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Fallen Joy

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About Fallen Joy

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    Roleplay Wizard
  • Birthday 05/31/1990

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    Little.tyche

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    Aspiring Medical Student
  1. "Frankie, do you do this all the time? Steal from people instead of honestly getting it?" Frankie immediately released a long and exhausted groan at the man’s words, as if he were a professor giving a boring lecture or a parent chastising their adolescent. Her brunette brow quirked and she slouched the corner of her mouth to the side before rolling her blue eyes. “Or this a one time thing? It's just I don't understand why—” Before he could finish, the blonde beauty was upon him in an instant. She straddled him, her curtain of locks shielding the indecency of her bikini cupped breasts sinking upon his sternum and nude thighs squeezing his hips. Her febrile eupnea filled the inch of air between their lips with heat and her hand compressed flat with its palm upon his still racing heart. “This is why," she said between their elevated breathes. "Do you feel that? That invigorating feeling of your pumping heart rushing blood into every orifice of your body…” Her tone was lowered to a whisper, but still every emphasis of her seductive syntax pursed those coral lips to brush ever so smoothly and softly over his. “If you stop thinking around the world around you, you’ll see how utterly good it feels to just live.” She pressed her forehead to his, bangs teasing the deep blue of her irises as she glazed into his countenance. In the silence their torsos rose and fell heavily together, felt in rising grind of their bodies and heard through the exhales of their mouths. Synchronous and surrounded by sweet heat like the cadence of sex. “Live for the moment and understand how alive you are. Live for the rush. That’s was passion is, baby. If you get too wound up in the rules, honesty, values, and the consequences of your actions, you’ll never be able to handle me soldier. So you can bend over for the expectations of society and take it in the ass back at teashop. Be full of pathetic apologies while you’re at it. Here.” She reached into her pocket and removed the money she stole, dropping it on the tiles beside them in a clang of coins. “Or you can still come with me.” She paused and grinned. “In more ways than one I might add. But I ain’t got time for burdens, babe. You either want this freedom or you don’t.” She stroked a single finger along his jaw line. “It’s up to you, but this is your last chance.” Pulling away from him, she stood up and swiped her hand once over her shoulders before continuing across the rooftops towards the edge of the town. Perhaps she was unlucky and picked up the wrong kind of soldier, she supposed she’d find out depending on his choice.
  2. Folding her slender nails neatly under her chin, the witch watched the dwarfs indulge themselves. The ill-mannered sounds of fruit juices and bread crumbles rolling from their smacking lips didn’t seem to faze her. She only smiled softly with patience until the last bit was devoured. Then those twinkling mauve hues focused upon Soldier as their meeting began and she stretched the still of lips until the dwarf finished. Her emerald brows quirked and furrowed a half inch. “Magic? In technology?” she said indigently. If the witch were anything less than her elegance, she might have snorted at this comment. Witches were magical from the moment of birth, it streamed through their blood as much as it pulsated within their souls. While one of the Luna’s specialties and much utilized witchcraft was rune inscriptions, the idea of merging something so mundane with something so surreal sat bitterly on her mind. “Mmm,” she hummed in contemplation and listened the tense shifting of Natasha in her rear. The orc was restless at the thought of being traded for common labor. Luna understood the tribulation. Her orcan warriors were capable of physical labor, but they were primarily soldiers. Sending one to the stables for the rest of their life would put a sword in any knight’s honor. Though the majority of them had none, they were still raving beasts. If left caged too long, they’d likely become uncontrollable from the bottled blood-lust. Still the witch considered their promise of magically inept artifacts and armor. Fortifying the mountain and the wall defenses, not to mention providing her more intelligent orcs with greater armory and weaponry, was appealing for the price. Providing such a blunt minded species with magic was the equivalent of letting a child run around with scissors, but there were a few exceptions. One of which was over her shoulder. As those wheels in her mind continued to turn, she thought of the new dragons that needed armor powerful enough to harness and enhance their magical potential as well. “I am interested.” She finally said and Natasha gave her an incessant but silent protest with her eyes. As if the witch felt it, a certain intolerant glint shone with her eyes. “...But there are several things you must understand about my orcs. Natasha.” Natasha blinked from her glare and shook her head. “Yes, Luna.” “You seem to have a sense of aggression. In fact, I would almost fathom that you’re glaring at me.” She paused just long enough for Natasha to start to look nervous. “So I want you to take your gauntlet and place it to your neck. Apply the pressure until I tell you to stop.” Natasha eyes were instantly full of hesitation but her body was not. Immediately she placed the sharp blade of her crimson stained gauntlet to her vein woven neck and applied pressure. The ink etched skin was like marble, not even blending to the blade initially. Natasha struggled through drawn silence, squinting her eyes and grunting against the blade. Her bicep then tensed with unexplained determination even as her eyes dulled with the beginnings of agony. The blade suddenly pierced and drew spilling black ink mere moments before Luna spoke out. “Stop.” Natasha pulled an half inch of metal so rapidly from her neck that it was as if it burnt her. She bent over, instead stabbing it angrily into the dirt ground so she could breath. From the depth of the pierce in her neck, more blood was expected but it only a small stream manifested. It demonstrated the harsh thickening of her skin whilst proving Luna’s discipline and next point . “My orcs are forced to obey everything I say without hesitance of compliance. It is an unyielding loyalty imprinted into their minds though mechanisms I care not to explain, and it does not change between generations or hands of ownership.” Luna turned her eyes sharply over her shoulder. Natasha kept her eyes away from the witch, her demeanor completely doused from the protest held earlier. Luna turned her eyes back to the dwarfs without a beat. “I can only remedy this through one method. Sister,” she addressed Emma. “We’ll need a binding magical parchment, did you bring them?” Though clumsy and absentminded on the social aspect, Emma as the scribe of the coven was incredibly efficient in all her paperwork. The witch drew a vanilla parchment from her stack with a quaint crimson quill and bottled ink. Luna unfolded one of her hands as she waved at the paper and it whisked into her influence, orchestrating across the table and before the dwarfs. Next the carmine-tendril quill hovered above and dipped into the glass bottle. When it removed itself, beautiful arrays of amber glimmer and dust streaked across air in its wake. It were as if the quill was held by a muse of creation. The magic faded from vision and the quill hovered patiently between them. “This is a magic-binding contract and ink, the parchment was crafted from the practiced art of summoning beings from worlds beyond our reach. It is also the same magic that demons use to transfer power of possession of souls from their victims as payment. It is very ancient magic, and it is enough to pull my influence from the orcs as part of the terms of a deal. The quill had been enchanted with the essence of a phoenix feather and the ink ground from its ash. It is eternal and binding through life while the contract exists. Because the orcs belong to me indefinitely, they are my property and I can trade them magically. Normally lives cannot be bargained through third parties. So… I will breed a species of orc hybrids from the more gracile tribes over the mountainside to do your labor. These orcs will be more intelligent and capable of constructing advanced architecture suitable to your needs. They will also be less aggressive, but still quick to anger. That will be for you to tolerate.” As she spoke, the quill set to work. It never touched the parchment but instead wrote into the very air. Golden words transpired, describing Luna’s terms for them both to see. “The orcs will be under your responsibility and relinquished from my control so long as this contract remains valid. However…” Luna narrowed her eyes. “If the orcs provided are used in any present or future endeavor to harm or disrupt my coven's ambitions, their obligation and possession will instantly be returned to me with all your secrets." Pausing only to allow the dwarfs to imbibe the solemnity of her words, she then continued. “In return for my services, I request the craftsmanship of your kind more than magitech. Magitech..a curiosity of mine but until I witness the usefulness of it myself, I have no interest. But your reputation is more valuable. Your blacksmiths are well adapt to creating vigorous armor, artifacts, and weapons of all sizes. I will send you blueprints of what I require and you will create it without questioning the purpose. As my orcs are already durable, I expect the finest from such skilled dwarfs. I will need material that can withstand great enchantment and protect creatures that radiate with it. It will not only be for orcs…but for creatures that live within this mountains as well. For a lifetime of servitude, I request consistent compliance so long as it is within your resources. I too, will only provide for what I can afford. Our values must never exceed our production. We will exchange upon need and request, allowing adequate time for production. “If either party attempts to dismantle or change the contract without permission of the other, their life will be void." Another serious remark. "And under the agreement of both parties, the contract may be terminated or altered at anytime.” Finally she stopped speaking, allowing the quill to write the last of it. “Is this acceptable? And will you be adding anything? I understand you may speak for your king or queen, but I will only accept their signature. As the life of a solider means little for clout.” She smiled. "I hope you understand." Luna was a queen by all means of her kingdom. If she were to be entering any deal, it would be with someone of her standing. His signature would do. The quill wrote at part in as well.
  3. Sorry for the long delay, I have finally posted. 

    1. Show previous comments  1 more
    2. Eternity

      Eternity

      Thank you. LIfe was getting crazy for a while. 

    3. Fallen Joy

      Fallen Joy

      Yeah I understand! I am so happy you posted, but you're going to have to be patient with me. School is kind of crazy here right now as well.

    4. Eternity

      Eternity

      I totally understand!

  4. Frankie stepped in to the sunlight on the outskirts of the tea shop, her cocksure grin spreading deviously as she turned her eyes over her shoulder and stared upon her new solider. Catching his eyes on her curves only complimented her confidence. “Oh honey, anything in life can hurt. You just gotta be fearless. Live life on the edge! Break the rules and revel in it.” She purred under her voice and rolled some golden hair over her shoulder. “ For example, I indulged in three crump cakes, two kettles of tea, and these delicious mint cucumber sandwiches before you arrived…” That sly grin spread by a moment. “And told them that my date would pay.” “HEY!!” The disgruntled voice came from the establishment as a large gruff man slamming the door open. His plump breaded face was a deep crimson surrounded by a salted beard. The denizens of this town were hardened due to the brutality surrounding their walls, and the man’s tolerance to thievery was demonstrated by the display of a butcher’s knife in his left hand. From his size and flush alone, he was like a sailor that spent his entire life drinking and lifting wine barrels. “I’LL CUT YER ARMS OFF FOR STIFFIN’ ME!” Frankie rose her arms and waved her hands, back tracking a bit. The man’s response seemed over the top before she explained it. “Well…I might have snatched loot from the tip jar too.” She patted the fat pocket rounding her butt cheek. “I mean I did dance for it.” “UGH!” The man rushed out the threshold with murder in his eyes. Asbel was guilty by association and the man had no hesitance in turning his cleaver onslaught upon him as well if he didn’t get to running. Frankie, all smiles, turned tail and ran off in a sail of golden locks. Feeling the adrenaline from cartwheeling on the naughty side of morality, her heart racing was nothing but encouragement. “How about a little courtesy for the vagabond, ya ol’ grouch!” Ringing with laughter and displaying impressive skill, Frankie leaped upon the tops of trashcans. They rattled and wiggled, but she remained balanced, turning and winking before jumping a second time with a hand to the roof edge. She pulled herself up but not before swinging her legs and kicking the trashcan into the running man’s path. He went tumbling with a series of curses. Upon the roof, Frankie sat on the tiles and laughed hysterically. She slapped her nude thigh and rubbed the tears from her eyes. If Asbel made it to the roof top with her, one way or another, he’d find her in that state. When she spotted him, her stifled her laughter behind a hand. “Did you see him roll?” She burst out into laughter again, tumbling her body across the rooftop in mimcry. “UGH!” She finished on her back, her locks sheeting her lush curves and shining sweat turning her sun-kissed skin into a honeyed nectar glimmer. “Ah…never gets old, running from the angry.”
  5. In terms of physical strength, that would be my angel Joy/Sadness. I can't say that I exactly know her limitations (though I think I have them in her profile), but her strength is mostly displayed through her lack of control of it (due to being a constant drunk). Consequently, she's done things like send a person across the room by the action of slapping them playfully on the back. Magically she's a superb healer (both internally and externally) but that's still not really comparable to her physical attributes of both speed and strength. In terms of magical prowess, that would be Luna. She's a classic extreme in putting all her stat points in wisdom and intelligence. This makes her "MP, Magic Attack/Resistant" pretty phenomenal. Also makes her a very squishy mage. This physical weakness, because she could arguably get knocked out by an average punch to the chin and couldn't do more than a couple pull ups, reversely means there's little she could not accomplish magically.
  6. The princess glanced up in horror as one of the swelling palms of the ocean brought a sudden board of debris from the broken boat down upon her. There was nothing she could do. It collapsed into her cranium and knocked her mind into darkness. Tyveres swam blinding within the cold umbra of Poseidon's body, futilely without light. But there was light. There she was in the sinking distance, a firefly within the abyss of the ocean. She shone an exquisite amber like flames that defied the elements. Knocked unconsciousness, the princess’ body floated only temporarily against the waves before their powerful and merciless assault pushed her deep into the currents of the depths and suffocated her. Her instinct to survive striven by her subconscious illuminated her smooth skin and radiated out for help. That help came to her in the form of Tyveres’ arms. As he embraced her, the currents embraced them, sending them far away from the captor's boat. When he managed to swim them to the surface, less than a minute after she submerged, her black hair draped over them both as her face broke the surface. By some miracle, she began to hack and cough at the touch of the night air, expelling bits of water from her lips. Her sapphire hues opened slow through her lashes, stinging from the slaps of water still hitting across her face, and looked upon him. His handsome but scarred face transpired and she thought she was dreaming—the sensation was far too unpleasant though. “Tyveres?” she whispered, and then snapped into realization of their situation. Her hands reached and wrapped around his shoulders, head sinking into the warm nape of his neck. She tried to find the will to move her body and alleviate his struggle, but everything within her felt like burning lead. Aching, burning, and heavy on her petite body. “I’m…sorry.” This was her fault. “So sorry…” Were they to die because of her? The thought was unbearable. It curled within the pit of her stomach like a snake and struck violently at her heart with poison. The guilt and fear was worse than the terror of the punching waves and intense cold numbing her shivering muscles. Tyveres had no care for her, she could not help but assume that, but he still sought her in the ocean and struggled to keep her alive despite his own tribulations and need to survive. Not only that…the menacing thoughts of how her impulsive naivety and carelessness generated the deaths of innocents in the past—Calvin’s wife and unborn child—was a sharp of knife digging deep into her back. She couldn’t let it happen again, not to him, not to anyone. She wouldn’t. Abruptly the gold brilliance upon her skin blossomed into a splendor of butterfly wings against the sea. Her sapphire hues became pulchritude with cerulean metallic light, twinkling as novas in the cosmos. The sea abandoned them, oscillations from the angelic light pushing it away like the staff of the gods. They did not ascend from the sea, but split it around them in awe. With a fantastic display of grace, they flew across the storm consumed in this glorious light, parting the sea in their path. As the serpent snakes finished their task and fell into the ocean swishing within the devil’s hands, everything began to calm but not soon enough. The boat was pushed away in the turbid currents and Calvin stared at the shrinking scene in a daze. He had lost them to the swells of the sea and the darkness of the night. His reaction, mortified at the thought of princess drowning, confused his mind and ached his chest. He gripped the rails of the boat aggressively and kicked it in frustration. The princess took his instrument into the sea with her—without that he could not control the tides. Everything would be pushed away. He had no choice but to assume them dead. The man leaned his head into the palms of his hands, anguish slowly transpiring through his scrunched face and clenched teeth. The death of the princess was not in the plan and this alone was a loss, but something else haunted him. The memories of his departed wife swarmed him, reminding him of years of devotion to the princess, watching her run the halls as a young girl and admiring her energy and jubilance. How it inspired his wife to have a child of her own. He growled in intense frustration and punched it now, blistering the wood. “Damn it…” Tears streaked down his cheeks. “Damn it!” A shroud of golden light peeked through his fingers and kissed his closed eyelids. When he looked over his hands those eyes widened in shock at the sight of an amber butterfly with the great wings of angels, sailing across the surface. The display was not only magnificent in its occurrence, but its meaning. Only the king of the desert land was capable of manifesting the phenomenon of oscillating light—creating a force from the intangible. The angelic butterfly. It was sign of warmth, peace, and prosperity—promising protection to all in times of chaos. That had not be seen in decades. He released a breath, releasing he had been holding it the entire time, and then dropped to his knees. The golden butterfly ascended above the boat like a dolphin, rocking the boat violently but harmlessly, before continuing across the seas. Left in the sky were beautiful displays of light banishing the darkness. Calvin was frozen in wonder, the thoughts running through his head overwhelming. ~ ~ ~ “Mmm…” The princess groaned and opened her eyes. The sounds of the waves crashing upon the shoreline filled her senses, alone with the pitching cold and wait grains of sand around her nude skin. “Where am I…” she wondered out loud. Her memories were hazed in a shroud of violent waves, body still felt possessed by the molesting ocean tossing her harshly. Her great rivers of ebony locks, broken from its band, cascaded around her salted by the bleached color of the granules. They curtained her hair and blanketed her back, promising hours of raining sane in the future. Enervation sat upon her back like a boulder so she continued to lay there motionless, taking in her surroundings. Where was Tyveres? Some strides away, the sailor man commandeered by Tyveres laid unconscious on the shoreline.
  7. The Matriarch watched Namiko carefully, her misted eyes swirling within her optics and crimsons lips pressed firmly together. Her gaze was unfocused due to her blindness, but she was unmistakably imbibing her presence. So this was the witch the spirits sent towards her. As noted earlier, she had great potential. Her energy held the grace of the sea and the calmness of the earth. The fan upon her back suggested exquisite ability as splendid to watch as it was frightening to face. She was surprised Luna had not sensed her earlier. The seer herself did not know her role in the story of this premonition, but it must have been pertinent. “An amulet of this splendor,” she said mistily, “Likely had favor to its creator or was transported through these foot soldiers. Mules…as it were.” The imprisoned man spat bitterly to the ground at her words. “Fuck you, ya magic shitting bitch. I ain’t telling you nuthin.” Despite his crude bravado, or perhaps foolishness, the man hunched his soldiers and curled back towards the fire apprehensively when the Bodyguard took a single menacing step forward. But this was nothing compared to the gaze of the white witch. The Matriarch's hues became saturated with dudgeon; anger literally fuming through the boundaries of her irises and storming with violent aggression. Her lack of focus but insane stare off into space made it all the more intimidating. It was good that Namiko turned away to greet her horse, for while her back was turned the sudden pierce of the man’s agonized yell rattled the night. Submerged deep within his shin was the blade of the Matriarch's sword, retrieved by the returning Bodyguard and piercing the ground underneath his calf. It marinated the earth it in red only briefly before bolts rushed from the metal and enveloped the man's entire body in electricity. The shock lasted only for five seconds before it stopped and he was left tearing, grasping, and heaving. The Matriarch’s hand fell back to her side, fingertips calmly brushing against the sides of her thighs. She said nothing, but released a slow exhale. The witch in all her graceful wintry beauty, held the cold and fiercely violent tendencies of the orcs she commanded. Normally her sister witches did not witness this side of her, but under the circumstances of their meeting, she held very loose reins of self control. The heat from the blade's voltage charred and cauterized the pierce, ceasing the spill of blood. “Who gave you the amulet,” she repeated Namiko’s words. “Okay…” the man breathed through his pained panting. “Okay…We were hired by a group of rouge elves…They..they wanted us to find individuals of great magic.” The Matriarch’s eye narrowed. “How?” “I don’t kn—AHH!” The Matriarch touched the handle of the blade with her index finger and volts ran through it again, submitting the mercenary to a second great wave of torture. When she lifted her finger, the man took a whole ten seconds to recover. “What?” she said lowly. “The..the…” he could barely speak at first, needing to swallow the drool accumulating in his mouth. “The amulet steals magic from those that have it, and glows when close. We can follow its pull. They said if it dun kill ‘em, they have enough potential to bring back.” “Back to where?” “Dougton.” She had a location. “Who are these elves?” “I don—NO! I don’t know!” He lifted his hands in plea as the Matriarch rose her hand again towards the sword. “I swear! We’re just mercenaries! We were just hired! Don’t…I swear.” The Matriarch paused for a moment long enough to make the man sweat, and then lowered her hand. The man placed his hands to the ground, hunching over in lassitude but relief. “Is there anything else?” The man was silent in thought, only breathing heavily over the crackles of flame. “They…they said we would be contributing to a new world. I didn’t ask what they meant. I only wanted the money.” The Matriarch’s aggression rose. This man was nothing but a money hungry mule, not caring for anything beyond his own personal gain. She hated individuals that brushed off the suffering of others for product. She had been a slave her entire life—its what fueled her behavior. He was no different than her ex-owners. “Tell me…” she said slowly. “How many did you kill with this amulet before finding me?” The man hesitated. “Listen…I was just makin’ a living…” The Matriarch frowned deeply. “Turn your eyes away, sister. This is nothing for you to see.” The Bodyguard came from behind her, removing the sword and grabbing the man by the head, lifting his suddenly thrashing body. The man’s muffled screams came from between the orc’s fingers as The Bodyguard walked to the outskirts of the torch light. It need not be described what the gargantuan orc did to the poor soul, but he did not survive. And he did suffer. The Matriarch closed her eyes and exhaled softly. Her vindictive emotions settled with a hard swallow. She turned her body towards Namiko. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, but this is beyond both of us.” She closed her eyes and sighed deep. "Dougton..." What sorcery was occurring there?
  8. The boundless tunnels within the eminence were an elaborate complex of such intricacy that the hands of Daedalus himself seemed to father their vigor, and the heat within was like the breath of the great Minotaur fuming through the umbra. Luna and her sister were hidden from the dwarfs by the imposing darkness and stature of the orcs between them. Though were torches upon the cavern walls, they did not light. Only a white luminescence from the witch's staff led the way. The reasons for this were left for them to wonder. “Is that so?” she responded. “I personally find the tunnels dull and dreary, but I imagine they can be quite homely for your kind. This is good, as we will be experiencing for this some time. It is not as easy to enter the mountains as it is to leave it.” The journey was not welcoming. Howls of wild beasts rang through the tunnels, resembling the cadence of Hallows Eve. Crimson optics of shadow creatures watched them through unexplored maws of twists and turns. Once the white light cascaded upon them, and thick ebony fur glistened with silver hues as three headed beasts melted into vision. Orc hounds they called them. They vanished as quick as they appeared. “You swore to a life of fidelity, sacrificing all this you for that is that them.” Luna said as she continued, ignoring the beasts. "This surprises me." The dwarfs of this world were different than her experience had taught her. Dwarfs were known for their ravenous desire of worth through material possessions. Treasure defined them. It was odd to encounter a culture of dwarfs that had such a great sense of unity that they abandon their individual possessions and riches for others. ‘Sharing’ as it were. “I would praise your society’s acceptance of great female warriors, but I suspect you’ve given up such forms of pride as well.” Soldier couldn’t see it, but the witch frowned a tad. “I will respectfully call you Soldier of Tazarek, if that is your wish.” Left, right, left, left, right, or was it left? The twists were not only flat forks, but rising quadruples, descending triplets, and swirls of singles that seems to unproductively reverse their direction. They had to endure this puzzle for an hour. Eventually Luna paused in the middle of a tunnel. The light lowered, suggesting she knelt down, and moments later a ring of red light transpired in runic art around the burrow. “We are here, please step through the gate. I warn you though, the temperatures of the land outside are naught compared to what you are about to endure.” As the orcs intrepidly stepped through, the witch waited for the dwarfs to travel as well before she followed behind them. Her words were unpleasantly true—they had stepped into a great underground cavern of a volcano. Magma pools spread the next mile in the distance, leading in amber rivulets to a great fortress of brimstone in the distance. The magma pools breathed heavily and made the air wave into ripples of distortions, painting the fortress like a great mirage. Yet despite the sheer unpleasantness of the environment, the temperature was less than one would expect within the heart of a dormant volcano. The feverish temperature was doused by the influence of magic. “There will be accommodations within. Let us continue.” After the final stretch of their travels, they reached the great gates of the stronghold. Craquelure designs on doors several feet high were smoothed and polished into raven diamonds reflecting their approach. They opened silently and paved the way into a great courtyard permeated with hundreds of laboring beasts. Most of orc denizens were tinted coal and as rigid as stone; compact coils of sinews bulging and rippled as they carried great pieces of decalescent gravel and bedrock. Workers traveled to seemingly simplistic structures under construction whilst others carried weapons and armory. The hustle and bustle of the environment was like a hive of procrustean insects, never resting and harnessing a consistent dudgeon driving them forward. Outbursts of violence towards one another were not uncommon; the orcs lived for it. When the queen of their hive entered the scene, the humming of snarls and grunts settled around her. The brutes, hovering at least two feet over the witch, lowered her heads in bitter submission as they passed by. Some of their architecture was low, but many ascended high above the walls of the garrisons and built into the mountain, suggesting the fortress extended in and through it. More orcs crouched on rocks in the distance walls, clipping pieces that fell into the awaiting hands of others. It was clear they were expanding. Luna led the troupe to one of the greatest towers within the fortress, consuming a great fragment of the rear and adorned with crystalline doors that opened with a wave of her head. Several of the orcs ceased to follow them at this point; only Natasha and one other unnamed continued. As they entered the witches’ tower, it was as if they entered a different world. It was the pure manifestation of magic, the dreams of a great coven transpiring before them. The once blistering temperatures faded away into a cooling zephyr permeated by crisp sensations of water fusillade upon flushed cheeks. This phenomenon was the result of the Coven Soul. It existed at an intangible sun that lived within these walls. With the increasing amount of witch souls existing within it, the blessings of their influence shrived the blemish of the ugly scorched earth into a world of pulchritude and fantasy. At first, it was impossible to believe that this encapsulated forest was the inside of a volcanic tower. However, the runic structures gave birth to a spiral of stairs that ascended up and beyond the canopy of the trees. If one looked closely, walls existed beyond and between the bark of the wood. Luna’s exquisite beauty sang loud in this storybook setting, her locks becoming emerald weaves of silk and her mauve irises glittering like the tears of galaxies. “One day all of No Man’s Land will have this magic,” she said fondly, giving them a moment to admire her pride and joy. The more witches that joined the coven, the more power they gained and more this would spread into the land. Within one of the ruin structures, built by the more competent orcs of the fortress, a great stone table and surrounding chairs awaited them. Upon the surface was a spread of water filled chalices, breads and fruits. Light but refreshing. The witch settled in a large chair, the others notably smaller (perhaps she prepared for them). “Help yourselves before we start.” When they did, and finished, she got straight to the point. “So tell me, Soldier of Tazarek, what need do you have for my orcs? And how many are you suggesting? Most importantly, what do you have to offer for them?” Her eyes narrowed mildly. "Mind you, I have no interest in gold." Natasha stared at Luna, her fist tightening and trembling, but she said nothing.
  9. Closed

    Opting to release her stress through the comforts and escape of slumber, the curly haired teen returned to her feet. Her disturbing thoughts manifested like a ghost of lassitude upon her body; the copious weight in her strides dragging her further into the pit of her mind. She fell into her bed and laid there silently. The beauty of Alynn possessed her mind with its perfection—she could practically feel with haunt coursing like poison within her. Though fell asleep shortly after sinking into the sheets, her hope of peaceful slumber was distorted by invading sensations of drowning in that toxin. Within her dreams, she felt indentured and smothered by darkness. Breathless, cold, she threw her limbs and thrashed her head against the pouring of cement upon her body. She sank deep into aphotic sea, into the deepest crevasses of her mind, watching the bubbles of her willpower escape with her last scream. Feeling the metaphysical gravity of the siren’s image, her limbs became too exhausted to keep struggling. She knew…no matter how much she fought, she would lose him. Chanelle.. The voice was deep and distant, echoing around her and oscillating within her. For the first time, she was capable of opening her eyes. Darkness. Her lips asked who was there, though no sound transpired. Yet in response a distance twinkle of crimson blossomed like a rosebud within the darkness. Its luminescence shone upon her body and revealed her skin. Instinctively she looked at her hands, but did not recognize them. Her chocolate toned skin had paled into a dusted brown, as if all the blood had been drained from her body. Her nails were black, elongated, and gross like a harpy’s claw. Somehow this grotesque imagery felt familiar. The crimson light grew closer in the distance, cascading her in its flush. What is going on? Her thoughts questioned apprehensively. The carmine light brightened great like an old forgotten star and she shielded her eyes. Before she knew what was happening, the orb of light charged her with great speed and slammed into her chest like a horrible hammer. Pain reverberated through her; she screamed. Thud. Chanelle fell off the bed into the ground, thrown her from her nightmare. The entanglement of covers made her thrashed her legs and kicked them away before she sat up in a horrible cold sweat. Curls a wild mess, sun in the window, and shadow on the floor, she stared at the thousand of black snakes around her head. She could breathe again. The teenage girl closed her eyes and tried to let her racing hear slow with her heaving. Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt….Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt… She shifted her eyes to see the corners of her cell phone dancing insistently with vibrations on the nightstand. Groaning she reached a head up and grabbed it before leaning her back on the drawers and unlocking the screen. Combing some of her curls back and squinting her tired eyes, she read the text message. The words made her frown. So, none of this was a dream. She laughed at herself, feeling foolish for thinking yesterday was all some extended nightmare—from the beauty on the shoreline to the demon in the deep sea within her mind. Ok. She texted. Setting the phone at her side and lowering her head to her curling knees, she forced herself to accept it all again. The nightmare suddenly pang her with discomfort and she pulled her collar from her torso to look down in her shirt. No bruise. No markings. Nothing from the collision of that strange red orb. But her chest ached. She sighed. She hated shadow dreams, where one felt the residues of wonderland experiences after waking. “Okay,” she said, bringing her hands up and slapping her cheeks with her palms. The tingle made her more awake. “At least that was fake. Small victories." She nodded to herself. Time to save the world. As she stood from the floor, she noticed she was still in her clothes from her run. That was gross so she showered. The warm water felt cleansing, as if her burdens washed down the drain with her dirt and dried sweat. Leaving the bathroom in a towel, her body radiated with steam and her curls laid flat down her biceps as she entered her room. She dressed casually, some jean shorts and a purple tank. Her breasts were small enough that she didn’t need to wear a bra with most shirts, but she still fancied a sports one most days. No reason to change that. She was combing out her curls into their wild style when she noticed a pregnant backpack at the edge of her bed. Her mom had already packed for her. It made things easier, for not a few seconds after she grabbed it with a fondness for her mother, the house rang with the sound of a door bell. When the door opened for Xander, Chanelle nor her mother stood in the threshold. Adorned in the purity of a white dress that kissed the brim of her thighs, Alynn stood there before him. At the sight of her allure, the morning sun seemed to swoon into scarlet blushes. The colors kissed her body and painted the smooth skin into a honeyed hue of art. The siren's golden eyes softened under the descent of her raven hair, streaked with subtle tints of jade in the light, and she smiled warmly. “Xander,” she said, silk voice full of pleasant gratitude. “You came.” Her nude primed feet moved forward across the floorboards of the porch, not a sound to her glide, and she took his hand between hers. “Thank you.”
  10. “Trade?” The voice came not from Luna but from Natasha, exposing herself from the shadows at her rear. Her face was twisted and gnarled like a tree from her immense anger. She tromped forward with her sinews coiled like springs ready to lunge for the dwarf's throat. “We are not to be sold like cattle for slaughter!” Luna rose a single finger to freeze the angered orc in her place, taming the aggression with a silent strike seen quivering from the orc's crown and into the earth at her toes into waves of tension. Natasha’s bloodied eyes boiled with hatred but she nonetheless forced her head to the side. Luna had not taken her bright eyes from Soldier. In her experience with dwarfs, numerous in her wizened years, what stood before her was a rarity. The pale sheet of skin, though swelling with sweat from the beating sun, was so washed of color that the witch expected her to burst into flames. The color was not smooth like cream but ugly like the undead. At first, Luna thought the undead was what she was encountering and it swirled on her tongue bitterly. However, the bouquet of burnt wood from earth’s energy radiated from Solider vigorously. As if every chapter of her life was smudged in deep loam. Only dwarfs carried that essence. Gradually she lowered her finger, curling it to her slender chin with a thumb in thought. She remained there so serene and unchanging like the essence of Zen itself. The wind crept between them during her lull of thought, its dry cough playing with her emerald tresses and rich cloth. Finally those coral lips curled into a small smile that reached her eyes lustrously. “I cannot allow you into my home so armed, ye dwarf of no name.” A hint of banter was within her tone, but the point was nonetheless clear—she had no name from this individual requesting on trade and entry into her mountain. “If negotiations are to be made, consider your surrender of weapons a sign of good faith. You may keep your shields, but…” She waved her hand and two orcs approached. “Surrender the rest. I promise, my sister dwarfs, no harm will come to you under my charge.” It wasn’t a request, it was terms. Though she spoke politely and gently, there was little leeway in her voice. The dwarfs would be vulnerable without their weapons—that was good. They were in her home, sitting in the palms of her hands, and under her rules. There would be no disrespect within her walls, not even from dwarfs of Tazarek. The witch turned with her sister beside her, neither waiting for their rejection or acceptance. If they handed their weapons over to the orcs, they would be permitted to follow them. If not, Luna suffered no loss.
  11. For those that don't know, I have two accounts. These are the ones from the other. Mistress Yulandra Amelia Negalia Katarina Love ID-08 Ookai
  12. This was a long time coming, so here we go. Joy/Sadness Luna Sunaro Kane Enigma Innata Aaliyah Cianna Marigold Lyra Francesca Kuu Rosalina Natasha Rienas Armada Wolf Jasmine Sonya Hall Amaya Kiyome Arikara Brule
  13. Slam. Frankie’s hand compressed harshly and suddenly into the surface of the table as she stood up from her chair. The porcelain teacups shivered and the pearls decorating her wrist oscillated around them with a subtle ring; the wood groaned as the lotus-eater beauty leaned across it. Her tidal irises became intense with esoteric thought, gold vines curtaining a countenance as devious as any scapegrace of society. The table was small and she cleared it easily, getting within a few inches of his face in moments. “I don’t date, darling.” Her breathe was sweet, permeated in a minty flavor Asbel would taste as she moistened his lips with its fever alone. “But I do fancy the company of those that interest me. And I’ll let you in on a little secret.” The attention of the restaurant occupants was on them. She didn’t care. Something carnal and conceited within her purred with sick pleasure as the they all held their breath and blushed when her lips touched the rim of her male companion’s ear shamelessly—her voice drew to a low whisper. “Soldiers pique my interest the most. All that strength and lust for war bleeds easily into licentious passion when you have a woman's naked body within your arms. That same....animalistic and lascivious tendency on the battlefield can exist under the sheets. It’s only caged by your hesitance.” The back of her hand stroked the chiseled mold of his chin, feeling the masculinity down to the rough itch of his shaved follicles. When she pulled back to gaze at him again, that ocean in her hues held the same profane instinct and sin the drove Poseidon to take Medusa in the temple of Athena. “The female body,” she traced her curves with the stroke of her finger. “Is key to releasing it. See it within yourself, Asbel, and every woman will find you as irresistible as I do.” And then she pulled back, tossing her hair in a wave back over her shoulders and standing up straight. Mutters whispers around them. Their discomfort only fueled that indocile fire that burning through her nerves and generated steam between her thighs. “Good luck on your date.” She walked around the table, clearing him with a brush of her fingers on his shoulder. Eyes of the restaurant were on the sways of her hips and the runnel of her tresses. When she reached the doorway of the establishment, she paused to lean her back on the threshold and turned her attention back on him. “Or you can ditch it and come with me, soldier. I’ll show you the true art of blending work and pleasure.” With that she disappeared into the sunlight. What would come next would be on him.
  14. Frankie canted her head slightly to the left, blond hair sifting over the hump of her nude shoulder. "You do seem....out of your element, solider." Her nectar lips curved an inch up as she observed his demeanor. Beads of sweat shone upon his skin under the light, elevated heaves of breathe waved the fabric of the attire stretched across his torso. Underneath those sinews, she imagined his heart beating at an elevated pace and pumping hormones of anxiety to the tips of his digits. Her blue eyes shifted down and watch those fingers fidget with diminutive trembles over flushed palms. Gradually she rose back to his face, the shine of the ocean in her eyes never ceasing. “Commander, eh? I’ve fancied a couple of them in my day. One not too long ago actually…” She rolled her shoulders with a fond hum in her throat, as if still working out the knots from the experience. “Usually its old the old farts that try to set up romantic meetings. The younger ones like yourself…” Her voice slowed to a cadent lull so her fingers could dance forward and touch the tips of his nervous ones, perhaps to feel the tremble herself. “Well, they have more interest in the fight.” Men were such beacons of strength, and soldiers were the top in those regards in her mind. It was a marvel to see such strength shutter against the wind of her voice. Sliding her hand back, she moved into the opposite chair and leaned onto its beck legs. The scent of the sea perfumed the air as she flicked her long hair once over her shoulder. She spent many years on sandy beaches. Crossing her arms under her breasts, he gauged him a second time. “Though…blind dates are a little risqué. Maybe it does suit you, Ser Asbel Abe-ol Resy--Whatever." She laughed. "I'm just going to call you Asbel. Name's Frankie. Just that." She winked and put two fingers in a playful salute upon her forehead. "So, what did your commander say about this blind date that gathered your interest enough to show? Surely you have more balls than to just say 'yes sir'? I mean...this is your 'love story.'” Her tone was sarcastic in the ending words.
  15. Away from the intense battle scene, Natasha ended her run and exhaled a breath thick enough to cleave with her tusks. Her saliva attempted to freeze and she soon sealed them shut as she stepped slowly towards a sapphire treasure radiating before her. The dragon’s egg was a beautiful vessel with all the seasons of winter harnessed within its heart. The cold fumigating from its luminescence was daunting at bare minimum, seeping into the she-orc's cobblestone hide and aching her joints. Her carmine eyes squinted through the opaque mist, fingers number than usual and frost on her lashes. Touching the egg was not an option. Her mind wasn’t great at manifesting ideas from the dust, so she searched the landscape for inspiration—it came from glimmers of sliver scattered across the ice. Scales. Then, by some miracle, something magic cascaded upon her body. The cold was more tolerable. She didn't question it. Oil smothering the gears in her mind, ideas whirled and she moved without any further contemplation. In the distance, time was dangerously slipping away. The witches worked together in a beautiful display of kinship that Luna would have done anything to witness. The power of the coven’s soul enhanced the vigor of the sword twice-fold and it pierced through the air with a target true. If it struck the heart of the ancient beast, it would have ended its life with a dogmatic certitude. Natasha's shadow transpired through the mist, appearing on the scene as the witches synced in convicting yet mesmerizing dance of lancers. Her eyes captured the sword to be thrown and its soon-to-be scaled covered sheath. Having killed dragons in the past, Natasha knew it meant death. The moment became monumental and slowed to a still within her increasingly working mind. It was more labor than an orc's mind should ever have to endure. The death of the dragon would mean failing the mission against Luna’s wishes, but saving the dragon under the premise of her own plans would be endangering the witches under her protection. This conflict could have driven her mind wild for months if not for her instinctive impulsion and general lack of care. When she found that her muscles did not freeze from her thoughts and her heart did not suddenly crush from the pressure of resistance, she raised her vein bulging bicep and the decision was made. Orcs had to tendency to act without thought and Natasha’s natural intelligence made her surreal in this talent. She discovered a loophole to Luna's commands without meaning to. With great force she made a throwing motion a second after Alexandria released her blade. From her hand came a metallic plate as large as a shield. It spun like a frisbee and with either sheer luck or talent intercepted the blade at its hilt. The collision did not stop it, but sent the onslaught askew. Instead, the sword planted deep one foot away from the dragon’s heart. The collision dispersed the air around it, arcane exploding and the dragon roaring in massive agony. It trembled terribly from its tail to its talons, hanging on by inches from sheer determination. However, the highlights on its scales did not stop and it seemed the orc made a terrible mistake. However, Natasha suddenly released an equal yet aggressive and domineering roar towards the dragon. "HEY!!" Its cerulean slit pupil saw her as she came into its vision, carrying a chain hooked into one of its scales. Upon the scale was a very precious egg. The dragon froze. “Lay down, beast...or I slice it through,” Natasha growled, exemplifying her words by raising her blades towards the egg. In honesty, Natasha didn’t know if she could generate enough force to crack the egg before it froze her—but after the dragon’s struggle, she doubted it would take that risk. The egg reflected in the dragon’s eyes for moment, silence in the air and blood leaping from the blade of the hilt in its torso. Suddenly the light on its scales settled, as did the lids upon it eyes. In the next moment, the dragon fell over into the pillar on the side, the whole thing cracking from the force and crumbling under its complete weight. The orcs underneath it were forced to retreat, running from the raining debris and rising snow dust. When everything calmed, the dragon laid there motionless. The rapid breaths of its stomach suggested it still held life. Whether the dragon gave up because of the threat of its egg, its critical wounds, the paralysis, or sheer exhaustion was unknown. But it was defeated. The male orcs threw their fists into the air, releasing war cries like crazed animals to celebrate their victory. Their echoes reigned throughout the mountains, letting the entire range know of their accomplishment. Natasha merely crossed her arms and grinned with a great smugness, carelessly kicking the scale to slide it further away from her. In her periphery, she watched the witches. She knew she might’ve been punished for her actions, but she was never one to live in fear for the repercussions of her actions. For now, she bathed in her pride.