[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/KrTJyM8.jpg[/img][h3][b]Cᴀᴇʀᴡɪᴄᴋ [/b][color=333333]. . . . . . . . . . .[/color][sup][center][color=333333]. . . . . . . . . . . [/color][color=darkred][i][b]ᴛʜᴇ Vᴇɴᴅɪsʜ ᴄᴀᴘɪᴛᴀʟ[/b][/i][/color][/center][/sup][/h3][sup][sup][sup][sup][img]https://drfhlmcehrc34.cloudfront.net/cache/7a/2e/7a2eca87d796d9fd03a702d75817da61.png[/img][/sup][/sup][/sup][/sup][/center][color=lightgray]The raven’s talons clicked faintly against the porcelain rim of the tub, biding for patience as the tub's occupant appeared otherwise engaged. Sachevia’s own clawlike digit snaked in languid patterns across the petal and oil fragranced water as shadowed eyes followed the succeeding ripples. Just beneath the surface her bruise tinted thumbnail seemed to elongate and pierce into her still winding index finger. The water clouded with a luminescent red, far too radiant for the diluted blood it pleased to mimic, twitching along with the miniature currents she was concocting. Lengthy strands in different states of disarray had been piled atop her head in a bulky adumbral halo, ceding exposure to her despondent expression. Since she had received the missive her lips had pursed into a grimace, one that now parted for barely audible vocalizations… [center][color=darkred][sub]ᴅ ᴇ ᴠ ᴇ ɴ ᴛ ʀ ᴇ ɪ ɴ ғ ᴇ ʀ ɪ ᴄ ʟ ᴀ ᴍ ᴀ ᴠ ɪ[/sub] ᴀʀʙɪᴛʀɪᴏ ɪᴜᴅɪᴄɪᴜᴍ ᴠᴇɴɪᴇᴛ ᴄɪᴛᴏ [sup]ᴇ ᴛ ᴅ ᴇ ᴍᴀɴᴜ ᴘᴀᴛʀᴜᴍ ᴍᴇᴏʀᴜᴍ s ᴀ ɴ ɢ ᴜ ɪ ɴ ᴇ[/sup][/color][/center] She was no stranger to death, in fact she found him to be one of her favorite bedfellows; but loss had remained an elusive conquest. She tried to link to past experience in hopes it would distill her current mood, only to find her retinue quite bleak. Instead memories of Brand came to her and knuckles clenched to a ghost white hue around the raven’s missive. She had sent a handmaiden to Nightwood as the Mad King had grown more brazen, a decision she had second guessed as a waste of her resources, but now she would at least find some twisted glee in her preparation. It had been a mere day, her adopted siblings would be uniting soon, but his death would not satiate her. Death was a grace that this King had not yet afforded and she would be damned if someone killed the bastard before she got her claws into him. This thought was boiling within her, coaxing darkness, when the raven cawed and began a low cackle, breaking her reverie. She turned to the bird, about to chastise the feral beast and send it back to its unkindness, but instead she followed it’s beady gaze to the door as it began to open. The man that stepped through the door was unexceptional to the eye; and to the touch if she was being honest, but he was an exceedingly well connected and wealthy merchant. Her demeanor changed; a debauched smile painted her lips and the hue of her eyes settled on a more pleasing tint. The raven’s note, already crumpled in her hand, was dragged beneath the water, the ink dissipating between her knuckles and spreading it’s ill favor with the likes of honeysuckle and lilacs in the still swirling water. If her ruminations had been noticed the man failed to react, instead he focused a puzzled gaze on the now quiet raven who returned the favor in kind. The raven was forgotten as she rose out of the tub and his attention became solely engrossed with his conquest. She gestured with a coaxing finger towards a gown set to the side as he licked across gluttonous lips and made a grunting sound, one Sachevia had come to associate with his desire. It reminded her of a pig that had just located a truffle. She wouldn’t miss him, she just hoped the Sirens wouldn’t notice her absence until she finished with the Mad King. [center][img]http://sherrygideons.com/wp-content/themes/flexsqueeze150/images/dividers/square-dotted-grunge.png[/img] Lᴀᴛᴇʀ Tʜᴀᴛ Nɪɢʜᴛ…[/center] The obscurity of nightfall wrapped around the ebon carriage, devouring it so that the souls within bobbed along in a state of purgatory, unconcerned with the boogeymen that skulked on either side of their cursed path. Locked within the carriage Sachevia’s thoughts expanded and contracted with her breaths, dizzying yet driven by a hazardous fuel. Parchment sat before her with the waiting ravens capering about the carriage as if feeding on the girl’s nervous excitement. Her first letter would be to the King, written in the faux hand of one of his confidants in the capital, one whose name had slipped from the wealthy merchant before facilitated sleep overtook him. She offered herself as a gift, for the Mad King was said to enjoy the gifts of subservience, along with a reasonable amount of funds and well wishes for his safety and continued reign; better to cover all bases of temptation. She debated the second letter, the blank paper shooting judgmental glares in her direction until finally ink was pressed upon it. [indent][indent][i][color=gray]Dearest Siblings, My condolences in this time of loss. I doubt I will be able to attend the burial of our Father and for that I apologize. I may be able to facilitate it's likelihood though; I have received word the mad King has hidden Brand's body amongst a cart of taxes heading on the Harthbyrn route to Caerwick. I will not apologize for what I must do, but know that I am with you. The King will pay for his trespasses against Brand in a manner of pain beyond the depths of burden I wish for your souls. If I fail, please rip the bastard into multiple pieces. Slowly. Always, The Witch of the Brood[/color][/i][/indent][/indent] It was impossible for her to imagine any of Brand’s to be capable of the atrocities she was compiling in a wretched menagerie of justice. They had the abilities; in fact, most of them boasted weaponry skills, even as children, that were exemplary. But how many of them could shove a choke pear down the Mad King’s throat, twisting it tighter every couple of minutes as the King’s tears fell and blended with the blood that seeped from his tearing flesh? [center][i][color=darkred]She was getting excited, and ahead of herself.[/color][/i][/center] Truly she couldn’t even imagine them as adults. Kiera perhaps, but she hadn’t heard any news of Kiera in years, so she was unsure if the dark elf would even make it back to Nightwood. She couldn’t remember Kiera being cruel, despite the lingering stigmatism of her people. Loden then? It may have been over a decade, but the thought of Loden [i]torturing[/i] someone elicited an audible snort from the girl. No, Brand did not raise the cruel… [sup][center][i]...with one exception.[/i][/center][/sup] She felt an indescribable pang flutter across her being, a confusing feeling, remorse? Sadness? Heartburn? Loneliness? She couldn’t recall the emotion and for a moment the vixen witch second guessed herself. Did she miss her siblings? Was she simply sad about Brand? She tied the missive to the foot of a raven and hoped the uncomfortable thoughts would depart soon. She still had to finalize her insertion into the King’s circle. She whispered something to the raven who chortled a response, the ghoulish vocalization mimicking Sachevia’s in a distorted fashion so that she repeated “Loden” until she seemed pleased with the raven’s rendition. One last time the bird released an ominous variation of “Loden” and then it fluttered into the abyss that yawned beyond the carriage, towards Nightwood. [/color] [@Flagg] [@Naril] [@R31GN] [@Gunther] [@Airbender] [@POOHEAD189] [@NickTrano] [@HeySeuss]