voidtouched-blue - Tumblr blog

[voidtouched-blue]

3-way thread with @cataclysmus and @altosk

As much as she tended to regard Alexei with contempt for his actions leading up to the encounter at Zaude, it was to her surprise (and the others) that she even suggested they travel a bit to get away from the cities. In truth, Cyra wouldn't be caught traveling alone. She had spent enough time in her full form wandering and roaming in solitude that even the thought of traveling with someone she struggled to fully forgive was more appealing than the former. He may have withheld information about how he found her, and sure she may have understood his desires that lead up to that fateful day, but it didn't excuse that she would need more than just time to fully let go of the wounds he caused to herself, and Raven.

She wasn't the one to forgive without good reason. By all accounts, he hadn't done enough in her eyes to truly deserve the kindness he had been granted by others. The Entelexeia knew she didn't have the full story, but she believed she didn't need it to pass judgement on the man. He had betrayed the trust of his closest friend, and the people of the world through his actions. What hurt most was how everyone had been so give him so little punishment for his crimes. Her hurts were personal, and no sentence granted by that of men would have suited the man.

Of course, she couldn't share any of this with Raven. Knowing how he felt about the former Commandant had her reconsider her rather difficult stance on the situation. But for his sake, she kept her behavior and attitude towards him amicable. He meant that much to him, and that was enough for her to stay her venom.

But nothing could truly slip past the keen eye of a raven.

They had only been a few weeks out on the road when he finally mentioned to her that he noticed the way she stared daggers into him when he wasn't looking. The best she could come up with to alleviate his curiosity was to tell him that it was only natural for her to hold a grudge after everything that's happened. Even going so far as to claim it was old memories tainting her thoughts in the present. She hoped her assurance that it would pass would be enough, and she was glad that he hadn't pressed it further, but their conversations had been short following that one night.

Retracing their steps from the start of their adventure had taken them to quite a few cities and settlements under Imperial rule. Many of which had recognized Alexei, and some citizens had even openly expressed their distain for the knight within public settings. Cyra was quick to suggest they take their choice of rest in camps until things settled down when visiting more central locations, but Raven and Alexei had brushed it off. It worried her that they might not have seen the way these citizens stared at him with such burning hate. It made the fur on the back of her neck stand on end. She knew what it was like to carry that much anger, and she knew exactly how it would poison the mind.

Still, she kept her worries to herself, not wanting to escalate anything or discredit their want to be among their own. If her own kind hadn't been so solitary, she would understand it more, but for how long she had spent around humans had helped her learn what that kind of community meant to them. Even if there were those in the collection that glowed with such vitriol that it set her own instincts to flee ablaze.

It was only a matter of time before such a fire would spread to the inevitable fuse.

Having just finished setting up camp for the night, they couldn't have been more than a day's travel from the nearest city. The forest around them had been filled with the music of nocturnal creatures waking to greet the night with their song. It felt more like home to her than the constant overwhelming chatter of populated spaces. Quieter than the human element striving to run business or errands, but not a silence that could be named only in dreams and fear. This was home.

Her ear turned toward the two as they discussed the meal for the night, quickly swapping her thoughts from the peaceful evening to the prospect of food.

"Who's cooking?"

[voidtouched-blue]

Cyra would be damned if she would answer to the demands of a human. Though, this virtue would only hold up were she not currently at the mercy of said human. She remained quiet for a moment, contemplating how much truth she should lace in her answer. She could easily claim to be a demon, but where would that get her? It was seemingly common no matter where she had ended up that demons were hated across all realms of possibility. There were quite a few options, but without truly knowing where she had ended up during her last trip through the Corridor, naming something vaguely familiar to this hunter of monsters was unlikely.

Hung up onto the wagon like a prized stag had barely left her standing, only one or two toes on each pawed foot touching the earth beneath them. She growled, hissing softly under her breath as she watched the man disappear for a moment. If she didn't have to worry about the wound on her neck, she could have put in the effort to unlatch herself. She could have tucked her hands behind her back to grip the wood with her claws, and kicked off of the post with her feet. It would have been a waste, but with magic she could have untied herself from the length of chain wrapped around her.

Such thoughts were quickly dismissed the moment her enemy came back into view with a white cloth. Panic filled her chest, thinking that he had designs on sedating her with some compound to make her easier for travel. She had heard stories from the other fae that humans often kept their prize alive to sell or slowly strip for parts over time. She swallowed, feeling her words of protest and fear drop to her feet. The witch flinched, closing her eyes and jerking away from his touch.

When he pressed the fabric to the bleeding wound, and asked his question again, it surprised her. She ceased her fearful twitching, violet stars opening to scan the hunter's face for a moment after he had finished his short ministrations on a wound he caused.

"Cat-sìth," she answered.

Her own mind had betrayed her in favor of the trust her gut had granted the man. He had attacked her first, and yet, against everything she knew to understand about hunters and their desires, this small act had done enough to allow her intuition control over her voice. She knew how she looked. She knew how she looked before she came to appear as she did in the present, and the comparison was quite different. She was an unremarkable young woman, who would have easily blended in with a village. Through her own fault, she had forced the magics that be to change her this way, and knowing how different she looked now had changed her experience with the world around her. Men and women hunted her kind. Normally, they wouldn't care if she had bled out as long as they had something physical to recover for their own selfish needs.

Her curiosity would be her end.

"So, who paid you for my carcass? They pay you more to keep me alive, is that it? Surprised they didn't tell you what I was already considering they sent you out here to find me."

As the light blooms over the two of them, the figure clear and concise in the warm hue, he is at a loss for words. Inhuman. It is the first clear word which springs to mind like a deer startled in her grassy nest afield and just as quickly it plunges out of sight, hand finding the hilt of his dagger as a Belmont should.

But it talks. It understands. It communicates as a human would. Is this another case of a halfling like Alucard? What human would fuck...whatever else this thing's parentage is? Scratch that, he's heard stories of goat fuckers in his travels he's not about to entertain another gut churning tale of sodomy.

"What are you? Speak. You've been vocal so far don't stop now." Eyes alight on the delicate river running from the frantic pulse of muscle in the creature's neck to where it trickles down and colors his flail in ruby. Shit. If it bleeds out, he won't get his answer, the bestiary loses its newest page, and all he has to show for a hard days work is a corpse that has never hurt a living thing so far as anyone can recall.

Seems a tad unfair.

And so he strings the creature up with what little remains of loose chain to the hook on the side of the wagon meant for a foot to climb aboard and he rummages in the back for a cloth to stifle the bleeding, returning to press it against the wound and bind it with a second.

"Go on then...what're you called?"

[voidtouched-blue]

Caffeine is here to save the day.

Now I can get some replies in, and potentially some art done.

[voidtouched-blue]

Sorry folks, I've been really struggling to get my brain active today.

I'm hoping that with a little caffeine tomorrow, I can get my replies done.

[voidtouched-blue]

She wouldn't admit it, but the woman was beyond grateful for such a helpful young boy. This was the first time she had encountered children during one of her few opportunities outside. As excited as she was to experience people beyond the few she knew, her nerves continued to get the best of her. During the time that the kind boy had left to attend to his duties, Cyra had spent her time examining all the objects within the room and occasionally peering out through the window to view the street.

It was curious the way people seemed to carry on without a care, at least from her position it looked that way. Each one moving with intent from one place to the next, some coming back into view with procured goods, some returning with empty hands. She wondered what it would be like to truly be able to observe up close and not just from a window. It was with a gentle sigh that she closed the shutters and returned to opening and closing drawers.

Everything sounded different in this room. It could have been the different material the building had been made with, but she wasn't entirely sure. The only room she ever recalled hearing things within was made of stone. The warm, hollow thud of the drawer had nearly been in tempo with the gentle knock on the door. If it hadn't been for the voice that followed, she wouldn't have known someone was there at all.

A toothy grin spread across her lips as she padded over to the door. With a quick turn of the latch, she pulled the door open and sniffed the air for the boy to step inside. Unaware that she had forgotten to put her hood back up to cover her ears and horns, Cyra hadn't paid attention to any reaction from her young friend.

Im...portant? Job? He slightly tilted his head, a bit confused at the word choice, but he decided not to ask further on it. If anything it seemed like a misunderstanding of two people who were simply total strangers. He supposed it could be considered important that he let the others know what was going on, but he wasn't sure he'd call it a job. Still, it may have just been her way of talking, so he didn't mind it.

"Yeah, I'll stop by once I've made sure people are aware of you and the knights. They don't usually come down here unless they absolutely have to or if they feel like causing us some damn grief, so they probably won't be back for a while." He tried to keep the malice out of his voice, but he could tell it started to slip toward the end. It wasn't something he wanted to get into just before heading off, so he dropped it there with a quick word of seeing her off.

When he did get back to let others know what had happened, he could tell right away nobody was exactly pleased the knights might be getting involved in their business, but nobody faulted Yuri for getting somewhat involved. That was what they did for each other here, and to not protect a stranger in their territory just wasn't something they did; especially when it regarded the knights or one of the other areas. Everyone just had to go on today acting like they always would and any patrolling knights wouldn't notice anything.

That was easy enough, though Yuri found himself a bit more alert on his way to the inn. Why, after all, would he be visiting an inn? If he was asked by a knight, he needed an answer. He couldn't just say he was visiting someone he knew from out of town. People already generally didn't just leave the barriers and go visit other people from farther out, but a teenager? Stupidly suspicious. Really, he probably didn't need an excuse because nobody was around to ask yet, but it still kept him on edge.

When he did get to the inn, he asked after the girl he'd met to figure out where her room was. With the circumstance being what it was, he did fill in the receptionist because there was really no point in hiding it when even Jiri and Hanks already knew and hadn't made any move to kick her out. He needed an explanation for why he knew her and was looking for her, but even one for why she showed up at all. It wasn't like the residents of the Lower Quarter to be sneaky with each other and hide things after all, and if Jiri was okay with it, pretty much anyone would give it a pass.

Once that was done, he found her room and knocked on the door. Apparently she thankfully hadn't left yet according to the receptionist. "It's me." It would've helped more if he'd given her a name earlier, but he hadn't thought about it with things being what they were. He could do that now though with the downtime at least.

[voidtouched-blue]

The breathless yelp that left her chest had been a sound that even she hadn't heard herself make before. Stunned by the impact, she laid motionless until air violently returned to her lungs with a sputtering gasp. She hadn't fully heard his retort over her own weak struggle to shift out from under the weight pressing her into the mud. The witch let out a strained growl as her tail whipped around behind them.

"Get...off...me-" She grunted.

Right as she registered the shift of his weight, that was the moment the witch felt an opportunity to escape...only to feel a firm hand press her back down into the mud by the back of her neck. A growl vibrated violently from her chest as she tried to prop herself up onto her hands. Her arms shook and slipped repeatedly as she tried to shift into a better angle to defend herself from. His words did no better to dissuade her from her now meaningless struggle. She was painting herself out to be the vicious animal the villagers had imagined she'd be.

Cyra knew better, but the panic was settling in far faster now that he had bound her arms to her sides with the chain of his whip. Perhaps it wouldn't have been strong enough to hold anything else, but with the level of fatigue she'd been dealing with, the most she could do was give herself a small amount of wiggle room.

"Let--go!" She gritted her teeth as she strained against his grip as he held her firmly under his arm. The most she had been able to do is place one foot on his back, pressing weakly against his grip as he walked. Each moment she made fighting the man's determination, had brought to reality the burning sting to her neck.

With the lantern-light of the aforementioned wagon bathing them in a dim glow in the distance, she stilled. The cut on her neck wasn't deep enough for her to bleed out, but he had done more than a surface nick of the skin. The more she struggled, the more strength she would lose. If she was to survive, she needed to bide her time until an opportunity presented itself.

Good things come to those who wait.

This isn't like the feral ferocity harbored by the ilk he's used to fighting. This is...defensiveness? The creature's being defensive. Striking in-so-far as to push him away, keep him at arms length. He's felt the burning hatred, the choking gale of murderous intent before. This isn't that. He's only half listening to the mewling on spilling from those lips but now...

Now Trevor really listens. And down he goes landing flat on the thing beneath him. All the bearing of his weight down on the little thing that he almost feels sorry for it when the air leaves its lungs.

"Leave well enough- you were tormenting the poor villa-" No...no it wasn't, was it? They'd said so themselves. No one had gone missing. No mass livestock deaths just the usual few who wander too far to find their way back and are slaughtered by hungry wolves, chickens taken by coyotes. No one had attributed the deaths to this thing so...why was he here?

"Wait a moment..." It's a hard time rolling himself over to get purchase on the creature before it can recover, holding it down by the scruff of its neck. There's...no, no. Not human certainly. Get it into the light, need to see.

"Come on now, you've made your bed now lie in it. We're just going to take a walk to the wagon where there's light to see you. Stop struggling." It's strong but not strong enough and blindly fumbling for his flail he gathers the chain around the creature's waist to cinch tight.

"Stay still and you just might survive this...need to know what you are..." One arm latched firmly around the waist, he carries his quarry to the halo aura of a lantern gleaming where it's hung on the horse drawn cart. A gift from the townspeople.

[voidtouched-blue]

forgotten-contract--[prior]

“The other, as I touched on before, comes from the more… untraditional needs. Where Gil is worth less than the dirt beneath our heels.” His eyes glanced past her towards the tomes they’d brought from his library - as well as that newly brought case of crystal husks - nodding quietly as he crossed his arms in mortal habit. “Some of those clients have specific… wants. Wants that cannot be sated where the law condemns them.” Though he stood apart from her, to that guilty soul, she felt too close all the same. How he loathed these feelings, this warmth - these memories - almost to the point of desiring her to tear those claws into his throat just to bleed the light away. “Of course… that isn’t to say all of them are like that. Some just wish for knowledge. As you did.”

These are things she should have known far sooner.

She had been blind to such questions with such honest answers. Even as she sat so calmly, feeling the fatigue truly affecting her state of mind, behind the mask was in complete turmoil. There was a sinking feeling in her gut, as though the sound to the alarm had finally been freed of its muting fabric. The worm within stirred, finally feeling his manipulations being heard by his host. Cyra had caught herself questioning exactly how many details she had missed during the time spent with this stranger.

In reality, she knew so little about this man to warrant the level of trust she had granted him. She had been so quick to accept his offers over and over again, only to find misfortune befalling herself. Though, there was no evidence to fully incriminate Silvaire of the events that occurred within their time together. Yet, the ice that hardened in her belly had spoken volumes to the suspicion that began to rise with the cryptic nature of his answer.

Even as she listened with intent, she failed to detect any fumbling truths to his words. It wasn't uncommon for there to be wealthy middlemen within the infrastructure of Ul'Dahn merchants and landowners. Though, her knowledge of such things was limited to the surface. Her focus of the Jewel of Thanalan had been entirely on the refugees and those less fortunate who had nothing more to offer than hard labor and the clothes on their backs. Many of them had been exploited by those far more well off than themselves, and that was reason enough to understand the surface of it.

Even if Silvaire had been part of the problem of leaving the poor to sink further into the golden dust beneath the streets, it truly wasn't her business. The things he had brought to her attention, had been her only concern. His desire to aid her in her search for knowledge, his true intent being shrouded behind the mystery of his presence had been the goal of her questions. If she was going to trust him and his word in spite of all of the small pieces he had granted her thus far (things she was still uncovering as she continued in thought), she needed an honest answer.

For the same reason he brought to her attention the illegality of her perusal and request for forbidden knowledge within the Sanctum, and an unspoken word to not report her, she elected to keep that bit of knowledge to herself. Whether or not the authorities would detect the nature of his activities wasn't her business to share. Still, she found the hesitation, and the way he occupied his hands quite peculiar. She was no expert in physical displays of guilt or nerves, but listening for that increased heartrate had been key for detecting lies. Though, she still failed to find any change aside from his posture.

"- Some just wish for knowledge. As you did.”

There was something within that statement that piqued her curiosity. She sighed, rubbing the side of her head with a brief moment to close her eyes. The healer didn't have enough aether reserves to warrant her little trick to alleviate her discomfort. Instead, she gently rubbed at the bandage near her temple to help calm her own nerves.

"I see," Cyra leaned her head into her hand. Tired eyes opened to look back at the man in her kitchen. She had more questions to ask, but at this point, it would be nothing more than an interrogation at the rate she was going. For someone who was kind enough to offer to help her with her research, she had a lot of questions that did not return the appreciation.

"Apologies, I didn't intend to make you uncomfortable." Her apology was genuine, even if it felt empty.

She fell quiet, closing her eyes again to nurse the throbbing base of the horns with gentle rubbing circles to the cloth.

[voidtouched-blue]

Cyra had not expected nor anticipated the weight of her opponent when she had gone in for the kick. Even though her intent was to prove her own combat prowess, and perhaps even give a show of physical intimidation, the heavy frame of the hunter had thrown her own body off balance. She fell to the ground with a huff and a roll of her own, stunned for a few short seconds as she tried to regain her bearings.

The time it took her to return to her feet had left her open for the man to attempt a strike of his own. She pivoted her feet, shifting off his mark just enough to see the glint of the blade in his hand. As he closed the distance, she gripped his arm with both hands, pointed claws digging in where they could to halt the force of the blow. She heard the dagger cut through the fabric of her hood, pushing it back and off of her head. Her large ears flicked back, angled like an angry cat.

"What's it matter to you, human? Couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?" She hissed.

With the hunter being this close, she finally had a decent look at the man. Fairly unremarkable, save for the scar over his eye that matched her own. She huffed, feeling out of breath from pushing him back with the kick. Though, she had yet to feel the sting of the blade as it had cut through the side of her neck. Focused wholly on survival, she neglected to notice her opponent was currently winning.

Without letting him answer, she released her grip on his arm to duck under and behind. With most of her strength having been put into her initial knockback, the best she could do was to try and knock him off balance again. She crouched low, kicking the back of his knee.

Though, being as out of breath as she was, she forgot she needed enough space to move out of the way if he fell. In her scramble, her foot slipped in the mud.

Alright, this feels like a conversation more than a mimic. Human? It had...understanding. At least the basic capability of recognizing a human when it saw one. It'd given a warning, certainly. The lilt of its voice had cadence, inflection. This was no mirror trick learned by the feral horde this was...

"Ah-" Its hands could wrap around the chain, no burning no smell of putrefaction, and he holds on as tight as he's pulled forward. "You're not getting it..." He expects the thing to hold on longer, draw him in or pull the whip from his hand but the moment it releases, he staggers back. The bulk of his weight used to counteract the strength of the thing.

It is the only thing that prevents him from falling over until the creature drops low. A heel slams square into his chest and the air in his lungs leave in a huff, sending him sprawling across the muddied path. Struggling to his feet he sucks in another bout of air, head buzzing with a warning that the amount was not enough. Lightheaded though he is, he recalls the head of the flail with a flick of his arm and reaches for his dagger to charge in.

The thing is nimble, light on its feet, Trevor can barely hear the footfalls as they come but it's the shift of fabric he tracks. How he wishes Sypha were here just to burn down the whole bloody forest and give him some damn light.

"If you can talk, then tell me...what are you." The moment he's in close, his dagger goes for the vein at its throat.

[voidtouched-blue]

How Intimidating Am I?

Send 🐹 for “You? Intimidating? Hell no.”

Send 🐰 for barely intimidating

Send 🐭 for slightly intimidating

Send 🐱 for moderately intimidating

Send 🦊 for fairly intimidating

Send 🐯 for very intimidating

Send 🐻 for “MOTHER OF GOD PLEASE DON’T EAT ME–”

[voidtouched-blue]

She didn't hear the man approaching over her strained cries and the sound of groaning wood against the metal she so desperately tugged at. It wasn't until she saw the gloved hand reach into her field of view that she screamed and nearly flattened against the floor of the ruined carriage. She closed her eyes, waiting for the some punishment to befall her. None of this was her fault, but as a Branded even misfortunes such as this ambush would make her a target for violence. She raised her hands over her head, protecting what she could of her own body.

Jumping at the cracking thud, she hesitated to even dare to look at the stranger. The sound of the flames and the violent quiet of the night around them had been the only sound to reach her terrified senses. For what felt like an eternity, she sat huddled on the floor as a shivering mess of a child. Each passing moment became an eon which only served to turn her to stone after every exhale. Just as she had begun to unfurl herself from her defensive curl, she felt a gentle weight upon her shoulders.

The slave couldn't stop her reaction to flinch at the touch. The smallest yelp escaped her shivering frame, crouching as much as she could to shield her body from the sensation. However, once she registered the unfamiliar texture of the pressure as cloth, she opened her eyes. In the dim light of the night, she realized the shrouded presence around her had been the stranger's coat.

Cyra was quick to turn at the sound of the dull thud of a body slumping to the ground. With the chains chiming as she turned to run to the man who freed her from her fate, tripping as she emerged from the overturned carriage. She quickly scrambled to her feet to rush over to his stilled form in the dirt.

"No...no..." she whispered as her small hands rested hesitantly on his chest. Tears blurred her vision as she finally found the strength to cry. Grateful for the freedom granted, terrified of the chaos that had left her alone in a field of fire and the dead, and scared that the man in front of her was dying in his final act of kindness to release her.

She rested her forehead on him, shoulders shaking with sobs as her tiny fingers gripped whatever material rested beneath them. Unknowing that the air around them began to swirl with aether. The magic was reacting to her emotions, and she had been pouring them into this stranger unknowingly.

Please, don't go already. I wanted to tell you 'thank you'.

Everything was a blur of colors, shapes, and movements, all blending together into sights that he could not comprehend. Every step was slow, staggering, heavy; every last inch of his body ached, dull yet overwhelming, except for his neck. No -- the pain in his neck was different. It was burning, it was maddening, it was an agonizing itch compounded by a weakness that left it difficult to keep his head upright. Every thrum of his heartbeat resounded in his ears and mind more akin to a drum, and he could hear nothing but that singular sound.

Where was he? The Archduke couldn't tell anymore. Nothing made sense. The stone rubble that he had been stumbling and crawling across seemed to have vanished, and now there was... dirt, grass. Dirt. Grass. Dirt. Dirt. Dirt underfoot.

A trail? Yes, a trail perhaps, to where he did not know. Phoenix Gate, and... He couldn't return to Rosalith. So where, then?

Two names sprung forth from parched lips, a desperate call, a plea -- Clive. Joshua. But the voice that rose from his throat was unfamiliar to Elwin. It was garbled, weak, rasping, and the pain of speaking was nearly unbearable. Yet he tried, oh did he try, again and again and again, until he couldn't any longer. By that point, how long had he been struggling along? A series of miniature eternities, it felt like, each one dragging on as he dragged his battered and haggard form along to Founder only knew. No direction, no guidance, no awareness; just a jumbled mess of incomprehensible thoughts and the beating of his heart within his ears.

Then there was another sound, breaking through the drumming: screams and cries. Elwin paused, forcing himself to focus, to find the source. It was a child, by the sounds of it. Had she been caught up in the nightmare at Phoenix Gate? Or was she the victim of something else, and their paths had crossed purely by chance? Regardless, he followed the noises slowly and carefully. Up ahead was an overturned chocobo wagon. It was broken in places, planks splintered by what looked to be a mixture of force and weapons. Most of all, the smell of death lingered in the air, growing stronger and stronger the closer he ventured to the wagon.

Booted feet lost their steadiness as he clambered up the back of the transport vehicle in order to peer inside, but one leather-clad hand grabbed hold of the side to keep himself from tumbling over. After several prolonged blinks, and with a deep furrowing of his brow, the man was finally able to concentrate and truly see the little girl. She was shackled to the planks, her evident attempts at freeing herself having failed, thus leaving her at the mercy of whatever beasts might hear her and smell the carnage.

Maybe it was because of his protective nature, combined with being a father; regardless of why, he eased his way inside, making his way towards her. Loosening the shackle upon her tiny wrist or yanking the chain free were out of the question at the moment -- there was not enough strength left within his body to accomplish either feat. Instead, he huffed and slammed his fist against the plank holding the chain hostage until it splintered and broke enough that the restraint fell free to the child's side.

Oh, how he longed to assure her that it would be alright. How he wanted to reassure her that she was free now, that she need but run away -- but try as he might to muster up his voice, barely a sound was ushered forth from parted lips. After a long moment of careful contemplation, Elwin did the only thing he could think to do to help her: he removed his surcoat, now dirtied, bloodied, torn and burned, and offered it to her some semblance of comfort. Then he eased his way back out of the wagon again, only to collapse and roll onto his back in the worn dirt of the road that the carriage had been traveling along before its misfortune.

@voidtouched-blue

[voidtouched-blue]

forgotten-contract--[prior]

Although his answer was spoken, the air within that vibrant home felt stifling. Dark. The type of razor’s edge that had once been the warning of a lover's descent to madness. Reminiscent of the thick divide between the sundered and that umbral twisted ascian. Ignored then, as that hopeful man ignored it now. It was his imagination. Those innermost thoughts that tormented the shards of the man that remained. He had not stolen that from her, his teeth had not yet devoured such a blessing. Her meal was finished. Take the plate.

Either he was quite good at hiding his hurts, or he had deadened nerves as a result of repeated injury. Both options were valid enough to satisfy the curiosity of any questioning chiurgeon. Yet, as she had previously experienced with this peculiar lord, even the deepest of injuries seemed not to pain him as much as the Twin Adders whom she had saved from certain death as they wailed and cried out prior to her ministrations. It was this sudden awareness that prompted yet another prying question as he came close to take the emptied plate.

She hummed a chuckle of her own in response to his humor, the smile that followed was genuine, but still felt out of place.

"How often have you suffered such injuries?" It was an honest question, her curiosity taking the better of her. Such confidence in her inquiry normally showed when conducting herself in her profession. This wasn't a doctor asking their patient questions in order to identify symptoms. This was a woman with thoughts long pushed to the side and ignored in favor of social politeness.

"It concerns me that you're able to continue functioning in almost full normality considering the amount of pain any other would be experiencing were they in your experience." Her worries were valid considering the level of pain she had been in herself. With blood loss, the aches in her skin from her unfortunate incident in the previous week, and the splitting headache that felt as though it had carved fissures in her face-- he should have been in far more pain than he showed.

[voidtouched-blue]

Taunting? Really?

She almost felt insulted that this hunter took her for some simple-minded brute. She hadn't harmed anyone, at least not yet. None of the last brave men who came in search of the monster in the forest had even come close enough to dare speak in her presence. Even if they had, most mortals were easily spooked by a bit of quick magic. They were nothing more than parlor tricks, but they worked well enough.

Not long after the stranger spoke, the whistle of his weapon had cut through the air toward her. She hesitated for a moment, observing the glint of the flanged head of the whip as she dashed a few steps to the side. It's curious shape and make had been different from the others. The typical human sent to retrieve her head as a trophy or to cleanse the forest of her presence had carried swords or bows. Not to mention the accuracy in which he had been able to strike at her with.

"Can't say I didn't warn you, human." She sighed through gritted teeth.

This was becoming far more than a simple chore. Though, she had to hand it to him; he had a knack for grating on her nerves, nearly provoking her into thoughtless action. She groaned in frustration, feeling less like an individual and more like an animal with the way he had been speaking to her.

It was insulting.

"Enough!" She snapped. She pulled the strings of the herbal pouch on her hip tight, not wanting to lose any of her hard work in the coming battle.

Cyra snarled, stepping forward towards the chain of the whip and wrapping her clawed hands tightly around it. With a heave, she pulled it toward her to try and pull her opponent off balance, or disarm him. It didn't matter which, she simply wanted to give herself an advantage. Dropping the section in her hands, she dashed forward. Just before reaching her target, the witch feigned a direct attack with an outstretched hand. At the last moment, she reached down to the ground, digging her fingers into the dirt to use her momentum to aim for a kick to his chest.

So it can talk. Well, that's fantastic to know. It's comprehension of speech would have to be explored if he could keep it alive long enough to see what the damned thing was.

Remember Trevor, there are things in the forest which can mimic the human voice. Your cousin was taken by one. A Wendigo. It cries out in the voices of its victims, begging for help, screaming. Never trust a voice in the distance.

He'd picked up a few things here and there, mostly horror stories to tuck him in at night. What a normal childhood he had. Envious of the half vampire bastard left back in his castle that he had had an even more normal upbringing despite being the spawn of the devil himself.

Yet as he wrapped the gleaming chain around his hand and pulled the Morning Star free, he could not imagine any other life for himself.

"You're doing a piss poor excuse of intimidating me, I hope you know that." The ball of his flail hangs from the short leash he's grasped and he readies it with a swing, gathering momentum to let it swing back and draw the full length of chain taught. The sudden stop provides the necessary strain for him to pull with every muscle in his shoulder and send it flying again, towards the voice and its ominous shadowy figure.

"Why don't you come out into the light, let me get a good long look at you?" If he could get it in closer, he could bind it. Force it down long enough to classify what beastie he'd be adding to the bestiary. So far, it ticked none of the boxes. No hissing, no growling, no hellish screeching. Didn't have wings to show or it'd have taken flight at the first provocation.

"Just want to count your teeth is all." Some had six, others had hundreds. He liked the ones with six, gave him less of the heebies and the jeebies.

[voidtouched-blue]

Finally awake!

Coffee is en route to be delivered, and soon I'll be getting through ALL of my drafts today.

[voidtouched-blue]

This was not home.

The trees were different. The air was different. Even the midnight birdsong had a strikingly new cadence that she had not heard before. There wasn't too much she could glean from her surroundings other than the shadows and shapes seen between the dancing lights of color that temporarily obscured her vision. The magical glow of the twisting hallway that spat her out had left her with a severe disadvantage the moment she found herself back on solid ground. This wasn't the first time she had used the Corridor, but it certainly felt like it would be her last.

It would have been an untapped source of opportunity and magic had she been allowed the time to learn its secrets, yet every time she entered into its dizzying space, the demand forced her to change before leaving her abandoned in a new place. This last attempt had been the end result of a ritual in which she forced open the gate after being stuck in this unfortunate outcome she now knew as her body. Her intent had been to find the Library, but without knowing which door lead to it, she had been stumbling around without any concept of direction.

It had been weeks, perhaps even a month or two since she found herself laid out unconscious in the grass. A quick search and inspection of the surrounding area, had revealed a nearby village, a stream, and a few abandoned hunting cabins far into the surrounding woods. Cyra wasted no time making one of them her new temporary abode. She would need to build up her stores of magic, and herbs before she could try to pry open the gate once more. Each foray into the night had coincidentally lead to distant screams and prayers. The witch had no mind to concern herself with the fears of the simple-minded citizens of the town who lacked sense and tact. No doubt they hadn't truly seen her rather "terrifying" appearance as more than an ominous shadow in the night. Yet, this lack of cautious presence within her own business had lead to a small handful of hunters or thrill-seekers traveling deep into her temporary territory only to flee when spotting her silhouette in the distance. It was easy to obscure her appearance to their simple human minds with easy illusions should they get too close.

As long as they didn't interfere with her work, there was no reason for her to worry beyond the possibility that they hire another hunter.

Unable to hear the distant voice over the wind and the rustling of the plants under her fingers, the Cat sìth stood to place the herbs in the pouch on her belt. Her ear twisted under the hood to hear something whistling through the air. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as the object thudded into the tree beside her. The sudden sound and jingle of the chain pulled a short growl from her chest as she crouched and back-stepped quickly from the weapon.

She was not familiar with such an instrument of death. Returning to stand, her head popping just above the sea of grass for her to follow the glimmering chain in the moonlight back to the source. In the distance, she could make out the shape of a man just outside of the grassy field. The glow of her reflective eyes cut through the darkness, giving her more visual information that she assumed he had of her.

Cyra's tail swished in the grass, nearly flattening the plants behind her as she focused her magic to obscure her body with an illusion of smoke. If it was a fight, they wanted, then a fight they would get. With her lacking knowledge of hunters in this unknown world she found herself in, the witch would need to learn more from her enemy before making the first strike.

"Begone!" She warned. It wasn't always her intent to accept a challenge when it was presented. She much preferred to avoid conflict whenever possible, but if this hunter wanted blood, he would get it. "I won't ask again."

@voidtouched-blue

He's far from what he used to call home, past the unending forests into the southernmost of Wallachia. Craiova they called it. He'd never been but there were rumors of something stalking the good people, the usual. That hadn't been what piqued his interest.

It was the strange absence of death which followed the night creatures usually reported upon. No deaths meant secrecy. Secrecy meant yet another god forsaken fucking plot to bring about a greater evil.

And so he'd went in search of tales, sightings, reports. A hand barren when proffered. No one could concede the look of the beast, no one could fathom the terrors it brought because none of the citizens had witnessed any. All present, all accounted for.

It had made Trevor's skin itch in the way the brush of a poisonous plant did. The only antidote was to investigate. He'd left the others back home, they had a town to build after all. Their legacy to leave behind.

And now, sitting out in the middle of fucking nowhere the night was drawing long and he had become bored.

"If it's going to fucking do something, I wish it'd get on with it already." Something spooks in the underbrush at the sound of his voice and his hand slips down to the flap of leather strapping his whip to his side.

"Alright then...you've heard me. Come on...a little closer..." There is a scent in the air he is unfamiliar with, a strange little waft that tickles his nose and he remembers it too well. Beneath the blood, gore, and guts, the stench of the Corridor was choking. As if all life sucked into it breathed its miasma and stained with its odor.

"Fucking- Where is that little rat bastard?!" Saint Germain. That's his name. This has his doing all fucking over it. Squinting hard through the thick shadows he scans his surrounding to find something outlined by the meager light of the field beyond. Something....well it looked a fair enough size, tiny but not smaller than an average human.

But Night Creatures came in all shapes and sizes. None less deadly than the last. Give it a little warning, see how it reacts.

The Morning Star is heavier, its sharp ball sent whirring through the air to imbed in the tree beside the shape is as good a message as any to send and he waits to see if he's gone mad or there really is someone or something standing right where he thinks it is.

[voidtouched-blue]

forgotten-contract--[prior]

Silvaire had not known how long he stood there in quiet contemplation until the audible noise of her return shook him from his thoughts; a master of masks he smiled as ever before, nodding to her with a motion towards the table - words locked within the bridled memories that woke his silence - turning after a moment to begin that habit to clean. To avoid seeing the damage he’d wrought, or the reminders of her bandages upon his skin. Apathy was easier, even if her presence pulled him from the cold.

There was not much more the Keeper could manage than a gentle huff of amusement at Silvaire's jest before she disappeared behind the door to the bathroom. Once behind the sanctuary of privacy, the exhausted healer allowed herself to slowly slump to the floor. The last thing she needed was for the noise of her permitted collapse to draw the attention of her esteemed guest. This was her time to recover what she could in isolation, without the potential of her weak peace to be disturbed. What little impulse remained within her fluttering heart had called out, reaching for the tall lord in the other room. Yet, there was a dark clarity that tinted her spirit, recognizing how foolish this honest beat was for it's selfish desire. This was no instinct for such a calling, nor was it an instinct for survival.

This want was unneeded.

Sat in a heap on the cream tile, Cyra reached to turn the faucet for the basin to fill. She had not the strength to stand for the duration of a shower. The weakness in her limbs had been a sensation she hadn't felt in years. It was evident in her surprise as shaking hands fumbled repeatedly to peel the bloodied clothes from her body. She shivered as the fabric had been removed. Fevered heat emanated from her skin, warming the icy chill of her fingertips that felt as though they had been dipped in death. The sensation of illness hadn't been one the healer had been familiar with. The times she had been truly sick had been far and few between. Despite this infrequency, she wouldn't have questioned the source of her own ailments. The brightness of her spirit granted her more benefits of doubt than the present dimmed light shone upon her conscience.

Something within their brief nap had certainly affected her. Was it the dream? Was it the nightmare of that horrid creature of darkness that spoke to her in the previous night? A gripping, unknown terror struck her chest as she removed the last bit of clothing. Her clawed fingers pressed into her chest, points digging lightly into the skin beneath the gradient grey of her fur. This anxiety wasn't new to her. The cause of the unease had been the unrecognized variable to her library of the known. Cyra felt the uncertainty strike her heart, quickening the pace and constricting her breath.

Stop. Get in the water.

Pushing past the spiraling dark of her thoughts, she pushed herself to stand with shaking arms and settled into the warmth of the tub. She took her time to focus on washing the rusted flakes from her hair. Another familiar string of hissing and quiet wincing came with the gentle pour of water over the fresh wounds on her forehead. The sting that followed had been far more intense than when the peaked bone had been fresh. The throbbing bite of the pain had arced throughout her skull, blinding her with each pulse.

This is wrong, she thought. My pain tolerance is far higher than this.

Tears stung at her eyes as she finished rinsing the faded red from her hair and face. She held her breath, trying her best to work through the pain as it took time to fade. Once it was more manageable, she made quick work of the remainder of her bath.

The warmth had granted her some respite from the blanket of fatigue, comforting and soaking into aching muscle and bone alike. Though the intent was simply to wash herself of the iron that coated her face and hair, it had done well to reinvigorate the Miqo'te. With a deep breath, she rose from the water, pulling the stopper to drain the basin as she did.

Quick to dry herself off, she took the time to secure the towel around her person, and begin retreating the raw and red skin around the growing steepled bones. Not wanting to deal with the sting, she simply wrapped a bandage around the base of each one, tucking the loose end of the cloth into the band around the back of her head. She would apply the salve later. For now, she simply wanted to avoid more of that piercing sting.

As she stepped into her room, and began dressing, this shadowed lucidity prompted a wild flood of thoughts. The man in her kitchen had made it clear in no uncertain terms that he cared for her. There was not a single cell within her own heart that did not reciprocate that emotion. It was that very realization that struck through her. The sound of that crackling magic, and the crunching shatter of an Ishgardian shield flashed in her mind and heart. It was as though the fatal blow had pierced her own body. Over and over again, she found herself breathless from the wound upon her soul.

This was her punishment for finding solace in another.

No violet garden could free her from the pain of loss.

Cyra gasped, bracing herself on the wardrobe for a moment to catch her breath. It was in this painful silence that she finished shrouding her body in layers of cloth. With the ache in her chest still filling the space where her lungs should be, the white mage straightened herself out and began her slow and supported walk to the kitchen. She kept a hand on the wall at all times, providing stability in every sway until she reached the open doorframe to see the Lord standing still as a statue by the table.

She paused a moment, to truly observe the expression on his face and the vacant stare that occupied his eyes. There was a measure of thought swirling behind his golden gaze, and she found herself curious in its contents until he spotted her. The shock in her chest struck through her once more when topaz met sapphire for a mere second. The smile that once brightened his cheeks had been a pale imitation, and she found herself staring in observation as he turned to busy himself with the dishes of his cooking.

Of course she accepted the offer to sit and enjoy the meal he had prepared. Regardless of the bleeding void in her chest, the gesture was appreciated. She may have become more aware of the thick air between them, but even the hole where her heart should be could still offer common courtesy and kindness. It was with a heavy breath that she began to enjoy his cooking.

"Thank you. As always, your cooking is delicious." Though it was genuine, her compliment felt empty...even to herself.

She ate slowly, less like the ravenous beast she had been in the previous weeks of his company. Savoring every bite as though it would be her last. As she enjoyed the meal, she took the opportunity to observe the man as he busied his otherwise idle hands. Questions filled her mind, yet she was unsure if she wanted answers to them. His business was her own, but there were things she had ignored in past conversations that now demanded explanation. She had to be careful though, things were precariously balanced in the present as it was. Yet with such newfound muted emotions, she found that she cared less about whether or not her curiosities would upset him.

"Feeling better? How are your hands, and your eye?" How else was she to open up the realm for further questions than to inquire about his health? For him to be cooking a meal for her, with the state his hands had been in, it must have hurt quite a bit. The bruising on his eye would likely have caused some blurred vision, but with his experience in kitchen crafts it shouldn't have affected the quality of his work too much... but the injuries to each knuckle would have been enough for even the healer to avoid such meticulous tasks.

"I can't imagine that cooking this for me would have been easy considering the pain you'd be in from those scuffed knuckles."

[voidtouched-blue]

continued from here : @mistralxsoul

[...]But his biggest concern was the knight she currently had in her hands, holding him by the collar of his shirt and threatening to beat him down with the rest. So, with a loud and commanding tone, Flynn shouts out, “STOP!” as he points his blade in her direction. “Drop him.” She speaks (So she can speak their tongue as well. That makes this easier.) and then has the nerve to tell them that this doesn’t have anything to do with him. He would have to respectfully disagree. “You are assaulting my knights, which means this has everything to do with me. I don’t know what’s going on but right now, you will drop him and surrender yourself for questioning. From there we will determine the situation.”

This was by far the farthest she had been able to make it from Zaphias before being caught by either knights or concerned citizens. Granted, she had no right being as close to Heliord as she had decidedly gotten, which had initiated the scuffle. It was first a child who had noticed the rustling of her tail under the tattered cloak. Then it was a woman taking a far longer look than she should have. The whispers and stares spread until she felt herself surrounded by knights murmuring about a strange and suspicious individual of her own description.

What should have been an easy out of trying to resolve the issue with words, had turned into an uneven fight the moment one of the men who approached put his arm on her shoulder. Cyra did not take kindly to being touched. Fear rose up in her chest as she spun to move from the knight's grip, and it was from there that the situation escalated. The sound of armored men and women dropping to the ground rang out as each one approached to subdue the creature.

Of the final few that had returned to their feet, and the remaining others who stood by idly while she gripped the collar of the taller armor-clad man. Teeth bared, her claws tearing through the fabric of their tabard, the monster hissed and growled into the man's terrified features before she heard the voice call out behind her.

She had been quick to respond, and so had he.

Her long tail whipped out behind her, arcing in a wide swing as it dusted a dazed woman on the ground behind her. Clawed toes spread and flexed to scrape upon the cobblestone street beneath them as she tucked her fingers farther into the man's protective metal collar. Her fur bristled in response to considering the newcomer's demand.

"Come any closer, and I will kill him." Her voice was filled with venom as she quickly spun the man around. "Let me pass, and I'll leave him be."

Blackened talons gripped the soldier's neck, gently pressing the points in to prick the tender flesh beneath. Nothing fatal, but a warning should things escalate. Cyra wasn't opposed to killing in self defense. If they hadn't approached her the way they did, maybe it wouldn't have frightened her into acting out. Or perhaps, if she hadn't wandered so near to people to begin with, then there was a chance this never would have happened. Beneath the anger that creased her features, there was a terror that gripped her like frost.

[voidtouched-blue]

Good evening friendoes!

In an effort to clean up my timeline a bit, I'm going to be unfollowing a lot of blogs that either don't interact with me, or are just inactive in general.

If you still want to write or be mutuals, please like this or reply so I know to keep you on my list!

As for the people I have active threads with, you don't need to worry about being unfollowed. :)