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Witches Brew

Please Come Home..

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This day had already been long enough, and too many things have happened already. This was supposed to be a simple day, weeding Dale Thimmick's garden and having lunch, then going home to take care of her animals. That was supposed to be it, but apparently the Gods had other plans for Mythandriel today. Instead of her simple, non-exciting day, she helped some random child, murdered some horses with a flaming carriage attached, and helped some stranger kill some lizard-folk. Now, instead of going to get her wounds looked at, Mythandriel was hopping onto Dorian's back, and gripping her neck fur tightly. The elf was exhausted, and in pain, but that Magician or whatever he was, he mentioned something Myth couldn't get out of her head. 

Grayboy. 

She could be completely wrong, it could be someone entirely different. Her hopes were high, and her heart was pounding. All this adrenaline coursing through her veins was keeping her from feeling the pain in her burns. She clicked her tongue, and Dorian took off. As Dorian ran, Myth's mind raced. What if it was Zanzarog? Was he teaming up with these Lizardmen? Why? Why did he leave home, after everything they've shared together? Why would he leave her? Leave her here all alone? Tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked them away. She was all alone yet again, everyone she loved seemed to leave her, in one way or another. Her parents, then Ioreth, and now Zanzarog. She leaned forward, urging Dorian to run faster. The elk bleeted as she pushed her legs to push harder, sending them faster towards her home. 

As they got closer and closer, she could hear Tamlen barking from inside the house, he must've been at the front door. Someone was there, Tamlen wouldn't be barking otherwise. Myth narrowed her eyes, moving her bangs out of her face as Dorian got closer and closer to the house. "Hey! Stop!" She shouted, upon approaching the house, seeing a large armoured figure standing next to Black Philip. Though that Springjack hated her, that was one of the few things she had left of Zanzarog's. She yanked hard on Dorian's fur, and she looked at the faceless figure, glaring down at him. "What are you doing on my property?" She hissed, her brows furrowed. Dorian paced around the figure and Black Philip, huffing angrily. 

What if he had something to do with Zan's disappearance? If this man hurt her beloved, then he would face her wrath, or what little was left after that mini battle she was just in. 

@Better Than Gore

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She would have seen him. At first gaze his body might evoke images of Eldritch creatures from beyond the mortal world.

It was a writhing mass of flesh and bone, exposed and skinless. A visage of bone with coals in the eye sockets. Horns framed this skeletal grimace like a demon and all of the hope and joy in the world seemed like an impossible fantasy while gazing upon it. Layers of sinew stretched forever beneath the myriad of bones that encased this terror, wet with forever fresh blood and the distinct stench of a battlefield. He wore the skeletons of men like a second skin.

Whomever it was found the situation quite amusing, as a deep bellow echoed from his visage. Mythandriel was greeted by an ominous stare. An unnatural feeling of dread would overcome her, it seemed to grow the longer he stared. “I apparently underestimated you, Mythandriel. I'll keep that in mind for the future. Now if you'll excuse me,” His voice was deep and guttural. Without so much as a warning, a gauntlet clad hand took a handful of Phillip's thick wool and he pulled himself up and onto the creature's back. Black Phillip immediately kicked off, clearing the Elf and Elk with room to spare and off toward the tree line.

Mythandriel had a decision to make, pursue the stranger or cut her losses and see to her wounds.

@Witches Brew

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The stranger was clad in armor made of bones, if she wasn’t as tired as she was, she would’ve sworn that blood dripped from it, slithering down into cracks and crevices, fortifying it as it hardened. He wore a helmet, it was just as barbaric as the rest of the armor the behemoth wore. When he stared at her, she felt darkness deep into her core, but she shoved it down, trying to match his monstrous energy with her own animalistic one. She stared deep into his eyes, her grip on Dorian not letting up. 

His voice was deep, she’s never heard anything like it. And when he spoke her name, she froze. How could he know her name? Have they met before? When he touched Black Philip, doubt took root in her gut, and it sprouted as he sped off into the woods. Myth shook her head, and she stared ahead. Should she follow? Dorian craned her neck to look at her Mistress, and as soon as Myth clicked her tongue, Dorian pushed off, running as fast as her legs would take her. 

Mythandriel had to know who this stranger was. Only one person could touch Black Philip, let alone ride the beast as casually as he had. She dug her heels into Dorian’s side as she rode, leaning forward to give the elk less resistance. She could see the Springjack, even if it was just a speck. She had to catch up to him.   

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The chase was on.

Black Phillip was fast, but his stamina wasn't on par with his speed. Soon the beast would slow down; however, they had quite a head start, so by the time they did come to a stop they were exactly where they needed to be, bordering the forest and swampland. They would be waiting for her there, giving the Springjack a moment or two to catch his breath. The Necromancer would dismount and draw his halberd, wielding it upright and motionless. “What do you hope to accomplish little Elf? Are you that eager to die?” His voice boomed and his head tilted out of sheer curiosity.

“It's not yet your time, but I could certainly make an exception.” 

@Witches Brew

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That damn Springjack was fast, but she knew it wouldn’t last long that way. With the way she and Zan fed that damn thing, he’d be gasping for air pretty soon. Dorian however, though she wasn’t as fast as the Springjack, her stamina was unmatched. She was used to running long distances, and Myth was ever so grateful for it. The tracks were becoming heavy, meaning the Springjack was losing steam, and quickly. Myth kept a tight grip on Dorian’s fur as they ran together, her heart pounding in her ears. Soon, she could see the helmeted figure get off the Springjack, and he held his weapon, taunting her almost. She narrowed her eyes, and her brows furrowed. She jumped off Dorian’s back, and her feet landed on the damp moss, yet she did not draw her weapon. 

“If you’re going to kill me, then so be it. I won’t stop you.” She walked towards him slowly, her eyes focused on the man before her, and not his weapon. Her bow stayed drawn across her back, the string digging into her shoulders. She had a faint idea of who this man was, or who he could be. Only one person could mount that beast like that, and ride as easily as he did. There was only one man in existence who that damn beast didn’t try to gore when touched. “And if you’re going to kill me, remove your helmet. I want to see the face that strikes me down. I want to see the face who killed my beloved.” She hissed that last part. Anger rose inside her chest, and her face got heated. If this was Zanzarog, then she wasn’t entirely wrong. This was not the Zanzarog she knew. This Zanzarog, wouldn’t build her house, he’d lock the door and then burn it down with her still inside it. 

Edited by Witches Brew

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“As you wish.” An enormous hand rose to take hold of the visage, fingers snaked into the sockets and lifted it. Mythandriel's assumption was correct. Zanzarog was the man behind the mask. His face was riddled with scars and lacerations, one was far more prominent than the others, it stretched diagonally from his forehead to his upper lip. His right eye was a cloudly white, blinded from the injury. Heavy bags laid underneath his eyes, as if he hadn't slept for days, weeks even.

One of his tusks was capped with silver, likely due to a break. Nisnav's torture had done a number on his appearance, but nothing compared to the mental strain. “I forgot how persistent you can be, Mythandriel.” Zanzarog's voice had also dramatically changed, it wasn't just the helmet altering it. Lifting his chin, more scarring was visible at the throat, it appeared his vocal chords had been savagely operated on. “As promised,” In one swift motion the halberd came down, the blade hovered just inches away from her face. Inching closer, the point of the weapon would rest underneath of her chin, lifting it to force a stare, assuming his monstrous appearance diverted her eyes. His face contoured into a smirk.

“Do we have time for this, m'Lord?” A fiendish voice called out from the brush. Red eyes peered out at Mythandriel and their Master. Moving the brush from its face, it was a demonic looking creature, impish in nature. “Either kill her or let her go, I'm sure the opportunity will present itself again later.” It hissed. “Aye, you might be right about that.” Zanzarog added, lowering his weapon. “If you have something to say to me, now's the time, otherwise… you'll have a chance to scream it next time we meet.”

@Witches Brew

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She thought she was right, but she hoped she wasn't, and his confirmation tore her apart. As he lifted his helmet with his massive hand, her heart caught in her throat. His scarred face took her off guard, as did his blind eye, and capped tooth. Someone had hurt him, deeply hurt him. She almost didn't want to look at him, it hurt her to look at him. She wanted to see what she remembered, that toothy smile he'd give her, his soft hands stroking her hair, the lights in his eyes as he gazed down at her. But it was gone, it was all gone. The man she loved had died, and what replaced him was a broken, beaten shell of his former self. She couldn't help but be scared of him. She was terrified, but she put on a brave face, refusing to cower, even as he swung his blade at her face, his blade just resting underneath her chin, forcing her to look at him. 

She could feel her gut churning as she looked at his face, fear eating away at her core. His voice was deep, and harsh, almost as if he was growling at her. Despite all this, his actions, the fact that he left her, she couldn't bring herself to hate him. She loves him. Adores him. All she wanted was for him to come home, crawl into bed with her, and hold her tightly to him like he used too. But it wasn't going to happen, was it? No. She didn't think it would. 

As an Imp crawled from the bushes, Myth let out a gasp as he removed his weapon from under her chin, and she put a hand to her throat. She appeared to be okay, no cuts, no other wounds added to her brand new collection. He was going to leave her again, all alone, in these woods. In that large house he built her. All alone in that bed, the bed they only got to share once together. 

She didn't break eyecontact with him, not once. She was going to say what she wanted, do what she wanted, and she didn't give a single shit what he did or said in return. She walked up to him, and she put a hand to his chest hesitantly. "I don't know what happened to you, or what you're doing now, but I want you to come home. Please, please come home. I miss you, I love you. Please, come back home with me." She said, gazing up at him. She didn't know if this would work, or if he even cared for her anymore. He had called her his mate and then left her all alone. "You're my Mate, you're the only one who is ever going to hold my heart, please stop hurting it like this and come home Zanzarog." 

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“I don't belong in that place anymore.” Zanzarog scoffed. It was up to Mythandriel to decide which place he was referring to. “Your time is up,” Zanzarog added, he cast a sidelong glance at the demonic creature leering at them. Hopefully Mythandriel could read lips. ‘Meet me here tonight’, was mouthed just before his helmet was repositioned atop his head, a skeletal grimace stared at her once more. “You never saw us.” His fiendish companion felt the need to chime in, only to swallow hard when Zanzarog silenced him with a stare.

“Until we meet again.” An armored hand sought the top of her head, giving her a pat. Twirling his halberd, it positioned itself across his back once more and he took a step back creating distance between the two of them. Mythandriel wouldn't be able to read his facial expression due to his visage; however, his tone said it all, regret carried it. But it was too late for that now, there was no turning back now, the path he chose forbid it. Forbid them. But perhaps there was a fork somewhere that would allow him to be with her once more.

“Goodbye, beautiful.” His orcish dialect came into play, he doubted the demon understood it.

@Witches Brew

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Mythandriel flinched when he spoke, but she thought heavily about his words. Perhaps, he was just bluffing to keep face with the imp? Perhaps, he was coming home? She’s glanced at the Imp, and she removed her hand from his chest, and out that hand over her heart as she brought her attention back to her beloved. His mouth moved wordlessly as he put on his helmet, and she just caught what he was saying, and she tried not to look excited at the prospect of seeing him again so soon. She nodded, and she gave him a small smile. She would return, and she would wait for him. His hand gently patted her head, and she leaned into his touch, yearning for him to touch her more. As he walked away from her, she heard the orchish, and her heart fluttered. 

“Goodbye My love. I shall carry you with me until you return.” 

Later that night, Mythandriel’s heart beat loudly as she stood in the same spot as hours before, her hands nervously tugging on her hair. She was clean now, her wounds tended too, bandages covering burns and cuts she had gathered earlier in the day, thanks to Vice. However, she now had news, but she wasn’t sure how he would take it once she told him. It worried her, and it weighed heavily on her shoulders. Her gut churned, her silver eyes staring at the ground nervously as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. She had to tell him, she had too. This was going to change their lives. 

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“On time for once, that's a surprise.” Zanzarog's voice came from seemingly nowhere. Emerging from the brush clad in a dark robe, his hands were folded into the sleeves and the bottom dragged along the ground, he was practically a shadow. A massive one, but a shadow nonetheless. “We don't have much time. They have probably already realized I'm missing.” His hood shifted as he looked over his shoulder back towards the swamp. They? Who was he referring to? Zanzarog needed to keep Mythandriel in the dark for now. 

“I have something for you. I borrowed it from someone back at camp.” Shuffling around in his robe an open hand outstretched toward her, within it was a necklace. The chain itself was gold, it shimmered when the moonlight struck it just right, but the prize was the jewel attached. Crimson and rather large in size, it pulsed vibrantly in his palm, rhythmically even. “This necklace is special, well, it is now that I got my hands on it.” A chuckle escaped him.

“Don't ask me how, but it's imbued with parts of my very essence. It pulses along with my heartbeat.” Zanzarog continued. Now Mythandriel wouldn't have to worry whether or not he was alive, she had reassurance with every glow. “We will have to meet in secret from here on out, it might be days, weeks, even months until we can safely see each other again.” He explained. Once he finished speaking, he stepped closer to her and embraced her. Wrapping his massive frame around her and squeezing lightly. “I love you Mythandriel and I always will.”

@Witches Brew

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“Oh!” She gasped, as his voice came forth from the dark, she turned, watching as her beloved emerged from the darkness, walking towards her. “I wouldn’t miss this.” Mythandriel said, and she met him halfway, closing the distance between them both. He looked over his shoulders nervously, making sure no one had followed. Who was he talking about? Had someone followed him? Had someone followed her? All this secrecy was nerve wracking, but she tried to focus on the Orc in front of her. She wouldn’t ask questions, she wouldn’t force him to reveal anything that might put him in danger, she only wanted this time with him. 

He reached into his cloak, and revealed a necklace in his large palm, the jewel pulsing in between his fingers. As he explained what it was, she smiled, and took the chain between her fingers, and moved her hair out of the way, and clasped the chain around her neck, the jewel resting between her breasts. She touched it gently, and smiled as she felt it pulsate with Zan’s own heartbeat. “I love it.” She said, and she wrapped her arms around him, nuzzling into his chest as he embraced her. “I love you too Zanzarog..” She said, and she suddenly remembered, she had some news to tell him. 

She stepped back from the embrace, and she took his hands. “I have something to tell you, and it’s very important. Please don’t be upset.” She said, and she squeezed his hands, and she brought them to her lips and she’s kissed each one, trying to ease her nerves. “Do you remember the night you tried teaching me to fight? And we..., well, you know?” She said, her eyes having a hard time meeting his own. She took a deep breath, and squeezed his hands harder. She peered up at him through her hair, and she let it out. “When I was at the Healers today, he told me that I’m pregnant.” 

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Pregnant? Zanzarog was silent for a moment while he pondered on what she said. He had been away for awhile, so he wouldn't have seen any of the early signs that normally came with pregnancy. Morning sickness, mood swings, what have you. Who told her this? Zanzarog doubted anyone in Coth of all places, was educated enough to detect pregnancy so early. Mythandriel certainly wasn't showing by any means. “That's.. that's.. fantastic!” Zanzarog shouted, his hands immediately took hold of her waist and lifted her up into the air. Spinning her around a couple times before putting her back down safely onto the ground. “Who confirmed this?” He inquired.

Zanzarog was excited, that much was certain. There was also a large amount of worry and paranoia running right alongside it. Mythandriel likely wouldn't pick up on those due to how exaggerated his excitement had been. How was he going to do what he needed to do with Mythandriel carrying his child? Was this the test Nisnav hinted at? All of this was frustrating and exciting all at the same time. Before Mythandriel had a chance to answer his question, he pulled her back into his embrace once more. “I hope it takes after you. I'm not too great looking.” Zan laughed.

@Witches Brew

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Mythandriel stood there anxiously as Zan went silent. It looked as if he was wracking his mind, trying to find an explanation for how she could possibly be pregnant. He was the only one she had ever been with, and they had only been together that one time, and that was weeks ago. She watched him, getting really worried at this point. She glanced down at her feet, and then she felt his hands around her waist, hoisting her up in the air. She let out a squeal as he spun her around, letting out his excitement over the news, and he set her back down, and it took her a moment to not be so dizzy. 

As he asked her who had confirmed the pregnancy, she was quickly in his embrace once more, and she laughed at his statement. She gazed up at him, and she laughed. "Oh come on, you're the most handsome creature to have ever walked this Earth." She said, and she got up on her tiptoes, and planted a kiss on his lips. This was the first time they had kissed in a long while, and she had almost forgotten what it felt like. His lips were still as soft as she remembered, though they felt different now, due to the scarring. She kissed him deeply, pressing her lips against his hard, and her arm wrapped around his neck. When she pulled away, she pressed her forehead against his chin. "You know, there is something I've heard humans talk about, when two people love each other, and never want another. It's a bondage ceremony, taking two people and making them one. I forget what it's called, but I think we should do that." She said, and she pressed her lips against his once more. "What do you think?" 

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