Member
Carlyle
Lemons
Pirouette
Choking on Mud
Eviledd1984
Lucian
X Fiendfyre X
hanzo
Rightful Heir
ButtsnBalls
Location: Uhladein, Eastern Marches
She sighed, moving a strand of her hair from her face before tucking it behind her ear.
Trantascilia looked up at the skies, as gray as they were, ignoring the clattering of the survivors or the words of her own fellow hunters.
In the Prentisian Faith–Astralism–it was said that when someone died their spirit transcended into the heavens, becoming one with the stars. But the void had cloaked itself around the sun, the shining heart of the cosmos. Was this accursed magick halting souls from ascending where they belonged? Was it some demonic rot that cursed them in ways beyond that of the flesh? It was a thought she had. A thought that the voice from within thought it was pointless to speculate upon. It was only then that she sighed, moving a strand of her hair from her face before tucking it behind her ear. Zecimia had been more than a comrade to Trantascilia. Even with all of the disdain she lashed out, the Prentisian considered her a friend in the end. A trusted, close friend.
And now she was gone.
“I cannot wait for the day I am dead and can finally rest.”
Like she wanted to be.
Perhaps that was the icing on this dour, insufferable cake full of despair. The azure-haired girl wasn’t quite there yet. She wished for battle, of dances, of a crusade against the forces of darkness. She didn’t want to die until they were purged from the lands of Asyl and the day was won. It was only then that she could consider the thought of her time coming to an end.
Suddenly, a jolt–a youthful exclamation. Trantascilia snapped back to reality, away from her thoughts filled with melancholy and avalon. One of the younger hunters, a Scilari melter by all appearances, had approached Fianna as she gathered her bearings in her typical, aloof fashion. She smiled slightly as she looked at the scene–for a second the image of the woman shifted and Trantascilia saw that of her friend, the blonde-haired Zecimia once again. Their expressions and demeanor were so close that for a moment it didn’t seem like a piece of Trantascilia’s soul had been cut off by the fates.
“That she did.” She said, happily.
