[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/ZtKtHcj.jpg[/img]
[sub][sub][sub][h3]Y  T  O  N  E[/h3][/sub][/sub][/sub][img]http://i.imgur.com/NESiC7M.png[/img]
[sup][color=d7d7d7]"Deliver her from the sins of her Fathers; deliver her naught from her own depravity."[/color][/sup][/center]
[sub][sub][sub][h2][color=d7d7d7][indent][indent]Armistice — [i]Eastern Gate[/i] — 250 — [i]8 / 8[/i][/indent][/indent][/color][/h2][/sub][/sub][/sub][color=#0d0c0c][img]http://i.imgur.com/RPEg47T.png[/img][/color][color=958c88][indent][indent][i][sup]And so, my dearest . . .[/sup][/i][/indent][/indent]
[indent][i]F[/i]lush and rouge blossomed over pallid cheeks, wide blemishes of heat searing with the blood quickening to the membrane as shell lips lolled wide, exhilarated with quick inhales sliding between both parts equal in their pout. Rapid successions of sounds marred the silence, swelling into a canopy of exhales swathed in the intimacy of moaning splendor.

[i]And the weeping lines beaded with her desire, and she watched as they began to cry.[/i]

In the shadow of the eastern quarter, she almost blended into the thicket of oppression in the colours of black. Only indicated by the pallid skin that exhibited her foreign genetics, her Origins long and far from the thriving continent and the city fostered like some pompous gem in the splendor of bustling denizens and the vast pocket that conceived coin and nourishment. Fine threads swallowed her nearly whole in the gloom, charcoal pieces fluttering around thin shoulder hunched forward, eclipsing the quick repetition of her motions as silverite enchanted with malicious mana carved fluid lines into the canvas of her skin. This was ritual, tradition, this was controversy bathed in red and pain, and it was a balm to the quaking consciousness teeming with poison and spite. Her fingers curled, muscles twining into a flex as she dipped into the last section of her self-infliction and pried away the jaded silver long tarnished with time and blood. Her product was a completion of knots interwoven with another, illustrating grace into the complexity of thick and thinning lines now aflame along the breadth of her thigh. Her lips parted, tasting the heat of her own essence before she impaled the enchanted stick back into the wild mane of her ebonette hair and momentarily disturbed the trinkets laced within as she swept herself back into proper function.

Ytone was well aware of the risks she had underwent to ensure that her daily practices were ensured, but little concern coloured her expression as she fixed the robes of her nether garments to conceal her wound and made double efforts to cinch the leather bindings on each of her legs until her fingers turned bone-white at the knuckles from her harsh lacing. To the company of Armistice, she would appear peculiar in her adjustments, to the kith and kin somewhere in the tragedy of Goro, they would know that she was fumbling in anxiety that corded her soul in a vice. When she had first arrived, silent and busily studying the patterns in the road by prints and trails, she had not been anticipating such an assemblage of individuals, in truth, Ytone had been expecting individuals of... Well. Her expectations were bred by the education of her sires, and thus far her knowledge had only provided acknowledgement of three Orders of note—worthy deduction, and the sparse inclusion of others that didn't grace her with any worthy impression. Her anticipatory assessment had been on both dual sides of brigands and glory—hunters and knights gilded in both gold, bronze and silver.

As it remained, Ytone had immediately swept off to the wall, to hug it literally with her close proximity to tend to worship in the lines of blood and pain and felt elevated for it. Filing leather-draped hands through the thickness of her ebony tresses, the Goro resident finally left the sanctity of shadows and gloom and joined with the rest of the potentials for the particular quest. She pondered on their intentions: fame, glory, riches? Did they seek and share the same ambition of her unholy Mother, were some inducted under the pretenses of their own callings and leader — or did they not have a decision? Ytone considered every possibility, but to inquire out right would suspect her own purposes, and to glean over the desires of the [i]Padmavati[/i] would garner her betrayal and punishment by the Gaki. 

Thick leather made her shudder when flush against her newly engraved sigil, but her face did not reflect the sway of her body as she crossed her ink-laced arms at the leather blanketed over her chest, skin against skin as her laced limbs rested at her scarred mid—drift. Most were already induced into conversation, but it did nothing to deter Ytone until the aroma of herbs swept up and blanketed her sensory passages in their odor. She blinked owlishly as the man — Enclave, she corrected — busily began brewing tea, holding out individual offers in simplistic pewter dishes. Jaded silver briefly twinkled with curiosity as she delicately plucked the cup from his gesture, ebony nails clacking against the malleable, metal alloy until she tipped it up to her lips and gradually sipped. The flavours were petite, relaxing, spilling down her throat on reflex when she swallowed and examined the contents with a swift eye.

The only tea she was familiar with often spiked with... [i]unsavory ingredients[/i].

That memory alone brought another twinge to her thigh and she rolled her weight into her opposite leg, hip cocked as she took another taste of her beverage and spoke around the lip of the mug.

	[color=c3b7b2]"Fine brew, scholar." [/color]She spoke aloud, the husk of her voice muffled by the press of metal against her parted mouth. Through another indulge of the tea, she examined the rest of the troupe, from gargantuan warrior to the swarthy elf engaging with him; to the sisters alike bathed in auras of flame; to those hesitant to partake of useless dribble before the initial embark of the quest. Ytone took careful consideration in their given armour and weapons sheathed, deduced that within her thoughts and silently glanced forward, the glimmering of her silver eyes begetting the swell of her mind already beginning to whir.

[i]Mother would like them. . .[/i][/indent][/color]