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Song Sprite

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About Song Sprite

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    Nevertheless, she sang.
  • Birthday July 25

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    Female
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    The Never-Never

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  1. And Burn it Will

    Taking the pill, Khali shook her head at the question. She did not want to stay. Behind her was only grief and barrenness. "Terrenus," she voted simply. She had heard the name, but knew nothing about it, beyond that it was a distant land. Still, anywhere was better than home. She glanced over at Hramatta again, the sight of her only friend's calm demeanor reassuring her again. As long as she had her horse, she knew she could survive. She kept sneaking glances at Cortana, and finally just blatantly stared at the A.I., despite the rudeness. She had never seen a spirit so solid before, nor one so well-mannered. There was no unfriendliness in Khali's gaze, only a burning, unrepentant curiosity.
  2. And Burn it Will

    Khali, too, slowly woke. There were many strange noises around her (the ambient noise of the ship maintaining itself) but they were a dull background murmur beneath the more normal, comforting sound of voices conversing, and Hramatta crunching on his oats. The cabin smelled of tea and horse. It almost smelled like home. Almost. Carefully, she sat up, lifting herself up on her arms rather than using her aching stomach muscles. The movement still caused pain, but it was far less than it had been when she had fallen asleep. Perhaps I will live, after all. Mother would be glad. She did not attempt to participate in the conversation, but looked around and at the two men, listening and trying (fruitlessly) to get her bearings. This was all so far removed from her simple nomadic existence that she wondered if it were not all a fever-dream after all.
  3. And Burn it Will

    Khali's day just kept getting stranger. She gaped at the ship with huge, round eyes, and once inside it, seemed utterly at a loss. But at least Russo was now using language simple enough for her to understand. The promise of healing (and the knowledge that she would be way out of her depth if she tried to fight these strangers) kept her compliant, but only barely. A small nod answered the unseen voice (did Russo control spirits, too? she wondered) when it asked if Hramatta liked oats. Being sealed inside the healing chamber was nothing short of terrifying though, and she clenched white-knuckled at the hilt of her dagger for reassurance as the ship began to move. The ship's diagnostic routines had their pick of symptoms to treat the girl for: her heart was labouring with shock at the new environment (and from a lack of blood), she was mildly malnourished, and weary past the point of exhaustion, kept awake mostly by adrenaline and pain. But by far the most grevious concern was the ugly wound in her belly, hidden by the layers of clothing. Someone had removed a foetus from her womb - traces of the umbilical cord still remained - and despite the homespun first aid of clumsy stitches, a plant-based medicinal salve, and tight bandages, infection had begun to take root in the wound.
  4. And Burn it Will

    Khali, too, was struggling to follow the conversation, though for a very different reason than Thelan. In her case it was simple ignorance of many of the words used. To the desert tribes, Genesarin was simply a trade tongue, put to rudimentary use for bartering transactions. Eloi had taught her a little more, but the quick, fluent and subtle speech of these two men strained the limits of her knowledge. She was able to piece together, from what Russo said, that he seemed to consider her a healer. That was really drastically overstating things. She had already done all she could for the wound in her gut, and fire-eater Thelan's current condition was entirely beyond the scope of what she could handle. She shook her head as Russo asked if there was somewhere she wanted to go, and a bitterness flashed in her eyes. There was no tribe that would take her and Hramatta in. King Eraim would have made sure of that by now. With a few clumsily cobbled sentences, she tried to set things straight. "I am not good healer. I go... going nowhere." She wasn't sure what medical attention was, and could only hope Thelan's words made more sense to Russo than they did to her. In the awkward pause that followed, she asked, "What is...'ship'?"
  5. And Burn it Will

    If there was one thing that Khali had learned, it was to trust her horse. It was Hramatta's peacefulness, and only that, which allowed her to retain her own sense of calm in these circumstances which seemed cut from the cloth of a fever-dream. So she did not react, but merely watched in mute bewilderment, as the woman took her leave to rejoin her people, another stranger with enchanted, talking armour cradled Hramatta's noble head, and the fire-eater dealt (mostly) with the nightmarish mess he had made. Truthfully, she wondered if Hramatta had not borne her into the realm of the gods during their morning ride. Such things were said to happen easily in the shifting half-light of early morning, when one travelled outside the known paths of the great desert. She set herself down in a corner of the increasingly-crowded tent where she could watch both of her remaining guests, a wince of pain flooding her features for a moment as she lowered herself, straining the wound in her gut which was hidden beneath her many layers of clothing. It was not until the fire-eater was back and had settled himself again that she broke the awkward silence which had fallen during his labours. "I welcome you both." It was very, very bad luck not to welcome the gods, no matter how strange their ways. The Genesarin words were halting, and thick with her accent. "I am called Khali. My horse is called Hramatta. What may I call my lords?"
  6. And Burn it Will

    With the reassurance of both the strangers that Hramatta was unhurt, Khali's knife disappeared as quickly as it had emerged. Still, she frowned at the strange man, who still had yet to return her favour of an introduction. "You should not stand." Her tone was irritated in a big-sister sort of way, more at the fright he had given her than at his lack of self-care. "Come." She led the way back to the tent, wanting to see for herself that her horse was still fine. The fact that the strange woman had entered as well provided its own dilemma, or at least discomfort; a small halpa or leather tent such as hers was considered a very private space, almost sacred, and only family and guests were usually permitted within. Hramatta, of course, was family. As for guests, they fell under the aegis of desert hospitality, a strict code of obligation and protection that was not lightly extended (though offering guest status to a stranger brought honour to one's family). Khali had no family, and, in the eyes of those who had once been her tribe, no honour. Nevertheless, in that moment she decided to treat these strange wanderers as guests until they proved themselves unworthy.
  7. Did I tellya I'm using a Kharn cleric for various adventures?!

    1. Song Sprite

      Song Sprite

      shows how much I haven't been around that I just saw this now xD that's AWESOME! I wanna see! Links or it didn't happen!

  8. General Chatter [18+] Violence always permitted!

    My phone does that too sometimes!!!! Hella annoying. I think it's a keyboard glitch.
  9. Ghosting around

    *chokes on her tea* Thanks Slytherin *dryly*
  10. Ghosting around

    In Canada you can have trees and they don't kill you sometimes :3
  11. Pictures of Us

    epicccc
  12. Swordbreaker Chronicles Chapter 8: Sanctuary

    Florica looked up at Claire with another stab of guilt at the whispered words, realizing that her reaction had caused needless worry at a time when they all should have been focused on more pressing matters. What had happened at the hospital was in the past. She forced a small smile, and a nod so that they could move on, though she had no intention of ever telling anyone what a failure she had been there. She twitched slightly with anxious nerves as Audric called to Claire that it was beginning, and stood up as the beautiful woman walked away, taking a few deep breaths that did nothing to slow her thundering heart. At Claire's direction, the two youngest members of the group moved to a more central location, Sai taking Florica's hand in his free one when he saw she was trembling and pale. Sai returned Claire's smirk at the mention of his swordfighting ability, but as she turned away his expression settled into one of grim determination. He had no idea if he would be able to repeat his performance from earlier, which had been fuelled by his desperate need to protect Claire; but he'd be damned if he didn't try. At the dreadful roar that shook the building; Florica squealed with fright and let go of Sai's hand to clap her hands over her ears. As the first few moments of the fight progressed, she crouched lower and lower to the ground, her eyes wild with terror. Sai held his sword at the ready and scanned behind and in front of them, determined that no man or creature should reach the broken young woman.
  13. Swordbreaker Chronicles Chapter 8: Sanctuary

    Florica's rather delicate mind had already taken a blow this evening, and the fight hadn't even started yet. The Master's voice echoed in her mind over and over, drowning out her own thoughts: I have come for what is mine. By which he meant her. She was the reason he was here, the reason why everyone she loved was once more in mortal danger. She felt ill with fear, her thoughts shattered and disjointed. With the broken state she had lived in since their last encounter, he would find it easy enough to retake her mind once more, if he drew near enough. She jumped a little as Claire spoke, not having noticed the pretty swordswoman sit down. She made no attempt at reply to the young woman's discourse, but listened with wide, wary eyes, not knowing what to make of this further evidence of friendliness. Not until Claire asked for healing for Sai did the little gypsy find her tongue. "Y-you f-f-first," she murmured firmly, and placed an icy, clammy hand over Claire's. She didn't meet her gaze, but looked down at their joined hands, focusing intently. It was a bit more difficult than she remembered - out of practice, her own mana sluggish and reluctant - but she was soon mending what was broken. * * * Sai shook his head in gentle disagreement as the green-eyed woman praised his bravery; he just couldn't see it that way. "I only did what I had to," he replied, modest but perfectly sincere. Remaining behind shelter while Claire faced such an awful threat simply had not been an option in his mind. His eyes followed her as she approached little Florica, and at the motherly advice to rest for now, he bowed in the Welander fashion and headed over to them. Florica was just finishing with Claire, and offered Sai her hand without quite meeting the gaze of the young man who had given her the miada back. "M-may I h-heal you?" she offered shyly. Sai smiled at the change - the girl he had met just this morning would never have made the offer, and for all her shyness there was a warmth to Florica's voice that had been lacking before - and willingly took her hand, his other still holding the sword. "Thank you," he replied simply, and fell into a more relaxed stance as the pains in his body fell away. "You've a remarkable gift; have you ever considered making a career out of it?" He was just making friendly conversation, but the way she froze and her aura stuttered as it tended him had him realizing he had said something wrong. "I'm sorry, I..." he floundered at the sickened look of grief and shame that twisted the gypsy's pale features, and glanced to Claire for help. "Bad idea, I guess?"
  14. Swordbreaker Chronicles Chapter 8: Sanctuary

    The fireball that flew over his shoulder to impact the monster before him was the first sign Sai had that Claire was still conscious - still alive. The relief almost lost him his focus, but there was no time to turn and rejoice. The tide of their little skirmish turned quickly after that, with Haidee joining them and the Count providing a welcome distraction to their deadly enemy. The young dancer tensed as the dark figure disappeared into a sudden black cloud, and took a few steps closer to the women without dropping his guard. But when the cloud dispersed a moment later, their enemy was nowhere to be seen. They fell into step towards the Swan, and Sai returned Claire's grin with a fierce one of his own, though he didn't sheath Thorn, which still buzzed with energy beneath his fingertips. "I'm just glad you're alright, Claire," he told her bluntly, forgetting for a moment that it should be Lady Claire and that he was little more than a pauper. His gaze turned to the woman supporting her, and he did a double-take at those too-familiar eyes, gazing at him with a look of knowing amusement that was nearly as discomfiting as the adrenaline still racing through his limbs from the fight. He automatically reached forward and held the door to allow the women to enter first. "My apologies, ma'am, I... Have we met?" As they entered they were greeted by the welcome sight of their friends, Florica now sitting and catching her breath in a quiet corner next to the glowing garden under the watchful eye of the two seasoned warriors.
  15. Swordbreaker Chronicles Chapter 8: Sanctuary

    NO. I HAVE COME FOR WHAT IS MINE. COME EASILY, AND I WILL SPARE THEIR LIVES. The voice that had haunted her nightmares blossomed in her mind like the blackest of nights, cloaked in lust and authority, and Florica all but collapsed on the way out of the carriage, stumbling hard into Claire in front of her. The pale gypsy's knees had turned to water, her heart and tongue to frozen stones. She was back at the Grimm Holt, being kissed by him. Watching Nero die. She was at the hospital, beneath Peter, his foul voice whispering. "Don't close your eyes. Look at him." She was in Eshdraemoir, running blindly through the dark, the slavemaster laughing behind her. Blood on the sheets. Don't close your eyes. She found she was running, Claire and Haidee between them having been able to get her moving despite her near-catatonic state of fear. The odd architecture of Weland rolled past them on either side as they ran through the night, and- Tall graceful pillars and fluted cornices were woven into the red fabric, a pattern of soft velvet showing a city square. Faceless shopkeepers offered their fruits to the air. Such an intricate pattern. The resounding CRACK of a heavy hand on flesh rang out, and she buried her mouth in the fabric, muffling a cry. A drawing that was too clean to be her. A woman she would never be; a wish to the universe, denied before breath was drawn. He should have drawn the swans instead. An enraged snarl had her blinking in confusion, refocusing her eyes - why were there dogs? Did Weland have packs of strays? But then one of them roared as it leapt at Haidee, a gut-wrenching sound no mundane beast could make, and Florica let out a short scream of terror as the older woman fended it off. Where had Claire gone? She had just- "KEEP MOVING!" Haidee snapped, and Florica did what she knew best. She obeyed. She hardly knew where she was going, running in blind terror through the night. The moon was full, but low in the sky, casting long, treacherous shadows that looked like inky pits of death. She could feel him behind her, feel his tendrils wrapping around her soul even as he toyed with Claire. Breaking her down. Whispering that she should just give up - that she had been his all along. Or was that the whisper of her own treacherous heart? She couldn't tell any more. But the road slipped by beneath her feet, and as she reached out with the last of her will, flinging her thoughts forward towards Nero, the miada found her, and suddenly the path was familiar beneath her feet, though she had never walked this street before. Her mind cleared, the Master's grip on her loosening for the moment, antithetical as it was to the inborn power of the freest of all folk. She dove into an open doorway beneath a shining carved swan, and into Nero's waiting arms, sobbing with fright once more as she stammered out her apologies for leaving Claire and Haidee alone and under attack. Before Audric and Nero could resume their argument of whether to stay with the trap or go out and save their friends, Sai shot past them and out the door, wards parting for him like water. * * * The sight that greeted the swift-footed lad as he sped past Haidee fighting the hounds froze his heart. His perfect, fiery angel was slumped against the wall like a discarded, bloody toy, a tall, sinister man standing over her. "CLAIRE!" The anguished cry was followed by a shout of pure rage, and in a single motion the young dancer drew his borrowed blade and attacked. There was a moment of clarity; a moment when the figure before him was Death himself, come again to steal everyone Sai had ever loved - and he was no longer putting up with that shit. He was no master of the blade, but you would never have known it from the way he fought, a lifetime of dance training and bottled rage suddenly unleashed in a style that was all his own, fearless, unpredictable and fast as a striking snake. Faster than his thrumming heart their blades impacted, over and over as Thorn grew warm in his hand. He didn't see the hellhound until it nearly barrelled into his knees, and as he leapt to avoid it, Death's boot impacted his side. Not quite as square of a blow as the one that had broken Claire, it was still a bone-cracking force that threw him back nearly on top of her. Twisting like a cat, he was on his feet in a low defensive crouch almost as he hit the ground, his sword held before him in clear threat to any approach. Thorn was fairly crackling with energy, the light dancing in the Welander's liquid eyes and snarling teeth. He did not move from his position in front of Claire, his loyalty unspoken but clear.
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