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      Vote for Valucre [September]   09/01/2017

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Fallen Joy

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    Little.tyche

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    Aspiring Medical Student
  1. It's well worth the brief moments of insanity.
  2. Thanks for bringing some activity to Shrine City. c:

    1. Fallen Joy

      Fallen Joy

      You're very welcome =]

  3. Dragons Are Forever

    "If need be, I have my bells this time." Marquise turned his carmine squinty eyes down towards the bells that this witch had mentioned twice now since their meeting. His quirked his thick furry brow and scrunched his face in confusion. He couldn’t fathom how simple bells perhaps no bigger than a hell hounds nut sack could possibly take a domineering toll on beasts like dragons. He tamed beast with brute force, not fairy music. His dull mind chew over it for a moment, staring adamantly at the witch’s hip and canting his head as they swayed. He tried to grasp whatever power they might have held. He blinked stupidly once and then twice, but eventually dropped it all--too much thinking for his liking. After all, the witch had praised and approved his idea, that threw wood into his already blazing pride. It didn’t seem possible at this point, he managed to grinned even more. “See that, Natasha? Witch approves of my intelligence.” He grunted in glee and held his bulk muscle-bundled torso high as if moments from producing a king’s roar across the pridelands. When Natasha didn’t respond, he glanced over...only to see one of his hounds drooling and panting happily up at him where the she-orc once stood. He blinked, as did the hound before it tilted all three heads towards the mountain; Natasha was already following behind Alexandria. He grunted in frustration and quickly pursued them both, the hound giving him a barking laughter as it and the others followed. The troupe traveled through the palisade of rock and foliage, hounds running in constant treads ahead, around, and behind them. Marquise immediately set them into tracking the scents of their targets, fortunate enough to find feces along with scales and abandoned talons impressively hidden in the dust. The hounds sniffed them all and learned the scents, consequently ensuring their trek towards the hive. Natasha tread a couple feet behind Alexandria, staring absentmindedly at her own reflection dancing upon the golden metallic surface of the battle gear. Her mind was still heavy with thought and confusion from her earlier interaction with the witch. To say her thought laden mind was new was a misconception, she had been burdened by her own intelligence for sometime time. Questions constantly rolled bitterly on her tongue, and while her aggressive habits and outbursts often prevented them from itching too persistently, this long tread up the mountainside was simply too quiet and her thoughts too loud. She clinched her fists--if only there was something to kill right now. What she would have given to just kick one of those annoying jolly-happy hounds sweeping occasionally just before her stride--a good echoing yelp would make her feel better. “Alright, none of us can fly, so we might as well as do this here.” Natasha paused to realized they were standing before a cavern opening. Finding it seemed easy enough, but the hounds tracking the scent and the bird’s eyes view from above likely contributed to their discovery. Natasha strolled passed and in front of the witch, inspecting the opening of the cave. This culture and breed of orcs grew up in the darkness, spending as much time as dwarfs if not more within tunnels of darkness. She inhaled deeply, took a few steps into the darkness, touched the ground, felt for vibrations, and thought for a long moment until Alexandria presented her question. “Find hive before night." She said. "Dragons seem less wake in day.” She glanced up to emphasize her point. With the growing reports of orcs disappearing for the past few weeks, mixed with the fact they hadn’t noticed one thus far and their few hour tread, she assumed the beasts more accustomed to the cooler dusk hours. The sun was kissing the heavens at its widow’s peak at this point, she expected more activity in the skies. As disorganized and chaotic as the orcs were, she wouldn’t have been surprised if orcs has been missing for days before anyone noticed. “Much dry air in tunnel, warm too. Little trek on ground, but dirt loose. Dragons fly in and out, no walk. Likely wide tunnel, possibly little ground to walk on. Is dark like night, but not night of no moon. Many openings let in light. If use smoke here, no reach dragons.” She inhaled again, and at her feet, the hounds were approaching and doing the same. Marquise followed in flow from the rear, his bulky arms pregnant with a great mass of foliage and dry bark that he had gathered on their journey up. The hounds turned to him and whined softly. He listened to them, oddly as his he understood them. Even more particular, his carmine eyes seems to swirl within those black vesseled sclera when he did. “More than dragons,” he noted. Natasha nodded in agreement. “Different smells in cave wind.” The mountain must have been inhabited with things other than dragons, perhaps because they had found one of the lower entry points of the mountains. It was possible this wasn’t even their main cavern at all. But they would soon find out. A bark suddenly crackled in the air as an over zealous hound ran at the vulture that landed with bones, drooling heavy with slime down its long tongue before it spontaneously leaped for a pounce. In truth it was going for the bones, but who could help the animal instinct of pouncing another animal in the meantime? Whether the bird escaped or not, Natasha turned a sharp eye at Marquise who immediately approached and grabbed the hound harshly by the scruff and threw it to the ground. The hound yelped and ran back. “Hound just want scent,” he said defensively then cleared his throat. “We find hive, I light and fill with smoke.” “Separate, maybe.” Natasha noted. “ Hive likely have openings. Find and seal them. Keep smoke in longer. What witch...What Alexandria think?” Marquise started loading the hounds' harnesses with the foliage he gathered. When he finished, all but one of the hounds held packs of dry leaf and branches. He then took a long branch, wrapped it tight in a cloth, and approached the hound he tossed but a while ago. The hound crouched down in submission. He opened one of its mouths and shoved the clothed end of the branch inside. The hound snarled in aggravation and chewed on the branch, its drool saturating the fabric. Marquise then removed the branch, producing a metallic flint and soon sparks that kissed the damp cloth. Instantly the branch became a torch. He reached it over to Alexandria. "To see in dark.”
  4. Act, and Witches will act.

    As the witches returned to the orcs, tension in the air seemed to be on the rise. The twins had distanced themselves from each other, aggression rolling off their shoulders in unpleasant waves, and the Bodyguard stared intensely at the Matriarch, laden with thoughts he desired to express. Though the Matriarch felt the tightening coils in the ambience, but she continued as if it wasn’t present. They had more pressing matters than internal tribulations amongst their barbaric soldiers. Before continuing, the witches would take the time to alleviate their famished bodies. The Matriarch partook in the rough jerk meat she grew up on in her youth whilst Namiko found her saddle adorned with a spread of freshly picked berries pregnant with succulent sweetness. The orc had also placed along with dried, smoked meat packed for their journey with it. Afterwards they continued their tread through the marsh forestry and moist landscape of Coconino Creek. Though it was beautiful and alluring to the white witch, for nature’s energy was the most welcoming to her craft, she knew it was only passing moment in their journey. She was grateful that it went undisturbed. Soon the damp earth was abandoned by its threading rivers and lost the richness to the sunlight above. The steeds were relieved by the gain of footing but sulked in the accompanying heat. Still the orcs worked the traveling beasts relentlessly. The Matriarch’s urgency expressed through the constant strikes to their flanks and they demonstrated impressive endurance in return. Though the husk beasts sweated and panted profusely, their legs continued forward stubbornly. The witch couldn’t afford to rest them long when they did, for time was even more pressing than their possible exhaustion. They had to get to Doughton before the rising sun the following morning if they were to catch the new moon. The hours eventually tucked the sun under the golden covers of the horizon and stars snuck out to twinkle and play in the heavens. The troupe was trotting on a dirt cascaded road with bends of grassy landscape surrounding them. By the appearance, it was a passage commonly traveled by merchants and wanderers leaving the creek. The city was still several hours away, but they were getting close. The orcs drew the steeds to a slower trot, giving them a breather within the soft breeze and calming dusk. The Matriarch opened her misted eyes and turned her face to the skies. For the majority of the journey, she was silent, meditating and searching for more premonitions and clues to their future. Unfortunately everything still seemed incredibly obscure and fickle. The only clarity was Namiko being a monumental factor in its guidance. She also thought about the elves they would eventually face--searching her memories for any knowledge of them. She was enslaved within the confines of a volcanic mountain for many years and wished Luna, with her prolonged years of acquired knowledge, was with them. Her calls to their coven leader had also gone unanswered. Luna must have been very far away. She hoped that was the case. “Where do you come from, Sister?” She suddenly asked, bringing her face back on the road. “I feel so close to you, yet we haven’t really the moment to get to know one another. If we are to fight tooth and tail together, we should learn more about each other.” She smiled softly. “Don’t you think? Tell me about yourself.”
  5. Beyond the Mysterious Beyond

    “Nothing holds all the secrets to the world.” She answered without missing a beat, as if not understanding her play of words. “It is of no significance to me, but it is the only thing that stands amiss here.” Considering the dismal environment perfumed with both the dead and caking blood, decorated with no less than three murdered corpses, her statement appeared coldly apathetic. That expressionless face altered not an ounce. Persephone stepped back and the demon stepped forward, as synchronous as a tango and without thought. Her eyes returned to the mirror, observing it more intently now that she had a better view. The reflection had a storm of turbidity, the face of an uncanny valley lurking within the obscurity and radiating with presence that demanded attention. She watched for a silent moment before adding something perhaps even more unnerving. “It is also the only thing alive.” Strangely she walked away at this point, exploring the room once more. She approached the melting candles on the dresser. The amount of tears pooling at its feet suggested the the flame was lit just at sunrise. She placed her fingers on the dresser and brushed it slowly. Dusty and unkempt. The demon continued to explore the room, occasionally glancing at the vampire but not addressing her. She moved to the crib, as dilapidated as the rest of the room, and reached down into the crib to touch the blankets. She lifted a violet plush cloth with her amber glowing hand. It was covered in lily patterns and swirls of ribbons, and still holding a trace of warmth. “A child is missing.” She noted and dropped the blanket into the crib once more. “So is whatever murdered them.” The way she separated herself from the incident, it was clear she wasn’t involved. She observed the crib, poorly designed and polished, splitting and flaked paint announcing either the family’s lack of wealth or care. She stood in silence by the crib for a moment, then gradually turned back to the vampire. “Were you the one that summoned me?”
  6. Dragons Are Forever

    There were very few times in Natasha’s nimbus of chaos and violence that dismantled her stoic demeanor, but Alexandria suddenly penetrating her personal space rattled the hell out of her. She became caught in a wild state of conflict, wanting to aggressively maul the invader but combated by obligations to never lay a hand on witch. As a result, her body froze in a shell of tension under Alexandria’s embrace. Rigid under the brimstone texture of her coal coated muscles, her digits twitched frantically with waves of stress. Her mind became in blank state of aneosis while everything else quivered from thousands of coiling springs within her core. Was the witch going to kill her? “….” Alexandria released her body and the tension flooded free along with a stretched exhale. Natasha stared at her, ears burning hot and lips pressed firmly together. Then the witch suddenly slapped on her back, impressively shifting her forward a bit, and her logic rekindled and spun around what just happened. It was a hug. A greeting. The she-orc had seen the witches engage in this uncomfortable behavior in the past, pressing all their vulnerable parts together and somehow finding pleasure and security in it. Natasha’s understanding descended her into a further state of confusion, one she experienced far too often when around the witches. Alexandria’s tone of voice, it had a sense of fondness and pride—a tone she never experienced save for only the satisfied voice within her head when she defeated a challenging foe. Despite the amount of fear and respect she demanded from her own kin, no one was ever glad to see her. Though her voice had no words, she found herself grinning. Though is only lasted a half a second and she’d denied it happened then afterwards. She felt Marquise was giving her an incredulous stare, burning a vexing and humiliating hole between her shoulder blades. While she would have likely done the same in his shoes, her temper nonetheless shimmered towards a boil underneath her placid surface. It must have radiated through her aura for Marquise immediately turned his gaze away and finished packing the gear on the cart. He unmatched the hounds, who immediately took to their new freedom with glee. Though ferocious in appearance, the hounds were rather energetic and playful. They yipped and ran around the camp area with their drooling slime covered tongues as they nipped at each other’s quarters and wrestled in the dirt. Marquise paid it no mind as he approached Natasha’s left side, scratching a bothersome itch under his armpit as he considered Alexandria’s brainstorming. He didn’t know anything about summon demons, dead dragons, and all that other voodoo nonsense, but he did know traps. “Maybe make sleep.” He suddenly said. Natasha turned her head at him and quirked a brow. Marquise continued. “Beast orc keep hounds because hounds make other beast sleep. Breath and drool is poison. Make fire with spit and smoke make big poison.” His orc accent was much heavier than Natasha’s and ground heavily through his rocky vocals, but Luna’s strive to teach common tongue to the more worthy orcs seemed to have been fairing well. Natasha frowned. “The sleeping lasts for very short time and can miss many.” Marquise grinned and slapped his gargantuan fist into his palm. “I use time to get alpha. Get pack under control.” Natasha brow quirk slowly lowered, as she considered his plan. It wasn’t half bad for a dumb wit. Marquise caught her change of demeanor and grinned even more. Natasha turned back to Alexandria. “ What witch think? Breath of the hounds makes those that breathe it sleep, except us. The beast tamers learn that the same stuff is also in drool. Only work if you light it aflame. Drool turn fire easily.” “The smoke has the same effect.” “Spread far too,” Marquise added. “Hah. Not as dumb as you look.” Marquise’s face almost divided, the way he was grinned. Natasha tensed her shoulders then turned her attention back to Alexandria, waiting for her input and also glancing over her shoulders towards the great mountainside beyond them. She thought about their future battles with the dragons, particularly the alpha, Marquise implied that he would be the one to dominant him, but Natasha had her own desires. “Will take time to scale mountain, should move soon.”
  7. Dancing Through Deserts

    The sailor’s wrinkles accentuated as he scrunched his face into an unpleasant prideful demeanor at Tyveres' continued attitude. Before his tongue could retort sailor signature obscenities, the princess pulled it all away with her soft moans. He clenched his lips and watched Tyveres’ bend down with a complete and honestly stunning transformation of demeanor. Taking the hint, he silently strolled off to the side to let them interact as privately as possible. Cecilia smiled and with a soft giggle at the fox licked her cheek, bringing a hand up and stroking between the fluffy ear in long strides towards the base of her tails. “I’m glad you’re okay.” She whispered to the fox, nuzzling her cheek to the fur before Tyveres came into her attention. His softness stroked her heart strings and she couldn’t help her blush. She diverted her eyes. “We’re in the cellar. That rogue assailant brought the building down on the door. As far as we know, no one is hurt.” “Thank goodness,” she whispered, keeping her eyes on her thighs. She thought about Trevor and frowned deeply. How many others of her father’s guardsmen had betrayed them? Were there any still loyal and true to the royal family? What about the kingdom itself? How did they truly feel about her and the thought of her taking the throne? There were too many questions to be answered, and with everything she had learned she knew Tyveres was getting into more than he bargained for. He deserved the truth. “I’m sorry,” she started. “For dragging you into all this. My father hired you…but probably left out a lot of things.” She sighed deeply and gathered her thoughts before speaking again. “I’m a princess.” She paused for a moment to let that sink in. “The next heir to a hidden kingdom in the Terranean deserts of The Wastelands. Very little people know about the kingdom. Most of the denizens are forbidden from interacting with the outside world. For generations we’ve practiced and mastered the art of beast taming and the art of light and sound magic. The men chasing us…they're my father’s personal guardsmen. I don’t know much of the reason…but there is a rebellion occurring in the kingdom. My father has been….accused of doing horrible things.” She closed eyes that can became tearful and shivered at the thought. “Things I don’t know if they are true and don’t wish to speak about. It has led to a plan to assassinate him and overthrow the royal family.” She swallowed a sob and tried to clear her mind. “I am only learning things myself…But I need to find out the truth. I need to reach my father and confront him. If he’s…if he’s doing these horrible things, I might have no choice but to…to...” Suddenly consumed in despair, she thrashed her head and threw herself into Tyveres’ chest. Her entire body trembled and tears streamed down her face. “I don’t want to believe it! He’s my father!” She managed through a series of sobs. The sailor watched in the distance, listening to the story. It all was strange to him. He had sailed along the coasts of Terrenus and made quite a few ports in the cities near the forbidden Wastelands. Nowhere in his travels had he heard of such a kingdom. He supposed this fit the fact that it was supposed to be hidden. “A princess…” he said to himself. He had never me one, let alone had his life saved by one. He let the two have a moment, for however long it took, before he spoke out. “If yer two are lookin’ to go to Terrenus, I think I can help ya.” He crossed his arms, thoughtful for an extra moment before grinning. “In fact, can take ya there myself. This ol’ sailor happens to actually be an ol’ captain. Got thirteh years under ma belt.” He scratched his salty beard. “Vessel hasn't been much good save for sleepin' and drinkin’ as of late, but if we can make it to my ship, I think the ol’ vessel can manage the trip with some fixins.” He thumbed the doorway. “This leads near the docks. Fishermen use it so the inn don’t smell of fish during the trade. The trades happen in the morin’. If we can get out by then, we can do it unnoticed.”
  8. Act, and Witches will act.

    "Honestly, I am fearful of whatever happened in the vision." “It is a darkness most disturbing,” the Matriarch responded. The white witch's focus remained distant, seeming to peer at her reflection rippling in the water despite she saw nothing but black. “Even more-so that that desolate vision exists before the summoning we seek to prevent. What occurred there has left a scar deep upon the denizens of that city. But it is likely there that we will find the elves. The darkness there could easily be siphoned into a powerful ritual.” She paused to think as Namiko lavished her locks. Then...as Namiko manipulated the flow of the river with the graceful cadence of her hands, something drew The Matriarch's attention. She canted her head, drawn by the gravity of what she felt in her chest, and watched the woman beside her. The crystalline droplets shimmered like diamonds in the sun as they kissed and worshiped Namiko’ body. The water escaped her tresses and highlighted the curves of her shoulders and alluring bends of her breasts and spine—but her aesthetic figure was for the outside world to appreciate. The Matriarch saw something else. Her sister's magic possessed a profound purity to it; it flowed around in rivulets of shining luminance capable of birthing light even the shadows of her fatigued sight. The mundane nature of the river transformed into beautiful rills of chastity under her touch, as if the grail of gods had melted upon her fingertips. Feeling oddly restored by her presence, The Matriarch's Third Eye opened and astoundingly saw the threads of possibility of the witch’s future. Feeling obligated by the opportunity, she reached out and grasped the strongest one. Suddenly her eyes illuminated in a flicker of lightning within the mist and an unseen vision filled her mind. The Matriarch’s heart fluttered and she exhaled a deep breath. Suddenly she understood. This unique splendor was the reason the spirits led her to this witch. Perhaps with all the iniquity manifesting in the future, it was Namiko’s purifying magic that was destined to cleanse it. A certain adoration shone within her misted orbs along with a newfound confidence of their success. She saw the underlining light glimmering within her sister’s soul, and knew it possessed an unrivaled strength that perhaps even Namiko was unaware of. As if instinctively, The Matriarch reached and touched Namiko’s hand with a loving smile transpiring upon her face. “I know this is a lot, but you’re meant to face this. There is something about you, sister. Something that the great spirits saw and something I am beginning to discover myself.” She stood, pulling Namiko to a stand with her. “Your magic will ultimately guide us to succeed in this mission. The more my Third Eye reveals, the more I realize that this is not about me, but about you. Something about your destiny is meant to unravel here.” The Matriarch did not explain herself further. As a sheer she was naturally cryptic, and revealing someone’s future could alter it completely. This was a future the Matriarch wanted to preserve. She suddenly pulled Namiko into an embrace. “This is something you will discover for yourself,” she whispered towards her ear. “When it is meant to be.” She pulled away. “Come, let us continue on our journey.” ~ ~ ~ Meanwhile back at the orcs, Kana was busy plucking and collecting berries from a nearby bush. Her twin sister approached from her behind with scowl and bewildered look. “What are you doing?” She said to her in her their orc tongue. “The witches are probably hungry and want some berries. These aren’t poisonous.” “Since when do you pre-emptively help witches without an order? You hate helping witches. You’re being damn strange.” Tana aggressively lowered the flat edge of her spear to knock her sister on the head, but the rod was caught by Kana’s whipping hand. The she-orc stood and threw her sister back along with the weapon. “Leave me alone.” Kana placed the berries in a pouch and walked passed her sister, knocking her in the shoulder as she did. Tana grunted, undeterred. “If you keep acting weak, I’ll sever your head and take control of the—”Tana was forced to shut up when Kana quickly pivoted and shot an arrow. Tana narrowly brought her spear up in time to block it. She growled fiercely, but was only met by an even more menacing one from Kana. “I’ll say it one more time Tana before I send one through your eye. Piss the hell off.” The two glared at each other for a long moment before Tana snorted and walked away. Kana released an vexed sigh and walked over to Namiko’s horse, placing the berries along with some dried smoked rabbit meat on the saddle. Her annoyance sprouted from the fact that Tana wasn't wrong. The truth was that ever since Namiko cleansed her of the elves’ poisoning magic, she did feel off. She didn’t know why. The Bodyguard, who silently watched the transaction, narrowed his eyes.
  9. Talons and Wings, It's a Witch Thing

    Ferrah peered through her silvery strands, posturing herself straight when the witch addressed her with a question she thought she had already answered. The she-orc was grumpy from being assigned this task, but she knew she couldn’t display it to a witch. She clutched her teeth and grinded her nails further into her palms instead. “Dragon awake.” She repeated., then thought for a moment and added. "Angry. Speak to my head. Want egg back." She rubbed her shoulder where the now shattered armor once was. "Very angry." She hoped this was enough, for her tongue outside the orc language was minimally literate at best. Morwenna likely already knew Luna wanted her to be the one to calm the ferocious dragon and lure it to the coven’s side once it woke. Ferrah didn’t exactly understand how this particular witch was supposed to accomplish this. The orcs had their opinions on all their mistress witches and Morwenna was known as the one to be the least afraid of. This was because the witch radiated with a lack of confidence in herself that in their vicious world would warrant immediate violence and subjugation. However, the rumors of Morwenna personally assisting with the capture of the vicious hydra couldn’t be ignored. The hydra now roamed the mountain labyrinth and claimed a few orc lives in the process. Ferrah had no choice but to believe there must have been something about this witch. As a beast tamer, Ferrah was curious about what it was and if she too could learn from it. After saying her piece, the orc pivoted on the spot and led her towards the courtyard. Unless questioned, she remained silent. The other witch awaited them and together they all traveled into the open dark maw of the impressive fortress tunnels. As the witches stepped forth into the cavern, wall torches immediately lit with violet flames illuminating the dangerous path before them. Ferrah’s crimson eyes glowed mahogany under the influence and she squinted them at the light—these orcs saw better in the dark. When the temperature began to seep into the walls and leave a chill in its wake, Ferrah’s pulse elevated with adrenaline. They were getting close. Then something odd occurred, the cold intensified like none she ever experienced and the ground began to lose friction. Her spiked boots secured her footing and stride, but the ground was clearly covered in newfound ice. The dragon’s anger seemed to devour the heat, and its growl brought forth the devil’s winter. Ferrah’s breath became thick with clouds and the drool on her fangs hardened just slightly. When the bars of the enclosed prison came into fruition, sprinkles of snow had now decorated the air and powdered the ground. Beyond the bars, the echoes of the snarling unseen dragon bounced ominously from the walls. Ferrah stopped by the lever that controlled the barred gates and turned towards Morwenna with a questioning look upon her naturally scowling face. Whatever was to be done from here on out, would be up to her. Ferrah didn't like the thought of her life being dependent on this witches' decision, but she had no choice. “What now?”
  10. Beyond the Mysterious Beyond

    The summoned entity paused mid-stride, the unique consummation of her amber silvery hues swirling in the dim candle light as she gradually gazed over her shoulder. At the moment, there was nothing to be seen but the slit of darkness in a half opened door. She became a statue as placid and estoeric as lakewater pregnant with murk. From there, she waited. Suddenly the floor boards released a whining whisper, barely caught by the walls and sailed to her ears. It was not by her own stride. She remained perhaps intrepid or frozen in fear, her expression gave way to neither, observing the door. It was possible she was seeing through the walls, posessing incorporeal senses beyond the mere bends of light and shadow, because she finally narrowed her gaze when the vampire paused at the otherside of the threshold. There was a still moment. Neither had the sense to understand the other. One hunted ghosts and the other hungered for life. Demons and the undead had no business together. Yet in a moment consisting of the two standing with nothing but a door between them, they were very much aware of one another. The space between began to permeate with thoughts and feelings of their inevitable clash. Bonded them unintentionally. The possibilities of their meeting were exciting and frightening in their ambiguity. It brought the watching world to the edge of its seat with a held breath. The drifting seconds were salted with a thick silence. All things waited for someone to whisk it away with action. She made the first move. "Ready or not, here I come!" The undead woman charged into the room, the next room, and perhaps a few rooms after that. She held a bravado that shattered the silence and disraveled the tension, perhaps to try and sheild her own apprenhension and stun the other. But when her furry ceased in the final room, there had been no one to greet her. In the last room, there was nothing but crimson streaked walls and the tears of candles dripping on a nightstand. The light kissed a vacant bed, a dusted mirror overlaying an old fashioned dresser, and an abandoned cradle in the corner with a blanket bowing from its wooden rail. The tension threatened to rise again from the vulgar lack of response and the air was eeriely fresh with the prickling sensation of another presence. But before the pulse of a heart could cultivate too much panick, a voice transpired. "What is that?" Her voice was deep, smooth, and slid with grace from behind the vampire's shoulders. When she turned, the summoned entity stood under the threshold of the room. Her demonic body uncommon in their world. Freshly summoned, the creature has transpired in her raw true form-- skin ebony like night but bright with streaks of lava like liquid fire through charcoal. She had the curves of a young woman from the waist up, blossoming in nude breasts without nipples and slender shoulders draped in long raven strands that shifted as if smoke manfiested from the artistic flames. Then there were her horns, black and shaped like a ram. But perhaps the most fascinating feature was below her waist; hooves not feet, wool not skin--she had the body of a faun. Her face was apathetic and eyes glued to the mirror upon the woman's person. An ember ridden hand rose its claws to point to the object of her curiosity. "What is it...that you hold?" Her eyes finally touched hers, rising slow. Though the creature radiated with demonic and spiritual energy, potent with an unnerving heated ambience to any who recognized that brimstone smell, her face lacked the inquity that often accompanied it. In fact, it lacked anything expressive at all. After her question, she only seemed to wait for a response.
  11. Act, and Witches will act.

    Kana shifted her red eyes and canted her head towards her shoulder at Namiko. To the request, Kana shouted out in orc towards the others. They gave her a single glance before everyone pulled the travel to a halt in a clamor of grinding hooves and wild snorts . The gargantuan steeds shook her husk heads and panted with long black tongues from their muzzles with appreciation for the rest. The fasten to the belt was doubled so either Kana or Namiko could free themselves at any point. When the witch released herself, the orc skillfully dropped from the steed to land and uncharacteristically use her strong hands to grasp Namiko by the waist. Gripping her firmly, she helped her down. Once on the ground, Kana grunted low, hunched her shoulders, and walked away, giving the horse a praising pat on the rump as she did. She walked to her sister’s side, who rose a brow and gave her an incredulous look. The Matriarch also let herself down, breathing soft and regaining her footing. She listened to the sounds in the air and the earth, finding her way to Namiko’s side by doing so. Reaching up a white hand up, she placed it on the witch’s shoulders. “Let’s us go to the river and have a drink.” It didn’t take much travel to find a ribbon of crystalline water in the forest, for the creek was spindled with water trails. The Matriarch knelt down by the rivulet they discovered and reached her hands into the creek, cupping the water and splashing her face. As the moist beads danced down her pearl skin and made it gleam, she took another deep breath and addressed her partner with a voice both empathetic and concerned. “How are you feeling?” She turned her head towards her, misted blind eyes gazing into some unfocused direction but her attention honed sharply.
  12. Dancing Through Deserts

    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?”
  13. Dancing Through Deserts

    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.
  14. Act, and Witches will act.

    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.
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