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The chat's topic is: Carved from the mountainside, the monolithic stronghold looms in silent majesty. [ Happy Birthday to us! Celebrating ten years on Oasiz. ]

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Visit http://deathstalkerempire.com to join! Also inform Drenai so he can upgrade your membership. [ Description of castle and region may be found here: http://tinyurl.com/os6ec53 ]

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Eryn♛Magnus : welcome home, uncle)

Isolde●Allard : Welcome home~]]

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : thanks! ]

Isolde●Allard : lmk if you need a repost]]

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : yes please, logged in on another computer with Drenai. ]

Isolde●Allard : [ The cottage was brimming with warmth and activity now that its owner was awake. Henry, and the other grown Ents were outside, laboring in the woods to rebuild the burned parts of her home. Isolde had requested that they use freshly fallen lumber to make the repairs. All in agreement, Henry and the others set out to collect and begin work. Isolde could *feel* them. It was empathy on a physical level— they were hungry and tired of drawing their energy from the soil alone. It simultaneously made her queasy to think of them feasting on flesh, and anxious: she knew it was necessary, and part of their inherent nature. Part of her had opened up to the idea that certain parts of nature were inherently masochistic. It was, unknowingly, the Fallon in her. Her Antlethia rising had begun to chart her course away from the pacifist in the nelipot, unbeknownst to her. The nubile Ents in her home had been set about tasks within the home— which was now in full swing. A fire blazed in each -c

Isolde●Allard : hearth to fight off the cold. Food was being canned and stored for the winter, honey combs cleaned, and dried herbs pulverized for tinctures, salves and food dressing. As for the Allard girl, she was relegated to an unfamiliar life of luxury due to the presence of the Ents. They refused to let her set about her work. Henry insisted that she was too fragile to do such labor as her powers set upon her and she began to acclimate to this new chapter in her life. It was true— she was fraile after years of slumber. But for her, it was only just yesterday that she’d been working on the farm, doing her own work herself. Now she felt...different. Somehow both mourning for the loss of the life she had, and confident that something within her had changed...for the better. Despite the shakiness of atrophy, she felt a live thrumming in her bones. Her blood boiled. The house was radiant with warmth from the fire, but also because Isolde herself was teeming with life.-c

Isolde●Allard : The Ents, the plants, the animals around her house were all lively and active. She was a beacon of fertility and life, a source of power and thrivent energy for anything living. ...And yet, she felt useless in her own home. The spindly digits of her hands held long forgotten needlework, too disinterested in the tedium of the task. She felt uncompromising movement, quaking just beneath the surface of her skin. Isolde wanted to run. To swim. To harness what was unbridled within her. She gazed out the window, lovat hues distant and glassy as she considered something else: Wrath. The Deathstalker, by whom she’d only ever known by word of mouth, had been lingering at the periphery of her every thought. She’d been resisting the urge to allow him to take front stage in her thoughts. There were so many things that ought to be there instead: where was Solomon? (She felt guilty for not minding at all that he’d been absent) Her mother and father had been sent for and their arrival was -c

Isolde●Allard : Nel, despite the blaze, had managed to survive and  needed grooming and ridden. The house needed repair. Oh, and somehow she’d woken, soaked to the bone and nude beside not just *any* man’s horse— beside the Prince’s horse, of all people. He’d seemed desperate and concerned for her well being, but she hadn’t the slightest clue how he’d come to revive her. That, above all things, ought to have been the nagging thought tugging for her attention. But it wasn’t. It was the man himself. -c

Isolde●Allard : The Fallon girl sat in a velvet, wing backed arm chair of emerald green clothed in little more than a sheer white chemise and a floor length skirt of linen. She was burning up— almost convinced she could go out into the late fall air without a scrap of clothing on and remain warm still. Her bare feet were crossed at the ankle, window open to let a breeze in. The chilly fall air crossed her collarbones, shifting back a length of wild brown waves. Her hair was positively a mane, having grown wildly in her slumber. It fell to her waist where it tapered. Presently, it was loosely bound at the nape of her neck by ribbon, as she had no clue what to do with so much hair. Her brow was furrowed with focus, lips pursed as she considered the man. He seemed noble enough. He hadn’t laid a finger on her despite her vulnerability. Henry seemed to trust him, and while the other Ents (she needed to name them, but they were countless!) seemed to fear him, they followed suit. It couldn’t be ignored-

Isolde●Allard : he was handsome, but she did her best to remain modest in thought in that regard. Her mind strayed to the calloused texture of his fingers on the small of her back and the rugged sound of his voice grasping her by the pit of her stomach and stirring between her legs....And then back again. Damn it. She straightened herself in her seat, unclenching her thighs and focusing on relaxing her muscles. She took in a breath, realizing she’d held it for too long, and felt the wavering dizziness make her forehead light. Closing her eyes, the nelipot’s head rest against the wing of the chair, breathing in the cool breeze as it passed over her features. The sun was setting, and supper needed tended. Would the Ents allow her that one small creature comfort? ]

Isolde●Allard : Antheia*]]

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: Wrath was sat in the Blackwood, forty-eight hours removed from the events which led to Isolde’s awakening. The broad-shouldered warrior had always been a deep thinker, but what had transpired by the waterfall was an experience he would not soon forget. Conflicted and confused, the beaded warrior was hunched forward with his sword lying flat on the earth. There was anger and yearning in his soul and the Imperial Prince struggled to process the storm of emotions that raged in his chest, in his head and heart. Melinoe was gone and although he’d been accepting of her journey, of her intent, it hadn’t made it any easier to come to terms with. Moreover the part of her that had once known Wrath ceased to exist. Had it even been real? >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> What did he have to show for it? He wasn’t sure anymore. If she’d really loved him, maybe she wouldn’t have sacrificed her memories. In so doing had meant all knowledge of Wrath had been cast aside, as Melinoe started this next chapter of her life without him. Then again, if he really loved her, why had he helped her, if only to lose her? Although not prone to emotions, he knew he felt something though not entirely sure what. “Love is pain. Love is sacrifice.” Someone had told him once. That seemed pertinent somehow. What he’d shared with Melinoe had been short-lived granted, but it had been real. And it mattered to him. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> The rugged warrior’s thoughts interrupted by the howl of the wind as the woodland he occupied grew chillier. Darker. Pulling the fur of a newly purchased cloak a little snugger around his prodigious frame, he realised he couldn’t stay here. He supposed a long overdue return to the castle was in order. No doubt his father would have a few choice words for Wrath regarding his abrupt departure months prior, when the General had embarked on his quest alongside the seer. Having done so meant his Legion had been ordered back to camp under the authority of his second-in-command. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Wrath wondered if he was even the General anymore, supposing he had no right to be after neglecting military duties to go gallivanting off with a woman who no longer remembered him. Rising to one knee, Wrath gathered up his belongings, his camping equipment and blankets stuffed into a bag. Then standing and striding towards his horse who was drinking water by a stream. Sleipnir stirred as he rubbed the steed’s mane, securing the saddle bags to the side of the horse. Equipment which ranged from grappling hooks and rope, to more mundane items like saucepans and rations. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Wrath almost ready to set off until he remembered his sword which had been discarded, perhaps symbolically. Looking back as it lay silently on the ground, its power dormant. Maybe he should leave it here? After all, Widow Maker represented everything he disliked about himself. The violence, the war. The anguish and sorrow it brought were contrary to the person he wanted to be. Yet he was his father’s son. Wrath stoically bowing his head, eyes closing and remembering his estranged patriarch, seeing the abstract silhouette of Drenai in his mind’s eye. An ominous shadow in an ocean of flame as his father cut down enemies in his wake with the very sword he’d gifted to him. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Opening his eyes again, Wrath outstretched his hand and summoned the blade. The steel gleaming as streaks of moonlight broke through the trees. Widow Maker rising under its own power, hovering as if it judged its wielder before it spun towards him, the grizzled Prince catching the hilt, then sheathing it on his vast back in a swift, well-practiced motion. A branch snapping beneath his boot as The Deathstalker advanced, climbing into the saddle of his horse. Then at long last, after processing his thoughts relating to Melinoe and his father, the warrior considered more recent events. The girl he’d saved. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> The General riding through the night and into the following day, traversing the Blackwood. His steed navigating a route. For it was a magical horse, descended of Odin’s legendary eight-legged-mount. Wrath had complete trust in the animal, having never let him down before, he barely paid attention to the direction of travel. Wrath had avoided thinking about Isolde. Yet the florist existed on the periphery of his psyche. The memory of two nights ago snaking its tendrils through his subconscious thoughts when he got the chance to sleep. His dreams. A silent admission that the yearning hadn’t been for Melinoe. Rather in his restless slumber what he felt was guilt that he didn’t miss her, even though he ought to. Had parting ways been difficult? Certainly, but Melinoe had given him up and he knew he needed to do the same. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> There was quiet acceptance. What of Isolde then? Why the seer may have sent him to save the Fallon girl, he couldn’t be sure, but Wrath had been content to do a good deed. A flashback to her standing on the bank. Remembering her bare skin, Isolde’s naked flesh. His calloused hand on her waist to steady her. She’d asked after her clothes and Wrath had explained as best he could, being apologetic and sincere. Recalling the seaweed and the vines, which had pulled her into the murky depths of the misty pool below the waterfall, in the heart of the Reverie Wood, where the Elven people resided. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> If the Deathstalker Prince had been a different man, that night might’ve gone very different. He might’ve succumbed to his base instincts. Urges. Claimed Isolde by force. Why not? Maybe he should have: No. Wrath wasn’t his father. Remembering the Iron Code:

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> “Never violate a woman, nor harm a child. Do not lie, cheat or steal. These things are for lesser men. Protect the weak against the evil strong. And never allow thoughts of gain to lead you into the pursuit of evil. Never back away from an enemy. Either fight or surrender. It is not enough to say I will not be evil. Evil must be fought wherever it is found.” >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Reciting the oath like a religion. A verse taught to the First Men, by the old gods. Because heroes still existed. In the end, Wrath recalled how he’d given Isolde his shirt, his cloak already lost during the journey, meant he travelled bare-chested with her. The top half of his muscular physique exhibiting scars and tattoos, his rippled abdomen having glistened in the rain when taking her home as droplets covered his chiselled flesh. Allowing her to ride Sleipnir. Wrath walking beside the Fallon girl and his steed, leading the reigns in the direction of Isolde’s farm, escorting her back to her overrun home. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Keeping his stay short, satisfied she was alright with gigantic Ents for company, who surely made more fitting guardians than even he. Thus Wrath had bid farewell to Henry, the pair developing a begrudging respect. Leaving Isolde in the care of these great anomalies of nature. A magical flame burning in their woody chests, who had branches for arms and arcane light in their eyes. Stopping at a nearby hamlet the next morning, purchasing new attire by way of furs and leathers, Wrath tried forgetting the Fallon girl, the object of his quiet fascination. Then embarking on the rest of his journey, until he found himself at his current whereabouts. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> “For starters she’s too young for you.” He muttered under his breath, by mid-afternoon. Trying to convince himself. Knowing his eldest daughter, Synthia might disapprove. Then obviously there was his child with Alauneyl whom he admittedly never saw, which no doubt made things more complicated. Yet Wrath didn’t love the Drow and the feeling was mutual. In fact, his life until this point had mostly comprised of meaningless relationships. He was no saint, occasionally involved in an illicit affair or two, bedding other men’s wives, but ultimately it was him being used. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> These conquests being of no relevance. Pretty sure there was nothing in the Iron Code about his activity. What now though? Should he go back to see Isolde? What was the point? Knowing in all likihood, he probably frightened her. Wrath being the human equivalent of a fucking bear. No. His course was set. He was going to the castle. Besides… Isolde presumably desired someone different. A man more... Trying to think of the word. Delicate. Prettier. Maybe with a fringe. Someone who wasn’t him. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> The hooves of his steed trotting over foliage, the fall of autumn leaves reminding him of his childhood. The ground damp from two days of rain. Admittedly much of the Blackwood was a labyrinth of repetitive forestry. Rider and mount passing beneath a thick canopy of branches. Emerging from a line of trees. All of this seemed mighty familiar he realised. Not realising they’d circumvented and gone back on themselves. The sun setting and covering the clearing in atmospheric waves of orange and mauve. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Obviously they’d taken a wrong turn somewhere because the mountains weren’t where they were supposed to be, which shouldn’t have been possible. “Sleipnir?” Chastising the horse. It appeared while the General of the North was focussed on matters of the heart, Wrath’s trusted companion had seized the initiative. Embarking on a different route. Carrying his Master back the way they’d come. Wrath’s steel grey eyes befalling a familiar cottage. Had the Prince really been so distracted that he hadn’t noticed? Or had something more surreal taken place? >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to check up on her, Wrath reasoned. Realising he was going to look like an idiot, having only said goodbye two days ago. Reluctantly dismounting from the saddle, Wrath turning back to his friend. The steed twice as large as a regular horse, with a snow-white coat and a long mane of thick white hair. “You and I are going to have words.” He grunted. Pointing his thick finger at his muzzle. “You’re supposed to be descended from mythical beasts. You don’t even know where you’re going.” Scowled Wrath. A humour in the horse’s eyes, conveying a beguiling wisdom not of this world. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> The warrior climbing over the fence and back into Isolde’s farm. “Wait here.” He needed an excuse. Trying to think of one, walking across the field. Cautiously venturing past Ents along the way. Striding through ruined crops. All he could think of was that he needed his shirt back. To be fair, it was a designer brand from House Rango, those didn’t come cheap. Maybe it had sentimental value. It didn’t, but he could pretend that it did. Reaching the door and knocking. Not realising his own strength, his clenched knuckles resounding through the wood, the door vibrating on its hinges. What the hell was he doing? ::

Isolde●Allard has left the conversation.

Isolde●Allard has joined the conversation.

Isolde●Allard : stray backspace]]

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : Rofl.))

Isolde●Allard : ...naturally]]

Cαrricк·Vαskαris has joined the conversation.

Isolde●Allard : Welcome hooome]]

Polaris☆ has returned.

﴾Ɲǝʋɒɚի﴿ : *Throws confetti*)

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : *cracks knuckles*))

Polaris☆ : *watches patiently*)

Isolde●Allard : ...uh oh]]

Cαrricк·Vαskαris : Thanks much.]

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : Darling.))

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : Her dreams were strange things, images and vague flickers of memory that followed her through waking, haunting the Soothsayer as she dressed in silence, her dimly lit rooms giving little comfort, leaving Sevasti feeling constrained and imprisoned.  She'd spent a great deal of her life in the keeping of others.  First her own brother sheltering her in his household as a virtual prisoner, then Armon Staccato's addiction to her blood made her a prisoner once again, then that of her long late husband, Aabel Dragorah.  Sweet, mad Aabel.  He to whom she owed her clarity of sight, his abuse pushing her abilities into new and terrible, inescapable heights.  She would never be free of him, that much Sevasti knew, he would follow her in death as he had in life.  As though in memory of him, the Soothsayer wore his cast-off robe today as her own, a wash of peacock colored silks tied at her narrow waist, so much bigger than she that the shoulders threatened to slip away from her own unless -c-

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : -c- pinned into place. She needed to have it tailored down to her own size, Sevasti knew, but there was something about wearing the oversized garment that reminded her of their good days...and even in Aabel's cruel tutelage, there were good days, days that she loved him, and that he loved her. Brooding on the past felt strange to the creature, so often her eyes were fixed on the future, but lately the future had become a strange place, the paradox of needing to find secrecy where there could be none forcing Sevasti to look elsewhere for her answers. Casim was considering implanting false memories in her, that much the Soothsayer knew already, and his reasons were just, but his methods would fail and that was already apparent to her. What then, could be done? Should she depart the Empire for a time? Before questions of Daveigha's potential return could even be asked? No. She needed to serve the Black Signal and remain in the halo of its consciousness, that was her true -c-

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : -c- calling. There were no simple answers here, but Sevasti already knew she didn't have the strength to simply lie to the Emperor...the Black Signal. Leaving her chambers in a hiss of strangely colored silks, Sevasti took her morning meal of raw venison and fruit in silence, sitting in the kitchens today, sipping tea that was too hot, that left her ivory, colorless cheeks ruddy and warm. It felt good to have something like a normal routine, and as her meal came and went, Sevasti felt in need of company, eventually haunting her handmaiden's door. "Sweet girl, I want to go for a walk..." -d-

Isolde●Allard : [When the knock came, Isolde turned to the door, where dust tumbled from the top of the frame to the floor. One of the elder Ents, Charles, moved toward the door to answer it. “Give me a moment.” She said as she pulled a towel from the counter and began patting her hands dry. Charles paused, grunting to communicate with the nelipot. “No, it’s probably just mother and—“ she opened the door, lovat hues softening as they set upon the Prince. A gentle blush bled over the bridge of her nose and she released the breath she’d been holding after a brief pause, “Hello, Wrath.” She beamed (though she meant not to,) hands idly twisting the dry cloth between them. Behind her, a small crowd of sproutlings gathered. Their heads poked around her sides and from behind her shoulders. He was better in person than in memory. Still a towering presence, but somewhat less intimidating with proper clothing on. It looked new, she thought. His blond hair was off of his face. No longer the disheveled, -c

Isolde●Allard : oops. One off, scratch that]]

Isolde●Allard : [As it turned out, they would. The Ents inside of the house prattled about behind her anxiously the entire time, but they didn’t seem too insistent on preventing her entirely from helping prepare supper. She hummed as she worked, features in peaceful repose as she added a pinch of dried sage to the kettle. “What about you, do you like the name George?” She asked, glancing aside to one of the small Ents standing on the butcher’s block holding armfuls of chopped carrots. With a small grunt sounding more like a pinched squeak, he chirped in reply. That was settled then. One more named. She glanced up from her casual work toward the fire, “Easy, Robert.” She remarked cautiously as the small ent skittered away from the coals as they tumbled onto the hearth after him. Nearby, Wrath’s borrowed shirt hung over a suspended line to dry by the fire. Several small sprouts hid behind it, tinkering with a thimble. It rolled along the floorboards between them. -c

Isolde●Allard : When the knock came, Isolde turned to the door, where dust tumbled from the top of the frame to the floor. One of the elder Ents, Charles, moved toward the door to answer it. “Give me a moment.” She said as she pulled a towel from the counter and began patting her hands dry. Charles paused, grunting to communicate with the nelipot. “No, it’s probably just mother and—“ she opened the door, lovat hues softening as they set upon the Prince. A gentle blush bled over the bridge of her nose and she released the breath she’d been holding after a brief pause, “Hello, Wrath.” She beamed (though she meant not to,) hands idly twisting the dry cloth between them. Behind her, a small crowd of sproutlings gathered. Their heads poked around her sides and from behind her shoulders. He was better in person than in memory. Still a towering presence, but somewhat less intimidating with proper clothing on. It looked new, she thought. His blond hair was off of his face. No longer the disheveled, -c

Isolde●Allard : waterlogged tousle it had been when they first met. His scars were apparent still on his face, down his neck and beneath his cloak and collar. A shiver traced her spine as she considered them. The idea of how one gained such scars was too difficult for her to entertain. He was certainly rugged. Perhaps she looked like nothing more than a simple country peasant in comparison. He must have come to collect his shirt, that’s all. What interest would he have otherwise at the small farm? From starkly different worlds, the two stood before one another on the precipice of something new. Their independent stories began to fashion a single path for the pair to follow. “...come in.” She prompted, stepping to one side of the door frame to lean against it. Her forehead rest on it briefly as she stepped aside, “Leave your weapons at the door.” Her voice was almost commanding, until she realized who she was speaking to. “Please.” she timorously tacked on at the end.

Isolde●Allard : -c

Isolde●Allard : The tingle at the edges of her spine spread across her lower back, offering a chill as she watched him duck to pass through the door frame. Was it strange to find something as simple as walking through a threshold attractive? Perhaps it was just all the fresh air she had been taking. Or perhaps it was the long sleep. She hadn’t quite been herself since waking from her long somnolent years. Still...she couldn’t help but admire the way he held himself. Linden, who so craved to be a man of even half Wrath’s stature, was a paltry runt of a man. He tried to offset his stature by depreciating and manipulating others, Isolde included. Delicate though she was, she’d always been keen to his intentions. Awareness prevented troubles with Linden. He was cunning but not wildly intelligent, especially when he drank.But Wrath seemed to naturally emanate with potency. Not just due to his size, but by his nature he commanded the kind of presence people like Linden so desperately tried to -c

Isolde●Allard : replicate. One either had it or did not, and in this case Wrath certainly had it. As the general entered, Isolde moved to close the door behind him. Briefly she wondered what might happen if her parents were to arrive while he was there, but she thought they’d both be so pleased with him there that there would be very little reprimanding. Father, because of his history serving in the Deathstalker militia. Her mother because the house guest (and a male!) was a far stone’s throw from any of the men she herself would have entertained on behalf of her daughter. The trouble would moreso be explaining to the pair that they were counting chickens long before the eggs even lay in the nest. “I imagine you’ve come to collect your clothes...” she began, setting the dish towel down on a table as she passed. “Though dinner’s on and you’re welcome to stay with us.” the Fallon girl continued. There was a rustling of leaves in reply from the Ents. “Shoo.” She replied to the lot of them with a -c

Isolde●Allard : playful swish of her hand. ]

Isolde●Allard has left the conversation.

Isolde●Allard has joined the conversation.

Isolde●Allard : fack]]

Isolde●Allard : dont mind me]]

Polaris☆ : Days had spent in solitude, well not complete solitude, the woman had the company of her servant, the girl she had hired to help her out. She had found she much rather enjoyed the company of the girl than the ones that lingered about the court. Turns out they did not take kind to someone who wasn't born noble and it seemed they cared even less for one who could not dress herself, regardless of what her affliction was. She didn't often venture out and when she did, she was always using the arm of Alyssa. The girl lived with her in a small room off her apartment so she was always close. She helped Polaris bath in the morning and get dressed. Alyssa had braided her long ivory hair out of her face and down her back. She was dressed in a long pale pink dress that was tight against her top but flowed out past her ankles. Something Alyssa had helped her get when they went out to the tailor's. It was rare that Polaris made any trips out of the castle, but one day she was going>

Polaris☆ : to have to venture her way down to The Painted Robe, she owed Erzabet a visit and a thank you. She wouldn't be in any position she was in if the woman hadn't helped her. Her day had been normal, she had check up on the Mad Soothsayer in the early morning but had not been needed so she had found her way back to her room. Perhaps she needed to find a hobby, though she was unsure what kind of hobby a blind woman could have? She didn't know, she'd have ot ask about, maybe a trip to the library was in order, maybe one of the librarians could help? She didn't know. It wasn't like she could read any of the books in there. She found herself meditating, going over the lesson that delail had given her. Though she used the fire instead of water because there was none for her to do it with, not in the confines of her room. It was becoming evening, the castle was bustling around the time of dinner being prepared. Soon a servant would come to bring her dinner, but for the moment she>

Polaris☆ : had been moving about her room, asking Alyssa to put things in certain places for her and learning the set up when the sound of Lady Crytikos's voice could be heard, soft against the door that she often kept open so she could hear the Lady. She turned her body so that she was facing her, pale lips curling up into a soft smile. "Yes, Lady" She bowed her head as Alyssa came over to lead her to the woman. Pausing a foot in front of her, Alyssa bowed her head in silence, there was no need to speak. "Thank you, Alyssa, you may retire for now, I'll alert you when I've returned" The girl replied softly before disappearing into a door that stood off to the left. The pale clouded blue eyes turned back to the woman in front of her, though she knew not exactly where she stood. "Where to?" ~

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: While Isolde was naming her tree-friends, Wrath was deliberating on if his impromptu visit here had been a mistake. Conflicting emotions which ranged from an earnest need to see her again, whilst not wanting to be presumptuous and assume the feeling was mutual. What if his Royal status had bearing on the florist’s choices? She might only play an accommodating host for fear of reprisal. Worse still, out of obligation to the Crown. Wrath didn’t want it to be that way. His Imperial standing as the Emperor’s son was irrelevant. But would it be to her? He imagined how he would feel in her shoes. Anxious that he was imposing or that she’d be afraid of him. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> The irony that he could be so ferocious on the battlefield but would second-guess himself like this, bordered on absurd. Typically emanating a natural charisma which made him an excellent leader and yet he was overthinking his visit to the cottage. Inwardly chiding himself, realising he’d thumped her door far too hard. The second-generation Nephilim possessing nigh colossal strength, which was even said to exceed his father’s. The Deathstalker family tracing their linage back to the Matriarchal Divinity: The Prime Goddess, Sophia. Grateful that his fist hadn’t smashed right through the wood, he was heartened to see Isolde open the door. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> She might have thought herself a simple village girl, but Wrath didn’t view her that way. Not at all. Knowing that his quest to retrieve her slumbering body and take her to the Forest of Reverie, travelling to the secret waterfall where Isolde’s unconscious form had been submerged in its murky depths, foreshadowed something important. Isolde was special. He didn’t know how or why, but that much was clear to him based on what he’d seen already. The unexplained disappearance when he’d dived beneath the tide searching in vain for her, only for Isolde to re-emerge on the bank some distance away couldn’t be taken for granted. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Nor the alluring view, recalling the contours and gradients of her body, her slim shoulders and the curve of her hips, when he held her. Albeit for a time. Respecting her vulnerability, he’d seen fit to cover the maiden with his shirt and before that, shelter her with his great bear cloak that had been drenched in the rain and lost. There was an inherent understanding that Melinoe had sent him here for a reason. For the seer had explained her rare gift of prophecy. Yet the true purpose of his quest wasn’t something the General could hope to fathom. Though he was beginning to feel it. The florist exhibiting a fragile beauty he’d not encountered ever in his life. Evidently Wrath had known other women, but this was different. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> The gruff warrior distinctly aware that it felt right. She smiled and it was sincere, his instincts told him that much. The blossoming of her cheeks noted but went unmentioned by the Prince. “Greetings miss,” he begun politely. Wrath’s steel grey eyes filled with warmth and optimism. Losing himself in her muted green hues that reminded him of the forest he’d spent all day traversing only to be brought here again, presumably by his stupid horse who had a mind of its own. The sproutlings which peered from behind Isolde were worthy of notice as well. “Hello friends,” enthused the Prince. Feeling ridiculous but playing along. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Nodding gratefully when Isolde invited him in. “I was in the neighbourhood.” Wait. What fucking neighbourhood. She lived on a farm. Regardless, Wrath was intent on filling any awkward silences, keeping the conversation going. Heeding her words, the warrior lifted his hand to seize the hilt of his broadsword. “Of course.” Drawing it for the first time today. The evening sun reflecting on the blade as he set it down respectfully, leaning it against a wooden bucket and some earthstained plant pots. Given his prodigious height of seven feet, the Imperial Prince lowered his head, entering the threshold of her home sideways because of the bulky width of his frame. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> The behemoth’s presence had been bred for war, yet here he was in a place of tranquillity, brimming with vibrancy. Realising that his old life might be represented in that grim weapon he’d been asked to leave behind. The appetising aroma of a homecooked meal filling his nostrils. “Something smells good,” he remarked. Just maybe he had a brighter future, foolish sentiment surely. Yet he hoped, in despite of himself, carefully sidestepping over the sproutlings. “I wanted to check you were alright.” That much was true. Nodding when she mentioned his shirt which was hanging on the line. “Thank you, yes.” Oddly touched by the thoughtfulness. Suddenly Wrath felt indebted to Sleipnir. The legendary steed clearly knew what was better for its master than he did. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> More importantly, nobody could spoil this for him because they didn’t know he was here. Unlike his father, his whereabouts weren’t monitored, meaning he could go where he pleased. Therefore there would be no political agendas from interfering nobles, or so-called Royal advisors who could judge the florist on her suitability. At least for as long as Wrath remained at the cottage. Able to get to know Isolde without scrutiny from others (with the exception of the sproutlings of course – who gleefully observed!) More importantly, Wrath could discern if Isolde was interested in getting to know him too. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> He hoped so but lacked his father’s arrogance, so assumed nothing. Caught off guard by her prettiness in the natural light, Isolde’s frail but elegant appearance was worthy of admiration. Her long dark hair and full lips made for a striking visual and he immediately desired her. Briefly imagining the florist in the Great Hall, under very different circumstances. The rustic cottage they found themselves in would always be her home, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have another. A castle perhaps. “I’m famished.” He admitted. “What’s for dinner?” Grinning cheekily. ::

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Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : welcome back! ]

Polaris☆ : thank you)

Isolde●Allard : Welcome back]]

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Isolde●Allard : What’s for dinner? rofl.]]

Polaris☆ : ugh and my internet was doing so well)

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : "I was thinking the gardens," Sevasti murmured offhandedly, eyeing the corridor leading out into the chilly Imperial courtyard where courtiers gathered in little groups, often leery of her when she traveled alone. Reaching to take one of Polaris's hands and guide it to her crooked arm, it was as though she was escorting the blind woman rather than the other way around, but having Polaris with her was a signal to the rest that she was at least stable enough to have company. "How are you adjusting to your time in the palace?" It was a small effort at conversation, all that Sevasti could manage, but at the very least it kept them talking. As she walked them both toward the courtyard, the huddled groups of courtiers shushed, a few murmuring to one another, a distant titter of laughter, but if Sevasti cared anything for it, she made no sign, ignoring the chaotic impulses of their thoughts and attention, the way their eyes shifted in her direction. -c-

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : welcome home! ]

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Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : -c- Toying with the blind woman's hand on her arm, Sevasti reached to pluck one of the winter blooming roses and abruptly bring it to Polaris's nose, tickling her with it. "I've been dreaming of the Betrothed Ones..." she said cryptically, "...they resist me, but they'll eventually come to understand that their only chance at true death, which they crave above all things, is to return to the Capitol. War is coming, and chaos will reign." -d-

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Isolde●Allard : Welcome back, lady]]

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Polaris☆ : The Gardens? That would be fun, she just hoped that the woman would be warm enough. Since she was a child, the cold have never bothered her, she had thrived in the winter much to everyone's surprise, especially Styx, the man had half expected her to die on the first winter that he had her. It had been amusing when one looked back on for a blind man to take care of a blind baby, but he had done it and he had done it without help. She had survived though and he had taught her everything. She often counted in her head when they were walking. They walked through the corridor toward the garden. She could hear better than most, the changes in the servants, the way their voices went lower, the fear they held for what would happen if this woman went off the rails. It was Polaris's job to keep that from happening. Her lips curled slightly as she shook her head. The woman asked her how palace life was treating her and she felt her lips pull together in a soft line. It almost seemed that no matter>

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Polaris☆ : how cold this woman was, she was still very soft, her expressions never reached the coldness that others saw and perhaps it was because she didn't see, she didn't have to linger on the cold darkness that surrounded them. She was ignorant to how ugly the world really was. "It's been quiet, a bit lonely, it turns out that blind women aren't really tolerated in the great hall" Her slender shoulders rose before they fell once more. She felt the change in the air, the way it dropped from the warmth of the castle to the cool air that indicated winter was coming. The woman was the forced to smell a flower and with the way Sevasti had moved it under her nose it caused her to wiggle her nose a bit trying to keep a sneeze from coming. The woman was speaking, words that weren't meant for Polaris, but she knew this would happen, she had been warned. She pressed her lips together what did one say in response. She felt her playing with her fingers but she said nothing as she kept her hand on her>

Polaris☆ : elbow. What could she say to sooth the seer?~

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : "Make them tolerate you," Sevasti said quietly, aware of the people surrounding them, some fearful of her, others quietly curious of her function here in the palace. Word spread quickly of her murderous tendencies after that day in the great hall, walking through the mass of them with a bloodied dress and rivulets running from her bare, colorless forearms, the silver shears in her hand shamelessly ruddy with the blood of a fallen servant. In that way, Polaris was a curious figure in the Soothsayer's life, one person that Sevasti would not turn on, had no reason to put the shears to, could not and would not be bought by foreign powers seeking a foothold in the palace. Shivering into the thick silk robes she wore, Sevasti meandered with her handmaiden around the gardens, turning to tuck the rose into Polaris's hair over her right ear, delighted by it. "Mayhaps sometime soon we can go down into the city? I haven't been in quite some time, and you seem more comfortable there." -c-

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : -c- Though the Pale rarely ventured into Immortalis on account of Casim's reputation among the common people, Sevasti had never had a troubling encounter in the city proper, at most those who knew who she was avoided her notice at all costs, and that was just fine. "We should enjoy Immortalis before it falls into fire and ash," came the words of warning, "should savor what we can of it before bodies pile on the streets and blood thickens in the gutters." -d-

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Polaris☆ : Polaris's head turned slightly as if she was looking at the woman next to her. She couldn't see her and she was merely looking in her direction because she had learned how to do that, how to pinpoint the location of a person even if she couldn't see them. She knew what the woman was getting out, but the Polaris found herself more inclined not to get into conflicts. "Should I just make more appearance despite the whispers then, my lady?" Despite her telling her to call her Sevasti or Sev, she still sometimes had trouble doing that. She often wondered what the Prince would think should he hear her call her anything other than something proper? She paused a moment, though not in her steps but in her thoughts. She could feel it upon the woman next to her, the chill that ran up her and softly, gently she urge the woman closer to her, using the warmth of her own body to keep her warm. There was no reason for Polaris to fall or betray Sevasti. She didn't long for the things that most mortals>

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : "You are part of my entourage, so you are a courtier the same as they are.  Mayhaps you aren't a socialite or a bureaucrat but you have a place among them that they shouldn

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : FUUUU))

Polaris☆ : lol it's okay!)

Polaris☆ : i'm almost done 😋 )

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Isolde●Allard : [Isolde couldn’t have ever fathomed hosting anyone or anything quite like Wrath prior to this, but she supposed she owed him some measure of debt given the circumstances. She wondered: how had he come to know of her plight and seek its resolution? From what she had gathered in the previous days, her mother’s letters left at her bedside told a story of years’ worth of attempts to cure whatever ailed or befell her. Isolde herself had considerable curiosities about what had happened to her. Her last memory prior to finding herself standing naked beside a horse were those of a fire. One that had left evidence all through the grounds and house. She remembered the animals, the entrails, their dismembered bodies strewn about the yard. Heads on pikes and flies in their eyes. She remembered Solomon’s face, and the awful expression that melted his expression when he saw her alight. And, of course, she could vaguely recall the pain. The fire had been intense, eating away at her legs and -c

Isolde●Allard : climbing her skirts to swallow her whole. After nothing more than minutes she couldn’t feel anymore. Her skin peeled in layers of charcoal sheaves, cracking to reveal fault lines of deep, angry red tissue beneath. But that was all like a horrible dream now. After a couple of days awake, the edges of that memory were already fading. The nemophile’s thoughts weren’t satisfied: what happened? While her questions went unanswered, she suspected the letters would clarify what had happened. Or she hoped. His rough voice had softened, recalling her full attention. His greeting was warm. Genuine. Unlike the precedent set by Drenai, who’d casually welcomed her into his office with a mantle full of decapitated sea-hags and a blase customer-service demeanor. She broke into a full, radiant smile in response. Her hair curled at her temples and cheeks where they lifted in response to her smile. Without really knowing it, she was responding to his energy. -c

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Isolde●Allard : Isolde passed the hearth toward the kitchen, figure backlit for a fleeting moment by orange ember so that her silhouette became briefly visible. The bucolic setting might have been uncommon territory for the warrior, but Isolde’s warmth made it feel like home. As he continued about making himself at home, Isolde paused midstep, glancing back at him as he quipped about supper. Despite herself, she laughed. “Ah, a little bit of everything...” she mused, semi-distracted by the humor in his tone. It was mostly true— the stew was somewhat of an odds-and-ends tuber and hearty vegetable meal. Things which were harvested into the fall— like spicy carrots and potatoes, along with things which could be dried and then cooked whenever she pleased— legumes and herbs from her own garden. “Tell me, who are you?” she asked, voice casually interested. She picked up a ladle and gestured with it over her shoulder as she moved barefoot over the -c

Polaris☆ : did. She didn't even long for her sight, though that would be interesting, but she had become accustomed to this life, why would she want to start over again? She found she enjoyed the company of the mad woman anyway, why would she compromise that? She smiled slightly as Sevasti mentioned going into the city. "That sounds like it could be fun, I do owe a friend a visit" Her head shifted once more as they walked. Then she spoke about the fires and ash the city was going to become and the piles of bodies in the streets. "I suppose we should do it soon then?" ~

Polaris☆ : (sorry about that, my dad came home)

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : "You are part of my entourage, so you are a courtier the same as they are.  Mayhaps you aren't a socialite or a bureaucrat but you have a place among them that they shouldn't be allowed to deny." The Soothsayer spoke dreamily, as though she were far away, "frankly, fuck them. Do what you please. If one of them crosses you or says something questionable, there's no reason you have to just sit there and take it. Fight back. They respect that." Still clasped at Polaris's arm, she leaned into the girl's offered warmth as they walked the length of the garden and back, largely uninterrupted by the little groups of people talking, smoking, whispering, laughing at one another. Steadily as she adjusted to the noise and attention it became less invasive, less troubling or intrusive. A rogue impulse caught the soothsayer's attention and she guided them toward a small group of women, reaching to point at one of them. "You. Listen to your instinct, he only wants you for your wealth." -c-

Isolde●Allard : earthen floor. It was a simple question, but her tone would have indicated that she expected more of an answer than what she’d already been privy to. Yes, she knew his titles. But nothing of the man himself. The Fallon girl’s interest was piqued. She collected bowls as she moved through the kitchen, features alight with the delight of company. Or exertion— one couldnt be sure which. The Ents tagged along after her feet like attention starved kittens with no direction. Wanting to help, but not knowing exactly how. ]

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : -c- "If you accept his proposal he will spend the next forty years spending your wealth on mistresses half your age and leave you a young widow with nothing to show for it." Immediately in tears, comforted by her friends, Sevasti guided Polaris away from the sound of a weeping woman and back into the garden, the hushed whispers around them increasing. "There's still time to see the city, we'll make our way soon. Erzabet will be happy to see both of us." -d-

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Polaris☆ : x.x)

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Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : wb! ]

Isolde●Allard : Thank you~]

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