[color=f26522][h3][center]Clémentine Lévesque[/center][/h3][/color] [i]Sanities Demise, Outlands of Skorhn, Year of the Rising Sun [/i] [color=f26522][i]It's a feast, then?[/i][/color] [hr] Ah, how boring. Standing among the eight crowd was probably someone who looked a bit out of place upon first glance. Standing demurely near the back of the gathered cultists, was a woman in a red dress. Blond hair fell to her shoulders, a slight frown on her lips as she held her hands clasped together behind her as the proceedings went on. Upon first glance, the woman seemed calm. Incredibly so, but it wouldn't take a keen eye to see her hands gripping together tightly, as though one was attempting to hold in some sort of anger or stop themselves from shouting in pain. A hunched figure made to move from the crowd, quickly ascending the steps. His voice creaked with age. A slow, gravelly tone that one would attribute to a wise man or elder. Of course, no such beings could be found in this den of degenerates, heh. Or perhaps they were the most wise ones? Well, such thoughts were not suited to her. She was here for a reason. And she was oh so very, very hungry. She silently stepped forward. Seven others with her. Tsk, tsk, too many? Did they plan this? As the others muttered and began arguing she merely watched. Fools. Fools the lot of them. Pathetic. Ah how irritating. Obscene. The revelry began quickly. The priest easily turning them against another. Honestly? She'd have simply loved to watch the ensuing scene, or kill them all and make little goblets from their skulls. No wait, she'd probably eat those too. Drink it in, aaaalll in and revel in it...but it seemed as though she couldn't have her way. Annoying. With a bloodthirsty cry, the man wielding the lances struck towards her. She didn't even make an attempt at dodging. The spear sunk into her flesh, right where her heart should have been. He probably thought she was the prey here. After all, she was currently the least threatening looking one. Ah, what a pity. [color=f26522]"Geh..."[/color] She gave a muted, pain cry as the spear drove into her flesh, impaling her thoroughly on it. [color=f26522]"...heh..."[/color] There was no blood from the wound. No shout of pain. No scream of a life ending. There was only a sigh, and with it a foul smell. [color=f26522]"Ahaha..."[/color] Clémentine's hand wrapped around one of the spears. The other grabbed the man by the face, gently caressing his cheek. Her soft flesh would have undoubtedly felt divine, but the smell from her breath and the words that came along with it would have made most men retch. [color=f26522]"...you smell like a delicious appetizer."[/color] The former noblewoman grabbed the man by the neck, nearly crushing his windpipe with strength her body shouldn't have. A swift, heavy blow that knocked him right off his feet and sent him sprawling to the ground on his hands and knees. While he recovered, Clémentine didn't seem to be in too much of a hurry. She pulled the spear from her chest, a putrid smelling black ichor staining her red dress. [color=f26522]"Thanks for the kebab. I'll nibble on it after the main course."[/color] Clémentine's body convulsed as the flesh around her wound began to twist and stretch, straining against its mortal prison, but by now the man had already gotten back to his feet, obviously realizing this wasn't going to be a simple matter as he had thought. He grabbed the second spear, having obviously not learned his lesson. With a growl, the man engaged her once more. Might as well toy with him for a bit.