Rockette

Where Angels Fear to Tread (Community Revived Edition)

It's a little long, but if you do not wish to read then really only pay attention to the second part. d:

Where Angels Fear to Tread (Community Revived Edition)

---

Kylmi lingered outside the war room, the door a mindless barrier from the remaining council as she tipped her head and willed herself to listen. Murmured and exchanged conversations, regal promises and vows and inclined respects in various pitches that she was beginning to familiarize herself with and committed them to memory. She had figured 9 - no, her Frelseren - would had followed after her, but she was pleased to at least hear that Mundhir was more accepting and willing to entrust them, starting with the one they hardly understood, more than herself.

She nodded in her approval and smiled, a genuine grin that flashed across her visage when she turned to retreat to her chambers, eager to read her mother’s respondent. And she would have done just that if she had not caught glimpse of Hazim, his name only given to her so that she’d desist calling him That Bastard. Their shared glances were hostile, annoyed, a disdainful glance of acknowledging each other at best. Kylmi tipped her lips in a saccharine smirk and he glowered, shouldering around her in his heavy, bronze coloured plate. Dressed for the field she thought idly and pondered on his state of glamour as she began treading back to her room. It could only mean one of two things, or both really should fortune not grace their group, and neither of them were favouring in the least. It would mean that someone was attacking them, or gathering a force to combat against their numbers one, Kylmi’s expression darkened at those odds.

It made her all the more urgent to review the missive clenched within her grasp. The mint coiled up, delicate in its fragrance and it reminded her of home and not for the first time she wondered if not traveling with Aevah and the others had been a faulty decision on her part. But she had already committed to her destination and would have to see the deeds done, or she would really become a coward and run away - again. Kylmi approached her door carved of lilies and thorns and using the vines festooned to the walls, entered her chambers that was alive in bird song. Robins, larks, and sparrows, every kind of avian was perched upon vines and thorn wreathed furniture as if patiently awaiting her beckoning, even a hawk loomed high above in the banisters and from somewhere in the thick foliage she heard an owl’s low drone and hoot. She wasn’t surprised by these representatives, but what did perplex her was the screech of a bat hanging on the posts of her bed covered in mats of flowers.

Bats were not her messengers, but could only belong to one individual. A rarity in her own right: there were Nymphs that were bred with infernal beings of myth and legend, barely surviving their hellacious births. It was seldom seen or heard of: the bi-blooded offspring of Lampades and the Dark One.

“Thesipha, I’m surprised my mother let you from her sights.” Kylmi calmly muttered, closing her door quietly and sealing it closed with a thick barrier of bruised ferns and thorns. She turned to face the Nymph in question who lounged much like a feline across one of her thorn impaled benches. She was of pale skin, nearly white and translucent across her bones, each definition of her face and figure seeming to nearly protrude from the membrane. She was so thin, eerily so with a solid mass of dark hair winding in a thick braid reminiscent of an oil slick against the stone and flowers. Eyes of hollow blue, glassy, the sclera a darker shade of azure that darkened into ebony edges. Thesipha was a ominous figure almost in the way she didn’t move or breath, and how her breaths were tinged with a fog of white and her ears, like Kylmi’s, were surrounded in tines and in place of antlers, her crown was of curving horns akin to a ram’s genetics. She smiled, her mouth was black and her lips pale and thin.

“Klymeina,” she purred, holding out her elongated arms where her veins stood out in black webbing. “Or it is Klyphotise now? Kylomopeilia perhaps? I’ve forgotten.” The Nymph teased, her needle fanged mouth riddled with a mocking sarcasm.

“It’s Kylmi,” the woodland woman answered, sweeping into an embrace with the Netherworld creature. “And why did my mother send you? You’re bound to her side as I recall.”

“She wanted to make sure you were actually safe, unlike most of us, you can lie and she doesn’t trust a magpie’s letter no more than I would. You understand why.”

Kylmi nodded quietly, watching the woman carefully when she began plucking flowers from their vines and admiring their colours with a silence that dredged on and on. Thesipha didn’t speak anymore, merely hummed to herself and ignored any and all of Kylmi’s glances before she deemed her appearance genuine rather than threatening - still, it was best to keep her guards up around the pale Nymph.

Her fingers worked quickly to unfold the missive, the parchment an old leaf that was worn and delicate and thus fragile in handling. The ink was brown, as if aged and was in her mother’s looping script that was embellished and done with a heavy hand. The contents were what she had hoped for, and then not, detailing her worry and anger and bidding for Kylmi to come home despite her requests. She shook her crown of antlers and read on, her brow lowering in displeasure.

“You’re all leaving?”

Thesipha hummed. “That was the original plan, yes. Your mother and the Grotta agreed on seeking another home, the fires of war will come, you know this. There’s no stopping history from repeating itself, we’ve seen it countless times.”

“We don’t know that this will be different, Thesi. We don’t have gifts of foresight, not anymore, and the Nords don’t tell, not without a price, at least to us. I believe we can stop the fires -”

Thesipha laughed, a hoarse and ragged sound that raked from her throat and it stung Kylmi. “What is with this hopeful tone, Kylphotise? You who would have vouched for us running away into the wood before!” The pale woman grasped her shoulders, ignoring the shooting of thorns into her gripping palms. Kylmi’s lips peeled back in a snarl and vines writhed across her figure in agitated motions and above them the hawks and birds shrieked.

“This is different, I can’t run away from this, I won’t allow the fires to reach our home again!”

“What is in it for you? The Kylmeina I know doesn’t do anything without benefit.”

“There are some who saved my life, I can’t leave without seeing that dept repaid.” She spat, digging her claws into Thesipha’s chest and allowing a hiss to rip from her throat. “I’m bound to remain, just like you are to my mother’s side.”

“But that’s not all, I would say, you’re not righteous enough to stay on morals like those. You don’t have any,” said the pale one, nursing the claw marks on her nearly transparent flesh.

“I know that, I know I’m not deserving of such comforts. But I can’t do anything else but see this to the very end. I have to.” There was a strong conviction in her tone, wavering only slightly but otherwise firm. Blue and green melded together into a singular glare and plant life wreathed entirely in thick, suffocating thickets from Kylmi’s swarming emotions.

“But I can’t do it alone, please, tell my mother that we have to fight, we have to let Nature’s wrath be known.”

Thesipha’s expression flickered, smidgen with a brief glimmer of awe before vanishing entirely under her vacant gaze. Above her, the bat released its roost from the bed post and fell down to her bony, protruding shoulder, gazing at Kylmi with eyes as blue as its mistress.

“I’ll tell her, it’s a fool’s hope Kylmi, but I can do that at least.” It was a reluctant treaty between the two Nymphs, but it was something and Kylmi smiled a felidae fanged grin.

“Thank you, I have friends venturing into Uchfos in search of the Norn, open the borders for them upon your return. I know it isn’t custom for us to help outsiders and mortals, but this is a certain exception.” She said.

Thesipha merely nodded, her brow quirked but she did not inquire the details. Sometimes less known was better and from her experience with the forest Nymph and her family, she also knew better than to pry in their affairs. She turned to leave, her bat clinging to the thick coil of her hair, and then she stopped for a moment by the bench from earlier and only then did Kylmi notice the bundle settled against her vines.

“This is part of the things you requested and I left a mount behind for you, I wouldn’t trust the poorly domesticated beasts they ride,” she handed over the burden, mindful of the belongings. “Also I should warn you, in coming here I came across a force a thousand strong, it seems they’re waiting for something though I don’t know what.” Her hollow eyes glanced up through her ebony lashes. “I assume this Prince I’ve been hearing about is the target?”

Kylmi only nodded, her eyes shining.

“I wouldn’t trust him,” Thesipha uttered. “A man’s heart can harbour more darkness for all of his royal blood, Kylmi.”

---

It was by listening through the chiseled wood of her door that she gathered what was happening. Thesipha had departed on the wings of her strange bats, using whatever magic her kind possessed to blot out her appearance from the sentries. Her cousin had been right, it seemed the Elderborn elves were seen heading in their direction, a force a thousand strong. Kylmi didn’t know if this was a gathering of attack on their part, but she would see to the Mad Prince and would serve as a representative to the woods of this world, he would know the wrath of her heart.

Kylmi sought to the gifts from her mother, pleased to see that her usual wears were present and with a twist of vines she hoisted her hair into a complex twirl of knotted tresses to keep most of it off her back and neck. She fitted the lattice works of her Fernium kind, each of their species were allergic to certain metals and thus special appliances were made to every individual. Her pierces of armour were artfully tarnished and gleaming an emerald colour, malachite pieces on her elaborate head piece that wreathed up along with her antlers. Silver chain hugged her torso and thighs, every piece was tailored to her physique, aligned along her spine and every curve of her hips and bodice.

Her arms were bare for the thorns at her skin and she flexed her wrists, testing out the growth until satisfied. Last she donned for her foot wear, the peculiar stiletto of each boot aiding in her swagger when she walked on her clawed toes, emerald clawed pieces finished off the entire ridging with elaborated vine work embossed along every plated section. Kylmi felt secure, confident more so than her natural state of undress and followed after the bustling of bodies, some indicating to the stables when she inquired.

Thesipha had said she left a mount behind, which Kymli was grateful for, but silently dreaded whichever creature the Netherworld Nymph had bequeathed to her temporary service. Though loyal, Thesipha had a sadistic way of humour that bordered malicious and horrid cunning, ironic that she would be her mother’s closest friend and adviser through an ancient, ritualistic bond. There was a slight commotion by the stables, some pointing in perplexity and others clearly stunned and disturbed by whatever was the catalyst of such emotion. Kylmi hastened her steps, her boots sharp as she shoved her way through the on lookers and stood gaping at the sight before her.

In her departure Thesipha had left a creature that Kylmi knew as a Kelpie. It was an equine, and then not, constantly wavering in and out a glamour. The slick pelt was black, of course, and gleamed like the oily slick of the pale Nymph’s hair, the mane and tail were overgrown and bedecked and tangled with bones and reeds with random pieces clumped together in braided cords that held dead vines. It was taller than most of the stable borne horses, but slender and lean rather than bulky, the hooves though were gleaming pale like bones and feathered and its mouth was crested with fangs and blunt teeth. Glancing at the head made her shudder, it was nearly bony and gaunt with the thick bangs of its mane covering most of its face.

Kylmi stared into the vacant, pallid sockets of the beast and at her approach it knelt to the ground, allowing her astride. There was no reins or saddle or any tack to speak of and her vines wove through the beast, clinging to it. She scowled to herself, leave it to Thesipha to leave her a truly nightmarish creature, she would have to properly summon a mount to ride, Kelpies were deadly on their own but Kylmi wouldn’t trust herself to a beast that lived off the flesh of its victims. Properly seated and geared, Kylmi ushered the not-horse to follow Mundhir and Tarwin, hoping the Kelpie wouldn’t try to make a meal out of her companions.

The Spirits Within

Ah I meant to post this song yesterday for Mags which I thought was perfect. d:



Mm, haven't done a fact in a long time.

Mag Fact: She has a tattoo on the nape of her neck that extends down on the upper portion of her spine and between her shoulder blades. If ever seen, which is rare because of her usual wardrobe, she explains it has a family emblem of sorts - her father and elder brothers had the same tattoo on different portions of their bodies. [Pictures coming soon!]

@Six - what sort of quote would Roy have? Like a trademark saying or such. Could be lyrics or something personal.

Where Angels Fear to Tread (Community Revived Edition)

Just got home for work so I'm writing for Kylmi now. c;

Where Angels Fear to Tread (Community Revived Edition)

Hey now, I'm still around. dx
Just work has been a struggle the past couple days and I had another dead line to meet.
My post will be coming today surely. c;

The Spirits Within

Didn't post a hider, battle summary because Magdalena isn't really doing anything but just there.
It's more like a filler, reaction kind of thing to me.

The Spirits Within

---

Wait.

But Magdalena doesn’t want to wait. She’s tired of waiting, tired of the idleness that stirs her soul in complacency, of every switching interval of time and second that tolls away the perpetual evil that has painted a crude clock against her heart. It’s a macabre decoration of the soul that gradually begins to descend with every stroke of that elongated hand, the seconds are agonizing and the hours are long, the days are shadowed memories and the years become nothing more than long forgotten stories of used to be’s and once upon a times. There’s an aquamarine tar sluicing through her veins and it’s cutting across marrow and stinging her skin and lighting up the deep punctures of violet. Gone are the bisque edges and jagged browns against a pale complexion and she bids their departure with a saddened simper that drags down the edges of her face when small fingers trace across indigo hued capillaries.

But in her moment of gratitude, in which she cannot help or fathom, Magdalena who is smaller than most and yet demanding in her desires for pain, willed her treads to still. She wouldn't be able to discern that flicker of emotion that flashed across Olivia’s eyes, startling and within haste, much like the eternal spark of lightning she commanded by her heart. Magdalena’s brow contoured in a play of confusion, slightly perplexed but not bothered by the fixation of paralysis that corded her limbs tight as well, committed to her place by the strange whirl of her constant obscurity that snaked across skin and festooned to the shadow Olivia cast. It’s like being bound in a singular spirit continent: a mass of black that isn’t writhing but stilled and patient in whatever this is. Blue eyes spark, as if bidding fire to her mouth with the vermilion colour curling like a snake around twin irises, her skin summons a small lick of flame and soft, supple lips curl against her cheek.

Her face burns in a tumble of emotions she can’t begin to label or give acknowledgment too, there’s too little time to properly categorize each and every single one that is given homage to her heart and eyes; though temporary, they leave their mark. Magdalena’s nerves flair as if summoning a warning; a pulsating heat that thrums across her veins and chases away the rest of the potion through her system in a sudden rush that leaves her skin tingling. The sudden exhilaration brings affront a memory that was somewhere lost within her, bidden by the influx of sensibility in flesh contact.

---

ａ ｍｏｔｈｅｒ'ｓ ｌｏｖｅ»

Gabriele Abendroth had never wanted daughters, she had only ever wished for sons. Women in her family were seldom blessed with luck and fortunate, as if eternally affixed with curses and hardship, inflicted by love and never proffered such sensation. Gabriele had wept the day her twins had been borne, holding each to her bosom so they could hear the fracturing of her heart within her breast, her tears mistaken in that hospital for souls. It was the first time she ever held her daughter and it would be the only time in many years to come from that unfortunate birth.

Magdalena had been a quiet child, standing often next to her carbon copy twin who had the fascination of plucking her babe curls from her scalp. Gabriele often blamed herself because of that, doting upon her sons and granting them soft kisses and honeyed words. Maggie had to seek affections form her father, who in his committed job and career had barely the notion to pat her head and allow her to play in the streets. They trusted the little brown haired boy.

But it was on the day when she held her mother’s hand and made it bleed over and over again with her nails, when her brothers and father left in a march to their graves, that Gabriele had bent down to scoop up her child and kiss her saltine cheeks for the first and last time.

---

ｏｕｔ ｐｏｓｔ»

What seems like minutes is barely configured in actual seconds, leaving Magdalena barely anytime to want to jerk away from the taller girl’s sudden affection, it isn’t black hair she sees, but blonde, curled and long like her mother’s. It makes her chest hurt. She doesn’t know why she’s crying, perhaps in pain from the reddened saturation of her lips, or in an emotion she doesn’t know personally, but her shadow seems to swell with it. The petite figure is left to watch her friend turn and leave, the image of her mother banished, unable to beseech to her why, but would she really want to know?

Her blue eyes merely watch as she goes before she seeks out her moment of rest, cheek still blazing and impression-ed with her kiss.

---

ｂｏｓｓ ｂａｔｔｌｅ Ｉ»

There’s a pain in her chest that cinches tight and burns, as if racking her lungs into fractures that fight to puncture her lungs and heart; the pressure is immense from where the Caudata’s attack had slammed into her; sending ripples of continuous malady that made her vision blurred. She wheezes, fingers grappling through waves of muck and sludge, her nails scraping against sodden stone that slicks and stains her fingers black. She barely registers Olivia coming to her aide again, her weapon being thrust into her trembling fingers and her frame pulled from the pestilent waters teeming with the tiny, skeletal insectoids coming to their figures.

Pain numbs her entirely to acknowledging anything aside from the bruising agony in her torso, her lashes fluttering in attempt to gain purchase of her mind before a smog clogs her throat and lungs, making them inflate against her cracked ribs and her teeth to grit against each other in a grimace. Magdalena coughs against the substance blackening her teeth and tongue, combined with her blood and dripping from the corners of her lips as she heaves against the tar trying to grasp purchase against her insides. She has barely any time to hoist her chakram up front in the sudden flash of scales and dark waters, using it as a sort of brace before the Caudata utilizes its massive size against them, the force of the impact cutting her cinched fingers upon her circlet.

She jerked and fought against the writhing touches of tiny claws and sluicing tendrils across her arms and rubbing across her throat, her sudden movements chaffing her back against the ledge, her uniform providing only a small amount of comfort against the hard, unforgiving stone at their backs. In the confined space her breath labours and panics, bidding her eyes to clench shut against the panic rising in a vicious, bloody cry against her lips.

---

ａ ｌｉｇｈｔ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ ｄｏｏｒ»

They’re in the dark again and it’s his body this time that presses against her, a constant weight against her fragile bones. There’s a void beneath her and one in her heart where every touch and bite descends to wilt away with her internal extremities - faulted and dying by poison filled kisses and teeth like serpent fangs piercings her lips and tongue. When she fights him, he just hits harder, and when she denies him, he just gets angrier. But while on the surface she is dead and lax and willing, inside there’s a demon waiting to be unleashed and it breaths in her hate and anguish and feeds off of it - saves it for later.

The light from the door, peeking between the cracks, is a mocking glimmer of salvation and waiting escape, in which trembling fingers reach for and brush cracked nails across the purposeful fissures. The door never opens, it won’t, no matter how many times she wishes and wills it with her drowned eyes and begs with her cracked lips.

It’s always closed.

---

ｂｏｓｓ ｂａｔｔｌｅ Ｉ»

A scream tore through her panic, wrenching eyes open and her sliced fingers to grip tighter on the chakram now blotted with her weeping crimson and the black taint of the fiend. A righteous bellow tore through her ears, made teeth sliver and slice into the pout of her lip as the pressure finally was alleviated from her battered chest. Magdalena drew in sharp, ragged breaths that rattled against her bones and throat. She fought for a breath that didn’t surrender her body to pain, but each inhale was a fixed increment of torture that made her chest cavity struggle against the momentum of her gasping sounds. She used her weapon to hold herself up, prone over the gleaming blades as she cast blue eyes up to the manic simper of their savior.

Pure rage and lust boiled there within eyes she had never glanced into, but memories served kind hands and a plea to remain and this was not the same man. There was a kinful blood lust and desire that Magdalena knew all too well, the relinquish of your soul in the yawning jowls of something horrid, foul, and ever the dark pleasure of sadistic means. The masochist in her thrummed alive, bidden by the display Aaron put forth in a psychotic splendor, it was terrifying, it was ugly, but it was something to witness when the ebonette blood continued to spill in constant, thick torrents over the scene. It was pitiful to watch as the Caudata struggled against the vicious attack, scales still boiling and now sliced open by the ceremonial twists and lashes of dual blades now thick and heavy with taint. She willed her blue eyes else where, unable to observe the malicious spectacle no matter how much she knew it personally, the haze of red was unrelenting in truth.

She was coughing repeatedly, her fingers stained black and red and nerves singing in their pain from minuscule slivers in her skin, when Kimberly approached. His frantic blubbering was uncharacteristic of him in every way as he searched her body for wounds and lesions. Magdalena reached out for him then, light fingers grazing against his armour - Lena. It was a moniker she was unaccustomed to, however, she had heard it before she knew. Somewhere in the past of flashing fists and exchanged blows.

---

ｏａｋ ｒｉｄｇｅ»

“Lena!” Her mind reeled, eyes blinking rapidly against the harsh lights then before a visage swam across her vision.

“Ow.”

Warm hands probed across her brow, indicating to the harsh throbbing ringing her temple and cheek bone.

“You were supposed to dodge that,” he muttered, trying to catch attention of her blue eyes that averted his stare constantly, never permitting him to stare into them. Her mind was still trying to process certain events, and Kimberly never spoke this much, which made the entire situation surreal. Warm hands brushed across her sweat deluged hair, mindful of her reddening brow that began to swell. There was a gentleness to them, callouses on each gesture that slid down her cheek and swept across the line of her jaw, she winced.

“That hurts too.”
“You’re distracted today.”

It was an accusatory speech, one she would never think of him to say, but there was something within his stare that wasn’t his. As if another stood there and was glancing at her repeatedly, searching, looking for something she couldn’t fathom. Blue eyes finally slid over his face and the intensity of his glare made her flinch.

“You can tell me, Lena.”

---

ａ ｖｏｉｄ; ａ ｓｐｅｌｌ»

Magdalena could only nod her head, unable to speak past her newly acquired wounds in this bought. It seemed as if Kimberly had finally returned to normal, the same stoic individual that constantly sought after the safety of his friends. She fought every urge and impulse to retract and jerk her hand back to her side, but the sudden warmth spreading and spindling across her skin made her still immediately. She felt a tickling sensation across her arms as spiritual energies suddenly came to, her former pains gradually beginning to bar away from her skin and body, ribs began to mend slowly and her internal woes became bearable but not completely renewed. Somewhat revitalized, Magdalena breathed in deep, despite the air still stewing with infecting spirits, but it was without a cracking anguish in her chest and she was grateful for it.

But as soon as the warmth came, it was gone, sectioned off suddenly when Kimberly bid them both well enough and turned to face the Caudata with obvious intent. Magdalena flexed her fingers, only some still bleeding now though most of the cuts had been smoothed over with pale skin and barely noticeable scars. She turned to Olivia, searching her Captain for any serious blemishes before she gaped her lips and coughed around her voice finding way to her throat.

“What should we do?” She inquired, her stare distracted by Kimberly beginning to grapple with the foe, his strength almost succeeding in completely rending the beast’s arm from its bulbous body. But desperate times bid the creature to nearly descend into a barrel roll to dislodge the giant attacker completely, it made something in her chest cinch tight, almost suffocating as she struggled to summon her spirits, their wavering shadows and darkness absent from her frame unlike they usually were. But there was nothing but a screeching void, a hollow drone of nothingness instead of heat and dark obscurities. Panic assuaged her insides, made her fingers tremble suddenly as she called to them again and again, she had seen Aaron and Kim bring forth their own, so why were hers no longer forth coming?

Magdalena’s breath quickened, her chest rising and falling into rapid inhales and exchanged exhales. She felt empty, hollow, alone, even her own shadow was no longer present as if terrified and fearful despite their own origins and powers. There was nothing, nothing at all.

She was suddenly, utterly, nothing.

The Spirits Within

Mm work has been rough the past couple days, and I know it has been a week since my last post and I've been jotting down tidbits since, but I think I can work up something tonight!

Sixsmith said
Also, Rockette, I don't know how you manage to juggle so much.

I ask myself this quite often but recently I've lowered my work hours so I have time to myself and actually relax at home. I'm pretty sure my health has suffered from what I used to clock in. dx Tons of caffeine, ugh.
But I adjusted after, what, it has been a year now? I'm hoping by the start of next year I can drop one job and go to school.
You'll pull through!

Where Angels Fear to Tread (Community Revived Edition)

Work took precedent over my promised posting, so apologies.
c=

The Spirits Within

I'm sorry for my absence today, work took precedent and I was just beyond exhausted when I got home. =c
Eager for the reveal though I'm hoping those that have fallen behind can pick back up to where we are.