Noctis
ColdAtlas
Fetzen
FulgrimLivesThe Azkaban prisoner's dark predatory gaze remained fixated on her newly bound partner, a wicked glimmer burning within her eyes. A cruel smirk etched its way across her lips, forming a twisted canvas of satisfaction. Despite the fact that she had been shackled to serve as nothing more than a servant to this lapdog of the ministry, the horror reflected in his eyes painted a vivid portrait of her triumph.
As Percy strode toward Killian, Nerissa's smile vanished, instantly recognizing the presence of the bounty hunter. The dark witch's predatory gaze never wavered, locked onto the bounty hunter's form with an intensity that pierced through the very depths of his soul. If glares could manifest into deadly weapons, she would have torn his very essence asunder a thousandfold.
It had been no secret that Killian had become one of Nerissa's most loathed enemies since that fateful day. While her brother held the pinnacle of her endless reservoir of hatred, Killian had managed to claw his way to a close second position in the ranks of individuals she vowed to unravel and reduce to mere fragments of their former selves.
As she was forcibly dragged toward an open doorway, her gaze emitted poisonous daggers, emanating from the depths of her bottomless dark eyes. Each piercing glare held a promise of retribution, a silent declaration of the torments she yearned to inflict upon those who dared to cross her path.
When Percy finally stepped into the room housing the portkey, a scene greeted him that mirrored the one before. The same six Aurors, their wands gripped tightly within their hands, formed an informal circle around Nerissa Wyrmstone. A sense of tension hung in the air, their gazes darting warily between the witch and their newly arrived ally. However, amidst the familiar faces, there stood a seventh Auror, assigned with the sole task of holding Nerissa's wand until Percy's arrival, a precautionary measure to ensure control and security in the presence of such formidable power.
And then there was Nerissa. Standing at the heart of the makeshift informal circle, Nerissa Wyrmstone, once a prisoner of Azkaban, had swiftly shed the vestiges of her recent confinement. Though her time outside the notorious prison had been brief, a remarkable metamorphosis had taken place. The woman who now stood before them was a stark departure from her former self, exuding an air of nonchalant detachment.
Having cast off the weariness and desolation that had plagued her in captivity, Nerissa appeared utterly disinterested, as if she had grown weary of waiting for Percy and the mission they were begrudgingly bound to undertake—to halt the actions of her older brother. Her transformation spoke volumes, despite the brevity of her newfound freedom.
Her pale complexion, once drained by the oppressive atmosphere of Azkaban, now possessed a vibrant lustre. A renewed vitality seemed to pulse through her, revitalizing her features. Where once her countenance had borne the weight of her past transgressions, it now showcased a resolute strength and an understated elegance.
Nerissa's long, dark locks cascaded down her back in luxurious waves, a striking contrast to the dishevelled and unkempt state they had been in during her imprisonment. The freedom she now savoured breathed life into her hair, infusing it with a radiant sheen. Obsidian strands tumbled gracefully around her face, framing her sharp and captivating features with an air of casual confidence.
And then there were her eyes, a captivating transformation in themselves. Once veiled in darkness, they now gleamed with a warm and captivating hue—honied dark brown. They held an allure that was both captivating and unsettling, drawing others in while subtly warning of the enigmatic depths that lay beneath her composed exterior. The change in her eyes reflected a rekindled warmth and a reclamation of her humanity, as if the burden of her past had been partially lifted, allowing her true essence to shine through.
Adorned in a meticulously chosen ensemble, Nerissa embodied an undeniable presence that blended authority with a touch of rebellious elegance. Her attire, a stark departure from the torn and smudged uniform she had worn in Azkaban, now bespoke her newfound agency and determination. Clad in a Victorian-inspired gown, she exuded an aura of mystery and power. The predominantly black fabric enveloped her form, accentuating her statuesque figure, while subtle hints of dark purple added depth and intrigue to her appearance.
The gothic aesthetic of the gown was enhanced by delicate lace detailing, which danced across the fabric, lending an ethereal and delicate beauty to her ensemble. Ruffled sleeves cascaded gracefully down her arms, a testament to her restored grace and poise. The corseted bodice emphasized her commanding presence, symbolizing the strength that now coursed through her veins.
Completing her ensemble, long black gloves extended to her upper arms, exuding a sense of regal elegance and a hint of mystique. These gloves, once utilized to conceal her actions and intentions, now served as an outward manifestation of her mastery over her own destiny and her unwavering resolve.
Yet, despite her remarkable transformation and newfound presence, Nerissa managed to exude an air of boredom. She nonchalantly rested her hand on her hip, leaning to the side, casually checking her nails, as if the imminent mission held little interest for her.
As Percy stepped into the room where the portkey awaited, she casually flicked her gaze toward Percy, her tone tinged with a touch of derision. "Well, if the Ministry's prized lapdog is done dawdling, perhaps we can finally get a move on." Her voice carried a mix of boredom and an underlying insult, suggesting that Percy's presence was more of an inconvenience than an asset.
The six Aurors, attuned to Nerissa's every movement, remained on high alert, their stance poised and ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Their eyes darted between Percy and Nerissa, silently communicating their readiness to intervene should the dark witch attempt any treacherous act.
As Percy approached, the seventh Auror, his gaze unwavering, extended Nerissa's wand to him with a measured caution, ensuring to maintain a firm grip. The exchange was conducted with precision, conveying an unspoken understanding of the dangerous forces at play.
Nerissa, ever observant, kept her predatory gaze fixed on Percy, her lips curling into a sardonic smirk. "Don't get any ideas, Perceval," she taunted, the use of his full name laced with a hint of disdain. "I may be bound by this... alliance, but I assure you, I'm not one to underestimate."
Her words hung in the air, a veiled reminder of the potent threat she posed, both as a dark witch herself and as the sister of a notorious figure during the Second Wizarding War. The Aurors, cognizant of the danger, maintained their unwavering vigilance, prepared to quell any act of defiance from Nerissa with decisive force.
Once Percy held on Nerissa's wand tightly in his grasp he would be a naive fool if he didn't know the risks involved in this mission with Nerissa by his side, the delicate balance he had to maintain with a formidable ally who was equally likely to be his greatest adversary. Once Percy was ready, the seventh Auror, a veteran of the second wizarding war, nodded more to himself than anyone else, "Once you're both ready, grab on to the port key and it will take you to Las Vegas where you will meet with Miss Abigail Thompson." explained the older Auror.
The room bristled with tension as Percy and Nerissa, bound by circumstance and a shared objective, prepared to embark on a perilous journey. The six Aurors stood ready, their instincts honed, a testament to the gravity of the situation. With every passing moment, the stakes grew higher, and the dance between trust and caution began—a delicate balance that would define their dangerous alliance.
Before seizing the portkey, Nerissa's lips curled into a sly smile as her gaze lingered upon the assembled Aurors. With a hint of mischief in her eyes, she couldn't resist the urge to deliver a biting insult. "Look at you all," she taunted, her voice laced with subtle disdain. "A group of brave wizards, ready to stand guard like a common street dog with a bone. Well, except for you, my dear seventh wheel. Perhaps you should stick to holding wands and leave the real work to the professionals. It's for your own safety, of course." Her words dripped with veiled mockery, leaving a lingering sting in the air.
Their transportation by portkey happened so fast that neither Percy or Nerissa got to hear what the seventh auror said, but it most likely wasn't kind words that were cursed from the older man's lips.
As they materialized in the cramped confines of the janitor's closet, Nerissa couldn't help but revel in the closeness between herself and Percy. Her body pressed intimately against his, their proximity igniting a wicked fire within her. She could sense his tension, his unease, and she delighted in playing with his desires.
Leaning in, her voice low and filled with a seductive undertone, she whispered into his ear, her breath hot against his skin. "Oh, Percy, we find ourselves in such a deliciously tight situation, don't we?" Her voice carried a hint of primal desire, twisted and tinged with a dark edge. "I wonder, would you like to be one of my conquests? To taste the forbidden fruit and revel in the thrill of surrender?" she asked, sensually caressing Percy's lower jaw with a gloved finger.
Her words hung in the air, charged with an intoxicating blend of dominance and vulnerability. Nerissa relished in the power she held, knowing full well the effect her words would have on him, whether he wanted to admit it or not. She awaited his reaction, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of cruel amusement and predatory anticipation, eager to see how he would respond to her twisted seduction.
@MightyHorus@Algarus
As Percy strode toward Killian, Nerissa's smile vanished, instantly recognizing the presence of the bounty hunter. The dark witch's predatory gaze never wavered, locked onto the bounty hunter's form with an intensity that pierced through the very depths of his soul. If glares could manifest into deadly weapons, she would have torn his very essence asunder a thousandfold.
It had been no secret that Killian had become one of Nerissa's most loathed enemies since that fateful day. While her brother held the pinnacle of her endless reservoir of hatred, Killian had managed to claw his way to a close second position in the ranks of individuals she vowed to unravel and reduce to mere fragments of their former selves.
As she was forcibly dragged toward an open doorway, her gaze emitted poisonous daggers, emanating from the depths of her bottomless dark eyes. Each piercing glare held a promise of retribution, a silent declaration of the torments she yearned to inflict upon those who dared to cross her path.
When Percy finally stepped into the room housing the portkey, a scene greeted him that mirrored the one before. The same six Aurors, their wands gripped tightly within their hands, formed an informal circle around Nerissa Wyrmstone. A sense of tension hung in the air, their gazes darting warily between the witch and their newly arrived ally. However, amidst the familiar faces, there stood a seventh Auror, assigned with the sole task of holding Nerissa's wand until Percy's arrival, a precautionary measure to ensure control and security in the presence of such formidable power.
And then there was Nerissa. Standing at the heart of the makeshift informal circle, Nerissa Wyrmstone, once a prisoner of Azkaban, had swiftly shed the vestiges of her recent confinement. Though her time outside the notorious prison had been brief, a remarkable metamorphosis had taken place. The woman who now stood before them was a stark departure from her former self, exuding an air of nonchalant detachment.
Having cast off the weariness and desolation that had plagued her in captivity, Nerissa appeared utterly disinterested, as if she had grown weary of waiting for Percy and the mission they were begrudgingly bound to undertake—to halt the actions of her older brother. Her transformation spoke volumes, despite the brevity of her newfound freedom.
Her pale complexion, once drained by the oppressive atmosphere of Azkaban, now possessed a vibrant lustre. A renewed vitality seemed to pulse through her, revitalizing her features. Where once her countenance had borne the weight of her past transgressions, it now showcased a resolute strength and an understated elegance.
Nerissa's long, dark locks cascaded down her back in luxurious waves, a striking contrast to the dishevelled and unkempt state they had been in during her imprisonment. The freedom she now savoured breathed life into her hair, infusing it with a radiant sheen. Obsidian strands tumbled gracefully around her face, framing her sharp and captivating features with an air of casual confidence.
And then there were her eyes, a captivating transformation in themselves. Once veiled in darkness, they now gleamed with a warm and captivating hue—honied dark brown. They held an allure that was both captivating and unsettling, drawing others in while subtly warning of the enigmatic depths that lay beneath her composed exterior. The change in her eyes reflected a rekindled warmth and a reclamation of her humanity, as if the burden of her past had been partially lifted, allowing her true essence to shine through.
Adorned in a meticulously chosen ensemble, Nerissa embodied an undeniable presence that blended authority with a touch of rebellious elegance. Her attire, a stark departure from the torn and smudged uniform she had worn in Azkaban, now bespoke her newfound agency and determination. Clad in a Victorian-inspired gown, she exuded an aura of mystery and power. The predominantly black fabric enveloped her form, accentuating her statuesque figure, while subtle hints of dark purple added depth and intrigue to her appearance.
The gothic aesthetic of the gown was enhanced by delicate lace detailing, which danced across the fabric, lending an ethereal and delicate beauty to her ensemble. Ruffled sleeves cascaded gracefully down her arms, a testament to her restored grace and poise. The corseted bodice emphasized her commanding presence, symbolizing the strength that now coursed through her veins.
Completing her ensemble, long black gloves extended to her upper arms, exuding a sense of regal elegance and a hint of mystique. These gloves, once utilized to conceal her actions and intentions, now served as an outward manifestation of her mastery over her own destiny and her unwavering resolve.
Yet, despite her remarkable transformation and newfound presence, Nerissa managed to exude an air of boredom. She nonchalantly rested her hand on her hip, leaning to the side, casually checking her nails, as if the imminent mission held little interest for her.
As Percy stepped into the room where the portkey awaited, she casually flicked her gaze toward Percy, her tone tinged with a touch of derision. "Well, if the Ministry's prized lapdog is done dawdling, perhaps we can finally get a move on." Her voice carried a mix of boredom and an underlying insult, suggesting that Percy's presence was more of an inconvenience than an asset.
The six Aurors, attuned to Nerissa's every movement, remained on high alert, their stance poised and ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Their eyes darted between Percy and Nerissa, silently communicating their readiness to intervene should the dark witch attempt any treacherous act.
As Percy approached, the seventh Auror, his gaze unwavering, extended Nerissa's wand to him with a measured caution, ensuring to maintain a firm grip. The exchange was conducted with precision, conveying an unspoken understanding of the dangerous forces at play.
Nerissa, ever observant, kept her predatory gaze fixed on Percy, her lips curling into a sardonic smirk. "Don't get any ideas, Perceval," she taunted, the use of his full name laced with a hint of disdain. "I may be bound by this... alliance, but I assure you, I'm not one to underestimate."
Her words hung in the air, a veiled reminder of the potent threat she posed, both as a dark witch herself and as the sister of a notorious figure during the Second Wizarding War. The Aurors, cognizant of the danger, maintained their unwavering vigilance, prepared to quell any act of defiance from Nerissa with decisive force.
Once Percy held on Nerissa's wand tightly in his grasp he would be a naive fool if he didn't know the risks involved in this mission with Nerissa by his side, the delicate balance he had to maintain with a formidable ally who was equally likely to be his greatest adversary. Once Percy was ready, the seventh Auror, a veteran of the second wizarding war, nodded more to himself than anyone else, "Once you're both ready, grab on to the port key and it will take you to Las Vegas where you will meet with Miss Abigail Thompson." explained the older Auror.
The room bristled with tension as Percy and Nerissa, bound by circumstance and a shared objective, prepared to embark on a perilous journey. The six Aurors stood ready, their instincts honed, a testament to the gravity of the situation. With every passing moment, the stakes grew higher, and the dance between trust and caution began—a delicate balance that would define their dangerous alliance.
Before seizing the portkey, Nerissa's lips curled into a sly smile as her gaze lingered upon the assembled Aurors. With a hint of mischief in her eyes, she couldn't resist the urge to deliver a biting insult. "Look at you all," she taunted, her voice laced with subtle disdain. "A group of brave wizards, ready to stand guard like a common street dog with a bone. Well, except for you, my dear seventh wheel. Perhaps you should stick to holding wands and leave the real work to the professionals. It's for your own safety, of course." Her words dripped with veiled mockery, leaving a lingering sting in the air.
Their transportation by portkey happened so fast that neither Percy or Nerissa got to hear what the seventh auror said, but it most likely wasn't kind words that were cursed from the older man's lips.
As they materialized in the cramped confines of the janitor's closet, Nerissa couldn't help but revel in the closeness between herself and Percy. Her body pressed intimately against his, their proximity igniting a wicked fire within her. She could sense his tension, his unease, and she delighted in playing with his desires.
Leaning in, her voice low and filled with a seductive undertone, she whispered into his ear, her breath hot against his skin. "Oh, Percy, we find ourselves in such a deliciously tight situation, don't we?" Her voice carried a hint of primal desire, twisted and tinged with a dark edge. "I wonder, would you like to be one of my conquests? To taste the forbidden fruit and revel in the thrill of surrender?" she asked, sensually caressing Percy's lower jaw with a gloved finger.
Her words hung in the air, charged with an intoxicating blend of dominance and vulnerability. Nerissa relished in the power she held, knowing full well the effect her words would have on him, whether he wanted to admit it or not. She awaited his reaction, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of cruel amusement and predatory anticipation, eager to see how he would respond to her twisted seduction.
@MightyHorus@Algarus