Conall - Driving to hatred (9/1-2)

[23:07] A Nagual in blackened armor, decorated with cuts leans against the side of her bed, having slumped into a sit. Her staff is away from her as she rifles through the drawer with one hand, looking for some cloth.

Cloth to wrap around her neck, to which her free hand presses against. This hand is bloodied, as is the cloak around it. The small jaguar-featured woman appears to be a lot more vulnerable then usual, shivering slightly. As the door opens, her slitted eyes, narrowed from the sunlight, look towards the door -- And the Dryad standing in it.

Her movements cease, as amber eyes look to him, teeth gritted from the painful sensations upon her neck, shivers moving down her back. No words are given...
(Ixcuiname)
[23:10] His shadow leans against the doorframe, half-lidded eyes glancing inwards. His face is his normal vile smile, and it does not change as it looks at her bloodied visage. The cackling voice of Swarm can be detected, swimming just past the Dryad as he steps into the abode.

"Is not of looking so good, Shadow. Is of looking injured." He steps closer to her, moving around the house as if it belonged to him. Conall would sit upon the bed, looking at Ixcuiname.

"Was pretty kitty of getting hurt? Be of telling Conall about it."
(Conall Revels)
[23:19] The armored woman pauses, watching the other quietly for a time, pain is evident within her eyes. So too is a silent, unspoken wish for her, pride getting in the way of her asking for it, especially from the vilely grinning other. A ragged, but soft breath is taken as she adjusts to his presence, hearing him take up residence behind her, her hands returning to that drawer of hers.

"'Vampire' creature bit me..." She offers through gritted teeth, finally finding some cloth, fumbling with one hand to unspool it. Her words are terse, frustration and irritation within them. The feline-featured woman eventually joins one hand with two as she removes the bloodied one from her neck, giving Conall a view of the fang-marks upon her neck, a painful duo of gouges.

She works hastily, attempting to secure a length of that fabric, to wrap it around her wound, open to the air and oozing her precious blood...
(Ixcuiname)
[23:25] Conall cackled.

"Of strange creatures, yes? Strigoi of Atl, Conall is thinking. Of red eyes and things that are magic but are not. Is strange, unusual." His pupils dilate, watching the Nagual. He steps from the bedside, behind Ixcuiname. A hand moved to her wrist, going to stop her from securing the fabric to the wound, so he can stare at it.

"Is of quite the bite. And must be of painful." He leaned closer to Ixcuiname, sniffing the coppery sent that hung in the air. "Is of reminding Conall of Ixcuiname's words; Was of wanting to take bite of Dryad if was of winning fight, yes?

Ixcuiname was of losing fight. Is not good. Maybe Conall should be of giving bite. Could be of encouraging Ixcuiname to be of winning, yes? Shadow is of wanting to win, yes?"
(Conall Revels)
[23:33] His touch freezes her, her body tensing up as wrist is stopped, bloodied hand held in the air, the other pausing its unspooling. No comments are made on her strange foe, eyes widened slightly as she stares at the wall in front of her.

Like a predator does Conall encroach upon her tender, painful wound, a bite infused with a curse. She's stiff and tense, her jaguar-ear listening to the words of the other, a cruel desire present within them. With a displeased hiss, her bloodied hand shakes gently, urging the Dryad to release, while her rough voice speaks.

"Will defeat enemy... Need to awaken more strength within myself... Work on it... Make them my prey." She explains, obviously irritated by her loss.
(Ixcuiname)
[23:38] "Be of holding still, Shadow."

She was tense. She shook, trying to get him to let go. And the Dryad cackled again. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, a long almost snake-like appendage freed from the jagged maw. He moves forward, dragging it across the wounded area upon the bite-mark on Ixcuiname's neck, wanting to taste, and sample the red liquid.

Perhaps surprising? He does not latch down. He instead seems completely enamored with the idea of just tasting the liquid that flowed within the veins of the Nagual. So enamored with the idea that he did not notice other sounds in the room.

"If Shadow is good? Conall can be of tending to wound."
(Conall Revels)
[23:46] The Nagual does not turn her head during his grab, trying to hold it straight and forward so as to avoid neck-based pain as best she can. Because of this, she can't see his fell 'affections', until it's too late, wincing and squirming as oozing, hot blood is lapped up, dragged over the bite.

An irritated noise slips from her lips at the movements, her body shaking and shivering, while her flesh is hot, like that of a low fever, especially around the cursed mark. The door opens oncemore, but she can't turn her head to check. With a thorough distaste for asking, she allows the words to escape from her.

"Tend to wound..." A curt, softly given command, lacking too much humility within it, though her coarse tone is resigned, pride obviously damaged by her loss. She hopes the unseen other would perhaps intervene, attempting to catch sight of her in her periphery, her expression frayed, a little downcast, and a little frustrated.
(Ixcuiname)
[23:55] The reports hadn’t been good to the vixen who had long been torn asunder by the turmoil of the land and the ravaging storms that bore down upon her loved ones. So with the kitsune heard tale that a ‘vampiric’ raid had been repelled from the outskirts of Ghenna the kitsune’s thoughts warped, arcing and bowing in a malefic malestorm of emotion. But when the dust of her mind settled, and the facts processed she found one lingering worry in her mind.

‘Her’.

Of course she wouldn’t shy away from conflict, much less one on the home front, the nagaul was too enthralled within her duties as warrior. The worry of a raved Ghenna was swiftly departed from but the worst interpretation of that hastily received report, but there still remained one harrowing reality that maintained possibility no matter victory. The wounded, the dead.

Sayuri made little deviation in that path she blazed, so when she barged through that door, inviting with it streaming rays of the midday’s sun behind her, she was equal parts relieved, and horrified to bear witness to the scene before her. Wounded was that shadow that haunted the depths of her affection, but wounded meant breathing. Golden eyes peer over her ‘caretaker’, that compromising position as the fox held back momentarily, those pained words only just registering as the brunette replied quietly. “Ixcuiname?”
(Sayuri Ru)
[00:05] "Good, Ixcuiname. Be of listening to Conall. Be of following what he is saying. Will be of feeling better in moment."

The way he holds her is a mixture of caring, and the same manner a tamer would train a beast. His hand remained on her wrist, holding it away from her wound as he sipped the coppery nectar from her veins. While the Nagual gave her commands? His stance would almost be possessive, controlling of the Nagual.

The beat of the world tree can be felt in the air, channeled by the Dryad. As they sip from her veins it becomes slightly soothed, numbed. A hand not holding her body comes to his side, opening a canister, blue color. It is a slow drawl to bring it from his side up to her neck, only then prying away his lips from her flesh.

His tongue drags on his lips, and fingers vanished into the canister, soon bringing a cream onto Ixcuiname's neck. The wounds are covered, and coated, reducing the pain which she might feel for quite some time. It is only once he has begun applying it, lessening the pain, that Conall looks to the recent arrival.

Blood covers the Dryad's wooden lips, jagged teeth showing a smile through his maw. He bobs his head, not seeming troubled by his indulgence.

"Is of Ixcuiname. Is of harmed by Strigoi. Conall is tending to. Sayuri may be of coming closer. Conall is not of biting those he is not beating. Is not going to be of hurting her."

He waits, eyes aflutter to see the Kitsune react.
(Conall Revels)
[00:05] {Item} You drop Lax Essence.
[00:17] Ixcuiname wasn't as easily found as the other warriors. With a still-bleeding neck, she sought out Pasis, speaking with him in Atl for a time. This delay between treatment only made her condition worse, and she, unable to find a healer, slipped quietly into her house to attempt to bandage the wound herself.

That familiar voice of the Kitsune's brings with it extra light, cast upon her form and eliciting an uncomfortable shiver, yet, the weary Nagual speaks to the fox in that rough voice of hers.

"I'm here, child of the sun..."

Hearing the other has her relax slightly, her fighting of the 'caretaker' ceasing as he holds her bloodied hand away from her. Each lapping stroke of tongue coaxes a wince and hiss of displeasure, harsh shivers running down her spine.

As they are numbed, the Nagual's movements become more subdued, tiny shakes and small breaths leaving her mouth. Finally, his lips are removed, turning her gaze to give a weak smile towards the Kitsune, her sitting, bed-leaned against form lacking a bit of pallor, the collar of her cloak stained with blood. She definitely looks weakened.

The Dryad very likely pushes her head back forward, though, eliciting another weak hiss, before that cream is applied onto the saliva and blood-stained neck of hers. With the cream applied, resistance falls even lower, slumping a bit against the side of the bed, her body relaxing a small amount, little shivers running through it. With her un-held hand, she brings the bandages to her lap, trying to unspool them oncemore, to get a length she can wrap around her damaged neck...
(Ixcuiname)
[00:31] Thirsty eyes demanding answers steeped within the scene before her, slithering tongue and jagged, blood stained teeth not exactly the most reassuring of terms to walk into. The druid’s explanation is held for a lengthy cross examination, those furrowing golden eyes sparking with the kitsune’s spirit as she divined the source of this oddity.

Words from that thus far trustworthy druid spoke of aid, of peace in aiding the wounded sagaul the kitsune had rushed to, yet prolific, suspicious bloodstains did little to aid in that clause. A momentary thought subdued the vixen’s paranoia, the compliance of Ixcuiname, a warrior to the bitter end, offering the fox some mote of respite. Yet to the illusionist who so oft played with the minds of her opponents, how far could such an observation be trusted.

Golden eyes remain plastered against that jagged toothed druid, a novel phenomena emerging from the holyfire exorcist as that overprotective woman in the wake of presence of this peculiar circumstance. A dull heat radiates from the fox, carrying the purifying element of light with it as emotions surged under the surface, the pyromancer’s ‘gift’ of a passion fueled art.

That stare would be short lived as it was the dark furred nagaul’s words who stole away Sayuri’s attention, the kitsune affording for the first time her opportunity to study the limp nagaul. She looked drained, in more ways than one. That messy conglomerate of blood, spit, and lax obfuscating the scars that dip into the tender undersides of her neck; a reality that sparred the vixen, at least for that moment, some horror.

“As am I . . .” Lips flail as if to reply in some equally eloquent title for the nagaul, yet the kitsune falters, finding uneasy feet carrying her forwards as she observes for that moment longer, certain in her arts as she is of the pain her ‘brand’ of healing would inflict upon the weakened occultist. “As am I . . .”

“What . . . who wounded you. . .?”
(Sayuri Ru)
[00:40] The fighting had ceased entirely, as had the draining of blood upon Ixcuiname's neck. The Dryad sets himself upon the nearby bed, ever vilely smiling, the same expression whether he helped or harmed. He leans upon mattress, seemingly having that being the majority of his actives. The dilatating of his pupils had stopped, returning to half-lidded gaze disinterest.

"Sayuri can be of relaxing." He says, feeling the judgmental eyes of the Kitsune burning upon him, and the emerging dull heat. "Conall is doing of what Conall is wanting. If was wanting to be hurting? Would be. Conall was of wanting something different. Something of more fun."

His hands drag through his messy brown hair. The grip upon the Nagual's hand had been released and his tongue actively rubs against the roof of his mouth.

"Khiii. Is still of wondering. Why are Strigoi of attacking Gehenna? Is thinking it is because of Pasis' bounty. Is not knowing. But of thinking." He quiets and eavesdrops.
(Conall Revels)
[00:56] The emergence of that righteous heat causes a few squirms to move through the Occultist -- Even though said heat did little to weaken her in the past, this time it appears to have a stronger effect as she can feel it intensely around her neck, her flesh cursed by that Cainite Ghoul. The Nagual grits her teeth, closing her eyes and shuddering slightly, listening to either of them speak while being the unwitting center of attention. Something she avoids, thrust upon her so uncomfortably.

Once released, her bloodied hand returns to her lap. It's put to work assisting the first in slow, fumbling motions, getting a length of that clean cloth, tearing it with her teeth, and wrapping it around her salved neck. The ends are tied, the red-stained fabric in place. She cannot judge the Dryad's words, they are in line with her ideals, passionate and free. He is above judgement.

Her scratchy words are given to Sayuri, though her eyes are closed and the smaller, armored woman is reclined, and slack, stave sitting away from her grasp.

"Short red haired man... Wielded sword of ice... Water, ice, and fire he used upon me... Distracting me, then sinking teeth into neck... Not normal bite wound, did something to me, wanted to 'turn' me, but needed 'Master's approval'..."

Her questioning of the Chieftain yielded little answers, but the words told by the Dryad atop her bed are considered, before speaking.

"Bounty, by the Chieftain of Atl? Mentioned paying ten thousand coins for a captured enemy... What do you know of these 'Strigoi', Conall? Red haired man said pioneers to Agartha... More will come?"
(Ixcuiname)
[01:10] That stare remained, unabiding as she peeled back the initial layers of confusion she brushed up against. This wasn’t how it was to go, Ixcuiname was a warrior of Ixchel, huntress of the night and pursuer of The Betrayer's minions. She was gird in the vestments of faith, spell guided through sheer and awesome power. Not a victim of an unknown boarder squabble.

Yet that bloodied women’s form begged to differ.

Conall’s reassurances did little and less to prompt the vixen to ‘be of relaxing’, the kitsune’s tail slashing out against the air behind her as fingers curled into little balls. Again she was subjected to the male’s philosophy of ‘do as you will’, the surprisingly philanthropistic outlook of the druid only just saving that self directed doctrine from being something abhorred.

The use of ‘fun’ in detailing his own involvement was met with little joy from the fox, yet she bit back her words for that time being. Indeed he was an aid, a hand to mend and heal, not one to irritate or inflame. The vixen’s probe found answer, if not one she wanted. ‘Strigoi’ was spoken once again. The name of an individual, a tribe, or even a race; it was not known to the fox. But the truer intent of that request was found in Ixcuiname’s description.

A description indeed, a male with a master and an intent to turn the woman the fox held dear. Coin was irrelevant to the fox, there were other matters that drove her ravenous questioning. Lips rear back in a quiet snarl as the fox tears her gaze away from that freshly bandaged wound, the vixen a literal hotspot as she stood centered within that humble abode.

She’d failed, thrice over in the role as guardian to her loved ones. The ‘loss’ of her mother an ever jabbing thorn that pulsed with every heartbeat, swiftly joined in tandem with that agonizing sight of the one proud predator brought low.

But revenge was neither here nor there. Retribution would come in due time, now was recuperation. The ‘benign’ side of her holyfire infusion but the other side of that coin. A few pained huffs were sucked down by the kitsune before she dared to let her gaze find the nagaul once more, steeled as she was to persist.

“Turn you . . . turn you to -what-?” The fox probed, the newfound weight of this conflict coming to light before the fox so soon. Necromancers? Seeking corpses of fallen warriors to augment their ranks? Or perhaps some foul illusion of the mind, stealing free will and corrupting what was ‘just’? The fox knew not, but such was far from an unfamiliar occurrence for the woman.
(Sayuri Ru)
[01:22] He is quiet. And then? He cackles, richly, venomously. His tongue barely stops from leaving his lips covered with saliva, craving and promise returning to his mind. Jagged shard-like formations called teeth come together, making a gnashing smile as Conall sits up atop the linen.

"Spoke of turning? Khiii. Can be of two things. Conall was of overhearing them. Was of going to Strigoi town after of meeting one. Are of interesting creatures. Reminding Conall of mainland Gehennas, of warrior civilization.

Were collecting of chattle, collecting of cave goers to bite and suck. Spoke loudly of such. Conall was of seeing one being taken away, of blonde hair. Was of almost familiar, but Conall not of knowing name. Were of speaking of turning one, of giving one 'blessing of fatherland'.

If Ixcuiname was of being turned? Was of either becoming cattle or of becoming of bless. Is not knowing of which."

His arms moved upwards, wrappingaround his sides, cackling maddeningly. Eyes are wide, and the pupils are dilatated, completely immersed in interest.

"Is of wondering what they can be of doing. Has of seen them fighting before, but is wondering more. Is wondering of how their blood is tasting, when are feeding on many others. Is of wondering if are of more man or of more beast.

Conall is wondering if can be taming of Strigoi. Is wanting one. Could be of wonderful trophy."
(Conall Revels)
[01:36] Hot little rivulets of sweat drip down the side of the drained woman's face as she sits against the bed, eyes remaining closed as the air in the room of hers is much warmer. Uncomfortable, her Cainite cursed bite causing her to shift upon her spot upon the carpet.

Sayuri's question is asked, answered by Conall, the feverish Nagual listening quietly. In spite of the pain, something else brings her sharp-toothed grin back as Conall explains. Soon, her teeth are bared oncemore, the words of the honest and respected Dryad having been spoken and listened to.

"Watched one of them get the blood drained from him by Chieftain of Atl... Was enjoyable... Withered away, becoming frail old man from young, stronger man as blood was sucked from him...

Ehehe..."

In spite of herself, she can't help but giggle slightly, joining that cackling for a time. The sight in her mind's eye has her mood improve, and the words of the Dryad also assist in this endeavor. The 'vampires' being warriors strikes her with a sense of interest, their exotic society of predator and prey, with prey being collected and feasted upon.

"Curious of them... Pasis became Strigoi through eating heart of one of my weaker brothers... Using magic and Spire Shard in ritual to absorb soul... Would not tell me more..."

A lazy, slitted eye opens, looking over at the Dryad, her grin given.

"Will defeat one next... Sink my teeth into flesh and enjoy... Will not be prey, next time... Am also curious how their blood tastes...

Mentioned a 'glimpse beyond the Night's Veil'... Curious if connected to my Goddess... Their ways are strange, bearing red crosses, blackened eyes, and odd actions... Not Valmasian… Something else...

If we capture, we should talk to... Make them tell us... Maybe tame..."

It's rather clear that the Dryad might be able to bring out a certain cruel side of her, his interests appealing to her, while he reminds her a little of a distant, though respected almost 'father figure'... That of Sibri, Chieftain of Cruxati.
(Ixcuiname)
[01:50] As the fox quelled her inner flames, Conall stoked his own, that jovial laugh filling out the room where the brunette’s receding aura did not. A sideways glance lingered over the druid before his verbal musing were shared. Spoken are terms of ‘cattle’ and ‘blessings’. Of a people not unlike Ghenna’s own warriors, bold and brash.

There indeed was a parallel in those cultures. Of that ‘take what you want, others be damned’ philosophy where strength decides who retains ‘rightful’ possession. Yet so easily was that freedom now a restraint upon those who indulged within that right.

Cattle or blessing’s recipient mattered not to the fox, neither would befall that nagaul if she held any action in the decision.

Then came that chilling reminder of Conall’s vocation as slayer. Those muses of claiming one such who seeks to lay similar claim to another in a reversal of fate. These intentions are founded well within the other ‘warrior’ of the hovel, Ixcuiname’s spirits high asshe herself reflects upon that past of cannibalism and blood.

The fox listens, but only just, the inflection and tone of those gravely words indulged within in stead of the message’s content. The energy to speak meant she possessed still the energy and will to endure, to survive past those wounds. A faltering breath stained the hot air as the pyromancer was made acutely aware of her own influence. Her efforts to ‘cool down’ redoubled upon as she found herself taking residency upon that cupboard, arms wrapping low about her stomach as she closed once intense golden eyes.

Those appeals to peek beyond the veil, to almost idolize this new threat came with some trepidation from the fox. Was it simply the musings of one warrior’s respect for another? Or was there a true revelation for those who found scant connection to the moon? The fox herself found neither of such feelings, they were a foe who’d revealed their intents, they would be met as such.

“A society of warriors pit against of civilization of predators . . . to each a strange ‘justice’ in their acts, and yet, neither truly agnostic of the other’s practices. . . Ghenna fights a perversion of it’s own self reflection then.”
(Sayuri Ru)
[02:03] He was lost in the immersion of his own thoughts, the vines which broke from his skin, then dove back underneath the wooden visage writhing and whipping. He almost seems ready to drool over the thought of the Strigoi, but snaps back to reality with dilated pupils when the mentioning of one withering away is mentioned. His jagged teeth form a wide smile.

"Is of sounding wonderful to be of seeing. Conall is of wishing was there. Who was the one who was draining of blood? Ixcuiname, Conall is wanting you to be telling him about it all."

He leans forward, violating her personal space with still shaking eyes hoping to meet her own. He bobs his head.

"Has not of seen Pasis blessing. Maybe of one day. Is not knowing of Chieftain of Atl. Could of being of interest. Nights veil too. Is many many things Conall is wanting to know.. Is wanting to ask."

His tongue lulls out past his maw. The thought of the many things to take, the many things he wanted was nearly overwhelming. He focuses on them, until the noticing of Sayuri's withdrawal, the soon lessening effect of her power. He sits up.

Without asking, without warning, wooden hands moved behind the Fox, placed towards her shoulders, trailing along her spine. He leans forwards, breathing upon Sayuri's neck for the faintest of moments.

"Is not of seeming excited. Is quiet. Khiii. Is of wanting to know if Sayuri is of understanding it. Gehenna is of way of war. Strigoi are also of way of war. Are similar."

He falls back, hands no longer invading Sayuri's bubble, instead to once more enter Ixcuiname's. He aims to lay his head upon the lap of the Nagual.

"Is not comfortable on wood. Can be of joining on mattress if is wishing."
(Conall Revels)
[02:28] Lost in the speculation and excitement over this new enemy, the Nagual's grin remains. Her Goddess ordained that death shall be brought to those who 'dare demand us to kneel'. A challenge was given by this 'society of warriors' just as one was given in the past by those of the Betrayer, those of Aetherius, those of the dead star and the cold mountains. Those of the red crosses will join them, the Nagual is sure of, caught in the vigor and speculation upon the new enemy to be fought.

This excitement is paired with a lowering of uncomfortable energy as the Nagual hides from the sun's now enervating rays within the shadow of her heavy cabinet, leaned against the side of her bed. As poetry is found within the Kitsune, the Nagual considers her words, taking her turn to speak of that which was asked and witnessed.

"Did not know name... Tall, slender man with long white hair... Devoured by Pasis. Pasis washungry. Seen Pasis without mask. Monsterous, rows upon rows of teeth, sharp fangs for drawing blood, rough scales and gleaming eyes.

Did not accept Pasis before... Though he was pretender, but his massive strength and fearsome visage brings honor to Atl. Has power deep inside, power of Greed. Power of Strigoi. Control over water...

Worthy Chieftain of Atl. Respectful to Way of Blood, respectful to Ixchel."

There's a hint of awe in her coarse voice as she speaks of one of the Chieftains she serves, his corrupt arts praised as any other. In Gehenna, strength is strength. Stories of Xomac Tepin and Caprise Greceran are told often in the same breath. They are both heroes to be admired. The Nagual seems rather pleased in her high praises, oncemore that picture of the vampire's essence being torn from him was admired...

Weary, she looks over, amusement evident more then jealousy or anything else as she observes how the Kitsune reacts to unbidden touching from the Dryad. Oncemore, he's 'in the right' by acting as he wishes to. Heedless to her feelings, her gaze softens just a little as she runs eyes over the brunette, time spent close having formed an undeniable bond.

Her gaze oncemore returns forwards, closing her eyes and listening to the questioning of Sayuri, considering for a time, before feeling that weight come to rest on her -- unfortunately mithral armored -- thighs, likely an uncomfortable cushion. She looks down upon him, ambivalence overtaking her expression as the youth rests. Then, eyes close oncemore, allowing him to rest.

"You're Chieftain's favorite mate too, pretty child of the sun... One of us..."

Question of napping on the mattress is taken with thoughtfulness, not answering the question, instead, remaining where she is.

"Would you want to lay down, pretty child of sun?"
(Ixcuiname)
[02:58] The vixen’s reservation was a peculiar mixture of her own attempts to extinguish the smoldering flames that scorch her insides, revenge ever on the mind. Revenge not for Ghenna, but for herself, of the pain inflicted upon that which she held dear. This desire mixed with the trepidation of her coming realization of how swiftly those about her departed from their humanity. Sigrun’s own intents a newfound worry that remained an ever burning shard of remorse.

Another willing to surrender what made them human.

That veil, of indulgence of the powers of the Strigoi, each another opportunity in the vixen’s mind to flee from what made men ‘man’. This was cemented in those high sung praises of that who embodied it’s peak, Pasis. A ‘sin’, unintroduced and unfamiliar to the vixen beyond that title and role. However the brunette had not the time to meditate upon such thoughts before that creeping hand claimed her shoulder, bidding her attention once more in the present.

A troubled, or at least as close to such emotion possible, inquiry into the vixen’s reserved nature bubbling forth from the druid. Golden orbs flick open, spying those unsettling rows of ‘teeth’ as they grin back. Yet as soon as that violation was made, so too was it rectified, the male withdrawing, only to extend an invitation to find a more comfortable position on a softer material other than wood.

An ironic statement coming from a druid comprised of woody flesh.

In much the same ways are these phrases echoed within Ixcuiname’s gravely, if a little weak, words. A bid to ‘invite’ the vixen into that same tribe, and to find comfort among them. Yet the woman took it yet a step further. The chieftain’s favorite mate. A title she’d carried since her meeting with Ixcuiname, and one the brunette found herself at ever growing odds with. Just how long had it been since she’d the man to himself? Their communication ‘good’? The second to last time she’d heard the male he was excited at the prospect of having more Ixcuiname to ‘share’ in that scolding realization it was lust, not love that drove the man. The most recent interaction one the vixen couldn’t even extort a reaction from the male without insisting upon her presence, met with mixed and less than enthusiastic responses and meddling declarations of ‘guessing’ love.

Sayuri felt the title grew hollower with each day; empty words she’d not carry for very much longer . . .

A low grunt fills out the vixen’s chest as she obeys, a few slow strides delivering the kitsune to the bed’s edge before flopping backwards into the soft cot, arms folding over the back of her head as she stares forth.

“Ghenna is a place of warriors and of war. I dare not declare myself a warrior, even as I endeavor to practice such arts . . . I’ve hosted few opportunities to met my skill against my peers. Kazako and Sigrun mark my first victories in such a rank, and my narrow defeats at the hand of Keaka, andhis praises even in my loss, only spur up those thoughts that I may just find myself capable . . . but I am hesitant yet. I am raw, unfocused. . .”

Sandals are left to slip from dainty feet as they fall with a dull smack against the carpet about the bed. “I cannot declare my interest in conflict in of itself . . . the act of spilling of blood, the pain of having blood spilled. It is a means to an ends. Defense, the protection of those I hold dear and love. . .” Words trail off, finding herself once again so willingly in the depths of that predator’s den as she reflects. “Those I love. . . That is what I find ‘excitement’ within. . .”
(Sayuri Ru)
[03:12] Clunk.

"Khiii." The tone is pained as the Dryad's head meets with the metal enshrouding Ixcuiname's lower body. A more human there normal pained look spreads on Conall's face and his hand moves upwards, rubbing the back of his head. He squints, doing his best to ignore the feeling he had just encountered.

"Has not of met Pasis yet. Will of being meeting before is of making judgements." His hand finds it's hold in the many twigs and sticks that stick out of his brown hair. He uses it as a pillow, not quite moving it from Ixcuiname's covered thighs, but surely making a mental note to be careful next time.

His gaze looked towards the Vixen. "Gehenna is of place of war, of battles, of taking when wanting. Is way of world." He began, before quieting. The dialated eyes slowly begin to return to their half-lidded stated.

"Can not be of understanding not of finding entertainment in fighting. Is not ofunderstanding it being only means to an end. But has Sayuri been of trying? Has tried making of bets?

Combat can be used for games. Challenges. If one is winning, one can be getting, and same if losing. Should be of trying sometime. And is now of wanting to spar with. Has not been of sparring Kazako or Sigrun. Has only been of sparring Keaka, and was of sick."

His tongue drapes over his lips. "Conall can be of making raw, unfocused Sayuri into prepared focused Sayuri. Would only have to ask. Would only have to be of listening."

He shifts, trying to make himself more comfortable upon the matress. His hand moved to his cloak, then his armor, slowly removing them. He is left in his red shirt.

"Khiii. Ixcuiname; Conall is making self comfortable." He bobbed his head.
(Conall Revels)
[03:27] The weary Nagual, unfortunately, has found herself drifting off to sleep within her armor. This promises to be quite uncomfortable in the morning when she wakes up, having fallen asleep sitting down and leaning against a mattress. The words of those around her are spared from her ears as feverish dreams begin to form through her pained body.

Unsettling dreams mixed with the more familiar. Sayuri's whispers into her unconscious ears, words aimed towards tainting her dreams. Tender words of covetous desire contorted like a funhouse mirror with that provided via her Cainite 'gift'. Dyed red, glistening and echoing the pulsating of hearts and the taste and texture of flesh. Within these delirious visions, the bold huntress watches on, fear not something her zealous heart is oft stricken with.

Sanguine hunger makes a tiny bit of drool drip from the corner of her lips, the mostly-unconscious woman squirming and shivering weakly as her fever rages. The cursed bite burns with an increasing proximity to the fire and sunlight blessed woman who rests behind her, only heightening her fever as she shivers weakly, that part of the 'gift' imparted on her as well, through that curse...
(Ixcuiname)
[03:40] Sayuri reclines upon that crowded mattress, a few low huffs filling the air as she adjusts to the horizontal position. That familiar, futile attempt to find comfort amidst a land so rife with common discomfort chewed away at Sayuri. The hours she’d spent sleepless in bed reflecting within her own current position of unease. Ixcuiname was wounded, a new enemy threatened Gehenna, her ‘proper’ lover grew more and more distant with each passing day, and the manifestation of her peek meant she no longer held that excuse for her weakness.

Conall’s tired gaze was found with Sayuri’s own as he reminds the vixen of Gehenna’s true nature, a nature well and repeated by Ixcuiname herself. Gehenna was a land of ‘savages’, ones of stark contrast of the Jiangheese warriors she grew up knowing. At length did the druid speak of the nature of conflict, it’s ‘excitement’, of trials of gambling and that familiar offer to hone her skills.

“I fear too strongly the loss of what makes me ‘me’. My life, my emotions, the embodiment and totality of who and what I am; all is laid bare before in blood combat, so swiftly may it all come to a painful close. . .” That admission was curt, spoken of concordance, but equally met with a drive that met Conall’s offer. “I’ll accept all bids for support that I am in such endeavors. Keaka remains my superior, but through defeat I learn and gather power. Perhaps in the future that may shift.”

A curious glance trails over the male as he begins stripping, removing those bulky plates and thick cloaks. This curiosity turns into stiff possessiveness as she recognizes for the first time the male’s position against the nagaul’s lap, those gold eyes lingering overlong, like some warden’s gaze. A bid for ‘comfort’ from the man who does as he pleases.

Defense for her loved one remained a multi-front conquest; a burning drive to improve if ever there remained one.

The kitsune’s tail swipes through the air as it collides with the distant edge of the bed, her focus finding that simi-conscious figure of Ixcuiname. Deprived as she was that full revealing angle, the fox paused, time slow as she dawns upon her slow drift into sleep. A more tender, if equally possessive happening occurred as the kitsune reached forth for that undefended scalp, the exorcist’s hand heavy against the messy scalp as a thumb runs slow up and down lines against the nagul’s frizzy ear.

“I am no warrior, at least by my own definition. But it seems I’ve earned Keaka’s respect in such affairs . . . Ghenna carries a light . . . a light that shines back upon all darkness that embodies Agartha, but what’s more is I’ve found my heart.” That thumb gives a little flick against the soft cartridge of that dark triangle that she stared at so temptingly.

Perhaps this sleepless night she might find comfort still . . .
(Sayuri Ru)
[03:54] Conall's gaze trails upwards towards the seemingly drifted off Ixcuiname. He does not say anything, not wishing to break her slumber. There is a single movement to be seen, a wood-textured hand moved upwards to run the sleeping Nagual's cheek, a mix of vague possessiveness, yet also tender.

Similarly? Perhaps suprsingly the Dryad's other hand would move towards Sayuri, not settling upon her cheek but giving the hand not placed onto Ixcuiname a single tender yet possessive stroke.

"Khiii. Sayuri is of fearing too much." Conall moves, slightly closer to the Kitsune yet not invading her bubble. "Is of fearing for what is making you you? But what if combat is also of discovering what is making you you? Have you not wanted to taste victory? What feelings are within Sayuri's heart when in heat of battle?

Can be of finding out in future. And of sparring. Maybe making of bets. Conall is of having many ores with value. Can be of betting that."

He settles. The shirt too, is removed from the Dryad, enjoying the matress now in full. "Is of many types of lights. Is of many types of darkness. But is good to be of finding heart, of finding center.

Is good to be of doing things before becoming of dust. Is where all ends."

His gaze moves towards the footboard of the bed and he is quiet.

"Khiii. Is Sayuri going to be of interrupting Conall removing Ixcuiname's armor? Will be of hard for her to be of sleeping like this."
(Conall Revels)
[04:17] Within her delirious dreams lie a jungle, a place familiar, yet difference. A certain coppery scent lies in the air, and every step upon the soft loam results in muddy, red-tinged liquid lapping at one's feet. Even the verdant plans themselves drip with vermillion moisture. The Cainite curse pollutes her with its depraved crimson, though luckily, as the red-haired man declared, it's but a taste. It will fade. But until then, the huntress strides beneath a red-tinted moon, a feverish warmth running through her from that wound still present within her mind during her sleep. It's not horrible for her, simply odd and unnerving, familiar scenes painted with a strange brush.

Within the waking world, Ixcui is stroked, possessive hands reaching her now messy soft hair. The pale one elicits shivers, some tension, and drips of beading sweat, the curse dwarfing its usually burning heat into that of a sweltering one that only makes her fever more apparent, cheeks reddened. Within its strokes of her frizzy ear, she shivers, the feeling enjoyable, yet altered by her condition. A soft groan slips from her slightly drooling lips, head leaning to the side. That flick elicits a tiiiiny whine from the sick huntress, a noise not as rough as the others, and a little more 'cute', the feline-featured woman's ear twitching in an after-shock of that flick.

Her armored form rests, dark cloak billowing around her, while thick, black-dyed fur decorates her neck and upper back, her blackened mithril a little battered by the warfare it was witnessed. Her darker face is host to a series to cuts and scrapes, such things also present along hands and little cuts in the leather that protects some areas of her body. Created from that flurry of glass-like ice shards, they're not particularly deep, the blood elicited from them mostly having dried, leaving little red stains under each laceration.

Then, the Dryad's petting comes next, running over the soft texture of the Nagual's cheek. His hands, ironically, do little to pain her, despite their rough texture, the Cainite curse bearing little malice against the arts he wield. Her lulled head leans into that hand ever-so-slightly, the mostly-unconscious woman not seeming to mind it, her breaths rhythmic, slow, but feverishly uneven and warm, little shivers moving down her spine. Her short-haired, ebon-black tail occasionally gives a little twitch from its testing place.

The target of his gaze -- her armor -- is layered, cloak, mithril, stiff leather, and then, knowing her, nothing else. It's fastened via straps, mostly, held in place tightly around her sleek form, so as to blend with it as much as it can. In her mostly-unconscious state, there's little she can do to stop the pair, should they wish to 'free' her and put the Nagual to bed.
(Ixcuiname)
[04:31] That hand remains for a time, dipping into the raven colored seas of hair as digits relish in that scant layer of fur. Thoughts reflect upon the ‘playful’ activities spent with those appealing ‘blessings’.

Jiuweihu and Ixchel knew damn well what they were doing.

Peace ebbs through the fox as that once more the intrusions of Agartha find their ways to strike out against the kitsune. That bark covered hand coming out against Ixcuiname generating yet another of those ‘warden’s’ gazes from the fox. Perhaps an opportunity to check the quivering woman’s temperature, or perhaps something more; the fox did not know. Focus remained in that direction before the repeat of the male’s action was found against Sayuri herself, that distant hand neglected in her study of Ixcuiname’s cheek.

A gaze darts over to discover Conall’s presence, curiosity held before those words came forth again. Bashing her fears, inviting her to sup from that intoxicating wine of the trials and tribulations of battle. Assurances of finding, not losing, within such an undertaking. Once more is the fox reminded of that casual ‘betting’ taken up within the scene, a soft snort given.

“Fear is human, and being human gives me strength . . . too many submit even that emotion in their pursuits, so when they gaze upon their end they fret not, unable to summon forth the utmost of what they are capable of . . . I fear too much, yes, but I’d rather feel, and know that feeling, than to not.”

The probe into the woman’s ‘heart’ in the midst of combat sparks some introspection as she allows her mind to be spoken. “I’ve had two scant undertakings where my life was within my own hands . . . both at the undoing of the undead who attacked . . . Fear, anger, hatred for it’s existence, it’s intrusion upon what peace I once held and believed within . . . that fueled my fires.” The admission is held for a long while, before removal of the male’s shift is made, a mental line drawn by the vixen crossed within that act.

No longer was the fox’s position one of comfort but of warding, the vixen easing herself up within that mattress as she lorded over the male’s ‘dangerous’ acts. In equal parts came those words, already privy to the vixen’s hesitant nature in the means it asked for permission. Golden eyes narrow before sweeping over the nagaul, the exorcist entirely unaware of the dreamscape explored, only through those quivering twitches did the fox find some understanding of that restlessness.

A low breath was swallowed, once again attempting to attribute Conall’s offer more to the ‘helping hand’ role instead of a more lecherous pursuit. The brunette’s mind turned to the many times the woman had stripped before her, those light plates so easily discarded by her own machinations, yet with her limp and sickly, how would such an activity find complication. The fox growled softly, knowing the compromised position she’d be placing the woman within, yet the alternative was just as uncomfortable for the nagaul.

“We work in tandem. No funny business, then she’s in bed; asleep. She belongs in the clinic for the sake of the gods. . .” The vixen eases up from her perch, navigating about the cramp quarters before pausing, deliberating for a time before she summons forth the aid of ‘another’. Two arms become four, as they wrap under the woman’s shoulders. One Sayuri once again splits into two as the illusionist’s physical double manifests under her direction, aiding in that lift to that bed she’d so recently warmed.
(Sayuri Ru)
[04:44] The feverish warm of Ixcuiname's body is detected by the hand. After the brief touching of each of the flesh of each women, his hands return to his side. He turns, looking towards Sayuri, offering the ever vile smile that is stretched upon his cheeks.

"Is still of sick, Conall is seeing. Of what Conall was giving her will make it numb, will make of pain go away more. But will not be healing completely. Will of heal with time." His forefinger taps on the blanket of the bed. His eyes looked upon the Nagual again, then to Sayuri.

"Is not always of fear that can be of keeping human. Can be of many emotions. Sayuri is of protector, yes? Conall is of wondering. What would Sayuri of doing, if she could be of curing all Ixcuiname's sickness now? Of how far would be of going to be curing friend?

Of knowing self is more then just of 'taking life into own hands' yes? Is of taking other lives into hands too." Hisquestion asked in a genuinely curious tone.

"If was case? Would not be of needing her to be of resting in clinic. Would be of safe." He goes to Ixcuiname's feet, and as Sayuri began to lift the Nagual, Conall also would, aiding in the 'tandem' established with ever opportunistic eyes.
(Conall Revels)
[05:16] Within her twisted dreamscape, the Nagual continues her stride, the light of the moon ever watching over her, even if its glow is hazy and vermillion. The hot, humid canopy is twisted, and she considers a few things to herself, gazing up at the moon through the reddened mist. A blessing is something she wishes for from her Goddess, of course. Some sign of trust, that she's moving in the right direction. A fearsome power to smite those who lie against her, though, what kind of blessing? The one Kazko wishes to awaken, taken into himself from the consumed flesh of Tizoc? The Strigoi blessing taken from the enigmatic Pasis? Still, her feverish dreaming leads her to gaze upwards at the moon, quietly considering it, her form within this dream hazy, weary, and bearing that wound she has in life. Maybe the secret lies in her Cosmic arts? To simply channel the power of her Goddess at every opportunity?

She doesn't know. She knows what she wishes for, and knows that she must earn, with time, devotion, and practice... Such thinking is a little exhausting, she'd rather do, then not...

Aside from exhausting, cloying thoughts, her real world form continues to receive those heated strokes, velvety-soft ears menaced by the Kitsune's hot fingers, her curse making these ministrations uncomfortable. They're received with small, feverish squirms and tiny groans while her body is watched over by that Sayuri, her posture protective of the Nagual's smaller form, the unconscious woman completely prey to such possessive gazes and diplomacy and cooperation with the Dryad.

Within her own world, a version of their talk is considered by her. Pasis explained that when he became Strigoi, he mutated, becoming monstrous and different, his form unlike that of a Sirenian, misshapen muscle, patches of hair, and other accents resulting from the twisted blessing he absorbed from Itotia's sacrifice and the usage of a Spire Shard.

Ixcuiname will give anything for her Goddess, fully prepared to be her divine instrument until her last breath... Would she become something like that? An abyssal demigod who's twisted by meddling with divine work...

The key is 'meddling'. No. She would not be as presumptive as to alter the work of her Goddess with fragments of divine power that litter Agartha. A path is cemented with that realization. To operate simply, to just channel Ixchel's power and uphold her ideals. It does disappoint her, though, seeing Pasis in a different light, that of more of an interloper... But she will not condemn him, he does bring honor to Ixchel and his Atl, despite his twisted form.

As always, the Nagual's form is light and easily manipulated, ever the blackened metal she wears lightweight and compact. Within six arms, it's not a difficult task to lift her to the bed, arms and legs sprawling out like a limp doll, her feverish form's hot breaths slipping from lips, as more little shivers slip from her. Her dark tail flicks every so often...
(Ixcuiname)
[05:22] * You have been awarded 1.5 Roleplay Points! *
[05:30] Sayuri remains close at hand against the unconscious woman as she’s eased into bed, a low huff given in the wake of that exerting movement. Golden eyes peer over the prone woman, studying her condition with trepidation. That lingering stare confirms the druid’s findings. She’s suffering, sickly indeed as those wounds cut into that ravaged body. Time will heal these wounds where the vixen could not.

The vixen’s gaze remains forwards, an almost scared expression dawning upon that fair skinned face as she listened on to the druid’s probes. A protector indeed the fox fancied herself, but her record was far from ‘good’. Then came that frustrating reminder that indeed the fox was capable of healing, or at least easing the woman’s wounds, but only in great disregard for her pain. A frustrated sound made as her own holy acts of restoration would inflict a horrendous pain upon that occultist far and beyond what their intimate contact of the past had afforded them; mere ‘pins and needles’ from the absorption of her passive aura more akin to maddening agony should the fox venture to charge such mana within the woman.

Conall’s mention of taking the lives of others as well as her own resounds within the woman. Who many had she’d directly influenced in her life, her poor decisions, her indecisiveness? It was a harrowing thought, one that further inflicted blame upon the poor guardian.

“Yea . . . yea . . . you’re right.” The fox heaved a low breath, eyeing that wounded woman before her. “What would be done to -prevent-, nevermind to heal. . . to remove this tragic incident from existence.” Yet even as she spoke the fox knew such was less than possible, not within her realm of power.

A long pause is given then, a mixture of her own burning affection forming a potent cocktail with her drive to protect, to shield that which she loved; to preserve that light she held so dearly. Ixcuiname’s continued ‘uncooperative’ cooperation through her limp, light form exploited as it was settled squarely upon that bed they’d shared so many times before, a lukewarm memory in the given circumstance such a cot would be her recovery ward.

With little hesitation does the physical ‘master’ of the split kitsune set to work easing that pain as best she may, there was a fever to weather, and armor made not the softest of beds to rest upon. Pale hands worked about nagaul’s neck, unsecuring that cloak as she worked those darkened furs from about her shoulders. A task made all the more difficult through the limp woman’s weight.

Meanwhile the independent drive of her clone set to work raiding the pantry, sourcing the scant remainders of a water pitcher’s contents alongside a rag. Soaked as it was within that liquid the illusionary duplicate rounded the bed, running that rag along her forehead. Slow, doting strokes saturated that darkened flesh that now glimmered in the scant light of the hovel. Crimson cheeks and neck were cared fornext, that cooling water time and again sourced from that pitcher as the tag-team labored.

Much less elegantly was the woman’s address for Conall, the fox content in performing the act ‘alone’, but thought better to sway direction in her ‘command’. “Latches, clasps, and straps. Let’s get those unsecure and her out of her limbs, the chest piece will be the last. . .”
(Sayuri Ru)
[05:44] Half-lidded eyes peered towards the Kitsune as she huffed. A small ironic cackle breathes past the Dryad's lips. Slowly he shakes his head and he draws closer to Sayuri. His hand ventures out, true to form, assisting in placing Ixcuiname upon the bed. He looks upon the latches and straps, a hand placed upon a part of the clothes, beginning to loosen them.

"Is not what Conall is saying. Will be of repeating. Sayuri can be of showing where to unsecure straps while Conall is."

One hand would begin to be placed upon some of the latches, doing it's work, but the other find's it's place elsewhere. The hand is placed onto Sayuri's shoulder and Conall leans in, an almost seductive tone in his voice.

"What would Sayuri of doing, if she could be of curing all Ixcuiname's sickness now? Of how far would be of going to be curing friend? Of knowing self is more then just of 'taking life into own hands' yes?

Is of ways to be of healing injures and of sickness without time. Conall is of knowing such way. But is expensive. More then four times amount of wood Conall and Sayuri gathered in clear sold.

So what would Sayuri be of doing if she could be of curing sickness of Ixcuiname this moment?"

Conall leans away from Sayuri, instead moving closer to the Nagual. The tips of his mouth curve upwards into a smile, vile and corrupt as his hand once more moves to stroke the side of the Nagual's cheek.

"Conall is of thinking both would be wanting Ixcuiname of all better yes? But would be of exchange of sorts."
(Conall Revels)
[06:04] Her course of action decided upon, the Nagual simply wanders through this humid, vermillion jungle, striding upon the soft soil quietly... A relaxing gesture, if the air didn't feel so hot and heavy all around her.

Within the waking world, the fever-struck woman squirms weakly. Normally, Sayuri's touches result in slightly numbing and burning lingering patches and lines, but now, the very presence of her hand is like something burning and sweltering, spiritual heat coursing painfully through her cursed veins. It's only a weak curse, but the irritation is felt within her regardless.

That cloak slips off under insistent hands, slipping the dark fabric and furs off of the patient. The absence of their stab-dissuading forms give a good view of the lithe, slender woman, blackened metal adorned with silvery scratches due to her recent fight, the stiff leather under the plating often bearing some lacerations that oozed now dry blood. All minor wounds, a host of scratches from that storm of glass-like ice...

A soaked rag is easily procured, its wiping bringing soft exhales, squirms a little weaker as those hot hands are veiled in that cooling fabric, her darker skin glistening under the faint light. With each movement, dried blood and dirt from the combat are erased.

As a Faustian bargain slowly is worked towards surfacing for the protective Sayuri, those barky hands easily undo her armor, plethora of straps and fasteners loosened, allowing the tight leather to draw away from the feline-featured woman's overheated form, metal plating the easiest to remove. The stiff leather is the next, and requires more finesse. Still, as elements are removed, it's easier for the feverish girl to breathe and cool off, breaths softening and squirming slowing.

The huntress's cheeks are soft, and warm from her elevated temperature, not to mention wet from the rag. However, they're quite easily stroked, the deliriousgirl rather pliable in this condition...
(Ixcuiname)
[06:15] The Sayuris work diligently, if as efficiently as they could while attempting to minimize their disturbance of the unconscious woman’s shallow slumber. Conall’s request for direction comes wordlessly from the split kitsune, each working in tandem with one another’s efforts to guide and work. Ixcuiname’s legs are bent one at a time as the vixen juts fingers behind the darkened metal plates, sourcing securing straps that bind flesh and bone to the second layer of skin.

In turn with Conall’s movements that illusionary duplicate maintains it’s split role as director and sponger, with each segment of armor removed exposing another section of flesh to be cleansed and saturated, working as she could to ease that fever. An irony not lost to the pyromancer’s in comparison to her typical role.

The physical manifestation of the fox worked independent of that group, focus split between her own labors and observing Conall’s own, eyes ever watchful. Working higher upon the halfway armored woman’s form gauntlets, vanbraces, and pauldrons were loosened and stripped unceremoniously, the second Sayuri swift to cleanse such an area as well.

Swift progress was made towards that ‘goal’ of removing that cuirass, the expansive set of interlocking plates that dominate the woman’s chest flanked as truer of the two foxes eased finger tips upon the clasps that sandwiched the nagaul’s torso. Yet that process was stopped as Conall’s insistence was discovered, and clarity was found in that actual invitation to seek a cure; not some metaphorical possibility.

Gods how stupid was she to adopt a scholar’s prose instead of a realist’s pragmatism under that question.

Lips part in an easy response as her hand sinks into the depths of her kimono’s plentiful sleeve, yet as those parting words were offered, and that thrice over stroke delivered, the fox grew weary with the druid’s incessant ‘advances’. The fox lingered over long, staring down the male as he so casually stroked the nagaul before them. Every affectionate display against the unwitting woman stirring another bolt of jealousy as the fox tensed up. Losing faith even in her own excuse of the male playing his role as ‘helping hand’ exclusively, Sayuri sank that hand further into her sleeve, grasping at objects concealed within as she comments, a defensive half step taken forwards.

So oft was the first Agarthian bank of Sayuri polled for withdrawals, but this was a case she mourned not for the loss of her coin.

“Name a price. The bleeding of coin is an easier fate to endure than the bleeding of blood.”
(Sayuri Ru)
[06:26] Conall cackles.

Half-lidded eyes become dialated again, looking at Sayuri as she took a step forward and put a hand into her sleeve. His vile jagged grin rests on his features, staring the Kitsune down. His own hand reaches into a pants pocket, drawing a vial forwards.

"Conall is not of naming a price. Was of asking question to Sayuri. Will be of repeating thrice. What would Sayuri of doing, if she could be of curing Ixcuiname's sickness now? Of how far would be of going to be curing friend?

Of how much is Ixcuiname's health worth to Sayuri? Is it worth only of coin?"

His hand does not move from Ixcuiname's cheek, gently stroking it, almost affectionately. His hand moved a little up, rubbing towards the back of her ears as he easily leaned forwards. A bit too easily.

Wooden nails touch the top of the vial in the other hand. The potion's cap is still closed, lidded, but is fiddled with as he looks at Sayuri. He quiets, staring judgmentally.
(Conall Revels)
[06:42] Swiftly, the sleeping woman finds her armor removed from her, her limp, compliant limbs easily party to bending and removing articles. The cooling touch of the pyromancer and the Dryad's fingers work well together, her black-leather clad form bare as the under layer is slowly revealed, removed in segments. Her darker, warm hued and physically hot skin is laid bare bit by bit, run over with cool water, each ministration cleaning her scratched up skin.

Arms and legs revealed, the Nagual is slender and lithe, lacking much in the way of fat aside from some smatterings of womanly fat where they should be, padding her in a few areas and preventing her from looking too tomboyish. Though as armor is removed, it's more and more easy to be aware of just how small the huntress is, a diminutive form paired with an underweight, likely underfed body, judging by skinniness.

Mostly undressed, just her chest piece that goes down to mid-thigh remains, the perspiration-coating of the Nagual replaced by gentle, cooling water. A tiny groan slips from her at the paired cooling rub and the transition from cheek to dark-jaguar ear, her velvety fur stroked easily by the Dryad, form relaxing as that touch doesn't meddle with her cursed injury as much as the other...
(Ixcuiname)
[06:55] Sayuri is in much less of a position to laugh.

That cackling druid is gazed upon, studied as that cruelty is inflicted not only upon herself, but the unconscious nagaul. From literal once more to metaphorical does that conversation turn. A shuddering breath is heaved as the male continued along that trice teased game, denying his responsibility as those lavish strokes were indulged within.

Sayuri burned. A deep fire scorching her stomach and chest as she leered at the male before her, the overwhelming emotions enough to instigate the clone’s own distant stare, the manifestation gazing from across the bed, frozen as those care taking duties were put on pause.

Who in the gods damned did this pretentious knave think he was?

That stare was met with a few slow breaths as that vial was teased over and over again as the male continued his abuse of that woman she so loved. A twitchy lip was only hardly kept low, concealing her incisors as a shaky, empty hand, was withdrawn from the depths of that sleeve.

“You spoke in terms of ‘expensive’, forgive me then, if you can, my confusion. For I now believe I understand your terms.” Another slow breath was swallowed, only just keeping the fox on her verge as her tail cut at the hot air behind her. “Speak in terms of challenge, and you’ll find acceptance of a task befitting such a poultice. Speak in terms of distance, and you’ll find a distance willing to be traversed. Speak in terms of risk, and you’ll find courage.” The vixen seethed as she spoke in hushed words. “Speak in terms of nonsense whimsy, and you’ll find we’re wasting time and the makings of agitation.”

Sayuri remained in the posture, guarding as she could against that ‘helping hand’, every passing moment another torturous moment where she so passively permitted that intruding hand. An abuse of that woman so visibly clear to the fox it sent spiraling nails of pure agony through her head.

“So speak clear your terms and give end to this game you so torment me with.”
(Sayuri Ru)
[07:11] The eyes stare at Sayuri a few moments longer, lingering on the Kitsune. Conall seems to silently evaluate. Then, he bobs his head. The vial's cap is removed and his hand sitting upon Ixcuiname's ears settles behind her head. The other brings the vial to the Nagual's lips, the liquid soon placed into her mouth.

It would only be once the liquid was already started to be drank that he spoke again.

"Fear is human, and being human gives me strength.

Is of your words, yes? So be of telling Conall, in this spot in the dark, with no one around, is it fear that is driving Sayuri's resolve? Or is it other feeling that is giving her words purpose?

Is other feeling. Conall is thinking when Sayuri was of feeling fear? Was of feeling doubt? Was what was causing agreeing with Conall. Was what was causing giving up before beginning.

Be of keeping coins, Sayuri. Be not of doing challenge, not of walking distance. Conall was of planning to give Ixcuiname healing from start. Is of enjoying her.

And now? Is of seeing more of Sayuri. Is not so meek. Is not afraid. Should be of more like this more often. Is good change."

The vial, now empty, is at to the side.

"Is exactly as Conall was of saying. Is not of fear that can be of keeping human, that Sayuri should be of hiding behind. Sayuri should be of learning more about self. Is knowing so little, when is not sticking to what is saying.

Conall was of desiring to know what Sayuri is made of. Now is knowing."

He looked down. Fingers interlock the chestplate sitting on Ixcuiname's chest, starting to remove it so the metal wouldn't be wholly uncomfortable for her to sleep in.

"Is of cute when is sleeping."
(Conall Revels)
[07:12] {Item} You drop Elixir Of Healing.
[07:32] The unconscious Nagual is party to those petting, unaware of such a passionate storm going on above her delirious, though slowly becoming less feverish body. Breaths are slower now, more even, perspiration and dried blood dabbed up, leaving cooling water in its wake. Tiny, contented little strokes at her fuzzy ears cause gentle, pleased little breaths to slip from her lips. It's a more blissful state for her, relaxation beginning to come over her.

That comes the faint feeling of glass pressed to lips, liquid running down her throat. The cool sensation causes her to shiver, but the magical tincture is nothing if not potent. With a shudder, her fever begins to reduce immediately, her body losing that excess heat dramatically.

Within her mind's jungle, the air clears, that crimson haze leaving the pale light of the moon streaming down upon her, the reddish tint fading slowly. It's easier to breathe, to think, and to move.

Through that, she remains asleep, however, the tension seeming to have filtered out of her as the Cainite curse is slowly but surely being unraveled, breaking apart. Her breastplate's straps are loosened, the blackened mithral stripped from her, leaving a stiff black leather 'tunic' under it. The last piece of clothing upon her, most likely.

A more pleased expression dawns on her face, a small smile resting upon lips as the tired Nagual's resting form remains, chest rising and falling in slow breaths...
(Ixcuiname)
[07:42] Emptied hands clutch at the emptiness of the air before her as they remain before her, hovering awkwardly in that post sleeve retrieval process. Fingers curl into fists and flat again in a silent cycle, the trembling kitsune’s stare held against the druid before her. Slow, uneven breaths were forcefully swallowed, fueling an unseen flame as golden eyes stared.

As the man made his forward lunge for the prone woman Sayuri felt herself growing unhinged, the last strands of her frazzled rope plucked as he once more neglected her guard against the druid. Time and again was that ‘useless’ game of words endured, unrelenting strokes burning the fox, each another mounting layer of disdain piled up against the brunette.

Yet as the potion was produced and fed, the fox was at once within a deadlock. Unwilling, or unable to lash out as that, the very core of her worries were addressed so fully. The kitsune watched, wide, bold eyes leering as that vulpine tail lashed in aggressive strokes through the air, listening all the while.

A challenge to be endured, a distance to be traversed indeed was this inane trial put forth by the druid who’s unrelenting taunts, teases, and provocation got exactly what it is he wanted to see. At length does the man discuss fear, the fear that drives Sayuri and the absence of that emotion, his refusal to accept the kitsune’s doctrine in the light of the creature he teased from that meek woman.

The vixen’s stare was preserved even as Conall withdrew, that encouragement to summon forth this embodiment more often not lost to the fox. That ‘truer’, ‘rawer’ face so greedily indulged upon by that sadistic druid. An abuse of that fox so visibly clear to herself that it sent spiraling nails of pure agony through her head.

But Ixcuiname found relief, that was what mattered.

Twitchy fingers remained as the vixen stared on, not wholly convinced even in the wake of that decisive act. “Anger more befitting a ‘warrior’? Hatred more so than fear? What else am I do withstand then? Push me into a conflict I’ve little leverage in winning? To fan flames, and feed coals that are not your own? What is your goal here?”
(Sayuri Ru)
[07:53] He cackles again.

"Ixcuiname is cured. She'll wake up with the bite mark faint or gone. If you wish? You can say it was you. Or you can tell her the truth. In end? Is Sayuri's choice. This was of moment shared of Conall and Sayuri."

He stepped away from the Nagual after a last rub of her ears, instead approaching Sayuri and staring her down.

"Goal? Was of telling Sayuri of goal. Wanted to be of seeing who she was. Wanted to remove the covering of hiding, to be seeing of her true emotions, seeing of her true thinking of friends.

If was anger? If was hatred? Then Sayuri may of being darker then Conall is knowing. In end, desire was only to be seeing of her. Is not of disappointed."

His hand would move towards the Kitsune. If she did not move or draw away he would gently pet her cheek. And if that did not drive her away, perhaps a kiss upon her cheek would.

"Sayuri should be of being careful or Conall may of start desiring her. Was enjoying what was seeing."

He smiles vilely. And then he falls backwards onto the mattress, eyes closing. The Druid seems to be passing into rest.
(Conall Revels)
[08:04] The Nagual rests upon her bed, calm and a little more evenly breathing. Progress upon that bite-mark upon her neck is obfuscated by that bandage she applied, though the scrapes and cuts upon her seem less visible, faded as though they where all older wounds. She's relaxed and seemingly more comfortable, having received a gentle rub-down of cold water and finding her fever break, the heat ebbing from her less intense and much more subdued.

The alchemical concoction appears to be fixing both mystical and conventional elements of her injury. The rubbing of her soft, black-furred ears has a little shiver of contentment run through her body, the unconscious woman just as pleased as ever under those gentle, tender ministrations. Once they're removed, the huntress is none the wiser of this entire situation that has went on as she rests, it seems, her passed out form recovering slowly...
(Ixcuiname)
[08:14] The fox’s probe hung heavily over that thick air, made heavy through that infuriated exorcist’s presence. Shared, Conall spoke, as if of a secret between friends, an excursion made, or some delight shared; not of the systematic sampling of what comprised the vixen’s being.

That back and forth stare down was held by the fox, but that facade made an imperfect presentation, cracks marring the surface of that demeanor. That’s all this trial was to the druid. An opportunity to push the fox a little more, to see how she bent, how she broke; the teased healing of Ixcuiname yet a means to an end.

The male’s advances were endured, that bark covered hand gracing her pale flesh before those lips found purchase against that same tender skin, brought to almost painfully hot temperatures as the pyromancer seethed. That teasing remark yet another shove against the fox before the male collapsed himself.

Driven as she was, it was Ixcuiname that the fox endeavored to study, the woman’s compromised form slowly recovering as that potion was imbibed. His methods, controversial, but if nothing else the druid found honesty in at least that potion delivered.

Quiet growls marred the air as she swiped at the air with an empty hand turning away from the druid as she rejected so vehemently that assessment of character. No, it was fear that drove the fox. Fear for Ixcuiname, fear for herself, fear for what motivations were carried within Conall. But there was one point conceded. It would not of been fear that drove the fox to strike out against that perceived threat.

Growls diminished into little gasps as she settled into ‘herself’ once again, hands clutching at the edge of the bed as she simply watched as that potion’s contents worked it’s magic with each passing moment.
(Sayuri Ru)