Noxious

Blood Debt (Medieval/Fantasy, Rangers)

So, basically at some a some raven is going to start yelling for Loden. @Gunther Whenever it fits, no rush.

TL;DR
Witch of the brood finds out about Brand, decides she wants to torture the King.

Blood Debt (Medieval/Fantasy, Rangers)

[+]

sorry, the site was tripping. my bad.

Blood Debt (Medieval/Fantasy, Rangers)

Cᴀᴇʀᴡɪᴄᴋ . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . ᴛʜᴇ Vᴇɴᴅɪsʜ ᴄᴀᴘɪᴛᴀʟ

The raven’s talons clicked faintly against the porcelain rim of the tub, biding for patience as the tub's occupant appeared otherwise engaged. Sachevia’s own clawlike digit snaked in languid patterns across the petal and oil fragranced water as shadowed eyes followed the succeeding ripples. Just beneath the surface her bruise tinted thumbnail seemed to elongate and pierce into her still winding index finger. The water clouded with a luminescent red, far too radiant for the diluted blood it pleased to mimic, twitching along with the miniature currents she was concocting. Lengthy strands in different states of disarray had been piled atop her head in a bulky adumbral halo, ceding exposure to her despondent expression. Since she had received the missive her lips had pursed into a grimace, one that now parted for barely audible vocalizations…

_{ᴅ ᴇ ᴠ ᴇ ɴ ᴛ ʀ ᴇ ɪ ɴ ғ ᴇ ʀ ɪ ᴄ ʟ ᴀ ᴍ ᴀ ᴠ ɪ}
ᴀʀʙɪᴛʀɪᴏ ɪᴜᴅɪᴄɪᴜᴍ ᴠᴇɴɪᴇᴛ ᴄɪᴛᴏ
^{ᴇ ᴛ ᴅ ᴇ ᴍᴀɴᴜ ᴘᴀᴛʀᴜᴍ ᴍᴇᴏʀᴜᴍ s ᴀ ɴ ɢ ᴜ ɪ ɴ ᴇ}

She was no stranger to death, in fact she found him to be one of her favorite bedfellows; but loss had remained an elusive conquest. She tried to link to past experience in hopes it would distill her current mood, only to find her retinue quite bleak. Instead memories of Brand came to her and knuckles clenched to a ghost white hue around the raven’s missive.

She had sent a handmaiden to Nightwood as the Mad King had grown more brazen, a decision she had second guessed as a waste of her resources, but now she would at least find some twisted glee in her preparation. It had been a mere day, her adopted siblings would be uniting soon, but his death would not satiate her. Death was a grace that this King had not yet afforded and she would be damned if someone killed the bastard before she got her claws into him. This thought was boiling within her, coaxing darkness, when the raven cawed and began a low cackle, breaking her reverie. She turned to the bird, about to chastise the feral beast and send it back to its unkindness, but instead she followed it’s beady gaze to the door as it began to open.

The man that stepped through the door was unexceptional to the eye; and to the touch if she was being honest, but he was an exceedingly well connected and wealthy merchant. Her demeanor changed; a debauched smile painted her lips and the hue of her eyes settled on a more pleasing tint. The raven’s note, already crumpled in her hand, was dragged beneath the water, the ink dissipating between her knuckles and spreading it’s ill favor with the likes of honeysuckle and lilacs in the still swirling water. If her ruminations had been noticed the man failed to react, instead he focused a puzzled gaze on the now quiet raven who returned the favor in kind.

The raven was forgotten as she rose out of the tub and his attention became solely engrossed with his conquest. She gestured with a coaxing finger towards a gown set to the side as he licked across gluttonous lips and made a grunting sound, one Sachevia had come to associate with his desire. It reminded her of a pig that had just located a truffle. She wouldn’t miss him, she just hoped the Sirens wouldn’t notice her absence until she finished with the Mad King.

Lᴀᴛᴇʀ Tʜᴀᴛ Nɪɢʜᴛ…

The obscurity of nightfall wrapped around the ebon carriage, devouring it so that the souls within bobbed along in a state of purgatory, unconcerned with the boogeymen that skulked on either side of their cursed path. Locked within the carriage Sachevia’s thoughts expanded and contracted with her breaths, dizzying yet driven by a hazardous fuel. Parchment sat before her with the waiting ravens capering about the carriage as if feeding on the girl’s nervous excitement.

Her first letter would be to the King, written in the faux hand of one of his confidants in the capital, one whose name had slipped from the wealthy merchant before facilitated sleep overtook him. She offered herself as a gift, for the Mad King was said to enjoy the gifts of subservience, along with a reasonable amount of funds and well wishes for his safety and continued reign; better to cover all bases of temptation. She debated the second letter, the blank paper shooting judgmental glares in her direction until finally ink was pressed upon it.

Dearest Siblings,
My condolences in this time of loss. I doubt I will be able to attend the burial of our Father and for that I apologize. I may be able to facilitate it's likelihood though; I have received word the mad King has hidden Brand's body amongst a cart of taxes heading on the Harthbyrn route to Caerwick.

I will not apologize for what I must do, but know that I am with you. The King will pay for his trespasses against Brand in a manner of pain beyond the depths of burden I wish for your souls. If I fail, please rip the bastard into multiple pieces. Slowly.
Always, The Witch of the Brood

It was impossible for her to imagine any of Brand’s to be capable of the atrocities she was compiling in a wretched menagerie of justice. They had the abilities; in fact, most of them boasted weaponry skills, even as children, that were exemplary. But how many of them could shove a choke pear down the Mad King’s throat, twisting it tighter every couple of minutes as the King’s tears fell and blended with the blood that seeped from his tearing flesh?

She was getting excited, and ahead of herself.

Truly she couldn’t even imagine them as adults. Kiera perhaps, but she hadn’t heard any news of Kiera in years, so she was unsure if the dark elf would even make it back to Nightwood. She couldn’t remember Kiera being cruel, despite the lingering stigmatism of her people. Loden then? It may have been over a decade, but the thought of Loden torturing someone elicited an audible snort from the girl. No, Brand did not raise the cruel…

...with one exception.

She felt an indescribable pang flutter across her being, a confusing feeling, remorse? Sadness? Heartburn? Loneliness? She couldn’t recall the emotion and for a moment the vixen witch second guessed herself. Did she miss her siblings? Was she simply sad about Brand? She tied the missive to the foot of a raven and hoped the uncomfortable thoughts would depart soon. She still had to finalize her insertion into the King’s circle.

She whispered something to the raven who chortled a response, the ghoulish vocalization mimicking Sachevia’s in a distorted fashion so that she repeated “Loden” until she seemed pleased with the raven’s rendition. One last time the bird released an ominous variation of “Loden” and then it fluttered into the abyss that yawned beyond the carriage, towards Nightwood.

@Flagg @Naril @R31GN @Gunther @Airbender @POOHEAD189 @NickTrano @HeySeuss

Blood Debt (Medieval/Fantasy, Rangers)

@HeySeuss I don't have a Skype, so I won't be participating in the brainstorming I guess.

@AirBender

You can click the link and set up a "guest" screen name without downloading or joining Skype and it will just use the web platform.

Blood Debt (Medieval/Fantasy, Rangers)

I've posted my character, but don't worry she isn't in play just yet.

Blood Debt (Medieval/Fantasy, Rangers)

Sachevia

Sᴀᴄʜᴇᴠɪᴀ . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . ᴏf ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ ᴏf sɪʀᴇɴs

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ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ɴɪɴᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀs ☿ ғᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ☿ ᴡɪᴛᴄʜ ʙᴏʀɴ

Pʜʏsɪᴄᴀʟ Dᴇsᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ.

.Her stature was unassuming and average in repose, but her shadowless form had a dancer’s gait; one that reached beyond the oculus and stoked longing with measured and curling rhythms. Upon the faultless pale skin fell dark hair, dipping beyond her waist intermingled with woven charms, feathers, neat dreadlocks, thin braids and loose curls. The form was draped in tight leather and loose silk that seemed to flow and nip at her exuded aura with a movement of its own. The most common façade of the demon kin was one of upper class ignorance; a fragile and innocent nature. Thick lashes bat over stark gray eyes, paling in betrayal of her rotting soul and lined in charcoal. Her face was further complemented by a sickly sweet smile curled over plump bloodstained lips that wavered between refinement and primal compulsion. Fate’s favor expounded when the lips parted and melodious tones candied each word and fully muffled the underlying sardonic humor she occasionally failed to repress.

But there was another side, one that came as quickly as the tides ever enslaved by the moon and would drag a man to his gasping death. An ancestral boon on her end, to be sure, the eyes narrowed and pierced into the most weathered, the apathetic pale replaced with an unforgiving ink, and darkening lips curled into something else, something malicious and sadistically tempting. Fingers, once lithe, seemed to extend with aggravated twitching and the tips of her hair seemed to join in the aura caressing dance, licking at static around her.

Sᴋɪʟʟsᴇᴛ.

.Sneak ↠ stealth. pickpocket. lock picking.
.Charisma ↠ situation adaption. silver tongued.
.Enchantment ↠ compulsion. charm.
.Apothecary ↠ general knowledge.

Hɪsᴛᴏʀʏ.

.People prefered many terms but witch seemed to resignate well enough. It wasn’t like they cared to name themselves. Being named meant being seen and there were few species that didn’t hunt the witches. Hell, even witches hunted witches. So there was no question upon her birth that she would be hidden away.

Many witches favored hardier species to conceal their offspring, due to the difficulties inherent in raising. It spoke volumes of respect, if only within an eclipsing species, that Brand was gifted with the burden of Sachevia. Witch offspring are untrained and unfocused, dangerous, but Brand was not an ordinary man. His patience was unrivaled; he taught her control through meditation and hard work.

^{idle hands are the devils playground}

He taught her the importance of self and community, rarer things still: love without question, fairness. Sure, he wasn’t the tea party and tears over teddy type, but he was strong and good. It would forever resignate within her that there existed such a giving and caring man as Brand. It helped to curb the gnawing cynicism of reality that whispered into her soul about the evils of man.

She couldn’t stay though and at sixteen the driving hunger to experience life lifted her from the home and into chaos. She wanted to see the world, change the world, maybe even rule the world. But she was unskilled and untrained outside of the woods, unprepared for the blows and punches. For two years Brand bailed her out of unspeakable situations whenever he could, babying her to an extent that only spoiled her further. The last time she saw Brand he was paying for her freedom after she was caught trying to steal from a high born she had met at a tavern. He had tousled her hair on their way out, as he had done when she was a child. “I would ask you not to get any more trouble, but that seems an unreasonable request.” He had smiled, joking, but she was a petulant thing and she had only sulked and scowled.

It would be years from that moment until her realization of how much Brand had shaped her, how much he meant. The good within her was Brand. By the time he arrived at her last fiasco, she was gone. He received only shrugs and murmurs of the sin trodden beauties that had claimed his charge. A year later she had sent him a secret missive informing that she was alive and well, but she wouldn’t be in touch. She signed in a cat bunny creature she had drawn in her youth. There was nothing left to do but move on without her, and around ten years had passed without mention from the young witch.

There are a multitude of deaths in any life. When she joined the House of the Sirens much of her had to die; one who collects secrets should be careful to bury their own, and bury them deep. Her love for Brand, her loyalty to her family, to their community, all of it was dangerous and so it died, at least to the prying eye. She kept tabs on a few of them, discreetly so as not to draw that attention of the Sirens upon her family.

She trained continuously in the beginning, honing her skillset for years until missions began. The Sirens weren’t a selective group when it came to clientele, and so their fingers traced across the maps; a web of secrets and scandal that catered to the wealthy and the desperate, as long as they had something of value to trade.

When she heard of Brand’s execution it was only a few days before her sisters whispered names, locations, and curious other facts of occult from the mouths of the King’s inner circle. Brand was the good in her, and the loss would be rectified. She knew her siblings would not go silent into the night, but she was selfish in her revenge, foolhardy in brashness, and so alone she sought this whispered Veredict Daigon, this “Butcher of Green River”.

Psʏᴄʜᴏʟᴏɢɪᴄᴀʟ Pʀᴏғɪʟᴇ.

.After the death of Brand there was a silent attack within Sachevia; a loss of a piece that she had desperately clung to without knowing it. She is tactful, apathetic, and hell bent on fitness in the survival of the fittest. The overwhelming need to succeed and impress the Siren’s masters has been replaced with a drive for balance, as much as a sociopath can hope for. High emotions weaken her sanity and drive demon instincts within her and should be avoided, so she is well trained at focusing and faking emotions as needed, though Brands loss does have her a bit shaky. Prior to Brand’s loss she was rather pleased with life. She had a purpose and she was exceedingly good at bringing fruition to her jobs. She has been rather lonely and is self conscious in her lack of “life affirming” relationships. The only praise she receives is via chain of command of the House of Serpents, which has warped her sense of self.

Eǫᴜɪᴘᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ.

.Throwing Daggers ↠ made of a deep black metal and hidden upon her persons
.Hand Maidens ↠ quiet little things that trace behind her, skills unknown.
.Messengers ↠ ravens are widely used by all Sirens to spread secrets.
.Apothecary Supplies ↠ herbs, oils, animal skins/skulls, assorted others
.Clawed Gauntlets ↠ lightweight and decorated in runes and puzzling patterns.
.Trunks of Clothing ↠ what courtesan doesn't travel in style? Everything from leather to silk, midnight black to summer peach.
.Carriage & Horses ↠ sleek black metal carriage with well groomed gray dapple horses.

Yᴇs, ᴀɴᴅ.

WIP - Veredict Daigon

Rᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘs

.Varrick ↠ Knew him from his age 9 to 11.
.Masef ↠ Knew him from infancy until he was 9.
.Ashira ↠ Knew her from her age 5 to 7.
.Grey ↠ They have never met.
.Beren ↠ They have never met.
.Loden ↠ Knew him from his age 4 to 14.
.Kiera ↠ Sachevia is 5 years younger, knew Kiera from her arrival at 12 until Sachevia departed (Kiera was 21).

Blood Debt (Medieval/Fantasy, Rangers)

❤ it. Great characters and story so far.

Star Heresy

My grandfather passed away. I'm not sure if I'm going to go dark for a few days or not, but I just wanted to give you a heads up in case I disappear for a few days.

[closed]

My grandfather passed away. I'm not sure if I'm going to go dark for a few days or not, but I just wanted to give you a heads up in case I disappear for a few days.

An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP [Black Crusade Inspired] [Mature Content]

My grandfather passed away. I'm not sure if I'm going to go dark for a few days or not, but I just wanted to give you a heads up in case I disappear for a few days.