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| Stranger in the Water; -Open- | |
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| Topic Started: May 26 2014, 07:05 PM (785 Views) | |
| Shrista | May 26 2014, 07:05 PM Post #1 |
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Pariah, Apostate, Heretic
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The end of the Falann river was noisier up close, rushing to its doom, or perhaps rebirth where it smashed over the edge of the cliff in a glittering torrent. Spray kept the air moist, flecks of water bursting upon rock and grass, tree and shrub alike, and coating them all with the iridescent droplets that caught the sun and threw it back on itself. A hundred tiny rainbows danced over the water, wreathing the lithe, muscular Drow in all the colours her dark skin lacked. There was something alluring in the quality of the water, the way it continued on heedlessly, despite the untimely end waiting for it. It was much how her life had felt the last year or so, turned over into the hands of oblivion, no longer allowing her a fraction of control over anything. And now it had been returned to her, she wasn't sure what to do with it. Of course, the daemon was still there, lurking just out of sight of her mind. She'd felt the wounds he'd born since the event, knew he was healthy enough now, but his pride was blighted with the single mistake he'd made. Subsequently she'd born the brunt of the backlash, and the lack of sleep had driven her to distraction, deliberately hunting for ways to keep herself awake, keep herself sane and her body her own. The water was one of them, for all the visions that she had of her own death sinking into the cold interminable depths, it was fascinating in the way that something truly disgusting and grisly was fascinating, not allowing her to draw her eyes away from it. Aniketos had left for the fair in Madrid, and not trusting herself not to go haring off after the Argos Guildmaster, Shrista had declined going with him, for all that she loved him. He could take care of himself. She however...she clenched her fists where she sat, feeling the water build to rivulets between her fingers and run away. There was so much hate in her, it rose like bile, burning the back of her throat until she was half tempted to make herself vomit just to get rid of the taste. Given the opportunity she knew she'd go after Neriasis, and it would only cause a new kind of hell. She'd already proved to herself that the fragile limit of her emotions was shattering, and everything she was familiar with was receding like so much static into the background. She had to control that anger, else what was the point? Weaving her sorcery in anger would undoubtedly be the worst decision she could make, consciously or not. In her minds eye she could already see the stones torn loose, tiles and fractured cobblestones raining, loose papers and clothes torn from lines, cart skidding on the street and people screaming, braying in fear like terrified animals as the whispering sussurus rose to an unearthly keening shriek, deafening, tearing at sanity. She could do it even now, if she wanted to. The wavering reflection watching her watching it, however, didn't seem to hold any malice, only a calm blank facade that hid the roiling clash of hurt and confusion in her shell of a body. Shrista knelt on the low flat rock over the water, the red webbing of her skirt spilling behind, a slick of blood for a shadow. Her boots, gloves, cloak, all rested in the grass out of the wet, while she leaned close to the water, her eyes hunting for the unasked questions in her reflection. Water beaded on her skin, tracing the intricate golden tattoos and gradually dampening the fabric of the little clothing she wore until it was bordering on the uncomfortable. Her hair was past her shoulders now, and she wondered vaguely if she should cut it off. It didn't look right, so used to the old reflection was she that the image in the water was half a stranger. The kris slid easily from the sheath against the small of her back, and she raised it and began cutting, snowy kinked tresses caught in the wind and snatched away. Gradually her movements became more violent as she hacked away at it, only stopping once it was chin length once more. The moisture made the hair stick to her skin, and with mounting disgust she thrust her hands into the flow, following briefly with her head. She dragged her fingers back through it, ruffling it up into a mass of thick wet spikes, then turned her attentions to the blade until she was sufficiently satisfied that it too, was clean, noting the presence on the edge of her mind as a tiny flickering of life. She couldn't see them, but it was about right, much bigger than the tiny fluttering lives of insects and vermin that scurried on with their lives, and bigger still than the fox she'd disturbed. Shrista sat back on her heels, hands calmly holding the blade across her knees, and waited. And if they chose not to show themselves? Well...needless to say she didn't appreciate being spied upon either, and would doubtless show them as much. She'd hunted monsters and men, one more would hardly make so much difference. |
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| Pheonitia | Jun 2 2014, 03:05 AM Post #2 |
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The arrival at Soto, more precisely at Madrid had not gone without its interesting share of investigative adventures. While the many mysteries in life were a driving force to her, for once she decided she would settle in one place, if only for a while. After much searching she found a local alchemist that would be willing to take her as an assistant. She did not mind being a second to someone, not at all, it was a discrete way to carry on with her existence until she meet back with her Lord. The old alchemist had a fine gray mustache and a hairstyle that made her think a comb had not met that scalp in many many years, but still it was clean. In fact he ran a tidy shop, had many regulars so there was always plenty of work to be done. He was methodical and penitent in his craft and Pheonitia felt that she could learn from the man. - Pheonitia, here take this bottle. - With care she took hold of the bottle the other had extended to her. - I need you to fill that bottle with water from the Falann river. - He paused to cough. - There is a branching path of the river that is not to far from Madrid, but alas, such a trip is no longer fit for an older man like me, especially with all this bandits lurking around. You on the other hand, seem more than capable for the task. I need that water as I am running low on enchanted water, and that river holds many magical properties. The Bird of Rebirth nodded to the man, he did not need to explain in so much detail, she was there to serve. It was kind of weird to work for someone however, it was her fist job in all her existence, the old man even arranged for her to sleep in the shop, or at least stay in the shop, he did not need to know that she could not sleep. So with the bottle stuck in the sash, her tome in hand and after sheathing her rapier on a conjured arcane fire sheath, she made way for the river. Ever since she regained the ability to create clothes she had used the sheath to carry her any of her magical swords around. She found that it reduces the chance of bandit attacks, something she liked very much to avoid. Some people also ran in to ask her for aid, thinking her to be some sellsword, she never took any coin from those she helped however. In all she was content with the way things were working out for her in Madrid, a strange happiness that crawled inside her, but she was unsure why it was there, but she welcomed it, along with many other sensations that she had experienced. As she made her way through the forest she eventually sensed the body of water, the one she had came looking for, it was definably a river but then something else was there, its signature large enough to belong to a humanoid. She approached the river with care, trying not to cause unrest to the other or awaken some hostility, from afar she saw it was a humanoid of the female gender, or so it would appear, her species could be genderless. The possibility cannot be discarded when meeting a new species. Still something told her that this was not the case, its form resembled too much like a human. The one she saw was cutting her hair, first carefully but by the end it seemed like she was simply hacking her hair away out of anger. Pheonitia liked the hair before it was cut, but then again it was not her place to judge or even suggest. She got closer and closer, but at some point the movements of the other had stiffen, clearly the one by the river had taken a defensive position, while discrete it was clear to Pheonitia that she was discovered, since she was the only other humanoid in the area. She was unsure how it came to be that she was discovered but it did not matter now, she was there and all she needed was to get the water. While her plan was for the other to leave before fetching the water it was now important for her to show herself as no threat. She came out the woods with her hands risen while still holding her tome, making a arc that kept enough distance so that she could not be seen as a melee danger, but not too far that the other might think that she could attack from a distance. Upon closer inspection she realized many of the features of the other were similar to her own, sharp and angular if not for the skin tone there would be a definite resemblance, of course there were always the horns to take into consideration. She was a female, hardly any doubt shrouded Phenonita's mind now. Slowly as she made sure the other could see her, she reached out into the sash at took the bottle her employer had given her, jiggling it, and with it in hand she pointed to the river a few times, gracing the other with an apologetic bow. This gesture charade should prove enough to explain her intentions to the one by the water so with confidence she walked up to the river and proceeded to do just what she came to do. |
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| Duchess | Jun 2 2014, 07:26 PM Post #3 |
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Modeste desperately paddled against the current. This was not good, not good at all. Normally he might be a strong enough swimmer to get out of such a predicament; but he had already exhausted himself quite thoroughly with recreational swimming. Earlier he and the girls and several instructors had taken a day to relax and practice swimming in the river, it was supposed to be a rewarding, relaxing, and fun outing that cost almost nothing, so that they could find ways to have fun without depending on status and money. The outing had been successful and Modeste had just finished seeing to it that all the girls were escorted back to the school safely. He would have been happily on his way too, had it not been for Brustus. You would think that when one had a dog the size of a large pony, one would bother to see that its obedience training is significant and not only partially effective. Modeste would look into this matter at a later time. He had already changed from his bathing clothes before the large dog saw fit to paddle out into the river, not yet ready to give up its fun evening. Modeste had been forced, after much calling and beckoning of the playful and protective beast, to remove his garments, hang them on a low tree branch as tidily as possible, and head for the water. He left his undergarments on in case someone might come by, not wanting one of the young girls from the school to catch him in the nude, for that was how rumors got started. Modeste had been forced to dive in and chase after Brustus. The dog had swam laps around him and forced him to chase it about for a bit, before making for the shore. Modeste had been releaved, untill he saw his dog grab his trousers in his mouth and run off. He’d planned to get to the shore, dry himself off, and use the stone to transform into The Duchess, just to have some clothes and be able to go after the furry rascal; but instead he had been caught by surprise by a large floating log, and forced into a much stronger current. Modeste had been trying to fight it for a while now, but his efforts had been mostly useless. He had decided to cling to the driftwood to keep himself afloat for a while and maybe recover some of his energy and try to break free of the current again in a bit. He’d taken a bit of time to enjoy the forced vacation of sorts, and actually admired the clouds overhead, and the scenery of the land around the river. It really was all quite lovely, Modesty had almost been to the point of enjoying himself when he started noting things and remembering them as practical examples of sotoan geography he had taught to the girls. That was when he remembered the waterfall, and shortly after began to hear it in the distance. All this to bring him to his present situation, desperate paddling against the rushing current. His violet eye was still hidden beneath the usual eye patch, but his blue one searched desperately for any sign of aid, be it a low branch of a passerby. Modeste managed to catch sight of a flash of red, and then the juxtaposition of black against white. A red woman, and a drow. Well, the drow did not often take kindly to half elves; but now was not the time to be picky. At least they were women, small blessings in times of dire need. As Modeste paddled desperately against the current, having abandoned his driftwood, he called out to the ladies. ”E-excuse me. P-pardon the intrusion. I-I don’t m-mean to be rude, or i-indecent; but I seem to be in a bit of a s-situation. I-I’d appreciate it if e-either of you l-ladies m-might be able to o-offer m-me any a-a-assistance?” Modeste did his best to project and tried to keep the stuttering to a minimum, at least his brown hair was out of his face thanks to the rushing water. This was important and no time to be too nervous to ask for help. Modeste hoped some kind of aid might come his way, and tried not to think of the awkward situation of being in his underclothes before two women. Chivalry allowed for accidents from time to time, and survival generally came first. After all, it would be terribly unchivalrous to co careening over a waterfall and die on the rocks below, subjecting two women to such a gruesome display would be unforgiveable! |
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| Shrista | Jun 3 2014, 06:25 PM Post #4 |
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Pariah, Apostate, Heretic
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A woman. Just another woman. Only she wasn't, was she? Her eyes fixed Pheonitia like two chips of ice in her face, piercing and cold. Even had she not been able to see what she did, she would have been suspicious. It was just her nature to be so, but it didn't excuse that most humans that she'd encountered thus far, and she did not consider herself to be an expert by any measure, did not have hair so vibrant, nor pointed little ears. No, humans were impetuous and impulsive, confusing and dangerous at the best of times. But Pheo wasn't human. Her mouth tightened as the woman waved at her, holding some sort of book which drew her interest briefly, sidestepping as carefully as she dared towards the swiftly flowing water with her bottle. She caught the meaning, frowned, wondering if she should try to intercept the action, and let it go, content simply to watch her. Whatever she was, human, or even on of her vile surface cousins, she was crawling in abundance with magic, the tiny markings shivering over her skin like a Sending. It was curious to say the least, watching the markings wind themselves about her, forming up in shifting ever moving patterns and dispersing again. She couldn't tell from her distance whether they were arcane or not, but had the distinct feeling that they were. And she had said nothing, neither of them had. Instead she just crouched there, like some sort of savage with the blade still in her hand, still poised, just watching. Shrista exhaled softly, slowly, through her nose, and pushed the kris back into the scabbard across the back of her hips with a soft snicking sound. What would happen if she stabbed her and erased one of those marks? Would she break up, unable to function, like any conjured sending, or was she something other? It intrigued her, and though she tried in those few moments to tear her mind from the stranger who appeared to bear her no ill will, her gaze kept sliding back to her thoughtfully, halfway between speech and silence. She opened her mouth, and everything fell to pieces again before she'd worked up the confidence to even issue the hesitant greeting. One should always be careful, and ruthless with those of a magical origin. It ceased to matter however, as splashing fitfully along, a body that was still determined to cling to life came around the bend, splashing towards them. A good part of her wanted to burst out laughing. So she did, a full throaty purr that burst loose unrestrained as she hadn't laughed in months. It felt good, a fresh release, another new thing that she thought she'd forgotten. How stupid did someone have to be to jump into the river at this time of year, heavy and full with spring melt? Even she knew that, and she avoided water like the plague. Shrista never could understand the joy of so much water in one place, or the need to go splashing about in it. Help them? When they were providing so much entertainment? It would all come to a head if they didn't pull themselves to shore before they hit the lip of the falls though. She'd been throwing sticks into the hungry waters across the span of the morning, and was more than aware of how it would suddenly take a firm hold and forcibly drag things along. And then they were thrown, hurled out into clear space to plummet down far below into the rocky pool, dashed to pieces. They'd make an interesting smear and a moment's distraction, if nothing else. The Drow sighed, folded her arms and leaned her weight on one foot, a smile still tickling the corners of her mouth when she glanced at Pheonitia. Indecent he said...funny what they thought of as indecent. How peculiar. Neither of them had moved as he drifted on by, inexorably reaching that point where he would be spat out like an old man's wooden dentures. Very well...she could do something about it. And if she changed her mind...well, she could probably throw him further than the waterfall could too. She reached, grasped for the power and felt it fill her, light and silent music sluicing into her being. Thick cords of air tightened and plunged into the water with a sudden splash, as though a fat fish had surfaced and flopped back under. Calmly she looped them around the paddler's waist, and hoisted him out of the water, dangling above the wide belt of water. "You're welcome." She snipped, then deposited him none too gently onto the bank beside Pheo, stepping down from her flat rock to get a better look at him. He didn't look like much from her vantage of holding him like fish-bait over the river. Didn't look like much now, cowering and shivering on the grass, either. The air disappated in a rush, whipping around them and stirring clothes and hair alike, drying her own locks to dandelion fluff. "Still breathing? Good." She glanced at the red woman, arched one pale brow questioningly, then back to the male. "You have a name, presumably?" |
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| Pheonitia | Jun 4 2014, 02:03 AM Post #5 |
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It was very clear to Pheonitia that her presence there was not welcome, from the cold gaze she got, to the colder greeting or lack of one. She found herself thinking if she should feel sorry, or regret for disturbing the peace of the other. Logically she had done nothing wrong, many people lived in the world she found herself in and her path had crossed with the paths of many others. On the other hand, would her Lord not be angry if someone came and interrupted his deep meditation? It was strange to carry on with such thoughts and in the end she could only hope the other could come to terms with her brief passing. Leaving her tome on the ground she uncorked the bottle and sank it in the water, in a moment it was filled to the brim. As she took it out the water and made sure the cork was set in place, she could not help but notice the many glances the other was giving her. Perhaps they were mealy inspecting her, the robe previously worn did offer less for the eye to see, but she was quite comfortable with the change. Maybe they knew more than the eye could meet, now there was a thought she could be concerned about, she was not exactly sure if the bidding on her soul would work on this world, the chances of it working were well above the ninety percentile, but there was still the chance that it would not held up in this world. What if they decided to pray upon the magic of her body? No Pheonitia, you are being irrational, they are just upset that you have disturbed their privacy and moment of peace. She wanted to believe that, but deep down she didn’t. Her business was done there, in a few moments she would have put a great deal of distance between the dark skinned woman and herself, and then it would all turn into history. She was about to pick up her tome when she saw a man struggling in the fast currents of the water, and then he very politely, considering the predicament he was in, asked for help. Of course I am going to help, just need to figure out how. Should I swim? The idea of swimming was probably not the best approach, the water’s current was far too fast and while she had the basics of swimming she never had to actually swim and her confidence that she could resist the strong current, catch the man and swim back to shore with him was very low. No, maybe if I conjure many strings of arcane fire fibers and turn those into a rope. That could work. Time was running out and as she was about to put that second plan into motion when she sensed magical forces into play. Arcane based, air elemental? Unsure I need a revel magic spell. Minora Malkasi! No that does not work, maybe if I try... Ostendo! In the end she could find nothing else and the woman made it look so easy, the way she managed to bend what Pheonitia belived was air managing to grab hold of the man and drag him to shore. True that upon closer inspection he was not one to weigh too much, but still Pheonitia would have failed should she had attempted to perform such magic. At the very least I know you are a caster, you must have been prying on me. Still you saved the man, a worthy gesture. The dark skinned woman was to be congratulated despite the rough handling she gave to the man, and as she gave her a questioning look Pheonitia simply smiled and clapped her hands. Now she would see to the man, he had been in the water too long. Is hypothermia a possibility? I am unsure on how cold the water in Soto is this time of year, but he sure is shivering. She crouched near the man, letting out a soothing chirp from her mouth and in a flash of fire she conjured a blanket, it would be warm but then again that was exactly what the man needed. She then made sure is vitals were within the healthy limits, considering the adventure he had just been in, she checked his pulse by placing one of her fingers in the neck of the man and then checked his vision, his only one. She reached out to catch her tome, flipping quickly through many magic spells she could no longer cast and the many theories of worlds traversed, and finally opened it somewhere near the middle, where a few sheets of parchment could be found, she took one of them and closed the tome. Using the back cover as support she reached out to take the quill off her hat and wrote down a note with elegant and quick motions, and impeccable handwriting, showing the note to the man after. - I would suggest you to try and relax since your body has been the subject of quite the shock, there is a small chance of hypothermia but this blanket should keep you warm so hang on to it for as long as you desire. I have no doubt in my mind that a young gentleman such as you will be able to live and tell this tale. Should you wish some form of clothing I can also arrange for that, despite my muteness of sorts I have no earring impairments, so you let me know. I might as well take the opportunity to introduce myself, I am Pheonitia. He had been incredibly polite when in his predicament, the chance that he could read was very high, almost a certainty. Edited by Pheonitia, Jun 4 2014, 01:41 PM.
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| Duchess | Jun 8 2014, 11:52 PM Post #6 |
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Modeste continued to try to paddle against the current, unable to see the reaction of those he had called out to. He felt his battle with the current failing, and could hear the roaring of the water growing louder and louder before it drowned out all other sound. He tried even harder, and then a sudden compression on his body caused him to gasp and accidently suck in a mouthful of water. Coughing and spluttering, he gasped for air, before realizing he was being suspended over the water by his waist. Modeste felt thoroughly undignified; but was honestly just happy he had not plummeted over the edge and died in his underclothes, leaving the girls without a headmaster, and his mother without a son. Relief flooded through him for the amount of time it took the magic to get him from the water to the shore. Then when he landed with a slightly painful and impolite thud, his concerns returned to the mundane. Modeste shivered tremendously as the whirlwind blew past, ending the spell that had suspended him, and he quickly scrambled to his feet. His knees clung together as his arms folded over one another in an attempt to keep himself some degree of warm. ”Th-th-thank y-y-you!” he stammered out, as much from the cold as from his own nervous tendencies. ”Y-y-you h-h-hav-ve m-my s-sc-sincerest gr-r-ratitutde. Tr-truly y-you a-a-are as n-noble as y-you are b-b-beautif-f-ful.” Having remembered to thank his rescuer, the drenched councilor was now free to face other pressing concerns. Modeste was so… indecent! He was dressed in so very little, only his under britches and undershirt, etiquette would excuse emergencies; but he needed to find a way to rectify this situation as swiftly as possible, and it would be quite the undignified trek back through the woods to where he had last seen his dog running off with his clothes. A prospect made further indecent by how his soaking clothes were beginning to cling to him, and how so horrifyingly cold it all was. For the second time that day, Modeste was rescued by a beaitful stranger. His attention was brought to the red haired woman as she drew nearer to him and issued a strange chirp like sound. While unfamiliar with its meaning, it was a comforting sound and Modeste could not help but smile for a brief moment. His smile was replaced with a look of surprise as a flash of fire filled the air before him, and then tremendous gratitude as that fire became a warming blanket that would both help him fight back the cold, and preserve his modesty. The strange, yet fetching, red haired woman began to check his vitals in manners Modeste was not unfamiliar with, having received care from physicians on a number of occasions. While she went about this he spoke to her as well. ”Ah, m-more m-magic. V-very h-handy that. Th-th-thank Y-you as w-w-well, m-m-m’lad-d-dy.” The warming of the blanket was rapidly reducing how much his teeth were chattering together; but his nerves remained ever present. Out here he was not the headmaster of his school, talking to his impressionable girls, and he was certainly not the duchess or any of his other female personas. He was himself, exposed more so than usual, and thus terrified. It was a small blessing that at least his rescuers were women. Surrounded by men, while in his underclothes and soaking, he would certainly be rendered speechless. With luck he would warm up to these two and find a more stable voice, for now, however, he knew he would have to ride out his nerves, there was no sense trying to rush them into steadying for that never worked. When the woman with the red hair began to scramble for her book and begin to write something, Modeste became momentarily mortified that she might be recounting the event or even sketching him in his pathetic and indecent state. However, his attention was diverted back to his first rescuer to whom he offered a meek yet sincere smile. ”Oh y-yes. D-d-do p-p-pardon m-my r-r-rudeness.” He proceeded to bow as best he could while clad in blanket for warmth, trying to regain some level of dignity. Upon righting himself he continued with the introduction. ”I-i-I am M-m-modeste B-b-bellam-my. Of-f-f the B-b-bellamy A-a-acad-demy.” Modeste may have been timid, and caught almost literally with his pants down; but he was not a complete fool. While these women seemed kind and trustworthy enough, he felt it unnecessary to mention the fact that he was also a councilor of Soto, on the off chance that they were some duo of robbers or brigands, and him without a sword. If they knew of his school and his station by name, then so be it, otherwise he had told them no lie and was omitting no truth. One did not simply go about announcing they were nobility while clad in only their underclothes. It simply wasn’t done. ”M-m-might I b-b-be g-g-graced w-with th-the n-n-names of m-m-my g-g-generous r-r-rescuers? “ he stammered through the request, before he as presented with the parchment by the red-haired woman, who he learned was called Pheonitia, upon reading the note. ”Th-these are s-s-sound and c-comforting w-words, M-miss Ph-Pheonitia. I d-don’t want t-to p-put a-a-anyone t-to any t-trouble on m-my account b-but if y-you c-could assist m-me w-with s-s-some c-clothing, i-it w-w-would b-b-be v-very appreciated. Th-this i-indecency is n-n-not c-c-common of m-me.” With a smile he then turned back to the drow woman, her hair fluffed out like some wild dandelion. He could not help but think that while it was fetching enough on her, she would be better suited with a longer fashion; but knew better than to say as much. She was not dressed in a manner to be considered modest by certain groups of sotoan nobility; but it was not a completely foreign fashion to elvenkind, particularly the few drow he had had the opportunity to meet. He wondered if little Zaraer would grow up to be as noble and kind a spirit as this drowess. With the other girls beside him, and under his care, he could only hope. ”Th-that w-was a m-most imp-p-pressive d-display of m-m-magical t-t-talent. M-m-miss…” he trailed off, not knowing what name with which to follow the compliment, having not yet been graced with one to call her by. |
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| Shrista | Jun 16 2014, 07:26 PM Post #7 |
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Pariah, Apostate, Heretic
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Shrista sneered as the red woman-creature clapped delightedly, half turning away in disgust. What am I, some freak to be applauded, a circus show for entertainment? Very good, let them be entertained. I wonder if they will be such when their innards are spread all over the grove... She felt herself beginning the weaving of air again, and stopped, her face impassive, then narrowed her eyes. For a moment there she thought she might blast them into oblivion, such was the muddling in her thoughts. Even here she couldn't escape her own nature as it became steadily more prevalent. How difficult was it to be something you were not anyway? All the times she tried to do good things, and then one jaunt into the woods and she just wanted to kill everyone. Well...everyone needed a hobby. The diminutive male's comment made her raise her brows though. What exactly did he mean by that? She fought the urge to preen herself, instead folding her arms and scowling fiercely. A number of questions pressed at her lips, battering her throat with the urge to ask them, and she forgot her irritation at the disturbance, wondering what the hell he was doing trying to fight a river. He had courage, she would have thought, had he jumped in of his own accord, and also stupidity in possibly the greatest amount she'd ever encountered. If he'd just fallen in, then she had to weigh in the stupidity being greater than she'd prior thought. Her eyes rested on the paper with suspicion, wondering if the red she-devil had written out a spell to turn on her, and carefully raising a thick barrier of air around herself just in case. A low hiss left her lips and she stepped back rapidly as the fire suddenly sprang into life, hand flying to the whip that was not fastened at her hip in its customary place but lying on the grass. The Drow clicked her tongue in agitation, watching the red she-devil more carefully than before, now she'd shown that she had some skill in the Arts herself. And there was a flash of monumental jealousy there too, why was it that they could sit there exchanging secrets in paper, while she was the one left out? Shrista had half a mind to grab the unfortunate and warm his blood more thoroughly than the blanket could, as if it were a contest of sorts. Doing so might kill him if she were hasty however...and she hadn't saved him just for the pleasure of having him writhe out his last breath in her hands. And what the hell was wrong with his voice? He ticked and stumbled over everything until it was so broken she wasn't sure she understood what he'd even said. And here she was thinking her grasp on the language was acceptable. Maybe it was something new that she'd not picked up, a local dialect? From what she pieced together, he was some sort of instructor? That made her start, fingers flexing again for her whip. Her own understanding of instructors might be different, but she wouldn't know until he stood up and beat her to a pulp. She didn't really want to be beaten to a pulp again, and just when she thought she was capable of taking one on herself. Bellamy, Bellamy... Why was it so familiar? She'd heard it recently, perhaps. Yes, sitting in the garden and talking over a meal with Aniketos...wait... Her eyes gleamed as she discerned the nature, a smirk twitching the corners of her mouth up. Well well...good thing she wasn't some filthy brigand, she could have made herself a handsome profit from this one. Probably a very good thing that she hadn't splattered him all over the bank either, or let him slide over. If he was anything like her favourite councillor, then the people found him valuable, and he was generally a good asset to them. Pheonitia. How nice of you to tell one your name. Is this some magic circle and I am left out? No friendship for me? She almost snorted at that. She'd never had any friends, not in a sense that they held here. Not in a sense that said they couldn't be abandoned at a moment's notice for more fortuitous circumstances. It was fine, she didn't want in on their little game anyway. Her eyes flicked from him to her herself, puzzled as she took in his 'indecency.' Generally she thought most would consider just being butt naked indecent, but apparently these strange undergarments were also considered indecent. Next thing they would be dressing up their teapots and saying they were indecent too. "Baby, you ain't seen nothing yet." Common courtesy demanded she give him her name, but she found herself distinctly unwilling. There was enough rumors and stigma attached to Aniketos that some of it followed her too. Some of it was quite entertaining, and then there was the obvious filth and lies. That she came and went without anybody seeing her ever enter or leave the building, that she was a bodyguard, a lover, a mistress, a whore, Aniketos' black bitch sent to show her teeth to the competition, that she was a devil in disguise, a terrifying sorceress, kept company with the most wanted man in Soare, had seduced Ani and nearly ruined him, had fled some unthinkable wrath of his, only to return at his summon, that she was secretly a queen of the underworld... The last one made her laugh, not least because in its own way it hadn't been so untrue. Yes, much stigma...most of it bad. They didn't mention how she'd neutralized the Immortal Soldier on the battlefield pushing the refugees homewards, nullifying a potential hazard. But most of them wouldn't have even seen a berserking and apparently unkillable monster of a man coming before he was kicking in their doors and beheading their families. They probably wouldn't thank her even if they knew. So clicking her tongue against her teeth, she looked away, troubled, then threw it at him, and turned back for her things. She should probably take it as duty to escort him back to wherever...or just obliterate him and shrug when anyone asked her. Decisions, decisions. The latter would involve dumping two bodies though, couldn't have witnesses after all. "Shrista." She refrained from mentioning anything else. Gods only knew how she would have laughed if she knew Modeste's thought pattern. Nobody had called her kind, not once. Cruel, yes. But not kind, never that. "Where did you come from? Do you want to go back to this...Academy?" She asked as casually as she dared, slipping on the short red coat and doing up the silver clasps at her throat with thin snapping sounds. It would be little effort to open a portal and dump him back in his place again. |
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| Pheonitia | Jun 17 2014, 03:35 AM Post #8 |
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She did not need telepathy, she did not need a array of magic spells currently locked, all she needed was her experience with people to know Shrista was throwing daggers at Pheonitia with her eyes. Her compliment had met the woman with disgust, who knows what went on the mind of the woman, what thoughts being conjured, what ill could befall her. She had done nothing more than help, yet nothing she did seemed to agree with the woman, not that she was trying to be nice, she was just being herself. At least the man was glad, he politely appreciated her actions, that made her happy inside, but she would not display such emotions. One thing she found odd was the stuttering, not fully sure if he was still shivering from the cold, or if it was a speech disorder. If it was the latter case she was curious as to what kind of psychological problem was the source of his speech impairment, maybe it was the normal kind, when stressed some people stutter and this was indeed a stressful situation. He could relax now, everything was going to be alright. You need some clothes then, well, I can arrange for that, however it is best I stay simple. I really do not wish to botch this up. With that in mind Pheonitia made her quill dance once more. - Yes, I can conjure some clothes for you. They may feel a bit warm, but nothing you cannot handle I am sure of it. I am going to aid you as you get up, making sure your body is covered by the blanket, I understand that you may feel some shame. I do not judge, I do not mind, but I respect above all. As she showed him the note, she nodded and looked back at the woman that eventually made them aware of her name. Shrista, it is actually a nice sounding name. She smiled at her, a sincere smile, but in the next second she thought that it might be preceded by the other as an insult, How tragic. She thought as she lowered her head, and without realizing, for a moment she displayed sadness, never her intention, she never did display much of anything she did not want. Looking back at the man she nodded once more as she rested her tome on the ground, with the sheet of paper and quill on top. She made sure she held the blanket closed as she aided him up, his body was fully covered up to the shoulders by the time he got up to stand by his own two feet. Pheonitia gripped the blanket firmly and ushered the words inside her mind, and in a swift motion she pulled the arcane mantle that covered the man, in a flash he was wearing some kind of simple white robes. She dispelled the blanket as she pulled it away and bowed to the man with a gentle smile. Turning to the woman, for some reason she felt like having her approval, maybe it was stupid but Shrista had show her great dominance in the magic arts, there was a natural drawn to her, since Pheonitia was a magical creature. She doubted however the dark skinned woman would think any good of her, her stare was still has cold as when she got there, if not colder. The woman had asked Modeste if he wanted to go back to the academy, she wondered if she was offering to aid the man in his travel, it made her wonder if Shrista would mind her tagging along, maybe she could get on the woman's good side. You need to try to make something happen, and she wanted to try, to such purpose she grabbed the tome, paper and quill to pass on a message. - Nice to meet you Shrista, I am Pheonitia. Let me begin to apologize, for everything. I disrupted your peace, it was never my intention, had you not “sensed” me, I would have waited until you were gone. I am sorry if my presence here as made you think less of me, I wish to cause no harm, not to those that have not engaged me in such harmful actions. I understand my muteness can feel like I am conspiring against you, but you can read all I have said to Mister Modeste above, I have no other way to speak my mind, not at the moment at least. I wish you can forgive me for all the ill you think of me, and if you are sincere in aiding this man back to this academy he speaks of, I want to aid as well, but if my presence is unwelcome I will retreat back to Madrid and that will be that. As she showed the note she pondered what expression to use, but in the end she used none, she simply showed herself as she was, it was better that way. Who knew what Shrista would think of what she said, the chances in Pheonitia's mind indicated that this approach would not have the desired effect, but still she had to try. It would be very surprising if she decided to attack me, of that I am certain. Even if she will still dislike me, I do not think she would just attack me, but if she does I have no choice but defend myself. |
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| Duchess | Jun 30 2014, 06:13 PM Post #9 |
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Modeste had been greatful for the blanket provided by the lady in scarlet and her warm yet thoughtful magic. He found himself wondering if her silence and insistence on writing was of a physical need or some form of vow, like sister Belarouse. In either case her penmanship was exquisite and he felt her teacher deserved praise, and she was most polite as well. Internally were he rating her polite tact he debated whether she might have lost points for not introducing her traveling companion however; but perhaps those could be more than forgiven for how concerned she was over his situation. Pheonitia’s companion had made some comment, while he thought he’d picked up the world baby, it did not quite make sense, and Modeste chalked this up to hearing things from the cold and chatter of his teeth. The mind would play tricks now and again to one in as much distress as he. He knew that better than some. The consent to call forth clothing for his form doubled Modeste’s already tremendous gratitude. He had not been looking forward to explaining himself as he walked back to town in undergarments and a blanket, only to explain the fault was his own folly. Particularly if he returned accompanied by two women! How the people would talk! Such rumors would not be good for the reputation of his academy and that was the last thing Modeste wanted. The moral fiber of his academy could not be made suspect. ”Thank you so much Miss Pheonitia, your defense of my character will not be forgotten.” As Pheonitia prepared to conjure garments, Modeste looked back to her companion as she gave her name. Shrista that name rang familiar and drifted through his mind. Modeste’s gaze became puzzled for a moment as he quickly began to think through the names of all the ladies of significance that were known to him. It was no quick and simple task. Finally a look of recognition crossed his features. ”Oh! L-lady Shrista? Oh d-d-dear this is hardly the st-state I would have w-wished to m-m-m-meet you in.” Shrista, or the lady Shrista, as Modeste insisted she be refered to, in his presence, was a source of many rumors. Modeste did not put stock in rumors and idle gossip. Far too many half-truths and utter fabrications circled that network to make any of them reliable information. When slanderous suspicions were overheard by his ears he would put a stop to the talk and chide ladies spreading it for their childish gossip. Modeste had instead only taken in the facts that were known to him. Lady Shrista was a drow, she was in some way romantically involved with Councilor Aniektos, one of his associates, and that while she had recently appeared to be with child, she was so no longer; but there was no babe to be seen. It had been sad news indeed, and Modeste could not begin to imagine the hurt that she may now be bearing. These were certainly no brigands, to be of such esteemed company, and he now felt foolish for thinking such. Fortunately he was distracted from these thoughts as Pheonitia helped keep him concealed only to utter something strange and all at once wrench away his source of meager decency and warmth. Modeste let out a surprised yelp that sounded far too much like a noble lady had been suddenly struck upon the buttocks by an unscrupulous and unwelcome sailor. However the noise was quickly replaced by an ”Oh!” as Modeste examined the white robes he was now clad in. ”H-how… Ashokan” he said politely, trying to make better of a tiresome situation. Making ture to not sound as if he were complaining over the generosity Modeste made certain to Not wishing to be rude Modeste heard Shrista’s offer and turned his attention back to her. ”If it w-w-would be no tr-trouble then y-y-yes I would very much a-a-appreciate the assistance in r-r-re-returning.” Modeste had not been looking forward to a barefoot trek through the wilderness quite a ways back upstream just to hopefully find his shoes, before walking to the academy. He was eager for any aide or at least company that might make this journey easier. ”More imp-portantly, I would like to invite y-you both t-to lunch, as f-f-friends of the academy. A-a-after I’ve m-made m-myself more p-presentable of course.” Modeste’s offer did come from the sincere desire to thank them both for his rescue and aid; but there was also an ulterior motive. These women both seemed strong and independent. He wanted the girls to see them, and hear how they had helped him. ”I-if you have n-no other p-pressing en-engagements I-I insist you allow m-me this f-favor. I-it’s the least I can d-do to r-repay you both.” Modeste sincerely hoped they would agree, and gave his most determined yet imploring look to the two ladies. He had been meaning to find the time to meet with the lady Shrista anyways, and this seemed as good a time as any if she would accept his offer. Modeste waited patiently as the two women seemed to converse, Miss Pheonita using her note to say or explain something to the drow woman in her perpetually silent manner. Casual curiosity pondered what she was saying but he knew better than to pry. |
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| Shrista | Jul 28 2014, 07:49 PM Post #10 |
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Pariah, Apostate, Heretic
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Friends? Gods but she hated that word, ever since Tekun had slapped it on her and somehow their weird relationship had fallen into that...category. She'd never liked the term, not even before she came to this place of harsh sunlight and unpredictable humans. Convenient allies, was a better term. But it had been a while since she'd had anyone try to stab her in the back, at least until Neriasis with his casual snippy tones and effeminate mannerisms. Just the thought of him, the imposter-drow, whatever he was, not surfacer but not one of the Underdark either, made her blood boil. Figuratively of course, though she'd have very much liked to have made his literally boil right then, and had the means to do so. Grunting, she picked up her right boot and tugged it on viciously, stamping her foot to settle it into the soft leather, the bone heel giving her the extra few inches of elevation. Wriggling her toes in the cold interior of her footwear, she turned her attention to tightening the strap behind the glistening chitinous plates, and snapped the clasps shut with the tick of metal not unlike the minute breaking of a small animal's skeletal structure. She had moved to the second when the man's stumbling voice cut across her thoughts again. "I am no Lady. Not anymore." And even then I was not a lady. Much higher than some simpleton. Now I am nothing. She'd become so used to the thought, that she didn't bothering arguing back against herself anymore. When had it really drilled home? Was it her own recital of the fact, or the demon's soft pressure that had her believing it now? Getting him back was no huge effort, but she couldn't recall exactly where the academy was. Shrista balanced artfully on one leg like some gangly flamingo, holding the edges of her left boot open and slowly inserting her foot into the cool sleeve, the metal and chitin dragging on her arms. She'd just have to look for it...which meant risking that she might cut someone open when the gate cleaved air. He'd probably not look too favorably on that. Nor would anyone else for that matter. Aniketos probably wouldn't be pleased to find she'd been arrested. If she even let them. It really depended what sort of mood she was in...and right now that was one of some intolerance. Modeste's chatter about his clothes irked her a little. Gods but she was wearing less than him and he still thought he was in no state to be seen. And now he wanted to go to lunch and he was worried? Was the man insane? Did he not see that behind her gauzy skirt her ass was practically hanging out? Not that she gave half a damn, today was obviously a day that she felt more comfortable strutting than dressing in human attire. Still, his self consciousness was infectious, and she found herself considering whether she should get changed for this...and then surprised herself when she realized that she'd somehow subconsciously decided she was doing it. Shrista stooped, snatching up the whip that fit so comfortably into her hands, despite it being rather plain, unenchanted, and inanimate. It was still a nasty piece of work, longer than those the priestesses used that she knew of, and hideously barbed. Once she might have used it to tear up the weak, now she found herself wondering if she shouldn't be using it to do the exact opposite. It was meant to be a new start, after all. To follow her own ideals, and nobody else's. Not to conform to what she had been, or wold be, but just what she was now. And what was that? The drow looked up as Pheonitia approached, the paper extended. Lucky she could read really, the woman would have been pretty shit out of luck if she couldn't. Squinting she scanned the elaborate writing, far neater than her own hand could turn out. Mute... A flash of guilt assaulted her and she wrestled it down, fighting against the unfamiliar emotions again, despite her prior reminders to herself to be more accepting of these things. It wasn't that the drow did not feel, just not with the sort of clarity that she was experiencing things of late. It was as if all the grief had opened a floodgate and everything else was taking the opportunity to join in as well. "You have no need to apologize." She straightened, tugging the short coat down into place, molding to her frame. "I am suspicious of everyone and everything. Don't take it personally...I'd not be standing here if I didn't." She hesitated, adopted an air of faux cheerfulness, "Lots of people try to kill me. Obviously they failed. Good for me." "I'll admit I have not been to your...academy. Please excuse if I break anything, searching for a place I have not been to is difficult, inaccurate." She drew the kris from the sheath nestled in the small of her back, the spider legs gleaming wetly in the sunshine, and laid the blade against her palm, cold against her skin. One fast cut to slice through the flesh and the slow aching sting working its way deeper with every second, blood rushing to the surface in fat red beads. Power crackled in her veins and the woman lifted her hand, balling it into a fist, a steady trickle worming its way along the outer edge of her arm, wetting her fingers as she extended them out and began to draw the doorway. Slashes of light stayed, hanging in the air, channeling her magic as she reached through it for the place, felt a hundred flickering images, sounds and smells hiss pass, settled on the unfamiliar stone building, girls tracking their way to the door, the sun still warming the courtyard. Shrista inhaled deeply, swiped the final connecting line, and the door opened, a terrible splitting noise followed by an earth shuddering crash coming from the other side. A handful of leaves gusted through on the spring air, and she frowned at the alarmed shrieks and squeals coming from somewhere on the other side. "I'll fix your tree. Hopefully nobody was under it." Turning to the pair, she waved them on with her blade. "Go on through. I must be last, or it shuts and you are stuck here." She clenched her hand into a fist, blood making a steady tap-tap-tap rhythm on the grass beside her. It'd heal, she was good at that much. Only a little concentration and her bleeding slowed to a stop, the wound clotting. Healing it would be a doddle if she could spare the concentration, but holding the gate open at the same time was a bad idea. Especially if it snapped shut and decapitated her new companions. That would be...unfortunate. |
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| Pheonitia | Aug 2 2014, 08:33 AM Post #11 |
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Understanding... her words have got to the drow and maybe quelled some of the tension. Some being the keyword here, like Shrista had said, “suspicious of everyone and everything” a person such as the drow before her can never truly let go of the tension and Pheonitia understood that. Had she and her Lord not been pressured when The Frost Purger was at their trail? That was the only time however anyone wanted her existence to seize, sure there have been bandits and other confrontations since, but to have someone constantly plotting an act to end one's existence? No, nothing like that happened ever since, certainly things have changed since wings became arms and talons turned to legs. This reminded her of home, yes, that place far far away, in an island in the skies of phased territory, that beautiful island. But I digress, home is gone... Now she wondered if there was an easier way to get back to the Academy Mister Modeste had been speaking about. When Shristra drew on her Kris, Pheonita found herself with the hand resting on the pummel of her sword. When had she developed these kind of instincts? I am doing this wrong, Lord Verithas just stays at ready at all times, he does not need to declare his state of mind, like I just did. So she casually let the sword be, maybe the action had not been taken into notice, but chances were everyone saw, how foolish of me. Yes, foolish, but she had been out on her own for fifty years, whatever “enchantment” her Lord had, was beginning to wear off, and everything that led up to this point made her think this way. Her thoughts came to an abrupt end when the drow used the Kris to make a cut on the hand. Pheonitia's eyes gazed upon the event, not out of concern for the wound, nothing so trivial as a mere cut, instead she had picked up on what was happening. Magic... blood magic, without a shadow of a doubt in my mind. Something is happening, I must... I must document this. Quickly she opened her tome, no longer carrying for loose sheets of parchment contained within, no, this time around her quill danced on the real deal. The indestructible object that could only be written upon with a special kind of magic, her own special kind of magic, and no one else's. The nib of the quill sparkled as she gazed upon what was happening. Yes, yes! It's a door, she will make a portal in space using this magic, I can see it now. How simple and clever, sure there are other ways, but this one is the first time seeing this. Maybe there can be more to this magic when me and Lord Verithas get into the theory. When the the door opened Pheonitia felt like coming in close and examining up close, but a different thought came to mind. She closed her tome and came back to Mister Modeste, offering her hand, he was still probably all shaken up from the ordeal, so she decided to aid him. Taking light steeps along side the gentleman she stopped at the doors entrance, one last look. I think I got the basic of this, if only I will be able to experiment later on... but I don't have any enchanted blood. Not that she was confident that in her state she could even preform such a magic, but she also lacked blood, enchanted blood. She had it, but it was in her dimensional bag, something she had no access to for a long time now. Since she was simply made out of arcane fire, she lacked the essential reagent to blood magic, blood of course, so in the past she kept a vial with the reagent with her. She let out a small, almost imperceptible silent sigh, Modeste was sure to catch it, something like that. Some of the screaming came to an halt when Pheonitia crossed over the door with Modeste along side her. He was the headmaster of the Academy, not that Pheonitia knew this, but it was only natural that his presence there would bring peace of mind to his students. An academy, for girls only? She was amazed, mostly because she was not expecting such a world to have a place like this, then again the things she had seen so far... maybe it was not so strange after all. This time around no one would be able to pick up how amazed she was, her expression took no shape, so her “emotion” was not betrayed by it. It did concern her however, how she felt... how the world was beginning to mold her? How the word emotion was making its way more often into her mental vocabulary, replacing the word sensation, she felt ever more so that she was being conned into thinking in a certain way. No... he would not. Would you? Where are you my Lord? You should have been here by now... I need to know. |
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| Duchess | Aug 23 2014, 12:46 AM Post #12 |
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Modeste was not able to catch the protest against being called a lady, and thus was not given the time to rebut. Surely he would have argued, for from where he was standing she was more lady than several noblewomen he knew. She’d saved his life, and as she pulled on her boots he could not help but momentarily admire her drow attire before realizing he was staring impolitely. More than that he realized his staring could be misconstrued, so he busied himself with his bare feet instead. Ugh! What have I done with my toenails! I must attend to these at my earliest convenience! The slightly un-manicured nails did the job of keeping him distracted before interacting with Pheonitia. He then continued to watch the interchange between the red woman and the drow, slowly realizing that they may not be traveling companions after all. Still they had both helped him in their own way and he was in their debt. Aquaintences or not, it would give them all something to talk about over… oh wait… that was right, Miss Pheonitia did in fact seem to be incapable of speech. Oh dear… he hadn’t quite thought this out. Still, she seemed to be enjoying the idea none the less and Modeste and Lady Shrista could both read, so it seemed like things would probably work out well. Modeste would have probably have agreed with Shrista and said something about how it was good for him as well that she had survived those who would do her harm. However he was not given the opportunity as her following statement left him puzzled. Break something? What does she mean? The thought slowly donned on Modeste and before he had time to question it, the drow had drawn a knife. When Shrista sliced open her hand Modeste let out a gasp of shock, his hands coming up to his mouth in the most dainty of fashions. ”Miss Shrista!” he proclaimed in dismay. She paid him no heed as she began to paint in the air and Modeste realized this was the price for her magic. Far less friendly than Miss Pheonitia’s had been. Modeste felt sick to his stomach. This beautiful and powerful woman had brought harm and pain to herself on his behalf for what? To spare him the long and embarrassing walk home!? That was hardly worth the cost! Modeste would have refused the offer and treated her hand to the best of his abilities right there, if it would not have made the sacrifice all the more for nothing. He fell silent but tears welled in his one uncovered eye. Modeste blinked them back as he heard the sound of breaking wood and something about his tree. He couldn’t quite understand what she was talking about, largely due to the more distracting thoughts; but still trusted her word to fix it. Miss Pheonita seemed extremely fascinated in the portal, and unsure how to proceed himself, Modeste simply stood back and watched her first. When she vanished through the portal he turned to Shrista and forced himself to speak clearly. Steeling his nerve with the determination and sincerity of his feelings. ”M-Miss Shrista, you must let me have that tended to as soon as we arrive. Had I known the cost…” He trailed off and instead realized that making her wait was probably causing more pain and so hurried through the portal she had created. All at once Modeste felt nauseaus and disoriented as he arrived on the other side. Modeste staggered forward only to trip and land face down in the dirt. A fallen tree branch was the culprit that had felled the tree. Looking up from the dirt Modeste saw many of the younger girls staring in awe at Miss Pheonitia and the splintered tree behind her. Modeste quickly got to his feet and as he dusted himself off it seemed the girls began to realize who the oddly dressed individual before them was. ”Mister Bellamy!” came many excited calls. The crowd around them had been growing as other girls came to examine the scene of the commotion. It seemed, from what he could gather from the excited chatter of children, and young ladies, that they had been concerned for his safety when the dog had returned carrying his clothes, without its master beside it. ”Oh dear, girls, yes I am quite alright. Brustus was just having a little fun, and then I wound up in the river. My new friends Miss Pheonitia, and Lady Shrista helped me though. You should come say hello to them, and remember your manners ladies.” Was the general statement he gave the girls, while picking up one or two of the younger ones who came in search of hugs with worried or excited faces. When it was obvious to most he was quite alright then they quickly gathered around the others to see them better, very interested in the strange red-clad woman and the even less common drow. Speaking of drows, a “young” lady appearing to be 13 or 14 by human standards, approached them, distant from many of the other girls. Long white hair fastened into a braid that draped over one shoulder, contrasted starkly with the ebon skin of the young drow. She was dressed in close fitting trousers and coat that seemed reminiscent in style of the formal wear of a sotoan military officer, without displaying their colors or any badges of station. She had a sword by her side and book under one arm, while a stray branch in her hair betrayed the fact that she had been rather close to the tree by some measure, when it had been wounded. ((Inwardly, Modeste was just glad it had not been Nanny’s story time for the little ones, for certainly that would have been a horrid calamity and something he doubted Miss Shrista could so easily fix)) ”Teacher Bellamy, are you truly well?” she asked in a soft yet clear tone that belied very well practiced common. ”Yes Xunrae, I am fine, thank you for asking. How do you fare? I see my rather ostentatious entrance caught you quite of guard.” When she gave him a puzzled look, Modeste gingerly reached up and plucked the twig from her hair, presenting it to her and her cheeks darkened slightly. ”I am fine. The noise before the fall gave me time to get out of the way.” Xunrae explained as she took the twig and it withered immediately upon touching her hand, before turning to ash and blowing away. ”Well then I am glad you are unhurt.” Modeste rested a reassuring hand upon her shoulder before gently guiding her beside him towards the site of the portal. ”Lady Pheonitia and Lady Shrista, this is Xunrae, one of my most promising fencing students, and one of the girls that has been with the academy the longest.” He stated, introducing her to his heroines. ”Xunrae, this is Lady Pheonitia, and Lady Shrista. They saved me from quite the ordeal today, and will be joining us for lunch.” Xunrae gave a non-commital gesture that was something half-way between a curtsey and slight bow before resuming her intense-yet awed watching of the arrived Shrista. Modeste noticed this, but seeing Shrista reminded him of how they had managed to get to his home so quickly. Having been caught up in all the fuss he moved towards Shrista once more. ”Thank you for helping me to arrive so quickly, Lady Shrista. Please, may I take you to our infirmary so the nurse can tend to your hand?” Meanwhile a girl with two long braided pigtails stood out among the others, judging by physical appearance, she was a few years younger than Xunrae, and wore a dress and petticoats, mostly violet in color, which matched both her eyes and her hair quite well. What made her stand out was the piece of black slate she held under one arm, and the spectacles balanced on her face through which she viewed the world. She bit her lip nervously as she looked at Pheonita in her crimson majesty; but finally seemed to work up her nerve and touched a finger to the black piece of slate. Instantly in flowing cursive, words appeared in a soft blue-green. ’Hello, My name is Magiya. It is a pleasure to meet you Miss Pheonita. Thank you for helping Mister Bellamy. Pardon my saying, but I am fond of your aura, it is a lovely color.’ the worlds ‘lovely color’ shifted from white that the other text had been written in, to a vibrant red, not unlike Pheonitia’s usual attire. A human girl with blonde curls no more than 7 years of age saw Magiya hold out the slate towards Pheonita and felt the need to explain, as children sometimes do. ”Mag can’ talk! Ya gots ta read hur fing or hold her han’ or ya don know what she’s sayin.” the little blonde girl attempted to tug on Pheonitia’s garment and point towards the slate as if she hadn’t seen it. Apparently she was very concerned that the purple-clad girl might be overlooked. Outside this growing assembly a older woman appeared to be issuing orders to some others dressed as staff, who were scattering off to do various things. It seemed falling trees was not something too difficult to recover from at the Bellamy Academy. |
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| Shrista | Sep 20 2014, 08:35 PM Post #13 |
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Pariah, Apostate, Heretic
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An odd smile cracked her lips, slightly embittered as her gaze tracked the sweep of the red woman's hand to rest upon the pommel of the weapon on her hip. She should have noted it before, cursed her own weakness inwardly. Being up here had truly made her soft. Still, she didn't blame the woman for being wary when she'd just bared a blade, even if it was turned on herself. She'd have done exactly the same thing were the circumstances reversed. Go on, draw steel and let's see how good you are with it. A sour disappointment lodged like a poorly digested meal in her stomach when it came to nothing, the startled effeminate squeal from the male making her lower her lids halfway, one brow arched in a manner that suggested she was most unimpressed. Not there she was a stranger to effete males, there were plenty of foppish preening jaybirds for lack of a better term among her own kind as well. It was just rather...off putting. Pheo was scribbling in her book once more, and the Drow frowned ever so slightly, smoothing her features just as quickly and concentrating on the Gate. No point in worrying about it. It was only natural if she was so amazing that someone had to document it of course. She sneered silently at her own foolish thoughts, then took a step away from the portal, the edges wavering like a mirage, the blood from her sacrificial blade running on the air as though it were on a vertical surface. She watched with cool detachment as Pheo stepped through the portal, setting it to rippling behind her, the air distorting like disturbed water before returning to clarity once more. She was safely on the other side, could return should she really want to. It was only the sorceress herself that was limited to a one way trip. The others could play chicken for all she cared, so long as she stood there patiently holding it open. Shrista flicked her gaze toward the timid male, this Bellamy, face inscrutable. Why was he so worried over a little magic? Had he never seen someone perform such sorcery before? It wasn't exactly the most well thought of thing back where she was from either, but mostly because it was a surface thing, falling somewhere between the necromancy of the clerics, and the powers of the divine. Neither was it wizardry, and there were those that chose to consider it not an art at all but some sort of abhorrent act that went against the laws of magic. Perhaps it was. Perhaps not. She could hardly say she'd heard of many using blood sorcery to mend and heal the wounded. They just didn't seem to fall into the same category...those who wanted to learn usually had more..nefarious deeds, in mind. "You are afraid?" She examined her hand, held her palm up and splayed her fingers to reveal the long shallow slash, freely slicking her skin with her own fluids. "Flesh heals. What is a little pain at the price of a great reward?" Once he'd passed through she stood a moment flexing her hand, willing herself to step after them. She could have just closed it there and then, turned and walked away and be done with it. They'd be in a safer place, wouldn't have to deal with her peculiar mannerisms or she with their tedious company. But what else had she to do? She couldn't, wouldn't just go back to Aniketos' home, curl up in the cool darkness behind the shades and weep herself to exhaustion again. She'd lived under the pall of this depression long enough. It might come back if she shook it off, but it was something to be dealt with then, not now. Now was the time for change, and only she could make it happen. Change that didn't involve going on a slaughterfest through the middle of Madrid. It wouldn't win her any awards. She stepped through, the dappled shade giving way to bright sunshine, recoiling with as much grace as she could muster given the situation. The Gate collapsed in on itself, the faint, indescribably painful sound as it tore its anchors loose from the fabric of reality and sealed assailing her ears. Somewhere between gristle, grinding metal and a torturous screaming that all somehow blended with the rush of air as a rough fwip sound. Modeste was busy prattling, and she squinted across over the heads of his proteges, assessing the damage. It was quite big, for a tree, she thought. Considering most of the trees she was acquainted with were pretty big anyway, she couldn't really make a fair assessment. It wasn't something she made a point of paying attention to much. They provided good cover, but she'd lost much of her allure to gardening if it could have been called that, when she'd fled Eryndlyn. Her gaze drifted back, the warm pulse from her hand drawing too much of her attention, and she squeezed her fist shut to keep it away. Why were there so many young females? Was he keeping them, grooming them for some purpose? She knew that much of their society was the reverse of her own formerly matriarchal one, but this didn't make much sense. As her eyes strayed over the youth talking to the Councillor, they immediately flicked back, and fixed the child with nothing so much as an intimidating glare, pale chips of ice in her face, calculating. How did he come by a Drow female for his collection? Had he stolen her? Or was she surface-born? Kin they might be, but she found herself viewing them with the same derision and disdain as the rest of the spider-worshiping sisterhood. But...if she was not raised on Lolth's tenets, then where did she look to for guidance? Some weak surface god? What if she became like them, soft and malleable, weak of heart and mind, liable to dance and sing and... Shrista stopped that train of thought, let it grind to a halt. What had that Eilistraeen sister said once? Wouldn't it have been nice to be able to live without anticipating a blade sliding between your shoulders? To know that your friends liked you for who you were, and had no such intentions? Wouldn't it be nice to not look over your shoulder every day? Her fingers strayed to the mithral sword hanging from the chain onto her chest, brushed it with her fingers. Everyone could dream, but such realities were not for her. She'd never escape her ways, battle hardened and too ready to slip a dagger into the nearest person's ribs because they'd given her a queer look. But this child...perhaps it was better that she might be able to experience that. And if she knew how to use that sword then she might stand a chance... She didn't feel like much of a role model then, even if she'd snatched the girl up and spirited her away somewhere. Just seeing her made a deep ache start again, low in her chest. She was not fit to bear a child, much less steal one. And she'd almost crushed her by the sound of it, even if she hadn't known that she was there. One more fragile little body to pull from a wreckage... Shrista curled her lip, snapping a little more harshly than she intended, though it did little to mask the rawness in her throat. "No." As if she'd allow some milk-skinned weakling to touch her! How dare they- no..stop it. Tolerance..patience... "I need no treatment. Thank you." She wasn't about to divulge that her leanings in magic and the unsavory bond with the currently banished demon gave her certain..benefits, and regenerative properties. Nor that she had trained substantially to ignore such pains in methods that tested the endurance. With his frail ways, he would probably faint at the mere mention... The woman swallowed, scowled and lifted her hand, curling two fingers inwards towards her palm, the magic still crawling like a trail of fire ants through her veins burst brightly under her skin, a trickle crashing into a torrent, a deluge that swept away the disturbed feeling the girl had left in her, washing it away to drown her in sensation, sound and colour that much sharper, clearer, the taste of sap on her tongue... The tree rose, levitated as she danced it upwards on puppet strings of air and held it over their heads, scattering leaves down upon them in a green rain. At leas she might put one thing right. The trunk thumped down heavily on the base, and she guided it back, as if pulling the entire thing with her hands, beckoning it to slide forward until it was flush again, halting only when her hands were palm up. It wouldn't stay like that though. She could leave a weave of air but it would erode over time if she didn't make it permanent, and then the tree would only die anyway and what use would it be dead? She set her bloodied hand against the trunk of the sentinel, half-lidded eyes losing focus as she stared into somewhere beyond, lips moving silently while her Self delved deeply into it. Within a moment, the tough damp bark began to grow and reattach from the center out, new cells working their way into creation to knit it back together much as one would reattach an amputated limb. It looked as though nothing for the most part was happening, until it reached the outer rings of the tree, the sharply spliced edges sending out tendrils of bark to creep and drawn together again. When she finished, the only sign that it had suffered was a pale ring where it had been cut, then repaired with new growth, and a dark handprint embedded in the trunk. The weariness that sank into her bones then was much less than when she'd forced so many Star Lanterns to grow, but only served to remind her that she'd been too long without practice. Weak. "There." Her glance skittered to Modeste, then troubled, the drow girl, Xunrae. "Your tree is whole again. As am I." She raised her palm, the skin unmarked but for the dyed sanguine colouration, as if it had never been cut at all. At a loss of what to say in the present company, she folded her arms about herself as if cold, a protective gesture, and began picking out the details of the girls one by one. "It is quite a broad...collection...of females you have to hand. To what purpose?" Her gaze hardened a little. It wasn't that she cared in the slightest for any of these girls, but the thought of one lower of station being able to do as they pleased..no...that was not right..not lower in station...gods but sometimes it was confusing. How had she managed so long on her own without this mattering? |
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