occult7

Swish, swish.
The whistle of a kettle.

Water instantly scalds.
The scent of burnt tea-leaves and the astringency of steam.
A hand is waved over the kettle, and the reaction is instant.
And a moment later, he sets three plates of meat and three cups all shod from crude, ugly woodwork on the table. The meat is black and charred with spots of raw, bloody pinkness: like the exterior of it has been seared but not cooked. All three guests seat themselves at his little alcove in the woods. Their comfortable home away from home.

With the rustling of the trees and the quiet noise of wildlife.
Grimm seems at home in this place: no so much a strange, alien entity as he had been in the heart of a beating city. Teacups are poured: leafwater stirred and dispensed without so much as a word said edgewise on the topic. A hem, quiet.

"You are a Peeping Tom.
Eyes that are welcomed by themselves alone.
Someone privy to the stories and the noise of the woods.

And I am a man who seeks an audience to our stories.
A set of lips to whisper them. A set of hands to write them.
An auteur cannot advertise his own play."

The offer is written between lines, implicit with each pained, slow breath. Talking in this manner produces visible cues of pain in his voice. A warbling. "So I will offer you my hand the once, and never again. The strange things of the woods will leave you be, and in exchange, you would tell the world of them. And help your dear friend Grimm.

Because you've already seen so much."
And a slow look over to the Big Bad Wolf. His fingers drum on the log: each coming with a wet squelching as fingertips mulch against oak, like there is something wet and bloody underneath those gloves. The smell of something foul accompanies it.

"And I'm sure we could do with having some more friends, couldn't we? Even if I have so many, one more is never enough."

(Grimm)
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[13:17] Not one cup touched,
not one bite taken.

Grimm had begun his recruitment offer. As his voice droned on, speech dripping with the possibilities for this lost little Alice, Big Bad Wolf had started leaning ever so closer as one elbow propped against the stump of a table.

Watching.
Waiting.
Carefully considering the faeborne's body language, carefully listening for the quickening of a heartbeat; any indicators that may lead the duo to believing that she would attempt to leave posthaste without even tying the knot on their little impromptu teatime date.

Grimm's eyes are noted, the rhythmic motions of the tapping brought into the creatures consideration - a sharp inhale could be heard accompanied by the notes of a quiet and dry chuckle from deep within one's chest.

As if it had been told a joke.
Free claw began dragging itself up the table stump, awaiting to hear Alice's response to Grimm's proposition.
(Big Bad Wolf)
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[13:26] On second thought, this is a bad excuse for tea.

There is no sign of a quickening heartbeat; the Wolf notices, in fact, that Alice's own pulse runs slow, almost haggard within her own veins already. Perhaps she is muscled and fit underneath the outfit - but that does nothing to defend against her own cold, and so it runs lackluster.

It's a pitiful sort of display of hospitality.
There is no proper tea. There is no proper food.
They sit in the dark around a stump, and although it is enchanting- quite bluntly, there is a bitter taste in her mouth already.

"... and why should I, then, regale such stories?" The question is offered with the same sort of languid arrogance that perhaps one should have come to expect from her. "You know the value of creative works. Why would I pursue yours and not my own, my life spent cataloging others' lines?"

Louder, she calls. "The world can know of them on my own terms. There is no need for help nor due effect, nor what one might deem as some strange-set deal. I'm insulted that you think I would stoop so low as to not seize inspiration from what I may see in depraved corners for some to gawk at and learn from?"

Her heartbeat remains even.
She is prideful-
-but it's hard to tell if this is a yes or a no.

"What have you done to earn my gentle pen?"
A demand for an answer - she stands, but does not flee, crossing her arms as she looms. "What have you done to make me find its worth?"

Why should I look at you and write your story?
Is it trulythat interesting?
(Yvelle Vacerayne)
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[13:41]
A parody.
That's what this is.
No tea party, but a mockery of one; decrying the very act.
Mimicking fine society but making it something ugly and base.


"I could tell you what would happen if you don't,"
Grimm offers, running hard and soft and squicking fingers across the hundreds of rings a felled treestump provides, tracing in a great circle. "That you can't crawl up the rabbit hole, or escape the reflection of the looking glass. That you've already seen the start of one of my stories, even if you don't know it. That there is nothing in this world sadder than the open book left unfinished before the final page, if you turn your back and walk away from me." The trees howl. It is a great gouge of wind that hits the wholeness of the valley.

There are some trees that sound like they scream when struck by wind. What kind is it again? Some breed of fir or willow? Surely, whatever transpires beyond the dim light of their little tea party must be natural. Or is it? Are there other things out there, like the strange child in her mask, whose clawed fingers draw the steadied gaze of Grimm? To her, there is a lingering look.

A sense of electricity in the air.
He's never more alive than he is now.
Even if every word brings him pain to speak.

"Authorship is theft, is it not?

To put words to a page is to take a thought, a feeling, born from a dozen different hands and mouths, regurgitated and spat like a worm fed to a baby bird. A graphic, ugly thing. Chewing on the mill of other minds who came before you. And you did not ask, did you? To commit them to your mind. To let them linger and stew in the back of your daydreams.There is nothing original in this world.

Even if you turn your back and walk away from me.
You'll never forget or stop imagining what you might have seen.
You'll write an end and think about what could have been.

It will colour your thoughts and your pages;
and in that, perhaps my stories will live on even more fully."

Glibness came with a wet hack, and a stain of blood on the back of drooping black sleeves that struggle to fit well against a body simultaneously so huge and yet so very small. Quiet follows; any study will find nothing of a tell, no hint of persuasiveness from him. Somewhere nearby, an owl hoots, and a cricket plays it's little violin.

"I don't need to convince you.
You'll convince yourself."

"How far do you think it reaches?"

(Grimm)
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[13:43] Niclous Runeclaw says, "Sounds like a crock of shit if you ask me."
[13:48] Niclous having smelt the scent of food in the air happened to come across the tree in the wilderness. Him remembering one from the city of Delphina in his time as a ranger. Drawing closer and having listened to the conversation he felt it was time he made his presence known to the group. Emerging from the darkness after having broken his silence he stood underneath some tree's near the three, his figure cloaked in shadow as a piercing red eye broke through the darkness looking onto them.


(Niclous Runeclaw)
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[13:50] Any jovial chuckling was soon put a stop to the uninvited guest of their tea party, the sound of creaking bones could be heard as the unknown figure slowly raises.

There is an unnerving air about the masked and robed figure, as if everything from this creature's posture and body language was screaming at the other to run along. This was not a tea party he had been invited to, after all.

Clawed hands cracked themselves as shoulders were rolled, the piercing gaze beneath the mask momentarily landing upon Grimm as if looking for a signal of what to do.

He was, after all, the progenitor of this meeting. So as much as the Big Bad Wolf wished to simply toss out this guest, it was not up to them.

Who knows... perhaps the master of this fairy tale wished for more guests in his heart of hearts.
(Big Bad Wolf)
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[14:02]
"It's always tea-time, and we've no time to wash the things between whiles."
Fingertips thread across rings of oak. An exasperated irritation at the interruption.
"You have not been invited to this one, old man. Best you turn your back and depart."

Grimm did not rise from his seat as a warning is bid, opting only to dip his fat, silk-covered fingers into the seared meat he was eating. It's popped underneath the breadth of his heavy hood, and fat lips and teeth smack away. His tongue licks at his lips, savoring the taste of the thing on the back of his tongue.

It might be obvious to a stranger; but despite the strange outfits and poorly cooked meat, and their little tea kettle, one could well and truly see a bunch of children playing in the woods here. The obscuration of odd, off-putting words and whispers shared between three heavy with implications are superficial facts atop that.

"My guests are in no danger from accepting my invitation.
But you are, if you are determined to trouble me.
Old men should know that the woods are not for them.
This is the place where we play, and we tell our little story."

His nostrils turn up, and a look over towards the Big Bad Wolf. "How did she say it? Such an eloquent set of four words," the ugly, misshapen child mutters. "Oh, that's right. Old man, if you won't leave me be;"

"OFF WITH HIS HEAD!"
"You know, I always wanted to say that."

"Do help him with the effort, Big Bad Wolf."
(Grimm)
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[14:10] Nic could only smile now as the boy was talking in cryptic words at telling the other to help him with the removal of his own head Niclous could only think of one thing to do then and there. His right hand reached back for his bow, grasping hold of it and pulling it forth furious winds moving about the area as he lunged forward.

His left hand out as mana began to form, flames of occult and darkness surging forth. The magic taking shape as it was formed to what he desired by the furry of the wind and air as it would vibrate. "If you want me head, take it yourself."

His aim set for Grimm as his arrow was notched, small capsules being tossed just before his arrow readied. Each being set off randomly due to their design creating a continues barrage of what would feel like concussion grenades.

"It must be a rather sad story if you need for someone else to make it grand."

His target acquired as he would attempt to do away with Grimm or if both if he needed to waiting to see just what the Faeborn would do.
(Niclous Runeclaw)
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[14:25] There are two that stand.
There is one that stands.

Capsules toss themselves into the air-
Cryptic words, fairy tales recognizable, echo into the world with a blunt and teeth-grit aplomb-
There are mentions of heads, a rather sad story-

"I HATE YOU ALL."

The words come out with a newfound ferocity; the look on her face snaps from that weary, cautious politeness to something nasty and burning, yearning, clearly dissatisfied with the present state of affairs. A snarl emerges from her throat-

and her monologue begins, as she points at Grimm.

"YOU. You ugly, fickle and foul thing that torments me despite an unknowing, you terrible creature of beautiful words and hallowed offers so demeaning, you do not know RESPECT! You know not the manners of an invitation, to clean or wash or cook or sit and know how to make offers, you know not what you do, it drives me MAD!"

A pivot to the Wolf, tongue loosened. "And you sit there and take no tea or meat, you expect me to do so despite the foul quality, your inability to give what's needed, what's wanted, what is! A lapdog, then, is what you are - sit on his thighs, then, and eat your treats that make you spill your stomach's contents onto the grass like they should! Not like you'll open your mouth any other way!"

And then finally-
-there is a pivot towards Niclous.
There is a sting of cold in the air as she stares him down, her expression filled with what one could call an awe-inspiring amount of spite for someone so normally in check.

"AND YOU."
Oh no.
An inhale.

"You, you foul, mangy thing, you eyesore upon the city that I lay in, how DARE you interrupt! Can I not handle myself amidst babes and those who know words less than I, or must you DARE to interrupt, to find some perverse joy from dealing with matters that do not INVOLVE YOU?!

I DID NOT NEED YOU TO SPEAK FOR ME HERE!

Let me say that again, in case your deaf ears did not catch on. I DID NOT NEED YOU HERE. This is on you. This is on you for all of your behavior ungrand and perverse, not daring to even show an ear as you watch, how DARE you intrude!"

Finally, Yvelle pauses- to catch a breath, knees clutched as she inhales, exhales, heavy breaths found.

"Oh, well. At least now I know that dark flame that licks upon your brow. That'll do, then." A laugh, wheezed, and she sets herself upright. "I will be departing, then! Another story - one not sullied by inadequacy on all parts to be played - is writing itself at this very moment.

I will not miss history for you three."

And with her piece said-
a demeaning curtsy is given towards the ground, antlers nearly scraping the ground, and she moves to depart.
(Yvelle Vacerayne)
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[14:31] Eyes beneath the mask widened briefly at the outburst before a simple shrug is given. This was not the Big Wolf's quarry after all, but Grimm's. The insult fell flat, truly - mostly because the creature had heard much worse.

Agitation that seemed to boil to a heated outburst, one that would not be given much attention. Partially because as of this moment? There was a more heavy matter to set sights on, and something else to hunt.

Dual blades drawn and twirled before one blade points itself toward Niclous. That which was previously mute finally seems to speak.
"...Enough.
Interlopers shall be culled."

There is a nod in the faeborne's direction. A goodbye given from this creature in particular before sharpened weapons were twirled once more.

Let the games begin.
(Big Bad Wolf)
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[14:33] Nic could only pause as the Faeborn woman would begin to speak in his direction her words more or less going in one ear and out the other. A light huff being given in her direction. "Never said I was speaking FOR YOU. I have no ties to that city so I wont sully your home any more."

His attention then turning back to the two of interest the man already knowing of the resent and hatred those of his old home would cast onto him long before now.
(Niclous Runeclaw)
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[14:37] {Lost Aggressive RPB against Big Bad Wolf}
[14:37] ** Big Bad Wolf has inflicted an injury upon Niclous Runeclaw. ("Temporary Injury", "Temporary Injury", "Temporary", "") **
[14:49] The elder one was skilled. Enough so that the creature had been overrun at first, barely able to get Niclous low enough for Grimm to overrun him.

The pace, however, had soon been picked up - although wind and occultic flames marred them through the battle field, the lightning prowess was not something to scoff at.

Lightning shot down from above, blades slicing at the Ookami's skin. It should be noted that whilst not actively using the occult gifted to it, the flames were beginning to seep out now.

Lightning shot up the blade of the sword whilst an occultic flame wrapped around it - and that momentary distance was closed within the blink of an eye, appearing behind the older Ookami now.

tshh
The sword stabs itself within the back of his shoulder, giving Niclous a jolt of electricity as the occultic flames seeped within the wound before blade was finally removed from flesh.

It was then whipped within the air, blood flying free as dual blades returned to their sheathes.

"Await the invitation."
(Big Bad Wolf)
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[14:54]
Hunter and prey.
Hound and Human.

Two working with such cogency that they might just seem to be one figure with many hands. Fire and death erupts between knuckles, letting pauses linger between salvos of incising sword-strikes to quarter up flesh and draw bloody ribbons in skin. Explosions rock the earth, and spews of fire soon decorate the ground.

His design is to forge an arena, one in which Niclous cannot circumvent their strength. And it ends before long; with a whipping of blades, and a subsequent leap of a flaming, ugly beast onto Niclous. The large-bodied thing tries to wrestle the man: seeking great, gouging bites out of his flesh, till the inkiness of his soot-filled hoot is filled with blood and gristle stuck between his teeth. And then --

no doubt, another rock of the earth, and a painful wind that lacerates along the face, and sends coppery drops of blood stinging at his eyes and rolling across his tongue. It is a window to escape in the brief aftermath of a savaging, with a wet, gross noise coming from the very pit of his throat. What flesh still clings burnt to his lips has him smack at his lips, savoring - briefly - a foreign flavor.

"And so, the invader to our little woods --
driven back with split lip and tail tucked to legs.
Your invitation to our tea party waits for another day, mutt."

(Grimm)
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[15:01] The battle at first being in the ranger's favor as he was able to bring down the swordsman. Turning to face the other he was dealt with by the use of the flames under the magi's control. Falling to his knee in the middle of battle, quickly getting up as the fight waged on the man soon losing ground to the two as the quickly assaulted him relentlessly.

With the combination of attacks from the duo it was not long before the ranger was met with the blade of the lightning user. Bolts raining down across the battle field as the fight had ensued. The ranger feeling the burn of the occult now entering his system much stronger then any previous time before. It making direct contact with his circuits and blood the energy itself feeding the hunger that his body had for it.

As the blade was pulled from his shoulder a quick act was made, his hand reaching to his belt and pulling forth a vial. Throwing it to the grass and making sure to step onto it hard enough to shatter the glass container. A puff of purple and green smoke then erupting from the ookami now as he set to make his escape remembering the two for now. The scent of death and decay heavy on them, his thoughts back to the point of the meeting in the first place.

For now he let his feet carry him away, aided by the wind at his back as he would escape through the shadows. False images of himself scurrying away in various directions to hide the real path he had taken.
(Niclous Runeclaw)