A Wounded Nightingale

Tremula

What follows is a log from earlier in the day, when @Vatul and @Gavriel discovered Tremula in @Drocilla's fulcrux, the fallen Nightingale in a state worse than death. @Zitto was there, hoping to approach the Elder Goddess for his friend's freedom, but as @Romaan, @Daebach, and @Tridemon each arrived with noble intention, he found himself no closer to his goal and further and further infuriated by Her coterie. For the first time since Tridemon carter her off to the Aquamancers guildhall in an attempt to keep her within a healspring and cleanse her body of wounds, Tremula finds herself once more in the care of unlikely saviors.

**look me**

She is a fiendish viscanti demigoddess and her eyebrows are the same snowy white as her hair, ragged around their edges and arched in a naturally elegant curve. Pale lips, unpainted and chapped, retreat to a thin line more often than not, revealing jagged fangs when they do part. Faint traces of make-up can be seen on her face, as though someone had attempted to place it on her as she moved past them, a smattering of blush and speckles of glittering grey eye kohl. Her almond shaped eyes display no emotion, the right iris staring forward with an almost reflective grey sheen. Her left eye shares the colouration, though some of the six smaller irises surrounding the larger, center one are varying degrees of monochrominity from white to black. Porcelain, doll-like skin covers her body, the only obvious fault an angry, pulsing mark nestled in the hollow of her throat. Taint pours from this mark like an open wound, seeping around her and coalescing in an angry, vicious maelstrom of blackened purple fog. Her every movement is directed by the fog, skeletal claws forming and dissipating to grasp at her limbs, each finger cutting a shallow line in her skin and letting trickles of blood, and move them into position. Occasionally a fiendish whisper will echo through the fog, repeating a name before dying out. She is wearing a suit of black, chitinous lamellar plate, a white gold tiara with lapis and pearl,  a webbed wedding band of platinum, a sleek 

black leg scabbard, and 2 black scabbards with a silver streak.

Her luxuriously full, smooth white hair has been pulled back and tied into a single, elegant braid. Despite being almost austere in its functionality, her hair is nevertheless beautiful, tied near the end with a single black ribbon.

**log begins**

Tremula's legs give out and she sinks to her knees, legs splayed out to either side of her as her head lolls in a circle before coming to rest with chin against the hollow of her throat, eyes staring blankly at the floor with an unseeing, reflective grey gaze.

The surface of the portal ripples as a figure encased within liquid gold emerges. As the gold recedes back into the portal, the form of Zitto is revealed, his eyes shining in utter rapture.

The hoarse sound emanating from the Taint that surrounds her eerily, you whisper, "...Enchantress..."

Lord Zitto Shevat says to you, "A strange place for you to be at the moment, all things considered. How are you managing, comrade?"

The hoarse sound emanating from the Taint that surrounds her eerily, you whisper, "...cold...so cold...all gone..."

With considerable consternation, Lord Zitto Shevat says, "Far be it from me to accuse the Enchantress of discourtesy, but as fond as She is of your voice, you would think you might have better luck seeking an audience than I have."

The hoarse sound emanating from the Taint that surrounds her eerily, you whisper, "...friends..."

Lord Zitto Shevat says, "Yes, your friends are very concerned with what She has done."

The hoarse sound emanating from the Taint that surrounds her eerily, you whisper, "...safe...all gone..."

Her voice echoing against the slate of the floor, Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre says, "Who does enter my Lady's sancrosanct?"

The hoarse sound emanating from the Taint that surrounds her eerily, you whisper, "...Enchantress..."

Stone-faced, sounding almost bored, Lord Zitto Shevat says, "The Elder Gods merit courtesy and awe, but their hangers-on may not."

Silken tones brushed with something akin to pity, Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre says, "Yes. I know why you come," she utters to Tremula. Her gown drags across the ground, flush the lowlit glow of silver applique as she gestures to Zitto. "Oui, as is outright rudeness, Monsieur."

 The Taint surrounding Tremula slithers like hungry snake tongues towards Vatul, retreating in satisfaction to coil around her once more as two skeletal claws reach down and yank her head up, turning her blank gaze to follow Vatul's motions along the antechambre.

Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre says to Zitto, "You invade sacred ground with your wispish demeanor. What is your business?"

Vatul executes a coquettish turn of the corners of her lips, her eyes twinkling as a shadow darts within their warm depths.

Vatul gently plucks at the air of the tendrils embracing her, the push against her like a lover's caress leaving a glimmer of oilslick in the wake of her undead flesh. She tilts her head to one side, focused on Zitto, yet facing you.

With a shrug, Lord Zitto Shevat says, "The Enchantress has inflicted an injury, one which you are well aware of. Discussion with Her may yet produce a remedy.. " Zitto pauses to offer a skeptical glance before continuing, "Discussion with you....doubtful to be useful."

The hoarse sound emanating from the Taint that surrounds her eerily, you whisper, "...beacons...home...Enchantress..."

Vatul tells you, "Soothing words of Delportian reach the blank recesses of your mind, calling gently, "Come, we shall welcome you, come, our arms our open..." Each layer more tender than the last."

With a curtness to her lilting voice, Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre says, "While I see you acting in honour of your companion, there is nothing that can be done, Monsieur. However courages your science may be, it cannot lift the malady of the Songful Messiah. Such secrets are not for the Collective to divulge, nor the rest of its contingent provinces."

You tell Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre, "..." The blankness of sensory deprivation clears for a brief moment, the hazy, warped image of you standing near the Warlord of the Engine as armoured sandstone wings, spiked with iron, flap away and spin you into the sky. A brief flicker of familiarity can be touched, but then it is gone, and the emptiness begans to pull at your mind, first stealing sight and then sound. It is cut off abruptly when an angelic voice whispers the first complete sentence uttered in years, "I am home."

Zitto turns to regard Tremula, his blank face yielding to reveal pain and no little sorrow.  After a deep breath to steel himself, the expressions fade behind a grim scowl once more.

Lord Zitto Shevat says to Vatul, "Courageous? You think I am her to argue with Her? To make demands of a God?"

Tremula's lips split in a gruesome smile, no mirth reflected in her eyes. Blood trickles down from where her jagged fangs have cut the tender skin there, further staining the skin of her chin and neck before it is hungrily lapped up by the angry mark in the hollow of her throat.

Vatul emits a throaty laugh, the sound a susurration of an oil-touched breeze that rings high and free as carillon bells.

Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre says to Zitto, "I do not think you would be so foolish, Monsieur." She brushes a nail along her collarbone, past her ear to a glimmering light behind several ringlets of hair. "But even so, I have know the Collective to do interesting things with their own Elders."

Vatul begins to circle about Zitto, with slow, dance-like steps as if performing a minuet. She moves toward your broken form.

Turning suddenly to face the Counciler, Lord Zitto Shevat says, "I am not so foolish. One does not walk into the very Fulcrux of an Elder and dictate terms. But, but...." The human pauses for a moment and his cool frustration suddenly gives way to white-hot anger. His eyes wide, a finger jabbing with each word, he screams," THEY ARE MINE! ALL OF THEM. I am not chairman anymore, but it changes nothing! They are mine to guide and mine to protect. I cannot see my comrades stolen from me and do nothing!"

Still furious, though he no longer shouts, Lord Zitto Shevat says, "And I am not without means, or willingness. I wait for Her to name Her price. I am prepared to pay the ransom."

 A skeletal claw extends from the Taint surrounding Tremula to gently rest upon Zitto's shoulder, the other turning her head much more gently than before to look at him with reflective eyes. Flickers of movement not present in the room flicker across them, inviting him closer for inspection.

The hoarse sound emanating from the Taint that surrounds her eerily, you whisper, "...Enchantress..."

Vatul wavers not at the raised voice of the human, she remains poised in the face of the near spittle thrust at the words. Her dark, twilight eyes are frozen as obsidian ice - The corner of her lips slowly turning up with a rich, pouty smile.

Zitto turns to regard his comrade, rage fading once more to give away to something like fear as he looks into her eyes.

Echoing softly, her horns glinting in the light of the censers, Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre says, "Anything, Monsieur? You would pay ransom for her to be well again?"

Shadows dance across Tremula's eyes in unseen beauty and horror, blood pooling like tears in the lids of her eyes before spilling down and racing down her cheeks.

Through a split in the aether, a sudden flux of planar energy ejects Gavriel . With wings tucked tight to his body as he considers first Zitto, then you.

At last, Vatul reaches the place where you have crumpled near the dais. She descends carefully to one knee, gently lifting you into the strength of her willowy arms.

You tell Lord Zitto Shevat, "..." Memories, crystal clear and filled with warmth, dance to the fore of your mind from Tremula's, obviously well-guarded against the ravages of the Curse, which hungrily presses against it as you witness them. From another's perspective see yourself, with a small girl tucked behind you, hiding small smiles of amusement as Portius gapes at the person you know is Tremula before kneeling down and proposing. You hear peals of angelic laughter hanging in the air at a whispered word and distant aethers. "Thank you," you whisper to yourself, looking down at yourself with a small smile pulling at your lips, knowing it is meant with every fibre of your being. The angelic voice separates her mind from yours before the harsh, gut-wrench of sensory deprivation can begin, snapping you back to the antechambre, "For everything, my friend."

Vatul tells you, "It is finished, yes..." She iterates, her voice like a spot of sunshine. The light fades, replaced by the warmth of a Magnagoran summer day, just under the arid breeze of the machines."Your friend, he wishes to save you, this noble deed may damn him."

 The darkness in Tremula's eyes fades and her reflective eyes show naught but the chambre around you, head lolling to hang limply until a shadowy claw retracts from Zitto's shoulder to gently support it, the other snaking towards Gavriel questioningly before retreating to aid its companion in lifting the weight of the massive viscanti from Vatul, holding her steady while allowing the woman to move her with ease.

Zitto suddenly starts, then manages to regard his friend only with sadness.  At length, he seems to remember the others in the room.

Turning from Tremula to fix a cold, contemptuous glare, Lord Zitto Shevat says to Vatul, "I am here to bargain with Someone who has something to offer. No matter how worthy She may be, her tools have little to offer. I am not here to trade jabs with you."

The hoarse sound emanating from the Taint that surrounds her eerily, you whisper, "...too late...all gone...bye bye Tremula...too late...all gone..."

The surface of the portal ripples as a figure encased within liquid gold emerges. As the gold recedes back into the portal, the form of Romaan is revealed, his eyes shining in utter rapture. 

A swirl of frost drives the temperature lower as a large snow phoenix with icy wings soars into view from the ether.

Deadpan, Spitfire Gavriel, Demagogue of Dissonance says, "You will treat with Her Will or not at all. You've no weight to throw here, Shevat."

The surface of the portal ripples as a figure encased within liquid gold emerges. As the gold recedes back into the portal, the form of Daebach is revealed, his eyes shining in utter rapture.

A cage-wheel trundles in from the ether before stopping as the hamster within stops running in place.

Gavriel glances askance at Romaan.

Sir Romaan Hartfire, Bastion of the Covenant says, "Just came to see what everyone is gathering for."

Romaan nods his head at Zitto.

Romaan nods his head at you.

Daebach D'Varden says, "At the same time that something was happening around Gaudiguch."

Sir Romaan Hartfire, Bastion of the Covenant says, "These are friends of mine, as well."

Vatul bends her ear to the centre of your chest, regardless of the verbal abuse thrown at her. With the sickly viscanti safe in her arms, she listens with almost rapt focus as the touch of her long-nailed manicured hands press gently on your throat. Her visage goes slack, as she's drawn inward to something beyond everyone's hearing, or feeling.

Spitfire Gavriel, Demagogue of Dissonance says to Romaan, "You've unusual choices in friends, indeed."

Sir Romaan Hartfire, Bastion of the Covenant says to Gavriel, "I do not think so."

Gavriel grunts noncommitally.

Lord Zitto Shevat says to Romaan, "Your support is appreciated, but there is little here for us to attend to. Only noise and self-importance."

Daebach jumps into the air and lands with a bump.

You tell Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre, "..." You press further and further into the horrible, empty numbness, searching for some remnants of her Voice, and you finally stumble upon something seemingly long abandoned, a link to your Lady that you recognise all to well. A gilded cage of violet light surrounds the tiniest ball of angelic light, which whispers to you mellifluously, "Lady, is that You?"

Sir Romaan Hartfire, Bastion of the Covenant says to Zitto, "Typical, eh?"

The hoarse sound emanating from the Taint that surrounds her eerily, you whisper, "...too late...all gone...friends...safe..."

Sir Romaan Hartfire, Bastion of the Covenant says to Zitto, "You will let me know if there is anything I can do."

Daebach reaches out towards the portal and is suddenly engulfed by eager tendrils of gold that consume the victim in their viscous embrace.

With a huff, a hamster starts running in his cage-wheel, causing it to trundle off to the ether.

Brushing back the petals of his cowl, an arctic edge to his words, Spitfire Gavriel, Demagogue of Dissonance says, "The corpse can go to the mass graves of the Gloaming, then. Vatul, let me know when she's finished."

With bored affectation, Gavriel inspects his nails idly.

Romaan bows his head reverently and traces a holy pentacle in the air before him, uttering a series of prayers to the Supernals.

Zitto grins mirthlessly at the Paladin before turning to again regard his afflicted friend.  Absently, he responds to the inquiry with a vague nod and an assurance of "Of course."

Romaan reaches out towards the portal and is suddenly engulfed by eager tendrils of gold that consume the victim in their viscous embrace.

Whispers of warmth flush through your skin as a large snow phoenix with icy wings departs in a swirl of frost.

Dismissively, Lord Zitto Shevat says, "I can see there is little to be gained here at the moment." With pity, he inquires," Comrade, would you like an escort home?"

Vatul tells you, "It is only I, Vatul," Her own voice a smokey requiem, that strikes even the emptiest parts of what is left of your Voice. "She comes for you, I feel it. The Lady shall come..." These words echo with strain, as she attempts to hold the link. "Your friend, he wishes to save you. Stay with us."

Vatul is transfixed, her eyes wide as tear drops of viscera slowly leak from the corners of her eyes. Her hands are still pressed against you throat, her own form quivering in silence.

Lord Zitto Shevat says to Vatul, "I met Her once, you know. I dare say You have enjoyed Her company more often, but I suspect that, in that meeting in my board room, I got to knew Her better." Continuing in almost a rambling tone, he adds, "Her nature, I suppose...like recognizes like."

The surface of the portal ripples as a figure encased within liquid gold emerges. As the gold recedes back into the portal, the form of Tridemon is revealed, his eyes shining in utter rapture.

Prowling in from the ether, a young jungle lioness haughtily takes in her surroundings.

After a few beats of silence, censer flickering alongside his ear, Gavriel drops a flat, "Shut up. How dare you pretend you know Her? If you knew Her, you would beg Her acceptance." There's venom there, but no force behind his words. From behind opalescent lenses, he stares at Vatul. Ever-patient. Ever-watchful.

You tell Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre, "..." The light presses against the gild of its cage as close as it dares, keeping well away from the reaching darkness that struggles to consume it. "I cannot see, I cannot hear. That I have a friend in this world who would care for me is a surprise, but She has assured there is no respite from the Curse save in Her care. I have succumbed, if you have found my body anywhere under Her Aegis. Please, do not press too long into my mind, lest the Curse of Her masque spread."

With affected boredom, Lord Zitto Shevat says to Gavriel, "Oh, you aren't just a tool of your Lady Enchantress. You're a blunt object, aren't you?"

Admiral Tridemon Regalis, Keeper of Pure Waters says to you, "Can you still hear us? Is it still gone?"

Suddenly focused, and with considerable respect, Lord Zitto Shevat says to Tridemon, "Ah, Admiral, how gracious of you to check in on our friend. Sadly, a solution does not seem forthcoming at the moment."

 The darkness surrounding Tremula captures Gavriel's voice, warping and twisting it as it echoes eerily before dissipating against the ever present melody. "Acceptance. Acceptance. Acceptance."

The hoarse sound emanating from the Taint that surrounds her eerily, you whisper, "...too late...all gone...too late...all gone..."

Vatul tells you, "Unexpectedly, a phrase echoes, as if the distance, "I care for you..." Such lines of communication snap briefly before re-aligned, like strings upon a violin, "I will protect your body...I will...Protect..." The lines of the communication snap, so violently that there is nothing left."

Admiral Tridemon Regalis, Keeper of Pure Waters says to you, "Do you still need it? The song of creation with Rhapsody's teachings?"

The hoarse sound emanating from the Taint that surrounds her eerily, you whisper, "...Rhapsody...Jagrerox...Tremula...all gone..."

With no further mind paid to Zitto, Gavriel lapses into quiet. He observes, feathers sleek and arms crossed loosely over his narrow chest.

Admiral Tridemon Regalis, Keeper of Pure Waters says to you, "Perhaps. But the voices remain. And the teachings."

Vatul wrenches harshly away from you form that she has drawn so closely in her embrace. She growls low in her throat, as she her eyes spread wide to gaze upon Zitto, crying blood as she spits a harsh, demonic set of words throughout the chambers - each so bone-chilling that they rise up and echo like screams. Her body contorts, first backwards in some odd angle - writhing unevenly before heaving forward. Panting gently, her head lolls to the side.

The hoarse sound emanating from the Taint that surrounds her eerily, you whisper, "...bye bye...Tremula...all gone..."

Admiral Tridemon Regalis, Keeper of Pure Waters says to you, "I can bring Daebach back and have him sing the Starhymn for you."

Tridemon ponders the situation.

With brisk steps, Gavriel closes the distance between himself and Vatul to lay a hand between her shoulders.

Spitfire Gavriel, Demagogue of Dissonance says to Tridemon, "Don't bring that filth in here. There will be no Starhymn in the Lady's fulcrux. Take the putrescent filth outside if you want to sing it to eternal rest, but you won't do it -here-."

With a sudden shrug, Lord Zitto Shevat says, "Well, it seems nothing will be accomplished here at the moment. I suppose I might hope the Lady Enchantress grows bored enough with treat with me some other time."

Tridemon gives Gavriel the once-over, eyeing him suspiciously.

Vatul bears her teeth briefly, pearly white canines grinding in a short abrasive movement against her lips. After a slow moment of recovery, she grips at your body, as if she alone could hold it. "Mine," she murmurs hazily.

 Skeletal claws sprout angrily from the darkness surrounding Tremula , avoiding Gavriel, Vatul, Zitto, and Tridemon as they lash at the air angrily. The myriad of harsh voices screech in growing strength as they rage, "DAEBACH! DAEBACH! DAEBACH!" Ephemeral patches of skinrot plague form on her skin before fading, replaced by bloody welts as the claws retreat to rake across her alabaster flesh.

Admiral Tridemon Regalis, Keeper of Pure Waters says, "Going to say that's a no."

Tridemon gives a pained sigh.

Her throat torn, Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre hisses, "Mine."

The hoarse sound emanating from the Taint that surrounds her eerily, you whisper, "...too late...all gone..."

From beyond the writhing fence of skeletal arms and tainted shrieking, Gavriel fixes Tridemon with an unblinking stare.

Lord Zitto Shevat says to you, "This is a poor place to rest, friend. Won't you come with me back to the Beacon?"

Gavriel bends his head, beak of his mask brushing alongside Vatul's shoulder as he murmurs to her.

Vatul drags you upwards, her own form - smaller and more fragile than the older viscanti's struggling under the weight of the woman. While your feet drag across the ground, she starts forward, past Gavriel, Zitto and Tridemon.

The hoarse sound emanating from the Taint that surrounds her eerily, you whisper, "...Enchantress...friends...safe..."

Her eyes still weeping slowly, Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre says, "She wishes to remain...Here."

Admiral Tridemon Regalis, Keeper of Pure Waters says, "I would assume that to be the meaning of that little speech. Though the Enchantress is scarce what I would classify as being safe."

The hoarse sound emanating from the Taint that surrounds her eerily, you whisper, "...Trust..."

Spitfire Gavriel, Demagogue of Dissonance says to Tridemon, "Your misgivings needn't be spoken on Her sacred ground. That is somewhat foolish, Admiral."

Once more a model of indifferent boredom, Lord Zitto Shevat says, "I am hardly inclined to drag her home against her will, but let me be clear. I do not threaten gods, nor take up arms against them. You two, however, will learn what means remain available to me if Tremula suffers harm in your custody."

Lord Zitto Shevat says to Tridemon, "I suspect, good admiral, that we are likely outstaying our welcome. Might I leave with you?"

Beneath his mask, Gavriel's features twist. Eyes grow sharp and narrow, a wrinkle to what little is visible of the bridge of his nose. When he speaks, there is a sneer to his voice. "I look forward to gutting her in your absence, then. We'll see what can be done."

Admiral Tridemon Regalis, Keeper of Pure Waters says to Zitto, "In a moment, perhaps."

Admiral Tridemon Regalis, Keeper of Pure Waters says to you, "Has anyone attempted to cleanse your body since the last time you were within my healspring?"

The woman's grip is tight, yet gentle across the shapely viscanti woman's form. Her voice is low, as she calmly turns from the human and his ilk, Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre says, "Farewell...Bye, bye..." She catches herself, and simply restates, "Farewell."

With a dismissive tone and the faintest hint of a grin, Lord Zitto Shevat says to Gavriel, "Oh, absolutely a blunt tool."

Flatly, Spitfire Gavriel, Demagogue of Dissonance says to Zitto, "Get out, then. She is ours until she wishes to go."

You tell Lord Zitto Shevat, "..." A gentle brush pulls at you from across the room, tender and gentle. It flickers, weak, as if a great struggle is put forth to maintain it, before a familiar, angelic voice murmurs your name in appreciation and love, "Zitto..." As soon as it is said it is gone, your mind once more yours with no foreigners. The echo remains, though, "...Zitto..."

Zitto smirks at Gavriel.

Gavriel absently adjusts his mask before turning back to Vatul.

Lord Zitto Shevat says to Tridemon, "Let me know if you require assistance, then."

Zitto offers a brief, shallow bow towards the altar before turning to depart.

Zitto reaches out towards the portal and is suddenly engulfed by eager tendrils of gold that consume the victim in their viscous embrace.

The dark stains of blood against Tremula's alabaster skin seem to shimmer in response to Tridemon's words, though the fog surrounding him presses heavily against him at the mention of the word 'healspring'.

Airily, eyes ever on the Aois-Dana and her charge, Spitfire Gavriel, Demagogue of Dissonance says, "Good day, Admiral. It has been a pleasure to entertain you."

Admiral Tridemon Regalis, Keeper of Pure Waters says to you, "It would be rude to flood this room. Though it would certainly be entertaining to deluge the place. If you wish it, I will follow you outside and set up a healspring outside the portal to this place."

Vatul drags your body from the reach of Tridemon, walking up the steps of the dais with the burdensome charge. She stands there, covered in blood, glistening with oil as her eyes flare with dark gold flakes. "Get out, Admiral, she is mine to protect. I will not maim her body, you have my word," she states calmly, her voice dropped as if it held a dark storm in its reins.

Admiral Tridemon Regalis, Keeper of Pure Waters says to Vatul, "You have left her body covered in cuts and blood. At least a cloth and some fresh water is in order, surely?"

Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre says to Tridemon, "While we of Magnagora are of War, we are not soft in the brain."

Glancing over his shoulder, Spitfire Gavriel, Demagogue of Dissonance asks Tridemon, "You don't believe we possess -water-? What do they teach you, Admiral?"

Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre says to Tridemon, "And it is not -my- doing that she is harmed, it is by her own. Perhaps some healing waters to your eyes, may improve your vision."

Tridemon tilts his head curiously.

Admiral Tridemon Regalis, Keeper of Pure Waters says, "I have seen where the curse she is under is from."

Admiral Tridemon Regalis, Keeper of Pure Waters says, "It comes from the Enchantress's own Dread Mask."

Admiral Tridemon Regalis, Keeper of Pure Waters says, "And even She is not entirely certain that She can fully remove it."

Flatly, Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre says, "I wait for you to acquiesce my request."

Spitfire Gavriel, Demagogue of Dissonance says, "Then she is blessed beyond our understanding. A lucky little traitor, indeed."

Admiral Tridemon Regalis, Keeper of Pure Waters says to Vatul, "Only a few moments longer, I assure you."

Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre says, "My impatience grows."

Stepping carefully over the dark circles of symbols, Gavriel bends to perch atop one of the stairs to the dais. Cranelike legs folded beneath him, he watches Tridemon.

Admiral Tridemon Regalis, Keeper of Pure Waters says to the master shrine of Drocilla, "You made my mother sad. I do still believe that makes YOU the rude one."

Tridemon reaches out towards the portal and is suddenly engulfed by eager tendrils of gold that consume the victim in their viscous embrace.

With a bored sniff, a young jungle lioness slinks etherwards.

Gavriel snorts and makes a particularly piteous mewling behind his mask. In utter mockery, he traces an imaginary tear from one lens down a silvery cheek.

Trailing the back of her hand against Tremula's sunken cheek, Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre says, "A waste of flesh, that one."

The hoarse sound emanating from the Taint that surrounds her eerily, you whisper, "...waste...all gone..."

Suddenly standing, Spitfire Gavriel, Demagogue of Dissonance says, "Sad, my pointed nose. What do you intend to do with her? She's wasting."

Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre says, "She spoke unto me, through the emptiness in her Voice, what glimmer and ounce that rests against the bars." She adjusts her grip upon the limpid feminine form. "She waits, she is not safe. Before the communication broke, I could not hold it for so long..."

Her voice holding determination, Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre says, "We must take her to the asylum."

Taken somewhat aback, Spitfire Gavriel, Demagogue of Dissonance asks, "The d'Vanecu asylum, or the  -other- one?"

Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre says, "The d'Vanceu asylum. Look at her, we must keep the body healthy - For when the host returns. And the Messiah comes."

Gavriel wavers, an unpleasant razor's edge of stiffness in his shoulders. After a moment of inner turmoil, "... We'll discuss the specifics later, then. Come."

Vatul cradles your waifish form in her arms, with grip adjusted she holds you near.

Without turning his head, Spitfire Gavriel, Demagogue of Dissonance asks, "You need help carrying her?"

The darkness surrounding the large woman surges upwards as Tremula rises in Vatul's arms, aiding the movement. As if in response to Gavriel's question, two skeletal claws reach out and gingerly lift Tremula's head and legs, taking the majority of the weight from Vatul and allowing her freedom of motion.

Brushing imaginary detritus from his robes, Spitfire Gavriel, Demagogue of Dissonance says, "Well. Settles that, then, doesn't it?"

Gavriel makes a beckoning motion to no-one in particular.

Barely audible, obvious disapproval at the hesitation, Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre says, "I can do it myself."

You follow Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre A LONG BLOODY WAY to A lavishly decorated drawing room.

Slipping free of his cloak and spreading it over the couch, Spitfire Gavriel, Demagogue of Dissonance says, "Here."

Vatul lowers you delicately to the couch, careful to tuck the cloak about the cushions as to not spread the wound's stains. She removes her handkerchief, and carefully dabs along your face. "She does not have undeath, it would likely support her at least until the Enchantress arrives," she murmurs, pausing and saying, "Additionally, I could care for her. I promised her I would, she is so alone."

Gavriel perches at the edge of the table, one leg crossed over the other and toes yet scraping the floor. He fixes dull eyes on you, pensive.

As she is settled on the couch, the two skeletal claws hovering over Tremula gently nudge Vatul out of position for a brief moment, lifting their charge to a sitting position before releasing her gingerly, leaving her swaying with her chin pressed into the hollow of her throat, eyes staring at her knees without seeing.

Shaddus

Masterfully done!


Man, it's a good thing Shaddus wasn't there. I'm surprised Gavriel kept as calm as he did.

Breandryn

This was such beautiful writing and characterization from everyone! I haven't met any of these people, but I get such a great sense of who they are! Zitto and Gavriel were my favorites, I think. 

Breandryn

Oh, and double post, sorry, but I also really loved the tell emotes. I've only seen/used them rarely, so it was cool to see and learn from

Tremula

Breandryn said:

Oh, and double post, sorry, but I also really loved the tell emotes. I've only seen/used them rarely, so it was cool to see and learn from

I've used tell emotes since I found out they were a somewhat socially acceptable thing. If I can create a gout of cosmic fire at will, there's no reason I shouldn't be able to convey a feeling behind a thought that I'm projecting into someone else's mind. Of course, you have to be careful to not overstep bounds and put thoughts in their head for them, but now that I'm a demigoddess I have a lot more leeway, especially with people who are so closely intertwined. 

Playing from a Cursed angle is super fun, because I have a Notepad open at all times that has a list of restrictions I can't cross, as well as a list of words I'm allowed to say (a far cry from when this was an upgrade from having the Novoice curse from Dro). While it's not for everyone, I hope people take it as a sign that you can turn every negative situation into a positive one that can advance your story, at the very least. Good luck if you try, and don't worry, the worst they can do is give you a funny look!