BurningDaisies

Bloodlines of Steel and Snow (An Overlord RP)

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Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Slime

@BKburke

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Content to wait patiently for Masrith to prepare himself, a small, happy grin grew across the slime woman's face, and the streams of dim lights pulsing through it quickened their pace. Instead of a steady flow, they calmly throbbed like a beating heart. It's features slowly gained more and more definition as Masrith listed his demands, adopting a more voluptuous and regal form. Rivulets of slime folded into the resemblance of fine robes, even mimicking intricate patterns in the stitching and flower accents. Masrith was reflected along the surface of its body, and in the strangely metallic crown which sprouted from its head.

When at last he asked "What are you?", the slime giggled joyfully, mirroring natural laughter with eerie precision.
"Such a curious child," it said with a clear vibrado. "I understand."
The thin coat of blue scum along the floor receded like a the tide flowing back out to sea. It cleared a space for Masrith, scorching the stone floor and leaving it immaculately clean.

"You are inside me, little one," it said with giggle. "I am the mountain. Its roots. The earth would swallow you up without me."

Two more androgynous figures sprouted from the larger mass and flanked the queen-like slime on either side. Then another. And another.

"But I must spread. I must spread across the world and into its heart. So to I must feed to thrive. Others stay to keep me company. So some for fun..." It nodded towards Masrith with smile, and then turned its attention to the shaggy creature which had dove into one of the larger globs. "...and some for food."

Another woman's figure formed inside the slime, a caricature of opaque lines within the jiggling mound, and gently wrapped its arms around the slowly dissolving beast. Sweet lulling sounds thrummed through the ooze and soothed the near dead creature.
"The last scholar to visit showed me how to ensure their death was pleasant and painless. My venom guarantees there is no pain, only bliss. As I grew, the poison only became more potent. Many creatures seek me out to have a taste and I taste some of them as well," it said matter-of-factly. It's voice was slowly becoming more distinct, and fluid. Each word flowed seamlessly into the next with an even legato.

"So little one... Are you here food or fun?" It hummed lyrically. It's smiling face was unreadable.

Bloodlines of Steel and Snow (An Overlord RP)

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Small Tragedies

_{Collaboration by @Foxsoxs and @BurningDaisies}

@Foxsoxs@BurningDaisies

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“Nothing?”
The child wraith stared absently at the living statue. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted as hellish mongrel erupted from the grounds and snarled wildly. Two more creatures, wrapped in thin robes rose behind them. The girl wasn’t frightened. Her pinched face merely had a look of puzzled innocence.

She wordlessly followed Vaettir. Her gait was awkward at first, as if bound by a leash which tugged at her and forced her to keep moving. But quickly she matched his pace. She didn’t talk much, but she watched everything.
Her eyes, still dull and grave, held the slightest spark of curiosity.

~

The hounds and liches made short work of their task, but it was gruesomely obvious none of her family had survived. The father was strewn across a grassy hillock in two pieces. His lower half had been trampled. The savaged earth and deep hoof prints hinted it was intentional.
A broken sword had impaled one of the brigands through the throat and was still pinned to the ground under the weight of the father’s headless torso. A deathly rigor kept his fingers tightly wound around the hilt of the blade.

The brigands weren’t far, and from the bittercries, seemed to be enjoying the spoils of their raid. When the first lich arrived, the hell hounds were set loose, savaging each bandit into a bloody submission. They ripped tendons and snapped bone, but true to their master’s orders, they left them alive. The lich had little to do, except stare impassively at two dead girls. There bodies were in a wretched state, but their souls had already moved on.

Screams of pain blocked out the hellish barks of the hounds. Circling the brigands, they awaited orders from the lich. After a few minutes, they finally stopped their squealing, replacing their screams with angry curses. The lich slowly turned his skull to them. His red eyes piercing through each of their souls. Each hound howled in unison and began to slowly drag the men to their master. The wails began again. The pain of their wounds scraping against the ground renewed their terror. The lich overseer taking another moment to look at the dead children before following, offering of sigh. Not of mercy or pity, but of annoyance.



Vescarim seemed much larger than it was. Most homes were burrows carved out of the rolling hills, and they were spread out over wide pastures. Tall orange stalks of some pervasive weeds blanketed the area for miles around. A trail of gravel and broken cobbles winded through the hills and branched endlessly to meet each residence.

Vaettir followed a dirt path that lead to a guard tower that stood at the north. Now he was flanked by two Skeletons. The undead were clad in silver plate armor. Each carried a sword as big as a man. Resting their blade on their shoulder guards. Their true identity was completely hidden from the human eye. They weren't there for anything else, but for looks. Vaettir wanted to try and appear less of a terror than most would initially assume. Two knightly figures flanking him could make the common folk think twice. At least think long enough before preparing the torch and pitchforks. The wraith followed close behind him. Quietly observing the new lands. It wasn't long after approaching the town that he met their leader.

Heleva was an older woman, bent forward by age, but still young at heart. The lines in her face were countless, but her eyes were bright, energetic, and gleamed mischievously. She seemed like the kind of person that treated everything as a game, probably knew all the rules, when to bluff, and played for infinite stakes. The silver rivulets of her hair fell across her shoulder in a long, intricate braid. She stood politely at the edge of town. The woman greeted Vaettir and his undead entourage with a warm smile. It was as if she knew the precise time of his arrival.
Two other townsfolk flanked her on either side. Both were tall men, chiseled by years of hard labor, and wore permanent scowls.
"Welcome, Herald! Don't mind these two. They're just here to look handsome and keep me company."
They obviously weren't. They leered at Vaettir as if he was some ruffian that needed to be dealt with, but curiously neither of them carried weapons nor did they take any aggressive action.
"If you and your adorable little friend will follow me, we have a nice feast prepared for you. I know the two of you don't eat like the rest of us, but I expect you to indulge me. These bones don't move like they used to, but I'm still the best cook in Norden. You can be sure of that!"

She hooked her arm around Vaettir's, and offered a hand to the innocent-looking shade hiding behind the demon. "Come along, dear. I have something I wish to discuss with both of you."
The air behind Vaettir shimmered with a rush of magic.
"The rest of your pets can stay outside." She said cheerily, but the words seemed to echo from distant, unknowable places. They thrummed with power. She had erected a barrier along the borders of her town, a potent one at that, which acted as a wall to repel undead. Even if she didn't say anything about it, she expected Vaettir knew what it meant.

Vaettir felt a shiver from the power she possessed. It didn't frighten him, but it did warn him. It had been a long while since he had felt another Immortals power. Honestly, it was refreshing to him. To know not everything in this world was weak. To know not everything feared him. The demon statue shook his head in compliance. A sinkhole opened beneath his two Skeletons and the earth absorbed them, before quickly filling back up and disappearing as fast as it appeared. He began to follow her, keeping his eyes open for any other tricks the Sorceress had up her sleeve.



The only thatched longhouse in all of Vescarim belonged to Heleva. It was little more than a glorified feasthall with an adjoining library, but this is where she made her home. The table had been set, but instead of wooden plates and cutlery, crystal dust traced the outline of arcane symbols. Down the length of the table, floating in the air, were pools of raw mana. Ethereal sparks arced around them, and each possessed a difference essence of the land. Some gave off a spicy, earthy scents, another exuded drifts of dank cold air. Heleva had distilled mana especially for them. The undead didn't subsist on normal food. She understood this, but that didn't mean she couldn't feed them.
She sat the child across from her and left the end of the table for Vaettir. "Come, come! Sit!"
"So what brings you this far into the outlands, Herald?" She regard them both with blatant curiosity, and began sipping mead from a small cup with the characteristic pomp of an old noblewoman.
The wraith child stared at her blankly, obviously starstruck and unaccustomed to this kind of hospitality.

The room was impressive, or maybe Vaettir had grown tired of the cave walls he normally inhabited. While the pools of mana were a nice touch, he ignored them. When asked to sit he simply stayed standing, making it clear he wasn't here for the pleasantries. "My name is Vaettir, not Herald, and I only came for her." He gestured at the small ghost child, sitting at the table. Vaettir's voice more hostile than he normally took to talking to Humans, but then again this woman wasn't just any human. "She is still here. Most of your kind passes to... Wherever they think they go. She is an enigma. I brought her to you to figure out why she is still walks the land and if you cannot answer that I want her gone. Let her enjoy whatever she can have with her deceased family." Vaettir paused to look at the little girl. He didn't notice till now, but her essence began to bother him. Making him second guess coming here at all. His fixed smile concealed his thoughts.

Heleva spared a glance at the girl, but kept her attention on Vaettir. "It's not so simple, my dear Herald. The limelight of the afterlife isn't what most think it is. Humans who die are inevitably reclaimed by the earth, both in body and spirit. Sometimes the body goes first, and at other times, the spirit. She'll fade on her own in due time."
She smiled lovingly at the girl, but there was a strange hardness in her eyes. "If you want her gone, you need only to destroy her spirit. The will of the land does the rest."
The little girl's eyes snapped wide as if she hadn't been paying attention until that moment. "No, I don't want that!" She cried, still not fully understanding what was being said.
"Then what do you want, child?" She cooed.
The girl stared back, her mouth opening and closing as if to say something, but the words didn't come.
Heleva turned to Vaettir. "There's more to this than you're telling me. It's a simple task to have her pass on, but there will be no warm reunion with her family. That's just what people want to believe. The truth is a much colder and darker thing."

A hiss of annoyance ringed from Vaettir. His open hand clenched. "What do you know? I have walked this land before your kind even existed and I know nothing, witch." Vaettir's tone changed from a calm presence into a angry beast. His voice boomed like thunder.

"Yes, you've walked it, but did you ever pay attention to the people around you? The way their presence causes tiny ripples in the magic of Norden? You've walked far, Herald, but seen nothing." Her thunderous tone matched Vaettir's. The voice clashed in the air with a resounding thud.

Vaettir began to calm himself back down. The corruption in his soul starting to take control. Although it was no use. "I bring the girl due to my pity for your race and nothing more. Why didn't I consume her soul? Why didn't I raze your town to the ground and consume all the souls of your people? I brought her to figure out what she is. You have seen it. The pillar in the sky. I doubt this is just a coincidence." As each word left his terrifying mouth the room shook. The timbers of the home beginning to creak.

"Oh, I'm certain it's not." She countered testily, not appreciating his casual threats.
She breathed an irritated sigh and nursed her drinking cup. "The course of the Dragon Veins have changed around the Devil's Spine, criss-crossing one another like a web. Or perhaps, more like a wall. The land is protecting itself like a tortoise withdrawing into its shell. The light is dangerous, Herald. It's not of this world. I can feel it."
Her expression softened as her gaze fell back upon the girl. She changed subjects easily. "You can leave her with me, if you like. I will look after her, but I know she won't survive for much longer as she is now."

Vaettir's voice was now calm again. Her words no longer angering him. "Now? What else could she be if not a wraith?" Vaettir asked with curiosity. Ignoring her claims about the light.

"You mean you can't tell?" Her look was one of genuine surprise. "Never has a wraith with the power of an Ódauðlegur existed, yet one sits at my table all the same. Her body is destroyed, but her spirit still holds a measure of power. If she doesn't become stronger, the land will reclaim her, Ódauðlegur or not. It's a miracle she has lasted this long."

If the girl's ethereal face was swollen and pale; tears pricked at her eyes. She still hadn't fully grasped what she was, but she knew one thing: she was going to disappear. Heleva's sharp truths stabbed at her. The roil of emotion began to swell. The deep red glow of supernatural sorrow hummed behind her tightly shut eyes. A few candles, plates, and utensils began to float shakily into the air.

Heleva gave the tiny wraith a sympathetic look. She silently mouthed a few words of power which cascaded through her. Thin blue creases of light traced along her skin and peeled away. The murky streams of light wound and twisted into the outline of a young woman. Each strand of her hair was a lash of ethereal white flames, a smile radiated from her upturned eyes. The ghost floated over and embraced the girl tightly, stroking her hair.
"Velja" The ghost whispered tenderly.
The candles and plates dropped abruptly. The wraith's eyes snapped open at the sound of her name. Jagged cracked had formed at the edges of her eyes, which still glowed with necromantic power.
"It will be alright, my little one." The ghost cooed. "Cry until you can't cry anymore. I promise I won't leave you."
Velja nuzzled into her arms, hugging the ghost tightly. Her quiet sobs slowly turned into a wailing cry.
A circle of runic symbols erupted along the floor, centering on the two. Then another. Two intertwined wards soothed the restless spirit and enclosed her in a protective shell of raw magic. The tense aura around the little girl began to dissipate, and the sound of her crying became distant.

"Her spirit is weakening." Heleva sighed. "A wonder she survived this long, but it will not last. After the Godsfall, the divinity of the old gods was inherited by the land itself. The power of all Ódauðlegur comes from the earth. And to the earth it will return. You know this."
She massaged the bridge of her nose wearily.
"A mystery how that accursed light corrupted her spirit into a wraith. But it matters not. Velja's fate is sealed. I fear no feast of souls will save her. She only remains by the providence of her immortal spark. With no body and a withered soul, the land will claim more and more of her essence each day, until nothing is left."

"It's time to choose, Herald." Heleva eyed the demon intently. "Consume her or let her fade. She is doomed either way."

Vaettir eyes were locked on to the Witch. A deep-seated hatred bled into his aura. No other normal mortal would see any change in his form, but it was there. The wild magic that coursed through his veins were twisting and thrashing in hate. He wasn't angry at the Sorceress, but at the fact that he couldn't do anything else. His pity wasted. It felt like hours before he decided on his next course of action. He could only see one way and it was the only one that was actually possible. The hate inside him scratched at his mind. Begging to be released. Begging for him to make the move. It had been decades since he allowed his inner demon to show, but as it neared he felt an overwhelming rush of bliss.

The Demonic statue simply opened his jaw. His jagged stone like teeth releasing their hold on one another. As his mouth opened wider and wider a dark flame became apparent. The flame had its own separate aura to it. One completely different from the one that emanated from Vaettir. When his mouth finally stopped moving the purple flame unleashed a single whip directed toward Velja, the wraith child. With ease it shattered the protective wards surrounding her. The whip first wrapped it's flame around the Sorceress's summon. Within half a second it bursted into black flame and with a cry of pain it had vanished. It's tendrils then wrapped around the girl and with a brief second of hesitation it dragged her into the maw of Vaettir.

Once her wraith body had been swallowed whole, Vaettir's jaw snapped shut and he returned to his usual self. The sudden aura of hate left the room. With a sigh he began to speak. His tone was abnormal. It had a hint of sadness. No. It was disgust.

"It is done. Another Ódauðlegur lost to the gods. Another one gone due to petty human squabbles. Not even the innocent are safe from your kind and not even an Immortal can be helped by another. Now... What do you want in return for my visit?"

Few humans would bemoan such a loss. Casualties of war were not just common, but part of daily life. That was what made this brooding demon such an amusing sight, she thought. Better still, he knew that entering the village wasn't free. Not for the Ódauðlegur at least.
She smiled cheerfully, a stark contrast to his somber moment. "A favor from the great and powerful Vaettir will suffice. But I have no need of your assistance at the moment, so you are free to do as you please, until I call for you."

As Heleva stood up to leave, the pools of mana lining the table dissolved into an ineffable haze. A candle along the wall lit her path as she headed into her library.

"I trust you know the way out," she said politely. And then the world blinked. One moment Vaettir was in the long house, the next he was standing at the edge of town. No doubt one of Heleva's tricks.

Bloodlines of Steel and Snow (An Overlord RP)

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Words of Ill Omen

_{Collaboration with @Mag Lev and @BurningDaisies}

@Rune_Alchemist@Mag Lev@Shiyonichi

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Kessig remained silent for a long moment as he seemed to mull over Nara's words. His face was a stony mask, but his one eye was lit with a calm, calculating gleam. Time seemed to stretch on as the silence between them slowly thickened with tension. The thin man was on edge, but did a fair job keeping his expression neutral.
"I don't know what foul spirit has you vexed, but I'll be frank with you, missy. Both of you should leave immediately." He was firm in his declaration, and his tone made it clear he didn't trust either of them. After sparing a sharp glance at the mountains, he breathed out a long, tired sigh. He awkwardly shifted his weight, favoring his right leg, and stifled a wince.

"Only devils come down from the mountains. It's not called the Devil's Spine for show. So you're either daft in the head, or trying to trick me into some dark bargain." He eyed Nara skeptically. "Seeing as you have an honest face, it's probably the first one, so let me give you some friendly advice: Forget. This. Village." He leaned forward and squinted meaningfully, sinking emphasis into every word.
"Leave and forget you ever met us. It's better that way."

"We will do as you wish, though I must say that any dark bargain might benefit all here," Nara said as she looked over the mostly barren fields, "However, if you truly wish us to leave then I at least ask you give us some form of guidance to the next village. We haven't traveled these parts often and I'd rather not be wandering around the area for long." Though Nara's face hadn't changed at all, her sincerity and tone had, shifting to treating Kessig more as an equal than anything else.

A few more of the villagers began ambling out of their homes. Curious stares emanated from their dirty, withered faces. Each of them were in a wretched state. A woman with a long ragged, dress held herself up with a wooden crutch. A short, stocky man bore scars which covered his exposed shoulder; his left arm was missing, and so were his ears. There were no children anywhere in sight. And every villager appeared to have lost at least one limb.

"If you don't already know what awful things are in these woods, then you shouldn't be here." He said matter-of-factly, and opened his mouth to continue, but hesitated. He was patiently waiting for his own internal struggle to resolve itself. Superstitions were the only thing that had kept him alive in the wilds, and it was bad luck to spurn travellers. It could always be an spirit in disguise, or worse, an immortal. Luck was fickle thing. It didn't like it when someone snubbed a powerful denizen of the world, and it struck back with tenfold vengeance. He had a taste of this as a young man, and has experienced more tragedies and misfortunes than most encountered their entire life. He wasn't eager to suffer through more.

Oh, what the hell. "Listen here lass, you don't want to find yourself in any village from here to the Black Fens. There's nothing for you. Make your way north into the Heartlands. At least, you only have bandits, wolves and the occasional grendel to worry about." He sniffed contritely.

"Wait here a moment."
He gave a cold glare to the curious villagers before disappearing into his thatch hut. The villagers withdrew into their homes as rummaging noises drifted from within the hut. He exited, carrying a withered root under one arm, and a pewter chime under the other.
"You'll need the root, if you want to get through Brionac in one piece. It's not as dangerous as the Devil's Spine, but you better be careful all the same. The chime should keep the grave spirits away."
He didn't seem happy to be offering charity, but he felt guilty sending people off into the wilds unprepared. They would probably die anyway, but it made him feel better.

Nara accepted the items from Kessig, giving a slight bow after she did so. "Thank you, we are grateful for you assistance. I hope that you and your kind find a bountiful harvest in better months."

Kessig seemed unsettled by her goodwill and grimaced as if he had just tasted something awful. "Yeah... We'll pray for a good harvest, alright." He said half-heartedly, and quickly changed the subject. "Keep your wits then, and stay close to the river. It should get you halfway there at least."
He shook his head, suddenly feeling more tired than before, and limped off towards the fields.

Kessig was halfway down the trail, when two more travellers arrived at the edge of Jhorm @Shiyonichi. A few sunken faces peered out at them through closed shutters.

Bloodlines of Steel and Snow (An Overlord RP)

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Swallowed Whole

@BKburke

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Arcane power pulsed through the menagerie of smoothed bones. They vibrated loudly with a strange rattle as complex spell formulae covered the ground. One of the ivory pieces began emitting a powerful white glow and drifted into the air. It writhed with uncontrolled growth. Bulging, popping, stretching, bending, and crunching. In only a few moments, the silhouette of light took the form of a gangling creature with long arms and sharp, angular features. It vaguely resembled the shape of a man, but much of its body was sheathed in dark gray fur. Four gleaming, yellow eyes wrenched themselves open and stared mindlessly at the ceiling for a long moment. Its fanged muzzle hung open and moved constantly as if trying to silently mouth words.

"No..." It finally said with telepathic force. It's thoughts rippled through the air, carrying with it a cascade of terror, reverence, and longing. NO! NO! NO! repeated over and over in frenzied bursts of psychic power, echoing with raw emotion and increasing anxiety.

A hysterical, ear-piercing cry of anguish suddenly erupted from its throat. The creature stampeded itself further into the cavern, galloping on all fours. It threw itself into a boulder-sized glob of glistening blue slime. More than a dozen pseudopods burst from the fleshy mass, wrapped around the creature and submerged it completely. A psychic wave of ecstasy shuddered out from the creature. It closed its eyes and surrender itself to be digested.

Masrith could sense the vast space even in the darkest areas untouched by his angel's light. Slanted columns of natural stone ran from floor to ceiling at odd angles. As if responding to their presence, dozens of green lights began to blossom around him and his angels, illuminating the cold, musty cavern. Bioluminescent streams of light throbbed through a vast gelatinous body.
The slime was everywhere. Every inch of every wall, floor, and ceiling was coated in a blanket of translucent blue sludge, and the carpet of ivory fragments only became thicker deeper into the caves. The angelfire drew attention to vague shapes of other animals, some of them human-like, within denser patches of slime. Upon closer inspection, they all seemed to be in various stages of digestion. Nearby, what remained of a human male was suspended in another large, bulbous mass. His skin had been eroded and his eyes dissolved, leaving a discolored cloud in the slime. Yet, somehow his grotesque face had been permanently twisted into an expression of pure bliss.

Did these caves cross under the entire mountain range? Even at a glance, it was obvious this cavern only contained a portion of the protean slime's vast body. Slimes and ooze creatures had existed in Yggdrasil, but nothing like this.

A humanoid figure rises from the fleshy, glowing mass. Taking on the vague but voluptuous shape of a woman, it glides across the floor towards Masrith. It mimicked walking, but its feet never left the string of slime that connected to its larger body. Pulses of blue-green light streamed through its body like branching veins.

"Welcome," it said sweetly, but without moving its lips. It slid smoothly towards Masrith. "There is nothing to fear little one. I intend you no harm."

Bloodlines of Steel and Snow (An Overlord RP)

@Everyone

Now that I'm back and have finally gotten some sleep, I'll start working responses.

Bloodlines of Steel and Snow (An Overlord RP)

@Everyone

Due to a family emergency, I won't have any time this weekend to write. Responses will be pushed back a couple days.

Bloodlines of Steel and Snow (An Overlord RP)

@Archangel89
The Martial Arts/Monk theme isn't really an issue. It's just the New World specific stuff. The character, Sebas Tian, would be a good basis for comparison, if you wanted to make a pugilist. In Yggdrasil, there were various skills based on Ki that could enhance fighting prowess, and these skills could give your character pretty similar results to what martial arts has to offer. Interestingly, there is some overlap here, since both there exists both Yggdrasil and New World characters who possessed classes that granted Ki abilities.

Also worth mentioning, the alignment section is optional.
It's there for those who want to fill it out (for whatever reason), or if the alignment of the avatar is vastly different from the player themselves. If it won't have an impact on how you roleplay your character, you don't need it.

Bloodlines of Steel and Snow (An Overlord RP)

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Tumult and Turmoil

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"They're whisperin' again." Marik said as he casually vaulted over the rotted log blocking their path.

Astrid was following behind lost in thought. Her distant expression slowly dissolved into one of bewilderment. "What?" She looked around, confused. "What whispers?"

Marik stopped, turned, and spoke slowly for her benefit. "On my honor, I swear I'm a patient man." There was a tired, amused grin on his face. "I'll wait."

Long sibilant whispers and echoing growls filled the air. Admittedly, she hadn't noticed them until now. Yet, the more she focused on the eerie cacophony the more distant the sounds became. Oh. "It's me..." She mumbled quietly, dumbfounded.
"I'm sorry. I must be more tired than I thought." Blood rushed to her cheeks as she struggled to keep her expression neutral. Her magic, which until now had been enjoying its time outside the cage, collapsed into her with a sad whine.

The two had known each other for two years now, but their relationship was a strange one. Most mercenaries would burn their contract and run after spending a few days with her. Some people snored noisily when they slept. Astrid let out predatory growls fierce enough to soil a season warrior's pants. This gave some of her acquaintances the distinct impression she was werewolf, or worse, a demon. But it was when they heard strange, incoherent whispers and persistent ringing that they began to suspect her to be some kind of abomination in disguise. They also didn't like how easily see could see through their lies, even the little white ones that didn't cause trouble. It drove most people mad.

Marik wasn't most people. This was mixed blessing for Astrid. He claimed to have signed on for the glory and the coin, which they both knew was a lie. She didn't question it at the time because she was desperate for money, and her mission needed at least two people. Yet, after all the adventures they had been on together, that was the one lie she couldn't never figure out.
He didn't hate her. He didn't secretly love her, or even lust after her. The fact only confused her more because she knew he had two wives and eight children between them, but he spent months in the wilderness with her and never even gave her a look. It baffled her.
She had learned very quickly not to ask about his family because he always answered with a soft, wistful look in his eyes. It twisted her up inside every time. He looked after her more than her more than he did his own family, which made her both angry for their sake and incredibly guilty. She didn't force him to tag along. She knew it wasn't her fault either, but it didn't stop her from feeling awful about it.

"Are you done daydreaming? We still have work to do." He barked, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Lie to me." Astrid said in a breathy voice. She was exhausted.

Marik's brows crept up with a hint of concern, then relaxed. He cleared his throat with some effort and adopted a serious tone. "If you keep talking nonsense, I'll kill you myself and leave you for the wolves." He tried sounding angry, but his words didn't have any bite.

Even without her abilities, she knew he was lying. His eyes weren't hostile at all. Yet, the dull chime of her Truth Seeker magic hummed in the back of her mind all the same.
"Touchy." She teased.

Marik smoothly unsheathed one of his daggers and ran the blade across his hand. A fine red mist emerged from the wound in long, sinuous streams. The blood aimlessly groped its way through the air towards Astrid before turning into lifeless, gray motes of dust. His flexed his hand instinctively and the wound began to heal.

Astrid's pale complexion brightened a little and the thin, dark circles beneath her eyes receded. Now sated, the spectre of her magic slept peacefully. "Thank you."

Marik nodded blithely. Astrid was fairly sure this motion translated to 'You're Welcome'.

An avalanche rumbled in the distance. They both turned towards it and watched a wave of snow break against the slopes. Then the world turned upside down. Astrid felt the world bend around her as a shrill chorus of torturous noise drilled into her head. Pain exploded in the back of her head and her vision went white.

The uncomfortable, rhythmic thumping of her head against hard leather eventually jostled her awake. She wasn't sure how much time had past, or why she was staring at a strap of leather, but dull ache pulsed through her skull and she could feel a knot bulging on the crown of her head. A robust arm held her so firmly in place, she thought she had been chained up at first. She soon realized, however, that Marik had draped her over his shoulder and was plodding along casually as if he were carrying a basket of laundry. She squirmed under his grip.

“I’m awake..." She croaked. "I’m awake! Can you put me down, please?”

He hoisted her up and gently set her down on a flat patch of dirt.

Astrid wobbled on unsteady legs. Her muscled screamed in protest just to keep her upright, and her limbs felt like wet noodles. It was then she realized something was terribly wrong.
“Marik. Where are my clothes?” A hint of rage made her tremble. “What even is this? A blanket and some rope?” She waved at at herself frantically. A ream of burlap had been wrapped around her and served as a makeshift dress. Well-worn strands of rope knotted the fabric in a few places to keep it from falling open. It was shoddy job by any measure.

“Mhmm.” He grumbled testily. His expression was that of granite. “It’s all I had.”

“What happened?” Her face flushed red with anger. When she pointed an accusing finger at him, the translucent tendrils of her magic crept into her surroundings, looking for something to strangle.

Marik glowered at her, eyes bulging. The stark silver-white visage of a grave spirit flashed across his face and he inhaled sharply through flaring nostrils.
“QUIET. DOWN.”
He boomed with all the terrible authority of an enraged father. Each word escaped through bars of gritted teeth.

Astrid withered.

“Don’t you start that with me, girl!” He unsheathed his accusing finger from a tightly balled fist, and jabbed it her sternly. “You were turning into a mess of fur and spines. The ground was boiling, Astrid! Boiling” He shouted.
“I won’t sit by and watch whatever abomination you keep locked in there throw a tantrum like some spoiled child. I knocked you out for your own good, and mine. Gods only know what would have happened, if I let you stomp off into the Devil’s Spine as some crazed fiend...”

As she was bombarded with words of scorn, her face paled further and further. She wanted to crawl under a rock and die. She had seen Marik angry before, but this time was different. Behind his furious exterior, there was a note of fear. He was terrified of something, of her.

The verbal thrashing continue for awhile longer. Astrid endured it bitterly and pieced together the events from Marik’s shouting. After the weird sound struck her, she lost control of her magic and began to transform. Most of her equipment had been destroyed in the process. Only her sword and a few trinkets survived. There was a storm brewing, some explosions, and more landslides. He didn't stay to find out more, and carried her down the mountain and through foothills to put as much distance between her and the weird lights as possible. He was clearly worried about her, so she didn’t even try defending herself, but she did tune out the parts where he began repeating himself.

“...We’ll find you some new clothes soon enough.” He sighed. His voice was softer now that his fierce tirade was over. “I know the Jarl hired us to find that damned tomb, but there’s no sense in going back to look for it now. There’s a village nearby. Vescarim, I think. We’ll rest there for a few hours and figure things out when we both have cooler heads, ah?”

She nodded cautiously.

“Good” He smiled, and, for the first time in weeks, there was warmth in his eyes. It was the same look he had when he spoke of his children. “We’ve still got a ways to go, so let's keep moving. If we’re lucky, we’ll be there in time for breakfast.”

For some reason, and despite all evidence to the contrary, Astrid sensed she was being doted on. A cloud of mirth rose in her chest, lifting her spirits out of a pool of bitter resignation. When he turned to lead the way, Astrid permitted herself a small, knowing grin and followed. She wondered how many times he had lectured his other children like that.

---

Watchful Eyes

---

Calm waters gently rocked the fishing schooner back and forth. The lugsails were drawn into neat, tidy bundles, and the anchor had been dropped since they started. Five sturdy women crewed the ship. Two were tending to fish traps, while the others were efficiently sorting the fish into separate barrels.
Being on the the border of the frost giants' lands, where the Godsfall disappeared under the sea, was a nice boon to the small coastal village of Sundnig. Seasonal upwellings made the stock of fish in their waters plentiful throughout most of the year. However, they were at the edge of Herrvael, a warmongering province loyal to a the “great fat man on the hill”, King Sevenfinger, and the people of the heartlands bore a tense hatred for giants. The village often found itself swept into some terrible conflict between its closest neighbors and stubbornly refused to take sides.
Many of Sundnig’s men were often busy patrolling and fighting raiders, big and small. It was a full-time inconvenience. As such, several jobs within the village, had long been the task of women. Most chores therefore were mindless, backbreaking, and highly social, including fishing.
A thin, white haze blurred the deep red of the rising sun and appeared as one enormous, eye which watched the girls work. The shaman said it was the Lord Beyond the Horizon keeping an eye on the faithful. This unsettled a few, but Myrra found this vaguely comforting.
She was a middle-aged woman with striking features: bright, blue eyes, a fair face with high cheeks, and small tusks protruding from the soft curve of her jaw that hinted at an orcish heritage. She heaved slick, wooden cages from the water and spilled their contents onto the deck, so the others could sort them into barrels or throw them back into the water. It was a tedious affair, so her muscles did all the necessary thinking while her mind wandered to more interesting places. The other women jovially gabbed amongst themselves.
They had been working for a few hours when the haze began to clear, revealing a shaft of swarming lights stretching into the sky. It was far to the southeast, Myrra could tell, but the base of it was occluded by the nearby cliffs. She wouldn’t have noticed it at all, if her absent-minded gaze wasn’t already looking in that direction.

Concern twisted her expression. The others, noticing the change in her demeanor, looked at Myrra warily. What’s wrong? The youngest girl ventured.
”Nothing to worry about. Myrra shook her head. ”Mind the fish. There’s still work to do.”
The others briefly exchanges puzzled glances and carried on.

On their return trip, she was tending to the battened sails, when a silver-breasted gull alighted on one of the lines. In truth, she had summoned it. The bird’s small, beady eyes gleamed with hidden intelligence. Many witches had familiars, but Myrra had kept hers very discreet. Old superstitions, not gods, were the centerpiece of Sundnig spirituality. Unfortunately for Myrra, the villagers had a dim view of blood magic, and by extension witches, regardless of how the magic was used.

”I need you to deliver a message to Our Silent Lady.”
The ivory-feathered bird tilted its head curiously.
Myrra whispered a few instructions to the gull and, with a graceful push of its wings, it left.
I can feel the Dragon Veins shifting. If they keep changing course, the fish will move and this village will die. I must find out what’s happening.

♢

On the other side of Norden...

Beneath vine-choked archways of stone, two cowled figures stared thoughtfully at the sharp peaks in the distance. The Devil’s Spine had always been home to countless horrors and the Carnivorous Mist, but the column of lights was new. They had been silently observing the changes in the land and the sparks of magic at the edge of their domain.

“I have a wonder, Néffení, if you will indulge me.” One of them started. He spoke with a long, condescending drawl.
“Honestly, Nihil, do I have a choice?” Néffení retorted. Her voice was strangely immaculate, despite her annoyed tone. It possessed a quality of stylized perfection one might expect from a talented musician or singer.
“Of the two Sirens that remain, are you not the senior authority here? I find it curious that you allow another to lead, while you follow.” Nihil continued, ignoring her quip. He spoke as if he already knew the answer.
“You find that curious, do you?” An eyebrow twitched angrily beneath her cowl.
“In fact, you defer to a newborn, barely a few decades old. Is this a cultural policy among Sirens? Or simply a personal one?”
“What would you like to hear? That I prefer to follow?” A sigh of resignation followed.
“Given that you are, I must assume that you do.” A row of perfect teeth gleamed sharply.
“Could you crawl into a bush somewhere and die? I would be forever in your debt.” Her words dripped with venom.
“You sound so very defensive, Néffení.” A sly grin smeared across his beshadowed face. “You’ve been at my side for… what? Two? Three decades now? You should know better than anyone I’m much too stubborn to give into to death.”
He stepped forward and eyed the mountains critically. His nose slowly wrinkled with derision as his gaze fell upon the unnatural aurora. “Besides, I find death’s quality of work lacking. The dead don’t stay dead, which either reflects incompetence or negligence. Needless to say, I will correct His mistakes.”
"There's still many preparations to make." She tried changing the subject.

"Must you make everything boorish?" Nihil sneered. He abruptly turned on his heel and walked into a nearby tree, melding into the gnarled whorls of its bark. “We’re leaving.”
Néffení quietly followed the disembodied voice and vanished into the woods.

Bloodlines of Steel and Snow (An Overlord RP)

---

A Gentle Rain at Dawn

@Shiyonichi

---

Watery brushes of soft blue light lit up the sky in long perfect strokes. Rays of potent, binding magic cut through the white haze of snow with unerring precision, each one lashing around a hapless victim. Above the clouds, ethereal radiance exploded around dozens of winged shadows. Blue threads lanced through each, nailing them to the sky. At a distance, they seemed little more than tiny fireflies pinned starkly onto a stormy canvas. These enormous creatures were the size of mammoths. Their small eyes bulged from a horse-like head. Their skin was that of steaming tar and was stretched too tightly over their bulky frame. Darkness clung to them even while illuminated, and peeled away in noxious, black wisps.
Shantaks.
Many more of them had escaped into the night, but several dozen still lingered.

Dawn finally began to break as the sun dared to peek over the horizon. The macabre haze surrounding the sisters began to thin, but had already stayed too long. Bright motes of lethal magic rained from above, leaving hazy green streaks in their wake. Holes formed as the mist and snow recoiled, but not fast enough. Each droplet bored a path to the ground.
The Carnivorous Mist writhed silently, pantomiming a sunken face of anguish before dissipating. Within seconds, the only thing that remained of the mist was a fading chorus of disparate wails. The dark clouds disappeared were simply gone with no trace of there ever having been a storm. Horrid black chunks of scorched flesh fell from above, collateral from the sisters' displays of prowess.

The mountain slopes were pristine and white, covered in thin layers of fresh, powdery snow. Wherever the putrid flesh landed greasy, black stains smeared across the snow and rock. As the sun continued to climb, the remnants began to evaporate under the natural light.

The immediate threat was gone, cowed both by a show of power and the searing light of day. The trek down the mountain no longer had any obstacles, but something still lingered in the mountains, a silent malice that prickled the senses.

---

Visions of Nowhere

@Rune_Alchemist@Mag Lev

---

The forest was painfully quiet. No bird songs, no humming of insects, not even the creak of wind in the boughs of a tree. The plants were hardy and green, but seemed lifeless and still. Whatever majesty the forest once had siphoned away. Everything looked natural, but nothing felt natural, least of all the trees.
Loping through the dense edges of the forest, a Dryad and her disguised companion climbed hills of increasing severity before the land yielded to a sheer drop into a narrow ravine. The dulled noise of rushing water floated up to them. Some distance down, a river flowed at a nervous pace. Fed by the mountain, it cut through the hills and likely emptied into an estuary further south.

The rugged mesa on the side of the ravine was much shorter. Instead of slopes, rocky terraces offered a passage downward. Smaller steps had been cut into the formation and hewn clefts in along the walkway served as a makeshift staircase to the river. Following the switchback of stairs was easy, and led to an old cart trail which disappeared behind a barren knoll.

For Nara and Iva, the severe-looking terrain was no obstacle. After travelling at length, they found it.
Perhaps a dozen structures were spread through a loose woodland. Ancient buildings of mouldering planks were topped by shingled roofs overgrown with moss. They all surrounded a large plowed field, more than half of which laid barren and dry. A grass-bitten pile of rubble that was once a granary occupied a wide space next to the field. The entire village looked abandoned. The thin patch of loamy soil sprouting with vegetable crops and strange flowers indicated otherwise. So did the two people tending to them. A middle-aged man and younger woman both wearing the stoic expression and seemed engrossed in their work. They were so thin, they could make convincing scarecrows.

A thin wisp of a man with dark, leathery skin stepped out of one of the houses and appraised the two travelers critically. A sling of soiled bandages covered half of his face. The other half was adorned with one small, penetrating eye the color of granite, sunken deep into its sockets, which peered at them from beneath a heavy brow. His expression was both tired and somehow intense. He looked to be a man whose life was a vicious storm he was determined to weather and dark clouds were always on the horizon taunting him.

“A dryad and her mate coming to visit Jhorm, eh? Now, that’s a sight.” He boomed with a raspy, but deep voice. He didn't seem surprised by their sudden arrival. “I am Kessig. And who might you two be?”
His attention had trailed off, following their footsteps back along the path they had come, but his gaze snapped back to the girls. A hint of suspicion glinted in his eye.

---

Beyond the Yawning Depths

@BKburke

---

The rime-coated throat of the abyss eventually yielded to a natural cavern. Masrith crept cautiously deeper into the caves. His shuffling footsteps echoed into the hollow darkness. The floor and walls glistened in the guttering fire light. Here and there, patches of translucent blue slime seem to flinch away from the light. The deeper Masrith went, the more of the strange slime clung to the walls of the narrow passage. The air was stale, but carried a sweet, earthy scent.

A particularly large bulge of blue slime clung to a nearby wall. It shuddered as the light drew near, reflecting a translucent mirror image of the flaming angel. Tempted by the new disturbance, questing feelers reached out toward the Masrith, as if sensing his presence.

The cave widened into large chamber further down. Venturing forward, Masrith noticed a crunch underfoot. Fragile pieces of bone and other ivory white fragments litter the ground, carpeting the floor of the cavern. The fragments were slick and strangely smooth like stones in a river bed. There was no telling what creatures met their in these darkest depths.

Bloodlines of Steel and Snow (An Overlord RP)

@Pirouette
Shiyonichi pointed out the only thing I would have mentioned.

While this is something you do not need to reveal, I'm really curious which country or region Faire came from. The Steaming Sea isn't a friendly place, so wherever she disembarked from would need to have skilled sailors... probably one of the few foreign merchant vessels.

Anyway, it looks good. Accepted. ;)

@Kangutso
Haha, lurk as much as you like. There are already a few who do that. Tell them I said "hi". xD

Oh! I wanted to let you and @Archangel89 know that another slot has opened up due to inactivity.