[hr][hr][center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/SR52k84p/54b4e63d635603b22d80f72a4ba2be54.png[/img][hr][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/019e8fda-abae-72dc-b11e-39d057b78113.webp[/img][hr][@Achronum][@Blizz][@Forsythe][@Kirah][@PatientBean][@Trainerblue192][@KazAlkemi][hr][h3][color=AC3EFF][b]So Below[/b][/color][/h3][/center][hr]

Dryador. 

The Kingdom of Seventy Seas, home of the merfolk, of sirens and selkies, of legendary serpents and fearsome snakes, was engulfed in flames under her command. The ocean boiled, the lakes ran dry, and naught was left in the wake of her army but ash and bone. Her soldiers were forged for this, any weaknesses cast aside in the pursuit of perfection, of conquest. It was challenge that made them strong, challenge that gave them the power to do what none had dared to dream was possible, challenge that drove them to tear a gaping wound in reality, a rift that they might cross into this nexus, this Otherworld. 

Their foes were cowards, hidden away inside their floating fortress, at the center of the wheel - using their innocents, their civilians who knew nothing but peace and song as shields. Perhaps it would have stopped a lesser challenger. But it would not stop her. Shields were nothing more than obstacles to be broken. If the White Witch wished her people slaughtered as she did not lift a finger to help them, then Memoria was more than happy to oblige. 

She had patience and time in spades. 

And a hostage. 

Memoria smiled softly, as she inclined her head downwards. Capturing Dryador’s ruler had been exquisite, the water spirit in chains at her feet a tantalizing pet. And while the arms she could supply were fabled and legendary, more than sufficient for whatever tricks the White Witch would attempt, it was the information she craved the most from her prize. The Lady of the Lake looked decadent like this, her hands bound behind her, iron chains connecting down to her feet, leaving painful, blistering welts across her skin. The more she struggled, the worse it became. The throne room was a bit damp for her liking, an underground cave with a large natural basin of water, brimming with mystical importance and potential. 

Potential she would not dare to allow to go to waste. 

Memoria rose from the barnacled throne, her boot landing squarely on Nimue’s back, as she approached the waters and knelt. The necessary components had already been gathered and bottled. 

A dragon’s tongue. 

A faerie’s tooth.

A serpent’s egg.

A newborn’s cry. 

A lover’s goodbye. 

“You are a great teacher, pet,” Memoria purred, as she loosened them into the pool one by one, each addition causing the water to froth and to foam. “I cannot wait for my students to meet yours.” 

[center]”Weep, ye innocent sacrifice. 

Suffer in sin and frigid ice.

The corpse-song calls from terror's reign,

so we may shatter Fate's tangled skein. 

Embrace both gluttony and greed -

Rise to slaughter your Light for me.”[/center]