ooc- For a huge literate post(at least, for me), I'll wait to respond one of those after fenrir or someone..for now, here's a small post.
bic- Willow winced slightly, listening as he spoke to her. "No..." she thought about if for a second, on how to explain. "I don't seek...redemption as you call it. We have similar beliefs, you and I, but not the same goals. I seek to belong somewhere. I don't have anything left...I chose to kill him on my own mind, and I don't really regret it. I regret I can't go back home, back to society, in a sense, but I don't regret him being dead." There. By telling Tristan, she explained it to herself.
"Good," she added softly, when he spoke of Sparky. "I know Morgan..kinda."
Post by Tristan Pendragon on Apr 21, 2008 4:35:40 GMT -5
ooc: It's alright, a post does not have to be long to get the point across.
bic:
The mention of Morgan made Exvind all the more insistent on Willow returning to the protection of the school, sans a new desire for raw meat. The man sighed as he tended to her wounds with his bandages, hearing what she was saying and taking it in. It was as if it were a confessional, and he the Priest. Luckily, he was certified by God. "You don't think that's what all people strive for, to belong somewhere?" Tristan began, making eye contact with her. "I will tell you a story, but it has to be fast, as we don't really have time.
"Once upon a time, there was a young man. He was born into a house of wizards, a noble son, dearly loved by his family. Due to a tradition in his branch of the family, he alone out of his relatives was withheld from school, so he could learn from his father and mother instead of from educators. He grew up with few friends, but was taught from a young age to respect his family above all else.
But like all adventurous young men, he could not take this life. He escaped from his family on a whim, following a tale that was passed down in his family...a tale of the Holy Grail. He figured if he could find this artifact, he would not only be bestowed with honor, but he would have the power, finally, to put an end to such silly traditions. An age of knights might arise, just like in the stories, or some other epic conclusion...the man was young, and wasn't wise. He went searching for that silly cup, abandoning his father and mother and his cousins and everyone else. Along the way he met valuable friends, who helped him find the object of his desire. But it seemed hopeless, as all of the rumors that surrounded this ancient treasure led him and his two friends all over the world with no sign of end.
It just so happened, that when the journey finally took him to the far reaches of the north, surrounded by ice and snow, he and one of his friends came face to face with some kind of terrible monster. While the two were more than a match for it, a stray attack from his friend sent the man off a gorge into the depths along with the monster."
Tristan's eyes darkened after this point, but then continued, "And he never found it. He traveled all the world, abandoned everything, even made friends. But he never found it. There was no purpose to the journey, except to seperate him from that which he had all along. This was the realization the man came to, lingering on the edge of his life in a frozen crag. Yet it just so happened that that man was discovered, and not left for dead. He was rescued by a pious man of the north. The elderly man brought the young man into his home and took care of him. And when it became clear to the man that his wounded guest had been cursed by that ice monster, he, without any explanation as to why, gave up his own life to pay the curse so the younger man could live on....
There is more to this story," said Exvind, finishing bandaging the wounded girl, "Much more. But all you must know, is that just because you are young and it appears that you have seen all of life and are displeased by it, doesn't mean it is necessarily true. You might have all you need in this world, and more, you might already belong. It might just take you years to figure it out, but if you don't have your humanity, there will be no way back. The Lord smiles on his children, a sinner or not. As long as you walk with him, you will never falter."
How she had not heard him coming was a mystery. The senses of the Nephilim were second to none; as a race they possessed the uncanny ability to detect all kinds of energy, particularly that of living things, and humans most of all. Perhaps though it was his God that shielded him from her many sights, the very same being which had cursed the Nephilim and left them to rot in this distinctly unsatisfying plane of existence, fearing the circumstances surrounding their conception. Yes, He hated the Nephilim... this was merely a fraction of His pettiness.
But a rock? How terribly undignified. Still, even as the golden form of the incomparable Kesterel slumped silently and – for once – ungracefully to the forest ground she still had the time to smirk at the man’s resourcefulness, even if his actions lacked... style. As her crystalline eyes fluttered to a close she still smiled, butterfly curves upon her lips. She would only be here a short while... the man would not leave without the girl... the girl would not leave...
All was white, cold and bitter, sharp edges and hard, clear light. Such was the unconscious mind of Kesterel, but slowly color – faint at first but gradually building – began to infiltrate the various faceted walls of her brain, harshly reflected from infinite angles. Clear and throbbing it was, the hue of dew drenched violets, so shy of the simple morning sun. It spread outward, shimmering, probing into every jagged corner, finger-like in its dexterity.
Outside, she was a pale ghost, strewn on the leaf litter as still and as peaceful as a corpse; not even her steady, shallow breath could be detected. Exvind could have killed her, for all appearances. A shower of gold had fallen before her angelic face as she had crumpled, and now those beauteous features were obscured, that smile concealed, secret. Still, as she lay there, as the mortal fools debated and persuaded, coaxed and cajoled, the energy that filled her mind began to permeate her skin, little by little, giving her a slight, colourless sheen, but where her head had been wounded by the unimaginative stone it shone violet, soft and gentle. As its power waxed the scalp began to knit of its own accord, healing accelerated to supernatural rates, but even this extraordinary process, on this creature of beauty, was somehow fluid and effortless, an action of extreme elegance and wonder.
Just as the man in red was speaking of his Lord and his infinite benevolence, the wound closed completely, leaving not a scrap of evidence to suggest there had been any altercation whatsoever. Still, the chiselled form of the Nephilim did not yet stir; not a single strand of that flaxen hair was even touched by the wind, draping her perfect body like a golden shroud. She breathed. She listened.
Last Edit: Apr 21, 2008 13:15:40 GMT -5 by Kesterel
The raven-haired man smiled patiently at the exchange between Tristan and the young girl. She arguing that this was her choice, to become a lycan because she felt that she had nothing left for her in her previous society, and Tristan countering with the story of his life and how she might already have what she desired. Then he made a reference to the Lord, and Fenrir solemnly bowed his chin to his chest out of respect: only to rise up once more with a wolfish grin on his face. "No disrespect for ya Pendragon, but sometimes it takes his smiles a long time to reach down here on Earth. And for my ilk, all I deserve is a harsh frown at my actions. Ya know of my madness, my dire deeds, and how they've shaped me," said Fenrir grinning, "But I do agree with ya on one thing: the Lord does watch over his children."
"For as you said, I'm the all-feared Lord of the Wood and my children are dearer to me than life itself," continued Fenrir as he pointed to his chest, with a silly but proud grin on his face. He then adjusted his glasses and walked closer to the girl and Tristan. "You want to hear another story lassie? It's about a man who's curiosity got the better of him and his fall from decency. A year old back in England, a naturalist stumbled upon a den of wolves. Little did he realize, being a muggle, that these were lycans and that their bite infected you until you became one. He foolishly insulted one, believing humanity better, and broke under the strains of his transformation. His mind never healed, and the further neglect from those that made him into what he was only deranged his mind further. That poor bugger never had anything he could call a family, the one thing that he wanted in his new life, and because his family attacked him; he became a true monster in the end."
"The moral of this story," concluded Fenrir with a little smirk on his face, his yellow-flecked eye dancing with a bizarre merriment, "is that no matter what, society will do something to ya and ya've gotta be strong in those times. As Nietzsche once said, 'That which does not kill me will make me stronger'. What you did won't result in your death, and now you'll become stronger one way or another. You can either find it out on your own, or I can help you through accepting you into my fold. Only problem with that one is, Kestrel will demand tribute of some sort for letting the boy of the hook since when Pendragon makes up his mind, he can be a little stubborn about it" Fineries flashed a wink over to his IL' compatriot and sauntered back to where Sparky had collapsed unconscious. He knelt down at inspected the boy, sniffing him a few times (only to be horrified that the boy was a regular bather), and then lifted the collapsed child onto his shoulder.
"Well time for ya ta make up your mind Missie: will ya stay or will ya go? Cause Lassie, ya gotta let me know: otherwise Kestrel here will get this Sparky as she requested. I'm sorry Tristan, but I'm not strong enough to challenge her demand and jeopardize our stable coexistence. The boy is hers if the girl goes with ya, but if she stays..."
She listened, still irritated, to Tristan Pendragon. She understood where he came from, but still...God had never been for her. She had never been Christian. It wasn't that she didn't believe that somewhere, there was a God. But to her, his mercy meant nothing. Even when she had prayed, he must have picked up on something, because he hadn't kept her from making the right choice.
She shook her head. "I-"
She broke off as Fenrir began his own arguement. Willow listened with cool interest as Fenrir started, keeping her pale green gaze steady on him, as he told his own story. She felt a flicker of pity. A twisted mind..what if that happened to her? It won't, she thought. I have the magic on my side. But you'll lose that when it's over, a voice hissed.
The lycan rose, and crossed over to Sparky, making her tense. What if...but no. He picked him up, but didn't harm him. Willow paused for a beat, but her response was immediate, and without any hesitation.
"I'm coming with you," she replied, and looked back at Tristan. "I'm sorry, but that's just what I choose. That's why I came out here. I'm sorry you risked your life for this, but I'm certain about it. That was my goal for a few months now. I'll go with...Fenrir," she said, unsure of what to call him. Richard, after all, had died, at least mentally. The lord of the wood was all that was left now, she knew that. For all she knew, he wouldn't even infect her, he might eat her. She blinked, and looked expectantly at Fenrir. "I'm ready to go whenever you are," she said weakly.
Post by Sparky Cobalt on Apr 22, 2008 22:11:55 GMT -5
It was at this time that Sparky finally chose to woke up from his breast-induced unconscious state. "W-wha-" He mumbled, blinking and trying to clear his clouded mind, as he realized that he was being held high.
Very high.
And whatever was holding him smelled like shit and wet dog.
"............Protégé?"
No, that couldn't be right. This was much too tall for a human. He blinked around him, mind still fogged but eyes finally working right, and realized that whoever it was was a very furry person. Where was the warm female that had held him so close just moments ago? He couldn't see her from where he was. Just a forest of hair, dank with the smell of moss and blood.
"Wha.... Where...."
As he thought back to what he had heard while trying to gain his bearing, he mumbled sleepily. "I d-don't neeed a subprostitute......"
As he slowly drifted back into unconscious love-sick happyland, he mumbled something about ovaries, areolas, and something vague about the 'big shag carpeted minivan in the sky'.
Post by Tristan Pendragon on Apr 29, 2008 21:39:00 GMT -5
ooc: well he needed me to post first, I assume...
ic:
Richard's story stirred something in Tristan. Up until this point, he had imagined Richard's transformation to have been something of a desire to grow stronger. After all, Fenrir was arrogant, and he was very clearly the jolly fellow of Tristan's memories. He thought perhaps Richard had made a personal decision to change, almost like Willow, a desire to prove himself as strong as both Talon and Tristan...
Then again, maybe he was just flattering himself by thinking that. Between himself, Talon, and Richard, he was always the most arrogant one, even if he was the most pious.
According to Richard's story, however, this was not the case. The naturalist had just been his old bumbling fool self, and he ended up neglected, forgotten, and diseased in the midst of a jungle filled with demons. The poor muggle. His poor friend! And to think that he could've been there at Richard's side when this happened instead of digging around the Levant for a holy artifact he'd ended up losing anyhow...perhaps the madness that was Fenris Fenrir would never have been born. Simply a Rutherford gone mystical, as opposed to his Jekyll and Hyde situation.
The thought made Exvind feel awful, but Fenrir did not take advantage of the mummified anti-hero's sympathies. Instead, he horrified the holy man by lifting the Head Boy over his shoulder and giving both himself and the easily swayed student an ultimatum. Exvind clutched his bandaged fingers into a fist, clearly annoyed by this turn of events. And to make matters worse, Willow was once again crawling into the Lycan Prince's words, defying everything Tristan had preached. "Look!" Tristan said, his voice raising, "Did I not say before you weren't going anywhere?" His shining blue eyes flashed, but then he looked, downcast, back to Fenrir. "I cannot stop her.
"And I cannot leave Sparky to be a plaything of the devil. I am not Talon. I am not responsible for his students. But still, I will never trust the Nephilim. However, I can trust you, Richard. I'll let Willow go with you, but only once you return Sparky to me, and only once you promise that your words are true, and that you will not leave her like the Lycans left you." He held out his red satin arms to collect the wakening Head Boy. "Hand him over."
Now, Kesterel's delicately honed ears were picking up an awful lot of interesting snippets as she lay there on the forest floor. Not surprising, not irksome or joy-inspiring, merely interesting. Initially it seemed that Fenris, believing himself to be free of the Nephilim's attentions for the moment, was willing to let the boy - Sparky - leave with the man in red, obviously contrary to the wishes she had expressed to the wolf mere moments beforehand. Did he perhaps think himself greater than she, able to deal her out his off-casts, the puny remnants of his dealings? Tribute was not what she desired, at least, not in that sense. Yet she remained still, a precious stone in the earth, waiting. There would be more for her to hear before she acted.
And she was right to wait. Fenris' bargain was intriguing, and it would have been foolish of the Nephilim not to find it at least a little tempting. How she could delve his flesh, dissect his talents! His claws on her fingertips, his fur on her back! Still... Kesterel knew that she could waltz up to the lycan lord any time of the day or night and take him over, capture his fractured mind, trap him between forms and use him, snap his mortal neck on the slightest of whims. And yet. The boy. The boy had her blood. Her brother's, too, unless she was very much mistaken. Yes... this had Tiberius' refined fingerprints all over it. Still, the lycanthrope's offer had not fully been divulged. She could play with him all she wanted, it was true, and knowing this he would have to dreamed up something special to appease her. Curiosity gnawed at her inhuman heart, and with the slightest ruffling of her golden mane she laughed from her place in the dirt.
It was a noise of the utmost cherubic delight, cutting through the growling voices with tickled pleasure, foreign and lovely in the tense atmosphere. So heavenly it rang that the light of it tore a hole straight through each cloud that scudded by above, only to beam down upon the eye of the creature that made it. Around her the earth shuddered with a hundred dormant seeds, springing to life as one as her sound reached their cores, and the air was clear as the dawn. Yet as her breath died and the chuckle drawing lingeringly to a close the air dimmed, the seeds quaked and began to make war upon each other, consuming all in their vicinity. The air cooled.
Then, somehow, she was moving, rippling. Her arms reached forward and pawed the earth, panther-like, her bare back gleaming in the forest gloom as her legs twisted with sinew and tendon, a coiled snake, a sprung tigress. Then, astoundingly, she was upon her feet, proud and fiery and remote as she had ever been, her irises lit with the pure white light of her flame. Her limbs were tense and ready and yet somehow still loose and effortless. The heat that had departed now radiated solely from her naked frame. She looked deadly, and all the more beautiful for it.
"You," she began in her faintly accented tones, her crystal gaze upon the holy man. "Lack imagination. Still." A pause, grace and dignity and charity - or so it would seem. "You shall not leave this place empty handed, as is your request." With the smallest, tidiest of glances toward the wolf and his new offspring in waiting, the golden creature surged forward, outstripping even this athletic man's abilities. In less than a second she was upon him, both his wrists firmly grasped in her taloned fingers. In the same amount of time again she was behind him, his cloth clad arms wrenched behind him in her vice like grip, pressure building, pain gathering. She leaned into his ear, her heady scent surrounding him, a toothy smile upon her lips.
"I give you your freedom," she murmured, words falling like spring rain upon him, her cheek silken upon his. "I give you your life. But it must weigh heavy upon those hands of yours; freedom is not without its price." On this last word she gave a rapid wrenching twisting motion, supremely strong, expertly directed. If she had done this correctly - and she had - a quick spasm of agony should have shot up his limbs into his chest, his spine, but the real pain would come later. Caressing his cheek once more with her own, then her tongue, then her lips, feather soft, and casually dropped the now broken arms behind his back - just moving those back before him would now be excruciating. Lifting things - rocks, say - would be near nigh impossible.
Drifting lazily away from the shattered Exvind, Kesterel came to Fenrir, her eyes locked with his. She circled him briefly, spiraling inward, and a single forefinger reached out to graze his stubbled cheek.
"Tell me, dear friend," she purred, no trace of hostility - far from it; she was smiling, calm, inquisitive, playful. "What makes you think that that you would make a satisfactory substitute for the boy?"
Last Edit: May 9, 2008 14:34:10 GMT -5 by Kesterel
ooc: Sorry Willow: been struggling with securing loans for school and things of that sort. That and I haven't been able to sit myself down for awhile and write up a decent reply. Here it is now.
ic: In the back of his mind, Fenrir winced when his single eye caught sight of Kesterel stirring and even the Lycan Lord could not help but flinch when the Nephilim snapped the arms of Pendragon like they were kindling. The dark-haired lycan had to think fast, because Kesterel was heading for him, and he knew that the minute she touched him that he could become flabbergasted or worse. Trying his hardest not to stiffen at her touch, instead letting himself relax, Fenrir did not push aside the finger tracing his cheek but his lone eye burned with emotion. "My Lady, do you question my capabilities or my ardor?" asked Fenris in an incredulous voice.
"The boy is young: what experience do you think that little whelp has in the realm that you rule? He is just a being of weak flesh that is easily torn and exhausted just as easily. True, he has the looks and while they may entice some, what I can offer is far greater. I offer to you 3 days where the Lord of the Forest is at your beck and call, submitting himself to whatever your desire maybe. Use me in any sense of the word, command me against your foes, or even bid me wait by your side. Your radience alone is enough to burn through the lad's flesh, but I can look into your eyes and recognize the power. You exert your influence over one species: perhaps it is time to add another to your repotoire."
The beared lycan concluded with those words, and with a bowed head he set the Head Boy on the ground again. Turning to look at Tristian, Fenrir gave him a rougish wink to let him know that he understood what he had gotten himself into and turned to look into Kesterel's orbs once more. Hesitantly did his right hand reach up towards her ivory cheek, and it hovered above it for a few moments before gently caressing it. "The Lord of the Forest awaits your instruction, Divinity: how do you answer him?"
ooc- S'alright. Now you guys have been waiting on me. xD Lots of stuff going on...This is about all I can do.
bic-
Willow watched in rigid silence, feeling dizzy as her blood dripped steadily onto the ground around the base of the tree, staining the roots. She hoped, to the God she has just claimed non-faith in, that the damned Nephilim would hurry up and make a descicion soon, before the witch bled to death. She gritted her teeth, and shut her eyes as a wave of pain threatened to engulf her, then opened them again as it passed.
She knew Fenrir's offer must tempt the Nephilim, after all, to have the lord of the forest at your call and command would be extremely helpful...The teen didn't like to think about what he'd been doing, not when it was consorting with the being who'd wedged her between the tree limbs like a....Willow didn't even know.
"Sparky?" she whispered, watching him steadily. If he got out of this alive, and got home, he'd tell everyone what she'd done....It was her fault he was like this, he wouldn't have been out here if it weren't for her. If Sparky died...Willow swallowed, calling his name softly again. "Sparky Cobalt..." He'd stirred, could he hear her...?
Teagan Offline: This board is full of nostalgia.
Aug 22, 2020 8:39:09 GMT -5
Missing the old MH: gotta say missing when MH and all that was around.
Nov 6, 2019 0:02:30 GMT -5
Willow_lazy: why tf are there 400 posts about adidas
Sept 6, 2018 17:35:57 GMT -5
Azrael: I'm not hard to find, since I'm the only one there who goes by "Azzy", I'm pretty sure. XD
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Azrael: Dunno if anyone still pops by here from time to time, but if any of you mofos do and still feel like gettin' yo nerd on, I've been hanging around this here place a bunch recently: www.roleplayerguild.com/
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Azrael: hold onto your pantaloons
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