Ferrah’s words echoed throughout the tower. It was a way for the orcs to contact the witches without entering the tower. “Mor-roonnea.” The orc said again, failing to get the name right for the fifth time. “Other witch need you.” Hopefully her words would bring Morwenna outside the tower. If so, the orc would once more bow and lead her back to Appolonia. Her mind was seething the entire time, but she didn’t express it. She couldn’t even if she wanted to.
  7. As the witches approached the sun-kissed mountain within the baked valley and slowed to their trod, the newborn silence of the galloping would turn out to be temporary. A short time after they perhaps discussed their strengths and weakness, the sudden echos of howls and yips came rolling from the rear. Whips cracked the air along with the rough yelling voices of orcs. In the distant flank, a chariot made of bone and wood came rushing in towards the scene. A pack of five lupine like creatures as big as cougars run like sled dogs before the chariot, they’d recognize the beasts from the mountain, adorned with bloody eyes, lapping slime covered tongues, and three heads. Their black fur waved like actual shadows as the desert heat seduced their images into a dance. Upon the chariot were two orcs. Natasha was the familiar face of the two orcs, her tenacious coal skin almost naught but a contour in the veil of sunlight. Those crimson dark eyes and signature metal gauntlets stood out as the former practically glowed and the latter shone white from reflections. Natasha wasn’t driving the chariot, Marquise was. Marquise was a huge beast-class orc and these hounds were his flock. He was much taller than Natasha, excelling a foot from her and ending a little past seven feet. He held coils upon bundles of muscles that doubled and tripled from Natasha in various parts of his body. The hound trainers of the orc population bonded with their mutts through brutality and animosity—Marquise’s appearance demonstrated how much he embraced his bond. His body was heavily scarred and deformed; from a claw mark over his left eye to numerous bites and gashes tattooed across across his body. The orc’s brunette long hair was wild with dirt, tangles, and fur from his beasts. Metal rings pierced the cartilage of his nose and eras while tusks from a more endowed orcs hang from links in his lobes. Even one of his own tusks were pierced with steel jewelry. The orcs were speaking to each other in their language as they rode towards the witches. “What will convince you, Natasha?” Marquise said, carmine eyes focused on urging the hounds to rush faster with cracks of his vertebrae forged whip. Natasha ground her yellow tusked teeth and clenched the fists under her gauntlet blades. “Ask me once more,” she began with a deep snarl. “And I will shove my blades into your running mouth, carve out your tongue and feed it to your hounds.” Marquise frowned, growling with vexation and cracking his blade an inch closer to one of his beasts. It yipped and skipped forward with a panicked dash. Natasha turned her eyes from her annoyance and looked forward to the witches coming into increasing view. As their details finally transpired, she identified them. Alexandria and Tsura. Alexandria she recognized all too well—the gold armor was a beacon to all the orcs of the mountain. Natasha remembered experiencing that same shine when they flew in sync through the snow stricken air in a symphony of bloodlusting war cries. The memory ended with the demise of a different dragon. It was all still fresh in his mind and burned hot in her muscles. Tsura, recognized by her lack of visual detail more than anything, was a witch known to Natasha in passing. The orcs sensed that Tsura held a familiar sense of rampant dominance and appeared cloaked in the night when most of the nocturnal scouts were active. The beast-class orcs also seemed to speak of this witch in the underground pit fights. She wondered how much of their rumors and speculations were true. “I will prove my vigor and worth on this mountain by claiming a dragon and raising the pack.” Natasha shot her eyes back to Marquise, her eyes narrowing so much that they became mere red slits in her grimaced and scrunched countenance. Marquise was just pulling to a stop before the witches when Natasha's heavily armored shin cut across the air and collided into the side of his waist. The surprising vigorous force sent him off the chariot and crashing loud into the bedrock. Natasha lowered her foot and agilely caught the ties to the harness to give it a final tug and complete the hounds' halt. Marquise laid a few feet back, face planted in the dirt and dust clouds riding the air around him. Natasha crossed her arms, stepped off the chariot, and turn her face over her shoulder to meet Marquise's infuriated and deranged rising glare. Not intimidated, she responded to him and with cool grin. “I don’t give a shit what you do.” And her eyes dared him to retaliate. Marquise met her stare for a moment, but then grunted and sat up to his rear. Obscenely embedded into his back and shoulder blades were several great horns of unknown creatures, likely cut into his flesh deep and held there until the muscle hardened, scabbed, and scarred them into place. The orc was a monstrosity by all means and of the more temperamental orcs in the tribe, but his dealings with beasts showed him that creatures like Natasha needed much more then a brawl to get what he wanted. So instead he dusted himself off, stood effortlessly, and walked to the chariot to unload the supplies. It was as if nothing happened. Natasha turned back towards the witches, taking a few extra steps towards them. “We come help witches,” Natasha bowed her head, staring angrily at the floor as she did, and then rose it again. “Bring supplies for climb and capture. Hounds good with tracking. Marquise good with hounds.” Marquise turned his head from the chariot and bowed his head with respect as well. On the chariot was a crate of chains, hooks, and other tools the beast-class orc normally used to capture and subdue the aggressive fauna of the mountain. The orc skillfully began wrapping them all around his body, finding a hook, bone, or pocket to hang or store each of them. Natasha rolled her hands onto his hips, waiting for their direction.
  8. The Witches' Mountain (Mount Ariadne) Mount Ariadne is the eminence in which the Sisterhood of Witches reside in. It is located in the southernmost regions of No Man's Land, northerly ridging the passage to Palgard from the Great Pine Barrens. It is one of the surrounding mountain on the northern outskirts of the Black Ridge and arguably apart of it. While this mountain dulls in comparison to the nearby Mount Ormond's 31,000ft elevation (resting at 29,000ft), it still stands as an impressive mountain with views of the western Palgard and the entire northern landscape of No Man's Land from its crown. When viewed from the grounds of No Man's Land, it is the largest in its region and is mostly accessible from it. The mountain contains a multitude of caverns and is forested by palisades of jutting rocks and cliff sides that obscure most of its openings. Before the witches, this mountain was ruled by vicious orcs that abused and toiled the land. It is volcanic in origin with a previously noxious atmosphere that resisted all forms of growth. Now the mountain stands out as covered in a thin patches of greenery and an overall radiance of magic that is often mistaken as the after currents of the southern Black Ridge. As time drifts by, the mountain continues to demonstrate a resilience against the starved landscape due to the slowly increasing saturation of magic embedded into its soul by the witches and magical entities that have begun to inhabit it. The geography is demonstrating more fauna and flora, though it has not begun to sprout trees. Inside the Mountain Labyrinth Ariadne in some Greek legends symbolizes the "Mistress of Labyrinths" is fitting to the insides of the mountain. When accessing the caverns, there is an open network of tunnel that leads into a maze of rocky aphotic corridors. Without guidance, one can wander miles in circles without light nor nourishment. An array of dangerous creatures live within this labyrinth and often prey on lost wandering intruders. Unless a witch of the coven has entered the threshold, the darkness will only thicken as one travels from the entrance light and eventually become pitch black. There are torches on the walls, but they are magically induced not to produce light to those not of the coven. When a coven member enters the threshold, the torches immediately light and the pathway to the location of her desire is revealed. If it is aligned with torches. Otherwise, the natural denizens of the mountain see with near perfection in the dark. The labyrinth is sporadically adorned with hidden runic inscriptions at locations most of the witches are aware of. When the blood of a witch bonded to the Coven's Soul is provided, a gateway activates and can provide easy passageway through the tunnels. This two key requirement of witch blood and connection to the Coven's Soul prevents the blood of a dead coven witch (whose soul would have passed with her death) from activating the portals. Orc Fortress At the core, the mountain is revealed to be the vessel for an underground volcanic world. The temperatures raise significantly as one reaches the center, spiking to a blistering 900 degrees Fahrenheit. Under the influence of runic symbols scattered across the cavern, this temperature has been subdued to a fifth of that, but the effects are still fatal to those incapable of handling the heat. Rivulets of magma stream through the chest of the mountain and lead to the glorious stature of the Orc fortress. The road to the fortress is about a mile long though pools and rivers of magma and is met with gates atop of stone stairs. The doors to the fortress are ingrained into a metallic forged wall and constructed of illustrious gems of diamond dust harvested from the mountain. The stairs ascend over a magma molt that crescents the front of the fortress. Great towers guard the surrounding sights of the door and many more can be seen peaking over the thick stone walls. The only light is provided by the magma itself. Witches' Tower and Orc Courtyard The entire rear of the fortress is embedded into the interior side of the open cavern, consisting of specific chambers tailored to both witches and orcs alike. Some of the networking travels deeper into the earth to places such as the dungeons and greater sanctions of magma pools. The majority of sleeping quarters for the orcs are hidden within the mountainside. Most of the open area within the fortress walls consists of several great towers and a vast courtyard. Most of the architecture within the courtyard is low and consists of laboring supplies, training camps, armories, barracks for active guards, and stables for the tamed beasts and steeds. The courtyard is often crowded with orcs and hounds laboring for Luna's constant desire of expansion. The extending towers are the most impressive features of the fortress, extending between 20-30 floors in height. The highest of the towers is the Witches' Tower, which plasters into the mountainside and extends halfway up the cavern wall. It is the jewel of the fortress and where the sister witches congregate. Within the tower, their magnificent collective magic flourishes and reveals itself. The scenery transforms into a lush emerald environment of plant life woven through stone and stairway. The witches' chambers exist on different levels of the tower, tailored to the signatures of their own magic. The concentration of the Coven's Soul exists within this tower, its magic breathing the life seen within and manifests as sunlight rushing through the interior. The wealth of the tower is a direct representation of the strength of the coven, and will weaken and flourish based on their numbers. The heated environment dissipates into cool manageable temperatures and the air becomes clean and fresh within. The tower is a fragment of what Luna hopes to transpire as her sanctuary for witches. She strives to extend the magic of the tower's interior throughout No Man's Land itself. When in the fortress, the witches spend most of their time within these walls, not interacting with the brutal and unsightly orcs lingering on the blistering outsides. Only selected leaders of orc brigades and invited guests are allowed within the tower. Denizens of the Mountain Keeper of the Orcs, The Matriarch Commander and Keeper Orc Army Race: Seer/Witch Doctor -Abilities- [1] Witch Doctor Magic [2] Seer Magic—A rare ability that renders the Matriarch susceptible to premonitions when in contact with a possession of targeted person. [3]Lightning Elementalist [4] Skilled in swordsmanship combat [5] Speaks Orc [6] Substantial resistance to volcanic associated heat, radiation, and exhaust. [7] Third Eye Vision [8] Marble/Insulating Skin -Equipment- [1] Lightening Blade [2] Witch Doctor Staff [3] Orc-Made Armor and Gauntlet -Personality- --Detached, Misty, Tyrannical The Army, Tyrtrol Tribe After dominating the fortress, Luna and her coven have taken control of its army.On average, the female orcs are about 6feet tall and the males 6'5feet. Although born with jade skin, most of the orcs' color range from an ashy gray to pure ebony depending on soot, magma, radiation, and ash exposure as they grow. Upon touch, their skin is rough and rigid like volcanic rock and has a fathomless thickness. Underneath the many layers of skin, there are bundles of fortified muscle to exemplify their enhanced strength and animosity. Due to the correlation with their harsh environment, one can estimate both the age and skin resilience/thickness of an orc based on the color. Jade being the most delicate and ebony being the most vigorous. This also hints at their specialty (for example, a scout that spends most of its time outside the volcano will have lighter more jade skin whereas the workers and warriors have typically darker skin tones). These orcs are different from their cousins in a magnitude of ways. Having lived in the volcano for many generations, these orcs demonstrate adaptions that allowed their ancestral survival within the heat, radiation, and toxins. All the orcs demonstrate a strange phenomenon of possessing crimson eyes, something that also seems to darken with age and exposure to the volcano, and their retinal vessels are black. It is an assumed adaptation with the only obvious benefit being that they can see excessively well in the dark. The hounds they train also seem to have this crimson color, suggesting it is an adaption that some of the native creatures of the volcano share. Their bodies are accustomed to brusque conditions and have a thickness stronger than commonplace metallic armor. Their skin is so tenacious that it can be compared to solid marble against blade. It is suggested that the orcs are unable to superficially feel fine textures or pain from years of their sensory receptors being burned away. They also do not seem to sweat due to their glands suffering the same fate, meaning they must have other ways to regulate their body temperature in the volcano. The thickness also acts as an insulator and heat deterrent, protecting them from extreme conditions of not only heated but cold environments. Lastly, the orcs in the army are soulless. Every soul of the current and future generation of this army were/are transferred to and controlled by Luna, making them unconditionally obedient and devoted to her commands. Despite their untamed nature and wild behavior, they obey her and only her orders without question. The Orc Matriarch appears to be their leader, but the orcs follow her on Luna's command. Types and Numbers Total Number in Army[current]: 1740 Archers [450]: Specialize in acrobatic and rouge skills. [1] Crossbows [2] Flammable oils [3] Short daggers Warriors [875]: Specialize in melee and weapon wielding combat [1] Combat Axes [2] Clubs [3] Swords [4] Shields Beast Tamers [75]: Specialize in training Orc Hounds, although a few have been known to train other creatures that lurk in the mountain. [1] One tamer usually owns about 1-7 hounds [2] Potions and Toxins containing both the counteractive and active substances of the hound's breath and salivate. [3] Various styled whips and other weaponry coated in [2] toxins. Workers and Scouts [340]: Works on the fortress, roams the land, and reports activity. [1] These orcs are jacks of all trades and can potentially qualify as any type. Established Orcs The Bodyguard Name: ??? Status: The Matriarch's Bodyguard Description: He is the largest and physically the strongest orc of the entire army, standing at 8ft and weighing 560lbs of muscle. He is calm as far as the orcs go and generally very placid until provoked. He was the twin brother of the previous Orc King, who was beheaded when Luna and her witches took over. He says very little even to his follow orcs, often only speaking when addressed by The Matriarch. He always by The Matriarch's side. Acting as both her bodyguard and her vision. Because of his lack of words, no one seems to know his name. Weaponary: Short Cleaver/Axe The Prodigy Name: Natasha Status: A general in the orc army (Warrior Brigade) Demo: 6'3ft 180lbs; Charcoal skin Description: She is one the most skilled female orcs in the entire army. She specializes in scouting, hunting, and bladed combat with weapons of various kinds. She had a short temper and a domineering personality, known for stabbing her fellow orcs if they disobey or irritate her. She is also one of the most intelligent of the orcs, if not thee most intelligent, and is one of the few that speaks both common and orc language. Even though she is enslaved, her unnatural intellectual curiosity had made her the most curious of the witches' tendency to work and sacrifice for each other, concepts she had rejected since she was a child. Weapon specialty: Bladed Gauntlets The Aged Warrior Name: Smung Status: Warrior Demo: 6'7ft | 440lbs; Ebony skin Description: Smung is the oldest orc of the fighters. He holds a lot of history and his experience in battle is phenomenally demonstrated through combat. Despite his age, he is still incredibly strong, fast, and strategic. The Brothers Name (left to right): Bale, Grud, and Curt Status: Warrior/Scout Brigade Leader/Warrior Demo: Bale is 7ft (340lbs) charcoal-jade skin ; Grud is 5'5ft (450bs) dark-jade skin ; Curt is 6'2ft (350lbs) charcoal-jade skin Description: Bale, Grud, and Curt are brothers. Bale is the youngest, Curt is the oldest, Grud is the middle. Bale is silent for an orc, sticking to his duties and not caring anything else. Grud is a young dumb hot-head that has a short-man complex. Curt isn't as much as a hot-head as he is wild. He is always looking for a fight or a woman. The Negotiator Name: Welund Status: Possible Scout Demo: 5'8ft, 160lbs; Smokey skin Demo: The first thing that is noticed about Welund is her difference in appearance to her fellow orcs. Her features are considerably more gracile. She is neither as tall or bulky as her fellow orcs, even amongst the scouts. Her voice is deep but not husk and her skin is thick but consistently smooth. However, she commands a phenomenal amount of respect. It is assumed that Welund is a favorite of the witches and may even be learning from them, as it appears she is capable of using magic. Rumor says she is the result of a raping involving Matriarch by one of the orcs (while she was still enslaved) and was locked in the dungeons before the takeover. Because of her less intimidating appearance and proficient language skills, she is often used as an orc representative for Luna herself in negotiations. Growth Rate: Initial army [850] : Total [1740] As a representation of the passage of time: For every thread that actively involves a member of the orc army (Including the Matriarch), they grow 100 per 30 posts . Alliances with another Orc tribe (see accomplishments) has changed this to 200 per 30 posts for all threads proceeding it. Listed chronologically below. [On going/Discontinued] All the Way Up the Mountain: +100 [Completed] Diamonds are A Witches Best Friend: + 210 (-3) [Completed] Developing a Gambit +150 (An alliance with another Orc tribe has doubled the growth rate!) [Completed] Foolin' With a Witch's Brew +320 [On going] The Witching Hour [On going] Act, and Witches will Act [Completed] In the Depths of the Mountain +113 Orc Hounds [391] Hounds under the control of the orcs. There are many packs of them that lurk through the mountains tunnels and outskirts of the fortress. They are about the size of cougars with lupine agility. Their primary job is guarding the tunnels against intruders and 80% of the hounds live throughout them. [1] The hounds have an very keen sense of smell that allows them to easily navigate and track intruders of the mountain from several miles away. [2] The hounds have three heads, each capable of seeing clearly though the dark and armed with sharp tongues covered in corrosive flesh eating bacteria that can whip and extend over six feet. [3] The breath and drool of the hounds is saturated with a potent toxin similiar to diethyl ether. A full breath of this in the face will cause a victim to lose consciousness and prolonged saturation can cause cardiac arrest. This toxin is also highly flammable and because of their heated environment, these hounds have been known to spontaneously breathe fire. Initial [100] Orc Hounds 100+ per every 200+ orcs. -Developing Gambit: +75 -Fooling With Witch's Brew: +160 -In the depths of the Mountain: +56 Beasts of the Coven Luna likes to collect dragons Venomous 12-Head Hydra: Third descendant of the Legendary Hydra of Sable Knight. There was a legend within Lake Poakapong of a Sable Knight that once fought a fierce beast and won using a sword blessed by Gaia. Midst pursuing the sword, the Sisters came across its third descendant. Though the sword was missing, the coven captured the hydra. Now the beast rest within the deep mountainous tunnels of the orc fortress, unnervingly capable of appearing from the darkness with any one of its twelve heads. Alternatively, it can rest within the sword of The Matriarch. The level in which the hydra lives is a mystery to all but the witches and certain orcs. Wandering throughout the endless tunnels of the mountains, one may eventually find the air suddenly harder to breathe. The cavern walls may seem to lighten in the distance, but the relief of the vision and countered by an equally irritating burn. Loose toxins from the hydra's breath make the atmosphere unpleasant, and through likely magical means, the temperature gradually drops down to a summer night's feel in the bayou. The cavern becomes moist, walls wet and dripping with water, and soon leads to a pool of dark water reaching unknown depth. The light that shines is another hidden entrance/exit to the mountain. It is hard to discover from the outside and monitored by orcs. Even moreso, it is guarded by the hydra who takes advantage of the darkness and yearns to strike all invaders. Chrysanthe In the forgotten times when dragons were plentiful in Valucre, Chrysanthe was a creature amongst legends and great magic. When world became warm and unsuitable, she was one of the many dragons who vanished. It is speculated that she hid within magic rich regions of Genesaris, feeding on the arcane storms that occur there and dwelling in the coldest regions. When the Cold Snap transpired in Terrenus, she migrated into the high mountains in hopes of finally birthing an egg she nestled in her womb for thousands of years. It was after giving birth to her next generation that the witches intercepted her. The battle was grueling and bloody, taking two witches and many orcs to subdue the beast while other orcs were killed. Chysanthe seemed capable of producing chilling temperatures of surreal levels, possessed great stamina, and performed advanced arcane skills. It was by fortune, skill, and manipulation that they managed to capture Chrysanthe alive, though on the brink of death. The dragon is currently deep within the mountain, where Luna works to discover the secrets of lost times by gaining the loyalty and friendship of this powerful ancient beast.
  9. “What is—” The princess was cut short when Tyveres rose his hand to quiet her. She hunched her shoulders uncomfortably and nodded to him. Listening as he did from her position in the room, something sounded definitely disturbing in the lobby below. She strained her eyes to listen, squinting her eyes as if that would help, and picked up minuscule indications that a man was refusing to give another man what he wanted. “We have to go." She looked at him. "I don’t know if they’re looking for us, but it’s not safe here.” Her eyes widened and her fist clenched the fabric of her dress. Something bitter churned on her tongue and she looked down shamefully, pink lips pressed into a thin upset line. So Calvin wasn’t the only one on their trail. Others must have been behind him and after he sent word out, continued towards the town. They must've caught up during the night of her misplaced search for fun. It was her fault again...Again. “The suns coming up and we’ve got a full day’s ride to reach the port.” She didn’t hear him, for his words were drowned into a sea of guilt chastising her mind. Self reproach temporarily dragged her from reality. She was selfish and spoiled, an ignorant princess unaware of the consequences to her actions. It was her that asked her father about Calvin’s departure and lead to his family's demise, it was her that couldn’t see the demons within her kingdom and abandoned it to pursue childish dreams of dance and performance. She was the one that brought the Suujali out of the desert, arrogantly thought she could control and manage it. Instead it ranged out of control. All her mistakes suddenly came flooding like the wrath of god and she simply drowned in it. Her body wanted collapse under all the weight. Tyveres’ hands suddenly grasped her shoulder and she snapped out of it, looking up at him with distraught eyes. “We have to get to your father.” “O-okay…” she whispered softly and instinctively followed him towards the window. She paused as he opened it then extended her small hand when he reached for her. That’s right, she said to herself. If she could only reach her father, everything would be solved. No one else would suffer from her self-centered decisions. She would be show the kingdom was she was not an indulged jewel of royalty, but a beacon for them to pull strength from. She would stand for them, her people, and atone for her sins. No one else would be harmed for her. “ARGH!” Her hand paused an inch from his. The sound came from the sailor being thrown against the wall again, the rouged man charging him with great strength and shoving him there. The gruff man was sporting a bloodied lip but sprung back with his mass, surprising his assailant with his resilience and clocking him good across the chin. The man stumbled back and his hood fell down. Trevor shot his gaze up, revealing a pissed and malevolent pair of hazel eyes that gradually became overcome with carmine bloodlust. “Stubborn old fool!” With a luminescent fist, Trevor punched the sailor directly in the torso, the light oscillating through its target’s body and revealing itself through blood bursting from the sailor’s lips. The sailor was perhaps drunk with determination or insanity for despite the indescribable pain pounding where his heart was, he grabbed Trevor's shoulders and headbutted him away. He then shuffled dizzily and fell over a chair to his back. The sounds froze Cecilla on the spot. Her fingers trembling over Tyveres’ and then slowly curling back with the rest of her arm. She stepped back in a reverse step, thoughts plastered all over her expression before she screamed it through her lips. “I-I can’t let someone else get hurt for me! I can’t!” And she turned on her heels, forgetting all her fatigue and running towards the door with teardrops in her wind. If the stranger was after her, she couldn’t let the sailor die for her. She remembered the honorable look in his eyes when she passed him in the lobby; he cared for her well-being despite being uninvolved. He now stood up against threats from her tribulations. The princess slammed opened the door and it banged against the wall. What if the entire inn was burnt to the ground for her? The panicked the adrenaline boiled her and her nude feet rushed even faster. She escaped Tyveres’ possible protesting grasps, ignored his shouts, and hurried down the hallway with a stream of ebony waving behind her. The sailor weakly opened his eyes and coughed harsh breathes. Trevor strolled dementedly towards him. The sibilant sound of sliding metal announced a silver saber transpiring from his cloak. The sadistic grin imprinted upon the assassin’ face trembled with vim as he rose the weapon and made a deadly graceful sweep towards the sailor’s throat. “NO!!” The blade stopped mere moments before contact. Both men looked over towards the staircase and there stood Cecillia panting heavily with desperate and bright eyes. “You want me…” she said through her breathing, eyes narrowing with a bravery she didn’t know she possessed. “I’m here.” The sailor stared astounded at the princess and Trevor stood straight, turning towards her slowly and his sadistic grin changing into one of sheer amusement. “Priiiincess," he mused. "I would have never thought you'd come to me.” He took a menacing step towards her. The princess' heart skipped and fear grasped her all over again. She remembered him. Trevor. He was a king’s guardsmen that held a questionable honor for the way he toyed with his enemies. He was unforgivably arrogant and volunteered willingly for dungeon duty of the town’s miscreants. He also lead the raids into the desert, hunt and subduing traitors of the kingdom. He was praised for his sound-based martial art and swordsmanship, causing invisible damage to opponents he never physically struck. He was feared more than respected and the princess never enjoyed the way he stared at her in the kingdom halls. When she was his prisoner, she feared to be left alone with him and was thankful it never occurred. Even his brethren sensed something psychotic and manic about him. Memories of this blew the devil's breath down her spine and she suddenly felt her thighs tremble with apprehension. Now what was she supposed to do? Her eyes went to the struggling sailor and something deep burned within her. “You have no idea how pleased I am that-" Trevor paused when the princess snapped her eyes back at him. The expression upon Cecilla's face stunned him and drew a breath from his lips. The last time he saw her, she was a dead little doll, miserable and frightened at the mere sight of him. Now those oceanic hues symbolizing the weak, spoiled, and delicate daughter of the king burned vigorous and fierce with what he swore was a ring of dancing gold around the irises. It reminded him of tidal waves under skies of fire...
  10. Namiko came beside her and the Matriarch continued to look forward, now basking in the presence of both her sister and morning with a tranquil but meaningful silence for a time. “Soothing to see the sunrise once more..” “Is it, Sister?” She responded mistily, blind eyes unfocused and solemn with thought. “I grew up without the light of the sun in my youth, then lost the world’s perception of color the moment my powers as a seer awakened.” She paused for a moment, closing her eyes to the kiss of the wind then smiled gently. “But there is something I have come to find serene and calming during this time of day. Perhaps what I feel is what you see.” “I wished for a peaceful sleep, all I got were visions of darkness or treachery..of the impending doom..” The Matriarch now turned her head towards Namiko, the solemnity rekindled upon her eyes with a wisp of shock upon her face. It lasted briefly before it all melted into understanding and she placed her cool and hard hand upon Namiko’s shoulder. “It appears you have seen my premonition.” Something apologetic came upon her but she smiled comfortingly. “Do not despair, the Third Eye has shown me thousands of dismal possibilities for the future. For this, the Great Spirits have linked us to share it, it means it is grave but not hopeless. Premonitions are not to tell us of impending doom, but to present us with opportunity to fight destiny. And we will fight it.” She released her shoulder and turned away from the sunrise to the camp. “I think I know why the spirits have chosen to connect us. Alone I am not powerful enough to unravel the greater mysteries of this vision, and my sisters haven’t the magical affinity to accentuate my strength. But something within you does... Come, sister.” The Matriarch walked over to the suffocating campfire from the previous night. Kneeling to her thighs, she postured herself perfectly before the minuscule flames. “Meditate deep upon the visions you saw, find the energy behind them and focus it upon the flames between us. Allow yourself to wish to see more. We will see what the Third Eye grants us.” She waited for Namiko to come beside her before closing her eyes to meditate.
  11. Cecilia was too ridden with exhaustion to address the burst of violence from her companion. She barely perceived the occurrence of it. However as Tyveres strutted away, she opened those aquatic hues and gazed at the pushed sailor. His face started growing red before he made eye contact with her. She instinctively smiled softly. The sailor stared, blinked twice, and then lost the red in his face and crossed his arms. She heard his incessant grumbling about rudeness behind her before it faded away under echoing steps upon the stairway. Tyveres sat her down on the mattress and more fine debris of broken rock rained from her forestry of locks. She slid her hands upon her thighs and looked up through bangs to smile ardently. He offered her a dress, the black patterns like a beautiful reverse of cliffs crashing onto the sea, and spoke with voice soft and shocking. She looked into his countenance and found herself turning pink once more. His reflected a compassion and concern, even disappointment. Was that for her? Something underneath her breasts shuddered and throbbed and she turned her head down to her thighs. No, that couldn't have been it. How could be express such emotion over a burden like her? Without looking up, she took the dress and nodded for a second time. “Thank you...” She stood slow, steeling her thighs against the weakness the threatened them. When he offered to give her assistance, that soft pink transformed into a beet red and shook her head so wildly that sand pelted everything around her. It got into her eyes and she flinched, hunched, and rubbed it out with filling embarrassment. "N-n-no! I..I mean I'm fine." She couldn’t fathom him helping her bathe and dress—it was only through her sheer exhaustion that she survived the feel of his rough hands compressing into the plush of her thighs. In a skirt no less. The air on her bum told her she must have looked very unlady like when they traveled. Finding hidden strength from the determination of sparing herself shame, she walked forward with dignity and grace to the bathroom and closed the door behind her. "Ugh." On the other side she slumped hard against the door and sighed loudly. Her mind was filled with obscene imagery of him caressing her nude body with a sud heavy sponge, stream rolling around them and skin flushed with crimson lust. She slammed a hand to her mouth to prevent herself from squealing like teenage child—she was only eighteen. The sound of water soon came, the princess not accustomed to quick cleans. Her salt crusted clothing fell off, blanket, skirt then shirt, and she entered the warm water with great relief. Too tired to stand, she was on her thighs with her hair in great rivulets along the bottom of the tub. Her hair pulled mercilessly at her scalp as she tried to comb through the viciously tangled black and get most of the dirt from it. She even found shells...Thankfully with nothing living inside. After a few minutes of cleaning her hair, she leaned against the tiled wall to let the streams of water trickle down the curves of her cheeks and tip of her nose. The quiet moment forced her to think about Calvin’s family and her father’s hand at their murder. She almost didn’t want to return to the desert. She could run away, go dancing in distance town. Bring joy to people's hearts.. She closed her eyes and shook her head. No. A stronger part of her knew she would have to confront her father about these accusations. "But I don't want to believe it true." She thought to herself. He always treated her with a royal kindness, gave her anything she wished for, and even allowed her out into the world. How could such a man be capable of committing such crimes? Beyond the disbelief, she felt as if she were naive and ignorant to not understand so much that could have been happening under her nose. What kind of a princess does not recognize the pain of her kingdom? Was she that spoiled? Was her request to leave just to get her out the kingdom? What was happening there now? She slid her hands to her face, feeling her own hot tears mingle with the raining shower. The sorrow was heavy on her cringed expression and arched posture, but her heart was filled with determination and anger trembling to the tips of her fingers. She would find her father and confront him before her assailants—if the king was innocent, she would defend him to her dying breath. If not, and the misery of the kingdom was bleeding through the rebellious actions of these men…It was unforgivable. She would take the throne herself. As the thoughts rang within her heart, her mind shivered with apprehension of rising a sword to her father and king. She never fought for anything in her life. Could she even do it? ~~ Upon the streets of the fisherman’s town, the clank of horseshoes slowly echoed upon the pavement as two rouged horsemen traveled. They met from two different directions in a crossroads, lowering their hoods to speak with one another. “What have you found out?” said a familiar green-eyed man. “This town is small and hosts not many places she could hide. There are two inns, one of which we checked out on the other side of the town. Nothing there, and the desk man was quick to provide information on the other with enough incentive. Trevor is going to investigate it now. What of the bar?” The man paused for a time, thinking about what the captain had spoken of. “Mostly ramblings of drunk old fools…But there was one particular that had useful information. It appears Calvin may have been lost to the ocean…and The Golden Butterfly may have transpired.” “What?” the other said in disbelief. “I know…But he described an angel with wings shrouded in a golden light lifting him from the seas and bringing him to land. Others in town have also reported seeing the sky brighten like an early dawn.” “…If she had taken such form, it means that she is destined to save the—” “There is no savior,” the green-eyed man snapped so harshly that his cold tone made the horses stir with unease. “Only us and our rebellion. She is the daughter of a sadistic murderer and will grow to be nothing more than that. The plan does not change. We find her, we use her to blackmail and kill the King.” The other pressed his lips together uneasily, but nodded. “Scout the town’s entrance. The sighting was not long ago. If she is back, they will likely return to re-gather their supplies. We cannot let them slip passed us tonight.” “Understood.” The other pulled his horse into the opposite direction and galloped down the street. The remaining one turned his eyes to the distance ocean, his countenance disturbed and then intensely violent. “I will be King…” ~ ~ The Princess ran the last of her wet skin down with a dry cloth, throwing her head up and shaking her bangs. She removed herself from the shower and threw the loose linen dress. It was beautiful and light, sitting comfortably on her slender shoulders and peaks of her nude breasts. Big but only slightly. She felt an ounce better than before—the lavish of warm soap and water making everything less tense despite her continued enervation. She wrapped her hair once around her skull and allowed the rest to hang to her calves, not completely clean, but at least no longer tangled. She exited the bathroom. “Tyveres...I need to get home as soon as possible, I feel like my father might be in more danger than me.” Just as she was speaking, a sudden abrupt crash resonated from the other side of the door, sourcing from down the hallway and stairs. The sailor had just been thrown against the wall—he was having a really bad night. In front of him, a crimsoned cloaked man stood with an outstretched palm laden in a crimson light that matched a burning print upon the sailor's chest. “Don’t play games with me, old man." He said, lowering his hand. "If you saw such a woman and man, tell me or forfeit your life.” The sailor narrowed his eyes and rubbed the ache in his torso. He didn’t care much for Tyveres and his vulgar nature, but he wasn’t about to give the location of the young lass. He put two and two together that this man, not Tyveres, might have been the cause of her ruffled appearance. He might have been a gruff and noisy bastard, but he considered himself a man with a certain level of chivalry and honor when it came to women. Especially one young enough to be his daughter. “Told ye, I ain’t know shit. Now get yer ruddy ass out my inn afore I call the guards on yeh.” “Then how about I start by ripping out your tongue and I’ll explore the place myself.” The old sailor huffed and stepped forward from the wall. "Try yer best."
  12. Tera visibly flinched at Namiko’s words, turning towards her with bitterness and confusion. She pressed her thick lips together into a frown and stared intensely with those carmine eyes, but didn’t say anything. Like Kana, Tera found it strange when a witch showed sincerity. Not only was compassion something not practiced amongst themselves, the leader of the coven spent most of the beginning chapters of their slavery making it absolutely miserable. It was to establish dominance. Tera distrustfully grunted when Namiko strolled away, then looked back towards the fields. She crossed her bulk arms tightly and hunched her shoulders with impatience. As the night drifted and the moon arched through the black cascade of sky, sleep would not come easily for the witches. When they touched and that unspoken connection was made as the Matriarch’s lips compressed upon Namiko smooth hand, it allowed the land of dreams to bring them together. The dream would manifest with Namiko standing alone in utter darkness, not a sound or sight allowed in her void. But then suddenly everything began to crack. As if she stood surrounded by hatching shells, crepitations and matching fissures transpired, permeated in cerulean light. Attempting to break into her void were a thousand screaming souls, voices cold and despaired. Then the floor vanished into world of imagery, and the witch would find herself elevating above distant land. She floated amongst ebony clouds; cloud that broke and scattered into the cerulean light of tormented souls. Below was a circle of seven hooded figures rising their gloved hands to the skies and chanting with iniquitous glee. The witch would not only see the terror, but feel it inside her. It was as if sorrow gravitated to the center of her being, sourced by the souls around her begging for help. Then if she were to glance up, she'd see that the cracks met at a center where smoke began to simmer and gurgle. Then with terrifying abruptness, the smoke transformed into a descending claw of a vengeful god, reaching for her, hungry to snuff out her existence…. The dream ended. The Matriarch shot her eyes open and her body forward in the cot, breathing heavily and panicked as the vision abruptly came to an end. It was the same as before, but stressed the urgency of her mission. Little did she know, Namiko had shared it too that night. When Namiko awoke and left her tent, she’d find the Matriarch standing in the light of the sunrise. Her body was mildly shadowed in the morning light, but still glimmered from amber hues reflecting off her metallic armor. A gentle breeze lifted her hair and settled it slow upon her back. The dawn was beautiful, shedding an aura upon the Blue Hills that made dew upon pedals sparkle like sapphires. Whether or not the blind witch could appreciate the scene was a wonder. However, the solemn and disturbed expression upon her porcelain face suggested her thoughts were someplace with much less pulchritude. The orcs had not slept that night. The Bodyguard set near the tent the Matriarch had slumbered, his crimson eyes half closed but the brilliant light clearly reflecting off his irises like blood. Tera was in the exact same position in which Namiko had left her, arms crossed and staring into the blue fields. Several more hounds now rested throughout the campsite and the cattle like beast gazed nearby. Kana, who had returned that night, was sitting down amongst the slumbering hounds and sharpening the bony heads of her arrows.
  13. Something warm and dry rested upon her body; the princess opened her eyes a tad wider and shifted her arms under her bosom to lift to her thighs. Her muscles trembled from exhaustion, her core felt poisoned with weakness, and her shivering dislodged sand from her mesh of wet locks. She breathed soft and deliberate for air, taking a hand and clasping the blanket close to protect her skin from anymore chilling assaults of the nightly wind. Those sapphire hues, shimmering cerulean in the moonlight, gazed tiredly through low lashes at Tyveres. He was alive. She was thankful. “Are you okay?” Her frown deepened and she turned her head away from him with shame, nodding silently. She wasn’t sure what happened in the ocean; against the slapping waves she felt herself overwhelmed with despair, and then felt something intense blossom within her stomach. At that point, her memory vanished and rekindled only on the beach. She could only assume he saved her, saved her from a danger she caused. She wanted to apologize profusely, but her tongue felt so laden with the guilt that she even failed at that. She felt the same sand littered on her body, grind in her throat when she tried to speak. So instead, her eyes began to glisten with tears as the thoughts permeated and simmered. He extended a hand and she slid her fingers into his palm, wobbling greatly when he pulled her to a stand and stepping forward to lean into his chest. The impact made more granules spill onto his chest and down her body. Her bones felt replaced with jelly. Embarrassed, she immediately pulled back again and fought to stand on her own. “We must go. We must get our things and be on our way. Those men will be after you again before long.” Feeling nothing but obedient, she nodded again. The princess tightened her thighs to prepare them to walk back to the hotel, but then she found herself drawing breath when Tyveres knelt down before her. A rise of rosy pink adorned her cheeks, heat along with it. She hesitated for a half moment before slowly stepping forward, rising her thighs around his waist line and cupping her chin into the nape of his neck. The blush intensified as her damp breasts compressed into his shoulder blades. She swallowed the discomfort, tightening her hold on him as he carried her forward. She was silent most of the walk back, churning around the thoughts in her mind. As they got back into the city, she bit her lower lip and mustered up courage. “I’m sorry…” she whispered towards his closest ear. “This was all my fault…Thank you for saving us.” Upon reaching the hotel, the desk man had changed from a refined salesman to a nighttime gruff old sailor slumbering in a chair. He opened an eye as the door opened, and then raised his brush gray brow. He didn’t recall seeing the two leave the establishment, perhaps they did before his nighttime shift started ( actually they both hopped out the window). He snorted out of his sleepy state to get a better look at them. “Light on yer toes, ye are—Oi!” he suddenly sat up from his chair, noting the appearance of the princess. “What happened ter the young lass?” Cici was resting her head down, eyes closed, body wrapped in a blanket and covered with raining sand and hair that lightly hit the ground. He would have made a fuss about the trailing mess of dirt, but the pathetic appearance of the young beauty shifted his priorities. He came about the desk and approached them with a disgruntled look on his round and bearded face. “Looks like a wrecked ship on some rocks, she does. She fall into te’ ocean? Gon’ catch ‘erself a cold doin’ that and them undercurrents ain' no joke this time a year.” The princess opened her eyes to look at the concerned old sailor. Quite a change from before. Not having the energy to reassure him, she closed her eyes again. This didn’t make the sailor feel any better and he turned his upset grimace to Tyveres. “Oi, you tell me what happened.” He paused to look up and down the 'irresponsible' man. “Why you messin’ with the seas this time a night?” ~ ~ ~ Upon the beach, the captain regained consciousness, hacking the burning sensation in his lungs. Rolling onto his back with a deep groan, he gazed up at the night sky and stars. He could have sworn he was a goner. He had said his last prayers within the debris of his lost ship and even counted his regrets in life. Then to his surprise, a golden butterfly came swooping down upon him. He thought it was an angel coming to get his soul. The woman within the warming cascade was a gorgeous winged entity surrounded by a swirl of raven locks. Her hands had grasped his wrist and pulled him from the seas with strength no lass that size should have. He thought he was ascending to the heavens, but instead he woke up alone and cold on the beach. He glanced around but no one was to be seen. “Ugh, I need a drink.” Time found this man wandering into a bar opened in the late night. He rustled away most of the sand by then, though his clothes were still damn wet, clingy, and cold. He stumbled into a stool closest to the alcohol, mind still preoccupied by the events that night. Immediately he ordered whiskey and downed the shot as fast as it was placed. Thankfully he managed to save some gold on his waist. Slamming the glass with a clink on the wood, he rose his thick hand to his face and sighed into his palm. The alcohol felt so good. “Looks like you had a rough night.” Came a sudden voice to his left. The captain sighed loudly. “Ya dun know the half of it.” He looked to the side and was immediately put off by the appearance of the man suddenly in the neighboring chair. He could have sworn the man was not sitting there two moments ago. The stranger was cloaked in a dark red cloth, hood lowered to reveal a darkly tanned rectangular face salted and peppered with scruff hair on his chin and tangled thick long dreadlocks across his shoulders and down his back. His emerald eyes stared hard ahead, not looking at the captain. The captain ignored the shiver in his spine, grunted, and then looked forward as well. “Seen many things in my life. The shitty luck of tonight takes the cake.” He looked grumpily at his empty glass. He only managed to save enough coin for one. “Tell me about it.” “Ain’t in the mood.” The sliding of a shot-glass filled with whiskey caught the sailor’s attention. He looked down at the gift and immediately downed it before speaking again. “You would’n believe me.” “Did it have something to do with that golden light?” The sailor paused, looking back at the green-eyed man. “You saw it?” “A few did. I didn’t. I just got into town. Looking for a friend and a woman. I think they went out into the ocean, but haven’t heard from them. Wondering about a possible connection.” The sailor paused a second time, thoughtful and weary of the coincidence. Feeling the whiskey though, he didn't care. “If yer frien’ was out in the seas t’night, he may be lost to em. I was dragged into some scuffle between a man, woman, and some other thieving shit. Lost my boat. Almost my life.” A silence fell between them for a moment, the rogue man finally shifted his eyes to look at the sailor. His eyes, though green, looked like cold chips of ice. He then ordered another two shots of whiskey. “Tell me about it.” The sailor gauged the stranger for a moment. He felt an incredibly bad and violent vibe from the guy, but that warning was dismissed over the warmth of the whiskey and the promise of more. “Sure, I’ll tell ya. If yer so insistent.”
  14. In the depths of the witches’ volcanic mountain, there was a sanction where the blistering heat mysteriously vanished. Through these lantern lit shadows of the underground corridors, a she-orc trended with apprehension and anxiety towards pull of the increasing cold. She was a jade-colored orc, sporting natural charcoal tresses upon her built shoulders and stood lower to the ground compared to her brethren. This beast tamer orc was assigned by Luna to care-take the creature migrated to the mountain long ago. The orc wore furs on her body against the cold, her skin also not as thick as the coal colored orcs, and a spiked bone plate upon her left shoulder. As the ice began to bite at her, the ugly grimace on her face increased heavily. “This was Nigel’s job,” she grumbled in her orcish tongue. “Nigel, Nigel, Nigel. But no, that big idiotic oof had to go and screw up in his first mission off the mountain! Now I’m getting punished!” She kicked a rock in frustration, listening to it clink and clank down the tunnel ahead of her. She couldn’t believe her outrageously rotten luck. Nigel was the leader of the beast tamers and easily the most qualified to do this job. Luna had sent him to guard three witches within the Dark Forest; he failed when they all got poisoned by some creature and turned into banshees. Luna was infuriated; beyond infuriated, the orc could have sworn Nigel would have been beheaded on the spot. However, instead Luna used him as a guinea pig for evaluating the intentions of some dwarfs. She hated dwarfs, she hated Nigel, she hated everything! “Ugh!” The orc kicked another rock and watched it tumble out of sight. This orc’s name was Ferrah. Ferrah was a teenager as far as orcs went, but proved herself great at beast taming. She thought she was passing underneath Luna’s radar by keeping her skills limited to the hound pit fights under the fortress. But nothing escaped that witch. It was like Luna somehow witnessed everything. Witchcraft was evil, Ferrah concluded. It was the same iniquity that drove her to conditionally follow everything a witch told her. And it just happened. If her own mother tried to boss her, she would put a bone down her throat. She didn’t get it. She didn’t care though. She was just angry at everything. But the anger transferred back into apprehension when her breath started to flow into the air as a thick white mist. She was getting close to where she needed to go. Icy winds transpired through the lungs of the cavern, lifted her locks and stiffened the drool on her tusks. Clinching her fists and continuing forward, stepped into a cerulean light that began to shed upon the tunnels. Then she entered the dragon’s chamber. The blinding blue fires at the center of the cavern made her squint and raise a palm to shield the light. The rock floors were slippery with a thin layer of ice; she had to spike her boots to travel without hindrance. The temperature was deathly cold and unpleasant. Ferrah shifted the pack on her shoulder and continued further into the chamber’s light with searching eyes. The dragon had been sedated into a slumber for many weeks now while the witches healed the damage they inflicted during its capture. Her job was to maintain the wounds and place raw meat in its mouth. Many of the wounds had healed at this point, so today was only feeding and adjusting the wing incase the dragon has shifted on its broken one. As she approached the platform in which was dragon was to lie, she froze rigidly on the spot. It was empty. In the time that it took for her crimson eyes to widen and heart to race with alarm, a crumbling sound on the wall above alerted of what was soon to happen. Ferrah whipped around and was greeted with the raging roar of the descending beast upon the wall. The dragon’s silvery body came down with utter fury, eyes whitened with energy and fangs glistening with murderous intent. The orc released a stream of obscene curses as she tumbled to the side, barely dodging the stabbing talons into the earth. As a tamer of violent beasts, her reflexes were sharpened and she was on her feet with a decisive leap as the dragons fangs soon crushed the air of which she had abandoned. The orc landed and broke out into a sprint, entering some jutting stalagmites and disappearing moments before the dragon came forth, terrorizing the landscape with her powerful limbs. Ferrah ducked down under the destruction, preferring to be pelted by rock than the outrageous strength of the beast. She army crawled towards the rear of the destruction before she got up and started running again. She thought she was clear for the exit when a sharp metallic like tail whipped across the air and slammed into her left shoulder. The sound of crumbling bone crepitated into her ear as she flew through the air and slammed into the cavern wall. “Ugh…son of a—” she muttered as she dropped onto the floor. Her bony shoulder plate fell to the ground, split evenly in half. It was by sheer luck that it wasn’t her flesh. The dragon turned towards her, Ferrah weakly lifted her head and gazed through bangs as it reared up like a wild stallion. It seemed ready to roar but to Ferrah’s surprise, words instead pierced her mind. “WHERE IS MY EGG?!” Telepathy. It had to be. The dragon’s mouth was filling light, not forming speech. She didn’t have time to fathom it because the dragon landed released a storm of flames from its fangs. By a second wave of luck, the orc had been tossed near the entrance of the cavern and she rushed for it. The fire hit the wall behind her and she disappeared into tunnels. The dragon rushed to pursue, but Ferrah grasped a lever on the other side, pulled it, and bars laced with electricity slammed the entrance shut. The dragon collided into the gate and electricity rushed through its body. She roared and agony and stumbled back. As Ferrah vanished from her view, the dragon’s fury melted into sorrow. “No…No. WHERE IS MY EGG!?” Her fearsome demanding roar oscillated throughout the entire fortress. Ferrah stumbled into the courtyard panting and planted her hands on her thighs. “This…was…Nigel’s….damn…job!” She exclaimed and shot her boot into a nearby rack of armor. Helmets rolled and bounced in across the floor, she picked them up one by one and threw them in a rage. The other orcs of the courtyard ducked and snarled at her, but knew of Ferrah’s temper tantrums too well. “Damn it, damn it, damn it, DAMN IT!!!!” She fell to her rear, more exhausted than before. She thought about what to do. Luna told her if the dragon was to awaken, she was to retrieve one of the witches. One or two in particular. She would have to go to the witches’ tower, but would be surprised if the witch hasn’t heard the roar of the dragon. Ignoring the mess she made, Ferrah got herself up and headed towards the said tower.
  15. The dawn was breaking on the desolate plain of No Man’s Land. Amber hues burst from the crevasses of the mountains and shed burnt shadows over the jutting stones and dust impregnating the valley. As the witch gazed out into what should have been the birth of a day, she thought a dying breath—the hot wind upon her face was like the land’s fading sigh after the onslaught of a fire. Everything looked blackened and scorched in the sunrise; this land had been purloined of the dawn’s pulchritude. Some thought No Man's Land was beautiful, the strange aesthetic appeal of emptiness. Luna couldn't disagree more. What she did see though, was the potential for it. “Good morning , sisters.” Luna turned from the scene and to the two witches with her—Tsura and Alexandria. The three stood on the sole emerald jewel of the land, a mountainous eminence within the far south of the valley. It head eyes on all of No Man's Land and was coated with a thin sheet of grass and flora. Higher above them, a great avian beast of violet hues rested peacefully parched with cerulean eyes on the land. They’d know the predatory bird as Altiuiri di Kepesk, or just Alti, Luna’s summoning used to traveling great distances across Terrenus when needed. “I’ve asked you to join me this morning for yet another quest.” She smiled at them with vim and winsome. “We’ve accomplished many fleets since our arrival in this land, and our magic has finally started to take root.” The witch bent down to touch the grass that contrasted the parched base of the mountain. “But we have a long way to go. Recently I’ve discovered other inhabitants. The Lucifer giants take stead here and are growing in power and population, not to mention the dwarfs of Tazarek have been investigating the mountainsides with intentions I am both weary and suspicious of. The orcs survey the lands, but are limited. We need a better form of travel for both us and them. I cannot relay on Alti so frequently.” She paused to look up at the avian beast, who met her attention with a click of its saber sharp break. “But the orcs have discovered something that may be of great use to us.” She turned away from her sister and pointed her gloved feather to the palisade of mountains surrounding the western border of the Great Pine Barrens. They were smaller and dryer than their own, but great nonetheless. The one she pointed to was northeast of their mountain. “There the orcs have been attacked in increasing amounts from the skies. The assaults were so frequent that the orcs began avoiding the area all together. Now the attacks are spreading further out from the mountain and the creatures have been sparsely seen close to our home. "By the description, I find that they may be wild wyrms or dragons. In packs. And that mountain way be their hive and territory. According to the scout reports, these dragons are smaller with basic breath abilities of fire, lightning and acid. According to the beast tamers, they are also capable of riding. "If we can commandeer this nest, it would greatly expand both our travel, attack power, and eyesight of the land. I've been making accommodations in the mountain for a stable that can currently host a hundred of these dragons comfortably. In time, I hope to expand it into the neighboring mountain. " What I ask of you will not be an easy task, sisters. You are the best witches that can accomplish this. Alexandria your summoning of such powerful creatures exemplifies your knowledge of bonding, and your merciless vigor and tenacity is vital to this. Tsura, you’ve tamed beasts all your life. You’ve bonded with creatures even I thought impossible. I need both of your strengths, bravery, and knowledge of handling and taming beasts. "Infiltrate this nest. If it is a pack, it has an alpha. Overcome this alpha and migrate the nest to our mountain. And find your dragons. Rumors has it that these dragons can form extraordinary bonds through reasons I have yet to understand. I am positive there is one for each of you.” Finishing her briefing, Luna placed her hands on each of their shoulders. “I will be leaving for several days to complete The Matriarch’s mission to find Sable’s Sword. Take care in my absence sisters and be careful. Take what orcs you feel are necessary for your success. The leader of the beast taming brigade, Nigel, is with the dwarfs, but I’m sure there are others. Natasha will also be joining you.” With that she brought them each in for a brief but close hug and then waved her hand at Alti. Alti immediately spread and stretched her wings, ready for flight. Staff in hand, Luna ascended to the back of the feathered beast, resting gracefully with eyes never leaving her sisters. She placed a hand between her breasts and bowed. “Good luck, and Blessed Be.” A great wind transpired as the bird leaped from the cliff side and soared across the broken lands below them. As it ascended, it melted into one of the many ebony shadows of the sun’s yawning light and soon vanished into the over cascade of distant mountains. The rest was up to them. Mission Objectives: [1] Infiltrate the dragon’s hive [2] Locate the alpha dragon if existent and dominant/bond with it [3] Find and bond with your dragon! [4] Migrate 20+ rider dragons back to the witches’ mountain -You can start at the land nearing the dragon’s mountain or directly following this post. Or time skip if you want to do both- Starting Witches: Alexandria @Lacernella Rubra, Tsura @Ruski