Rockette

The Spirits Within

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The fight literally bled out of her in trickles of carmine and vermilion, sluicing down the length of her chin in characteristic consistency. Adrenaline left her arms spent and shaking, trembling in the throes of a white-hot pain that conglomerated into a pleasurable lash against her body from where the soldier had struck her; bruises blossomed and Magdalena had never felt so alive. Fighting meant she was viable, aware, taking down her opponent was an acknowledgment to her existence, in the customary of battle, blows exchanged were all that she had - this moment was her own. She had collapsed back to her haunches and with arms supporting her weight she had breathed in the air stagnant with a volatile cocktail of spirits and death brought not by her hands, but the others. A part of her had been subtly annoyed that Aaron had once again rushed upon the situation and impaled his blade deep into the juncture of where Omega’s armour had been the weakest; a true vulnerability especially when his attention had been directed towards the increasing deconstruction of his chest plate as her volcanic spit had chewed through with an agonizing sluggishness that would have eventually sunk, and melted through his torso. Though in ironic reflection, the dual wielder had spared him a rather torturous death, Magdalena smirked at that, her simper remaining in a curious lift when she rolled to her knees and allowed the finality of battle to wash over her.

The soldier was terrified of his death, eyes wide and gradually dimming with the increasing seconds that dragged out in terrible listlessness, to die was horrifying and to not know what laid beyond even more so. A cavernous void had summoned forth below and above where nothing was seen and nothing was heard, an endless drone of silence had assuaged his senses and he felt no pain in that quick moment when blonde waved before the pit of obsidian Hell. Blue eyes bright and brimming with life and curiosity, just watching and he recognized the demon with her giant ring and then the agony to follow when something, someone, had punctured his veining neck. Fear was acute and numbing when at her shoulder lurked the devilish veneer of something derived from the bowels of a fictional netherworld. When her head tipped to one side, so did the hellish beast and when she touched his brow clammy with sweat, the creature mirrored her action and expressions that fissure across his ebony shell. If there ever was an after life, he hoped not that this being was the harbinger of the dead.

It was a morbid pass time that was really a quick interval of sadistic curiosity that had overtaken her in the singular moment. Her former annoyance with two particular men was banished when she reclined back on her booted heels and accompanied the soldier in his bereavement.

“Does it hurt?”

There wasn’t an answer, for the dead don’t talk, no matter what she saw in her nightmares. From the back of her mind she could feel the presence of eyes and shadowy smiles, of contradicting visions and forms that murmured their glee and want, of when she swiped her hand across her magmatic mouth and tasted her own blood. She wonders if Nautilus has burial rituals and events for their fallen soldiers, and she then wonders if it’s appropriate for her ponder on such things; for this is the enemy and they’re meant to die by their hands. Magdalena only brushes her fingers across his eyes lids and surrenders his body to the writhing darkness that has been eagerly awaiting this gift; this contribution and sacrifice. Hands pull and sink the corpse into the depths of whatever it is, of whatever this is and she doesn’t really know what to think of it when the body vanishes entirely by the ravenous Despair that follows and canters within her soul.

It’s not like she has anyone to talk to about it, not really. So she guesses that she’ll never know and perhaps this is for the best. She misses the darkness she had been held within during her times at Oak Ridge and before in her youth, to be the blind in this ugly world, and it really is ugly she decides and braces palms to her knees as she stands at her small height. Instinct bids her to retrieve her weapon, once again, and she welcomes it home across her spine. There isn’t time to reflect, to judge her actions in this campaign, for the gaping maw of the war zone is just beginning to yield open and Magdalena ascends upon it with eager hounds galloping across the silvery plain of her mind and here Chaos awakens with the soldier’s dead body firm in its jagged mouth.

---

┊» ｏａｋ ｒｉｄｇｅ; ＢＡＴＷ●

Revenge is an interesting thing, it opens your mind and wills you to do whatever you have to do. It paves a way of relentless whims and opportunities often shadowed and less favoured. He doesn’t really care for these details though, only that he manages to get what he wants.

Julian had stood at the gates of Oak Ridge for a long time, no longer seeing them but still staring as if will alone could siphon her back to his side. His hand is burning from where he touched her and his visage is still contoured into a scowl, he really really hates losing. He should have known that Cid would undermine and move against him, that his intention of handing Magdalena over to BATW was just an original fake to cajole him into lax simplicity and to hold off his original intentions. He had spoken to her after their graduation and he can remember the haunting blue of her eyes and it makes him angry all over again. There’s something about her expressionless countenance that infuriates him beyond all reason as if she has to temper herself constantly around the world and leaves nothing but a doll esque shell. Oh but if you put her next to her friends, there’s a shadow of a smile there, fleeting of course but the simple fact that the smallest of grins slips across her revere is just enough for someone like him to notice, he who is constantly watching and observing.

And it’s not just Magdalena, he watches them all, they’re interesting subjects really, every single one has a potential to be used and exploited for the powers they harbour within. His curiosity is incapable of being sated with the lesser subjects that had been provided to his department, they’re capable yes, but the experimentation's themselves require individuals of more efficient power and quantity. He needed Guardians.

Julian mused over the various files scattered hazardously across his tables, littered with glasses and tubes, metallic painted black and computers calibrating their predetermined data and analysis's. It’s a common print used in their everyday typing, but the brands across the sheaf of every single paper is what he’s interested in, how many times as he read them? But these are more than the WARG files, these are personal collections and details about psychological configurations and studies, of psychical capabilities. Of familial lists and their individual relations. That cruel grin that has been his trademark in her nightmares stretches wide across his cheeks, he taps his fingers idly, indicating towards his findings - he’s going to make his move.

And it won’t be pretty.

In foresight when an assistant passes by, to gather reports on the latest spirit calibrations of their newest recruits, she happens to glance at the files left open - perhaps deliberately - and recognizes those that have been highlighted in a crude red. It’s harsh and bright, almost a splotch of blood that clarifies Julian’s sadistic nature hidden beneath the veil of a scientist working towards The Cause.

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┊» ｙｏｕｎｇ ａｎｄ ｈｏｐｅｌｅｓｓ●

Magdalena had never before been claustrophobic, but as they descended further beneath the shopping mall and were momentarily separated from the world above, it suddenly became more difficult to breath.

Or maybe it was her bruised chest.

The near hour march deeper into the war zone had been a testament to her durability, the process was lethargic in resetting her battered jaw and ribs, the soldier had inflicted internal damage from the brute force he had utilized and she took that into inventory, prepared for the encounters, took that bit of information and wove it into her attack patterns, but her excursion was costing her. The pain in itself was desirable, without a doubt, and indicated by her hyperactive breathing, but within those harsh pants was the subtle wheeze of her agony and small body bruised over and over again. Magdalena accepted the water with a swift flick of her wrist and drank graciously, however, every reflex of her throat made her jaw twinge and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep the wince from being illustrated across her indifference. The medical officials paid a special concern to the bruises visible and received a rather uncharacteristic snarl for their efforts which, despite their indicated occupation, made them hasten and move on further down the line of their troupe.

She barely listened to the General though her shadow nervously flitted to and fro between Thael and Olivia when the designated Captain of their charge had been, well, confused in the actuality of it. She wasn’t entirely surprised by it, but witnessing Olivia’s obvious cattiness in result was what perplexed her most, it seemed a tad out of nature for her though she didn’t comment or speculate further - she would have been irate as well. Instead she followed at her usual pace, put aside the pain in her hip and ribs and her attention fell on the soldiers of this near hopeless defense.

Those injured seemed to be seduced by their appearances, their department was legendary, a fantastical evidence of power and ability by the spirits harnessed within them. Her shadows became alive in waves of black and grey at the peppering of emotions permeating the air and every time she breathed, it only reaffirmed the empathetic waves her shadows were swollen with. Her blue eyes naturally fell upon Thael, the literal golden ray of hope in their group of chaotic powers and dark things, he was the framed picture of what these troops needed, he was the hero to step forward in his golden light that she couldn’t stand to behold. In the circumstance should he address them, she naturally backed away, wanting to avoid the entire situation, and passed by the rest for she was in no position to provide toward the backbone of the current morale. A man lifted his head and she met his eyes and it was the same crippling shade of her very own, he was young, just like her and beneath his helmet there was curling blonde a hue darker, dirtier than the threads sweeping into her oculus.

Staring at the past, or was it the future, the potential of it? The could have been, the lost soul, the dead in her dreams.

“You’re in WARG?” He inquired, a sort of awe struck glimmer in the depths of his pain filled realization.

Magdalena hesitated, “I am.”
“Heh, but you’re so...”
“Small.” She very well knew her height was a disadvantage when compared to most.

He chuckled briefly, only to bring a bout of coughing that shook his thin shoulders beneath the bulk of dented armour. His calloused palm cradled his side, one eye fluttering shut as the pain ripped through his lungs and bones.
“I’m sorry, but I, uh, don’t suppose you’d be a healer?”

Blue eyes flickered over to Kimberly, the actual healer addressing Olivia softly and carefully. She kept her eyes on him for a moment before her stare gradually passed over to Aaron, arms crossed defensively.
“No.” She couldn’t even heal herself, thought she wouldn’t admit it, and the idea of absolving her blemishes and bruises was a fluctuating line of wanting and declining. Revitalized: she could be of more use. Battered and broken: she’d be submerged in her anger, her desire, her burning heart. Distracted.
“Oh, I see.” He mumbled and visibly deflated.

She looks at him again, softly, carefully.
“Don’t worry.” Magdalena murmurs, barely catching his ears when he offers her a perplexed glance. The soldiers around him, a group of comfort she supposed, cast eyes on her for a second in their own confusion.
“You won’t die.”

At least not today.

The Spirits Within

We got to have a cat fight too.

Prisk said
Good old water works for me, though. What did you guys have for drinks?

I usually drink whiskey and Pepsi, I don't like coke and Dr. Pepper tastes funny with it. And that's it, if I'm alone.
Buuuut I know I tried something called a Scooby snack that has rum in it I think, Royal fuck shots and Star bursts?
I can't remember all that we had.

The Spirits Within

Insa, come back to us soon, get better and no more accidents! It's not allowed.

But - I'm working on my post now, last night just wasn't going to happen and my following hang over wouldn't let me.
Did you know banana smoothies work wonders? I hate the flavour, but something about chugging it tends to work.

Archangel89 said
That was the concern lol...but it could make for an interesting sub-plot

Yeah all we need is a couple of the guys duking it out over one of the ladies and then it will officially be a supernatural teen drama.

The Infected

Gah I chose the wrong weekend to go out - I'll try to have my post sometime this evening-night tomorrow and play catch up.

Where Angels Fear to Tread (Community Revived Edition)

Son of a - bitch.
You guys are fast!

I'll catch up on your posts and try to get mine in my tonight-early morning, everything permitting me that is. . . I chose the wrong weekend to go out.

Where Angels Fear to Tread (Community Revived Edition)

SyrianHamster said
Jesus Christ, you weren't joking about having to read up on things. Good work. Accepted.

Thank ya' much.
I couldn't pass up the opportunity to customize my own race. c:

The Spirits Within

Just woke up and last night was pretty damn fun and crazy, they have games usually before the show starts and it was rather embarrassing but hell, we did them. We went all out with our costumes and yes, I convinced some of my brothers to even dress up in drag.

Definitely will be going again. c:
And I'll try posting today if I'm sober enough later on.

But, Mag Fact: She loves big slobbery mutts, the bigger the better even when most can knock her over. In the Abendroth house hold pets weren't allowed because Marco and Michael had allergies. Unless you count the goldfish her brothers later fed to the neighborhood stray cat, then it's the only type of pet she has ever owned. It's a sort of childish wish for her to own a dog.

Where Angels Fear to Tread (Community Revived Edition)

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K l y m i D r y a d
Female ┊Nymph - Ferinum

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Species description —

Kylmi's particular sub-species is a commonly known sort that dwell within thick foliage and exotic flora; often resembling their particular birth grotte: a natural hovel that has been worn into caves or perches in cliff faces often twined with precarious vines. Betwixt Alseides and Meliads, Klymi's people come in various sorts and origins that, due to their neighboring borders and genetics, has encouraged a sort of breeding that gives seed to hybrid collages of Hamadryads and Ferinums; particular Nymphs bourne from trees and then the feral respectively. Neither branch of Nymph is immortal, only has significant longevity compared to most, but are still capable of dying from fatal conditions. Ferinum genetic sequences are influenced by their environments, having been bred in the thick forests that were laced with the magic stain of the White Stag, it has produced rather distinctive features of various fauna in their kind. Their magic capabilities are propagated from the constant wiles of nature, as per their places of birth and creation, this begets a sort of ever changing essentials and disposition: to be tame and soft as flowers but bridled with thorns of venomous elegance. Not to be mistaken for the Fey, [though due to a rather vixen esque and ruttish nature they have bred with their kind] for they are not as cruel in heart though they often find themselves in swindle with their festiveness and carnal tortures when it comes to robbing the youth from their towns and traditions. The Ferinum though are swayed and seduced by their rather carnal and animal complexions more so, typically carnivorous [and due to some of their counterparts: cannibalistic] this often reflects to their salacious types. Fernium enjoy the splendors of the world, indulging in their passions and vigorous desires: these are often wants, rather than needs, and are particularly selfish and manipulative because of them, along with not caring for distinction among their impromptu lovers.

Noteworthy Abilities / Limitations —
The origins of a Ferinum's magic is often volatile and reflects their natures: white, grey, or black, it will alter and change on the whim of the performer but always falls back to their Dryad origins from their original mothers. Some can be capable of beast manipulation and summoning depending on their genetics and blood. Their powers can be derived from instinct and adaptation, thus they can alter at any point should the desire of the user transition drastically, much like the workings of vegetation and some regenerative abilities. However, much like their feral counterparts, they can be savage, unthinking and predatory. Klymi's magic begets a darker, seductive disposition from years of meddling with mortal affairs and to benefit her entirely, thus she has an assortment of grey and black for a basis and common point.

M A N I P U L A T I O N
This a standard for most Ferinum with Nymph-Dryad origins, to be able to seduce and cajole everyday plant life to their whims. They have the belief and religion that everything has a soul and within that soul is the potential to be swayed, from trees to grass, the capacity within them can be touched and manipulated by their waif bodies and minds. They're bound to the earth and the fauna that thrive in them due to being born among them, and the cause of mana that course through the plants or animals they empire, the vegetation or creature can warp depending on the emotional state of the user. Klymi's manipulative powers are second nature and state of mind, but being limited from the forests will hinder her and her potential. Due to her darker personality, any plant she manipulates is often assuaged with thorns and bruises to a dark green and violet discoloration, any animal she favours will also be effected. This natural affinity is broad in the spectrum of usage, however, Kylmi's personality prevents her from stimulating new growth like her typical white magic blessed sisters.

T H O R N * B L A D E
Much like the name indicates, Kylmi's manipulation can armour one of her arms in a blade of thorns and bark, giving it a sort of resilience and structure of a common blade. This enhances the actual thorns and spines that are fixated on her arms, and because of this her blade is a living extension of her body and pulsates much like her heart.

S L Y V A N
In a stance of defense, Kylmi can submerge herself directly into trees, becoming one with their souls and bound to them psychically but in doing so her vitality is entwined with that of the tree and it takes a considerable amount for her to disentangle herself from the bark. It's often a common fear though for a Nymph of her origin to do this, as with age they can sometimes petrify into sentient trees and be immobile for eternity. As such, Kylmi will only fall back to this in desperation.

L E A F * W H I S T L E
Much like a song, Kylmi has an ability of music much like common Nymphs, her musical inclinations are merely for jovial and carnival circumstances rather than practical prowess. In this she can craft instruments from common plants and with use of magic, can create song from them. Most of her sounds however possess a rather inappropriate, carnal sort of cadence that infect the mind.

H E A R T * O F * T H E * F O R E S T
Despite her darker heart, Kylmi is obligated to protect forests and plants of any kind. Damages done to flora mentally pains her to witness and her kind is forbidden to do any harm to nature. Her magic and soul are meant for the ways of life and renewal, growth and sunlight and she is directly influenced by these very aspects - they can benefit her or impair her drastically. In the much more shadowed part, death is a commonality in the ways of life and this is direct from the feral part in her blood. Being among the forests levels these two sides of her spirit and depending on where she is, her heart can be influenced and manipulated by her environmental surroundings.

F E R A L
Due to the hybrid quality of her blood, Kylmi has a drawback from her animal counterpart. This gives impression of a bestial savagery that effects her mentally and emotionally, falling upon primal urges and morality. She can usually keep this persona in check, however, being shackled or cornered will often spur this side of her.

Background —

Born in the thick wilds of Isildier, Kylmi's mother of origin was a Nymph of the wood known as a Hyleoroi, a sub-branch of Dryhad that acted as guardians and watchers of the wood. Her father was an Alseides from the glens and groves of this enchanted forest, these types were located to the centre of the thicket and often preformed as sentinels to the White Stag who ruled Isildier as a haven. It was often revered as sacred and only permitted to those deemed worthy by the creatures who lived within it, pilgrimages were embarked upon with each excursion aiming to simply come upon the thick browse that served as Isildier's borders. The expanse of the woodland stretched to incredible and tale worthy lengths, brimmed to the tree tops with all sorts and variations of fauna that hadn't been discovered and races like those of the Nymphs and ashen Fey of the Unseelie and Seelie courts. But as stories go, the wild and exotic are often purged and persecuted for their differences and mysteries, the world wishing to expand upon Isildier's greenery.

Kylmi was born in the core of a seemingly endless persecution, the White Stag blessing the children of the unfortunate circumstance and thus influencing their genetic makeup. Here the generation of Nymphs were given a piece of Isildier's heart so that even when their homes were seized and pillaged, a fragment of their origins would follow them always, in the splitting and shares of the wood, the Fey were gifted with the soul and spirit; one for the Unseelie and the opposite for the Seelie. In this, they would continue to honour the depths and secrets of Isildier along with their cousins. But revenge spiked their hearts and warped their souls, particularly the Unseelie when their homes were destroyed completely. And so the creatures of the wood became hopeless vagabonds wondering aimlessly when the taint of mortals came upon and inflicted their essences. This happened many years ago, a near century of old hatred, some petrified upon their fears and sorrows, creating a crude forest known as the Weeping Grove in place of Isildier's once upon a time glory. Here, the trees were mocking faces of gaping agony and endless tortures with gnarled roots and twisted beasts. Nature here was a poisonous retribution and the White Stag became a ghost fixated upon the woes of time and treachery, now an omen of death with his heart, soul and spirit now divided among his subjects.

Kylmi vaguely recalls upon this past, as time and memory tend to elude and evade her due to a long time wondering aimlessly across the world. Her family drifted without care or a true destination, just migrating upon instinct since the Weeping Grove was a grave sight; not a place to really live when you were bourne from the wilds. They didn't have knowledge of where their Fey cousins went, as the courts spread out far and wide into their sub-courts and mingling upon the mortal kind quite easily. For the Nymphs that embarked across the world, it wasn't so easy, they needed a home and a place to thrive and claim new roots, some perished among the way in fatal diseases and rot and some were captured in a cruel intent during this time of war that seemed to stretch beyond borders and mountains and the seas. Others spread to different areas, pulling apart from their families: brothers and sisters departed and so did the fragments of Isildier.

Her first actual clarity of memory is trekking across the South Spires and into the Uchfos Forest where the Eblistan Citadel stood as a tantalizing gem to be explored and calculated. Though her lack of social graces with man left her fumbling and awkward when first greeting the typical occupants of this blossoming kingdom, however Kylmi adapted and perhaps a little too well. She took to the natural, lustful origins of her feral birth and mingling among the common folk with a penchant of acquiring various lovers in her time she spent browsing among the seedier underbelly of Eblistan. Despite the loss of their original home, the Nymphs adapted quite well to their new encampment and share the Uchfos with various others though it compares nothing to the wonders of Isildier: that place now is just a dream; a horrid reminder of what has passed. The Nymphs brought with them their traditions and habits of dance and careless glee, trying to smudge out their rather terrible beginnings. To ask one of the people where they came from is an actual insult to them even. Thus it has earned them a near untrustworthy and shadowy assumption from their sudden appearances in Uchfos and the Citadel, sometimes you can't trust the unknown.

Kylmi doesn't like to reflect on her origins in this and perhaps it is this willing and careless banishment of her roots that sort of darkens her spirit and influences her powers. She believes that memories will only continue to allow the hurt to fester and boil within, and so with near religious fanfare she has long been dipping into the provocative natures in her heart without a flicker of remorse or care.

Reason for Detainment —

It was such a scandal: a merchant's son swindled by the song of a Nymph that was found in his bed in a troubling circumstance. The situation was later just a mere circulating rumour without any sort of backing evidence, however Kylmi's sudden detainment drew a rather curious inquiry. The truth of the matter was the son's rather critical status among the royals, his engagement didn't benefit from the adultery either, and in a attempt to hide the affair, Kylmi was tossed behind bars for being the instigator. So they say; though many would not be surprised considering Kylmi's rather lecherous infamy.

Where Angels Fear to Tread (Community Revived Edition)

I should be done by the time you return then, hopefully anyways.
I just got to flesh out the background.

Where Angels Fear to Tread (Community Revived Edition)

I'm working on it right now, I was just stumped a little and had to do some research on the particular character I decided on.

I guess it depends on what you're comfortable with and capable of maintaining when it comes to players. We have a pretty diverse set of characters already, and with this being a sandbox style, more wouldn't really hurt I think, but it could clutter and compliment things in the event of combat and posting speed. I guess I'm in the line with that so I'll defer to everyone's preference and your judgement.