Rockette

[closed]

@Raijinslayer - That's all well, everyone is stuck in a "blah" period right now. Personal life and matters always come first.

Anyone else working on posts right now before we enter into the next stages?

Star Heresy

Thus, allow me to clarify that this "glory" moment is purely a jest, and relates to that I haven't posted in this round yet [ yeah I'm getting to it]. I do my up-most best to acknowledge and include characters in my in-character submissions even if I am not granted the same courtesy in some circumstances. Everyone is throwing in their personal touches and flairs to the plot, coaxing the target along, and of course someone might come along to wrap it all up if the GM does not do so themselves.

No worries, I've already outlined in my post with P'siyah to include the respective hackers in the group and to take from your own post and the gathered cast entirely.

Maybe, in the future, we can collab with Rose and P'siyah - even Router - to come up with something relative to a mission or some such. That way, none feel excluded.

[closed]

@Hellis - Fantastic! So glad to see our grumpy Sentinel back into the IC. I understand the struggle of posting, Evangeline sometimes proves just as complicated. I encourage you guys to explore the manor, things are going to escalate and get pretty serious here soon, but I don't want to lull and drag the scene. So I figure in some days time I'll move us on, the next part is vital to the three SOLDIERS: Sable, Cas, and Walter. The latter which I'll be controlling.

Star Heresy

I have the outline of my post written down, just need to find a moment in my day to properly sit down and tend to the conceptual piece. Excited, personally, to get P'siyah to grasp a potential moment of glory. Her ego is going to inflate with this.
_{Just a little.}

[closed]

All right my lovelies, our grace period is coming to a finish. Admittedly, I was hoping for more posts, but I'm not going to pick and pry, my own personal matters were bleeding over into my writing, leaving me not wanting to write anything, honestly. It's maddening and emotional, leaving me kind of melancholic and depressed to the entire process. Considering also that some are tending to their own lives, and I wish with all my heart of hearts that everything goes well to you all!

Requiem will be continuing into the plot progression, the post I've given has some subtle hints to what's coming next. If you cannot formulate a post still - to those that haven't in a while - well, you might fall behind. If you are having trouble, don't hesitate to come to me, I can and will assist in any form or manner. Be this in collaboration or suggestions. There will be some time skips coming up next, along with some movements that are crucial to the mission at hand. The Mrihl Arc is beginning, so I hope you all are still with me, the pace will be conducted in a weekly process. I'm going to be posting again soon that signifies important information - so be prepared. ♥

[closed]

Mrihl — The Manor

---

Evangeline’s eyes never appeared to waver on either of the hosts, the lights from the foyer eclipsing most of their respective expressions, but the Saboteur bred within the blonde SOLDIER knew a smile when she witnessed one. Each bore a carving simper, obtuse, broad in cheer and wealth of consideration concerning each of their haggard and worn spirits. However, despite all the glimmering generosity bathing each of their proffers of hospitality, she could not wither away the ascending chill coiling rigid up the extent of her spine. The Baron's grin wreathed his eyes in fine lines, crinkling edges as they narrowed with the measurement of his lips thus spread broad and almost shining. Evangeline slowly bit around the juncture of nail and thumb, pallid bone worrying into the flesh before she carefully approached the steps, following after the Baron who was chatting almost carelessly. Each of his pronunciations and almost flippant accentuation, with his hands gesturing broadly and thus droned meaninglessly into an incoherent dribble about the factual dating of the manor.

Instead, most of her attention fell onto the Guardian, his astute performance of shadowing the lower—tier Lord broadcast that he had been protecting the barony for some time; being apart of the security regiment of the barony no less. But, it bade inquires of why SOLDIER was already here, and why Magdalena and the other Commanders had failed to include that particular tidbit of importance. The situation bade an ominous quiver across her sallow skin beneath the mesh of her armour and withdrew a silent query from her lips — slightly muffled around the pinch of teeth against her broad digit.

"You've been here the longest — Luc, was it?" The edges of her shell mouth lifted into the perpetual smirk that visually marked her. "Have you noticed anything... unusual since your station here?"

Luc had flowed naturally into the wake of the Baron without an effort to thought, following the eccentric man up the steps along with the other SOLDIERS. His massive, armored hands clasped at the small of his back as he ascended, and he gave care to dividing his attention between the Baron and the newly arrived guests.

As was his habit, the Baron slipped into the realm of inane chatter, gesticulating as we made his way inside the manor. Luc kept his expression neutrally pleasant, having long ago grown used to the Baron’s pattern of speech. In truth, he found listening to the man exhausting, but the Guardian would be hard pressed to ever admit it—his duty was to protect his lordship, no matter how exasperating he might personally find the man to be.

It was a honeyed, feminine voice from just off his shoulder that stole Luc’s attention away from the prattle of the lord. Turning an inquisitive eye to the sound of his name, and the question that followed, Luc affected a kind smile as he met the dichotomous eyes of the blonde woman he had first seen upon the steps.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, uncertain of the rank of the blonde. She had not introduced herself, and so Luc thought it best to give deference to her status within the ranks of SOLDIER. “Luc, Luc Watkins. I’ve been here for six months, serving as the security officer.”

He considered her follow-up question for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly in thought. Given the directness of her inquiry, Luc pegged her as a Saboteur.

“As for unusual, I cannot say—the current state of Mrihl has been much the same since I first arrived. What I will say is that the barony has been plagued by beast attacks, and reports of SeeR operatives and sympathizers around the city.”

Luc let out a small sigh. “I’m proud to say that our security team has managed to cut the occurrence of beast attacks dramatically over the last few months. However, civilian reports of suspicious behavior, and SeeR related concerns have only increased. These reports have especially increased around the port and canal areas.”

With the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smirk of his own, Luc asked his own question. “Ma’am, should I be concerned about anything specific? I must say, though I’m proud to be among other SOLDIERS, your arrival here is equally unnerving.”

So SeeR sympathizers were here. . .

Evangeline's gnashing teeth nearly speared through the keratin of her digit flush against her mouth, nursing the pout of her swollen, quirked lips as she hummed in consent to Luc's rejoinder laced with uncertain speculations. The beasts had been tamed and pushed back, which supplied evidence that the Eagles had been the only creatures they had faced against — a small favour, she was certain. Impressed by that feature of his security regiment, Evangeline gradually lowered her gesture and mimicked his posture, hands laced together at the plantation of her spine and compressed to the small of her back.

It was a queer sensation to be referred to in speech with such a moniker, garnered by respect no doubt to her SOLDIER default, but it was.. different when compared to a Lieutenant speaking to her with an appellation configured of numbers and singular letters. She had been cemented on those matrices of similar aesthetic, and knew such of everyone in SOLDIER, but it was entirely appreciative, evident by the swell of her smirk that sliced dimples into pallid cheeks.

"Evangeline Dashelle," she supplied with a small chirp of laughter threatening to slither up over her tongue curving against the shell of her mouth, acknowledging that he hadn't requested to her name, but providing it none the less when she considered his own follow up inquiry. That's when a small shadow fell over the breadth of her bi—coloured stare, immediately sharpening into the brief, shimmering barrier to guard the whorl of emotion and secrecy she had silently sworn to back at the SOLDIER compound. She, and Cid, were the only individuals deemed and burdened with a secondary objective and while the tantalizing notion to inform Luc pressed wearily on her insides, Evangeline only responded with the dazzling simper of her eternal exuberance.

"Oh, nothing at all!" She chirped, quelling down the urge to skip ahead of him and sweep on past the Baron to explore the splendors of the manor; she had time for that later. Instead, she canted her head to one side, slicing her unique, mismatched gaze through lashes. "I will say that we're here in response to rumours about SeeR possibly setting up base near, or even in Mrihl its self. It has the council on edge, and we were dispatched here to seek out the threat and.. temper it."

Which made her ponder. "However, they didn't tell us about SOLDIER already being here. Your own station here is quite unnerving as well." Evangeline admitted, pausing briefly to glance through the pane of a window here in the manor, the town of Mrihl silent and somber. She had never been in such a place before, the spires of the Fort and the Compound being her only memories of visitation.

"It's almost peaceful here, though, hard to imagine that you've suffered much opposition."

Luc’s mouth arced into a full smile at the introduction. She had not provided a rank along with her name, so odds were that she was no higher than First Class.

“A pleasure to meet you, Evangeline,” he said, dipping his head slightly.

The effervescent quality to Evangeline’s personality was ubiquitous. He watched keenly as the blond locks of her hair bounced and swayed with each new step; the effect softening the hard lines of the armor she wore until she seemed hardly martial at all. Luc was so disarmed by Evangeline’s manner, that he almost missed her response to his own question all together.

“Setting up a base? In Mrihl?” he said at last, the words low and soft. His brow knit in concern. “That is troublesome news, indeed.”

He looked forward, his gaze wandering with thought. “I can’t say that we’ve seen any evidence of a base. At least, not anywhere where we have patrolled.”

“If there is a SeeR base,” Luc continued, as much to himself as Evangeline, “than it must be extremely well hidden, or farther out into the tundra than we’ve ventured.”

His contemplation on the matter continued a moment longer, before Evangeline added her notion about the peaceful of the city. Luc looked at her sidelong, his eyes bright with a kind of pride.

“It is a lovely place, in its own way. The ports and canals are beautiful, and the people are generally kind.”

Luc shrugged, his massive shoulders moving metallically in his armor. “Yet, as with everything, it is not all good. Hopefully with more SOLDIERS here, we can achieve peace in a more permanent sense.”

His smile was infectious, the curvature of his lips compounding her own cheer and enlightening her glamouring simper to arc wider into completion. He was a balm to the grueling battle, the traveling across the states by the bulk of the Behemoth, and the withstanding stoical oppression of the initial SOLDIER contingent she had arrived with. Be it the results of battle, or something far more sinister, it had definitely effected the overall morale.

"That's part of the reason why we are here, we can expand the limitations of the current patrol." Evangeline voiced, gesturing offhandedly towards the pane of glass that supplied their perspective of tranquility. "Once everyone has rested properly, it'd be best to gather together and configure a stratagem with your security and begin scoping the tundra." A swift sigh exchanged her smile for one of waning edges and the pout of her lip to worry in alignment with the sliver of her teeth, habitual intricacies illustrated through minuscule details and performances in lip biting and tugging on the threads of golden hair.

"Though I share your worry, and don't get me wrong, but if you haven't found evidence of their presence, I wonder if our assistance will yield anything at all." Her syllables and intonations coated with a comic, palpable dread as her meshed covered hands tore back through her hair, fanning the blonde locks over her shoulders that fell at the dip of shoulders and spine. "If SeeR doesn't want to be found.. Then they won't be. But, considering that the Council was able to facilitate to these rumours.. Then maybe they want to be found. And we." Her spindly digit found its' way onto Luc's armour, prodding against the plate of his torso. "Are the bait."

"Of course, this is mere speculation!" Evangeline rapidly rejoined her speech, shoulders shrugging exaggeratedly in the slick lattice of her armour. "Who knows what SOLDIER wants, or SeeR, or the creatures even. They probably already know we are here." Her accentuations slid carefully into an ominous, hollow drone, the unique coloratura of her oculi pinning the Sentinel into place, and the reminiscent grin of her effervescent, bubbly demeanor briefly shadowing to something... different.

Luc added a chuckle to his smile as Evangeline accentuated her words with a poke at his armored chest. "SeeR is an elusive enemy, but our shared concerns aside, I think we can succeed in our mission."

He looked back over his shoulder, towards the group of SOLDIERS that had arrived with Evangeline. Some had dispersed already, while others seemed less sure of how to proceed. They were slightly worse for the wear following their recent battle, but Luc took confidence in their poise and presence.

Returning his gaze to the pretty blonde, Luc gave a wink. "We'll succeed, all right. As bait, SeeR will surely bite off more than they can chew. I suppose we just have to trust our superiors."

"To what end could SOLDIER have for not setting us up to succeed?" As Luc gave voice to this question, a slight frown played over his pleasantly arrayed face. It was a missive that held a lot of gravity, and it portended even more, depending on one's point of view regarding SOLDIERS upper echelons. Luc forced the seed of mistrust from his mind; such thought was a dereliction of his duty. If there was cause to worry, only then would he entertain such misgivings.

Turning to Evangeline fully, he gave her a small salute. It was a gesture meant to be friendly, and a bit whimsical, given his earlier habit of addressing her as "ma'am."

"Well, I should go see to the rest of the SOLDIERS, and to the Baron. It was wonderful to have met you, Evangeline. I look forward to helping out your team in any way I can."

“Of course.” Were her parting words, easily surrendered from wide simpers glimmering and disarming, flourished with the crease of her eyes sparkling to pools of respective oils, slick and impenetrable, and bright blues like the breadth of Viera skies. Luc left her at peculiar, whimsical ebullience that failed to dissipate in the fluttering and feathering increments that made her shudder beneath the monochromatic finish of her slick armour. It almost. . . Felt. L i k e. . .

No. . .

She blinked.

The Baron had continued to lead the progression of his tour, vacating into the upper tier of the manor by the glance of her stare; sweeping after Luc and the gleam of polished armour that bespoke of station, care, and prowess. Tantalizing notions bloomed across a lobe laced in perpetual glamour and cheer as the Baron’s quip and aerated demeanor bathed the drones of the walls, prattling on about his children and their tendency to hide with new guests on the grounds.

But, Evangeline hardly paid heed to these nuances of the household, the barony was a base of operations now and would be utilized as such, this led to the consensus that she needed to scan the perimeters whilst everyone rested and came to terms with their melancholy. The SOLDIER of constant and eternal exuberance blended and melted into the countenance of solemn contemplation whilst arachnid digits swept back, and up, coiling golden wheat into swift loops until she clipped the mass to her crown. Carefully, she participated in patience that was hardly unlike her before she dug into mesh and nylon, armour thus allowing purchase of the digital pad of her finesse. She initiated in punching her sequence of letters, and numbers and implemented the up—link procedure to procure conversation and enhanced, digital frequencies to amplify the signal to formulate the proper coding that would mask the original feed to any prying eyes of binary oculi.

First on the list. . .

Evangeline had penned and quickly transmuted a message to her fellow Saboteur, under her own guise of a scintillant moniker that contradicted to his “Shadow” — “Lumi”. She requested in cryptic incantations of literary prose, giving a brief, concise ideal to the amount of channels they needed to scan and secure for proper communication that benefited them and the security regiment they were to work with. She didn’t notice him with the rest of the group, so she could only assume he had gone under his own ambition to explore the port town. Not a terrible idea, she mused, and stood — poised and immaculate to appear casual — in one of many sections of an office where she deemed a meeting proper. She knew that most of SOLDIER would need to rest after the battle, especially to those injured and for Hally and Quill to properly attend to them with the provided medical staff. However, it left her too much time to think and ponder whilst the night ascended into the earlier hours, the quiet reflection of the time meant for the wicked that required no rest, and impaled speculation and doubts at the results of the trial with the Eagles. . .

They had gained three comrades at arms, wounded and bloodied, and no information had been provided, only that they were under harsh scrutiny because of the provided circumstance and the heritage of one among them. Evangeline gnawed onto flesh and nail, brow contoured over lashes as she contemplated the erratic situation. Come dawn, she did not doubt the Lieutenants would come for the trio, and that baited the inquiry and response to whether or not they would allow them to be returned for interrogation. . . Something, ominous and laced tight with dread, prophesied to the blonde — enough to banish all cheer and grace — that they would need them. Bi-coloured gazes, sharp and honed and penned with harsh lines, slid over the walls of the office as the night crawled on.

And on.

---

{Closed}

Y T O N E

^{"The divinity that knows no name, the righteous mutated by despairs; all this leads to the glorious dead and depraved, bound by The Law of Subjugation."}

Unknown Location — Test of the Faceless — 250 — 8 / 8

^{And so my dearest. . .}

Deep down it begins to stir,
a fissure of ooze that bleeds black and red;
scarlet edges pool around numbs fingers each struggling
against their rot. Pain is glory; pain is eternal and she
feels the darkness inside her, like
a w o r m. . .

Reality returned in sworls of darkness, each vagrant shade billowing smog and myraid of hues dulling into ebonies feathering against one another, coupling to depress and swelter into terrible wraiths of malcontent. From the wreaths of gloom and fabrications of despair, figures would descend, wrought in leathers that bore the imitation of tempered skin; mortal membranes swathed over spindly arms and broad shoulders, poured into colours of soiling muck and dried blood. When pools of silver lift, hesitation is found in the vast, crushing desire of penance and to pay right to these apparitions, and suddenly the whorls of obsidian combust, fusing and conglomerating into one being. Ytone's gaze shifts, peers, endlessly intertwined with flames that do not reap red, but instead pulse with silvers and greys, smudges of black and soot coat her stare until she meets the eclipsed visage of her own self.

And then. . .

She rapidly banishes the illusion of herself, darkened and wreathed in flame with sudden plumes of red decorating both lips and cheeks. Arachnid fingers spear and pull on her countenance, raking back into the thick, wispy lines of her hair to pull on the reins of her existence here, rather than the false visual of what had initially greeted her. The air was thick with the tangible pulse of mana, she could feel that much crawling against her skin, slick and probing at her own veins and innards tangled within the infestation of magic. It bade a peculiar expression of her lips twisting, brow folding over the depths of her silver appraisal until her attention was severed prematurely by the voices that droned across the fabricated environment. Their capes and cloaks of scarlet, adorned in pauldrons and ebonette armour befitting legendary Templars that she had heard whisper and rumour of from long, long forgotten stories. The slurring insult of heathens feathered across her thoughts, pouring from her lips with ease as Ytone fluidly, and slowly rose up from her prone position against the trembling and scorched soil. These were ill-favouring individuals that paled in comparison the effect of the dark—robed Gaki, and any sort of intimidation and wonder that spurned the others of the traveling party immediately waned and dissipated from metal festooned shoulders rising and falling with her rapid inhales.

Ytone felt oppressed here, this realm that sired the trio of red cloaked shades that mocked true fear and reverence, and she did not like. Almost on reflex, bidden by instinct and implanted subjugation, her fingers twined and pulled, flexing against the hilt of the Raksha blade and freeing it from the ebony sheath straining in her opposite grasp. Integrated hours of pain, torture, and blinding fury wove a tapestry of skill and finery into her swordsmanship, she recalled hours of practice beneath a pulsating moon of yellow, of burning fingers that sang with her ache and blood, and the grueling reception of sparring — slicing — the double-edged blade into flesh, fur, and bone. Swiftly, she attached the chain of the Tessen to Raksha's hilt, the bladed fan landing softly at her feet before she ran the length of the connected links gleaming within the provided sun of false origins. Her brow furrowed, deeply, at the utterance of this being a test, and her lips blossomed wide and bore teeth of shimmering bone and bite.

A test!

As if they had the right and rule to put her through another trial, another method of proving her worth, to gauge the capability of her sword and mana poisoning that was boiling in her veins like tar. She had endured so many tests. . . So many. . .

"I've proved myself hundred and hundred of times over. . . Who are you to test me." Ytone rallied, intent on striking down the remaining recipient of her sudden offense before they too vanished into swirls of smog and shadow, leaving deformities of magic and mana in their wake. Ytone's expression stilled and narrowed, eclipsing into her concentration as her fingers poised over the chain of the Tessen then cinched tighter and her arm began to whirl. Muscles flexed and burned as she spun the ligament, flexing her grasp to increase the rate of which the weapon spun, slicing air and crafting a humming tune that sang of her intentions the moment the faceless, groaning shambles of man began to arise.

She had seen similar manifestations before, not in the shape of the mortal constitution, but the bestial rage of beasts that bore faces riddled in rot and skin, piles of flesh warping over into layers of oozing sores and pain. Her grip abroad Raksha burned thrice as her — she cringed — companions began the leagues of striking the opponent, thus spurring their wrath. Some were intelligent to try and forsake the initial blow, but Ytone scoffed at their attempts at lame pacifism. The enemy was provided, and it was in the form of man that was unworthy, powerless, and overall beneath her. If these were great beasts and creatures of the realm, then she would've bowed and offered herself.

But, this was not that. This was a mere jest at pegging them to attack. And Ytone would answer.

The first wave provided vital information as she continued the spin of her bladed fan and chain, The Raksha almost singing in the desire for penance and blood. One fell to the blade of one, a girl whose name she knew naught and cared none for, and she eyed the festering swell of ebony pus and good that boiled over the broken earth. So, decapitation was the ill intent, the sacrifice to these... abominations. Ytone took that into stock, allowed the second wave to commence until shrieks and moans wailed behind layers of flesh, muffled cries of fury and helplessness that spurred the others to answer in flashing blows of sword and righteousness. Silver eyes narrowed, dangerously so, mere slivers in the planes of ebony and pale skin until her grasp on her chain grew lax, fingers flaying open to unleash the projected force of the Tessen at it flew, singing iron that rivaled the torrential capers of the Faceless.

The bladed fan acted as a weight tethered to the end of a rope, mimicking the engineering of a grappling hook or tread and slung around the pale, veining neck of one brutish vagrant adorned in rusted armour and wielding a mace of equal deterioration. The chain looped once, twice, three times and she followed suit, her fingers cinching about the connected links once more to pull taut on the lead and force the chain tighter, summoning a gurgling roar for her efforts. Her lips merely flattened at that, deadened simpers gracing naught her features as she charged, the Raksha angled in her one-handed vice and pulled on the chain more so, as if herding the creature to the fury of her weapon as it came down; a swoop of grace and elegance bathed in precision and death aimed to impale the whorls of flesh containing the cries of the woeful being.

^{. . . will you then ask for my name when the world has gone.}

The Wolven Storm

Years with the Company had integrated a near second nature into gathering the particular specs and intonations of the Captain's speech, pinpointing the importance of his spoken terms and the details laden within his gruff timbre that had her crossing her short arms at her ample bust. She possessed her original skepticism, wonders, and inquires to the exact specifications of what oddities they were going to investigate, playing the role of Inquisitor was all fun and dandy, and she could champion that, but it still left her with pursed lips and drawn shoulders. She had participated on missions and jobs with far less information and details than what was currently given to them, of course, and dared not to speak aloud with her... concerns. Twenty years garnered flawless trust and execution, they would not disappoint her now, right?

Thdris slowly rocked back onto her heels, her attention severed prematurely at the mention pertaining to the intentions of his missive and the particular troupe gathered by the delivery. This was a teeming pot luck of individuality and skill, and whilst diverse in ability and time spent with the Company, she had only minor doubts to their formalities to working in unison. Thdris knew those who had been with the company nearly as long as she, sprinkling differences of years here and there, but able to surmise a basic opinion with the initial troupe easily enough. She had faith in the veteran crew, they were efficient and experienced, well oiled methods that came with many quests lining their records.

She trusted Odran with fathomless fondness and admiration, more associated with his tact in working with The Captain for so long, her servitude only spanned to twenty years — and had it really been that long? — and she doubted she could ever parallel in second command to him. Thdris’s lips gnashed together in a chortle, sealed behind a smile wreathed with mirth. Whilst the former had her respect in spades, she could testify little to the amount of trust she had in one particular scout: Kuro. It wasn’t so much his deposition, or the disturbingly haunting breadth that cloaked him entirely as an enigma, or the way he appeared to barely make a sound in every execution of his body. More so that she knew nothing of him, nothing to pin his familiarization despite working with the man on several occlusions. Be it on natural distance, or the demeanor Tormalk displayed around the human male, it left Thdris off put and nearly disappointed in the lack of camaraderie.

Thdris glanced and slid her gaze sidelong, pinning scarlet tresses with ease in the whorl of swarthy colours. The anxiety exhibited in her beasts had sprouted seeds and vines of encroaching doubt when it came to those magically inclined. Those wine coloured eyes passed elsewhere into comparison, landing on emerald oculi framed in brunette locks hacked by the edge of a blade from self-hand fluidity. Or not, Thdris thought with a crooked tilt of her mouth, angling her plane of observation and panning over the Kaerun fellow with a flicker of her gaze passing between him and Triala. Both betrayed the typical Elvish constitution, but were similarly bound and twined in the Will that pinged her companions in discomfort located on a tier they could not understand. It was only by the saving grace of one particular Vorstagian Charger that the Dwarva woman absolutely adored that wove a tapestry of kinship with the pyromancer. On that sliver of thought, she reminded herself to inquire after Blackheart’s condition, and thus fixated her attention else where.

The whelps and pups, as many of the Company had alluded to them as, she had yet to develop a sense of admiration, respect, and much less any foundation of trust. Gideon — she cannot for the life of her figure out how to pronounce it, so in her mind she calls him Geo — had proved himself on few circumstances, but was belied on the peculiar way Tormalk responded to him. In close proximity, the trustworthy hound stood erect and compacted, tail straight and head high in sheer displays of defiance, as if interacting with another canine in the midst. Thdris had reprimanded Tormalk on numerous occasions, but naught could alleviate her beast from his unease and disposition around the man — even after two years.

The youngest of the troupe, the babes who had yet to garner their fangs and claws, Thdris could not gather evidence to how she felt about them. More taint of the Will laced them both tight, and both Durduum and Tormalk had spent little time around the two for that reason alone. Nights of witnessing the two lope back and forth along posts, tugging on leads, and expressing clear distress when banked so close to their tents. It pegged the Dwarva with a deliberate notion to avoid them, and as much as she despised her actions, the overall psychological displays of her companions was enough to cement her belief in that it just had to be done for their own, individual, sanity.

But, none effected her, or the two beasts, as much as she did. Taller than her by many heads, and wispy in muscle tone and overall appeal. She was dangerously beautiful, the serpentine lady in the midst of wolves, with fangs in the materialization of her gaze; perceptible shades of azure that reminded her of swollen thunder heads that interchanged with strikes of lightning. Defying to her appearance was the magic she felt off of her in waves, purely unrestrained power gilded in finery and grace, Thdris found her appealing in that confidence, but also left her wary of the Sorceress in close quarters.

Thdris’ focus came to from her mental exchange of opinions, barely catching the dregs of conversation and quips as her body moved on a literal auto mode until their provided observer spoke aloud, voice ringing her abundance of disfavour that caused the Dwarva to bark in her laughter. Amusement laced her tight as she vacated the tent, approaching the company members in the last clips of her chortle, a gloved hand rising to swipe at her ecru cheek feathered in fine hairs.

“Quite a mouth on that one.” She commented to none in particular, lips eternally lifted in a charming simper in the midst of bantering for those who would handle the negotiations. Her smile broadened graciously on the tones of a recommendation, and whole heartedly agreed with a firm clap against Triala’s hip as she stomped up beside her, mindful of Blackheart’s massive, velvet nose looming above her short head.

“Oh, how’s the hoof rot? Gone I suspect?” She ducked down, briefly, examining the previous site of infection and finding most of it cleared for travel. The herbal concoction was an experimental wonder when she had to treat Durduum out in the wilderness once with limited herb supply to use. It was a near miracle in the healing process of it, and applied monthly, it left the Dire Boar with hardly ever contracting the lame swelling. Her broad, thick-lipped smile seemed to ooze her pleasure as she glanced to Blackheart, keeping respect to his usual temperament and his awful penchant to attempt in snatching the bronze trinkets from the thicket of her hair.

She was ultimately prepared to embark, making note that she’d have to retrieve Tormalk for the journey and even considered borrowing a pony from the hands who managed and groomed the mounts of the Company. Thdris carefully constructed a basic plan within her mind whilst she pondered over her manner of speech to address the Guard when Odran effectively banished her calculations. Her brow furrowed, displaying her obvious disagreement with the final selection. Why send pups to perform to the will of the pack? Surely others were better suited to the task, she herself being among them. However, the slang term of “too much dwarf” immediately broadcast to her frontal lobe, glaringly harsh in the reminder that some — well, most — considered Dwarva to be nothing but barbaric drunks and as thick and dense as the stone that they lived in.

Broad, rounded shoulders shrugged and slumped beneath her leathers, visibly defeated as she drawled a sigh and stomped past their replacement of a captain and waved her hand in a flag of dismissal.

“I’ll fetch Tormalk, his nose will provide helpfullness to anything amiss. This means I’ll be leaving Durduum behind, so if shit goes south, you bet I’m riding on your back.” She flippantly stated, thick digits scratching through the prickle of facial hair as a sigh slid past those parted lips.

“Guess I’ll leave Durduum with the Kennel Master then. Oh Peton!” She cried, hands cupping around her exclamation to project her voice outward to the encampment in a sing—song tone. “I need your wonderful assistance!”

And somewhere in the encampment, hiding behind a herd of ponies, the Kennel Master Peton hid.

[closed]

@Wade Wilson - Best wishes from us all! ♥

@Raijinslayer - Happy to see James again, and this time not all deranged psycho on us. o;

@Hellis - No worries, as I said, I'm giving this small grace period for everyone to catch up. c:

Star Heresy

@AmongHeroes - Gasp! That new set though. ♥