Among Chaos (Viverescribere x Peregrine)

Viverescribere

Viverescribere

Always looking to write
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Posting Speed
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Writing Levels
  1. Intermediate
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Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Female
  3. Primarily Prefer Female
Genres
Fantasy, Historical, Magical, Romance (usually within other genres), Dystopia,.




Imelda Fletcher

Footsteps disturbed the relative silence that filled a slumbering forest, unable to remain completely inaudible as a small group slowly made their way among the trees. They formed a small diamond, each person around five steps away from the other as they kept their close formation. A shine of metal glinted in the late summer sun, unknown as to if it was caused by the leader's chest plate of armour or the second left flanker's sword. It was warm, almost unbearably so for those that were layered in thick leathers or chose to wear the extra protection of metal armour. The summer was beginning to melt into autumn, but the heat was refusing to dissipate with the changing seasons.

One woman in particular was having to grit her teeth and attempt to ignore the discomfort brought on by the heat. Imelda always preferred to keep to her leathers rather than armour regardless of the weather. It was easier to move in, allowed her to be more flexible and react quicker without the cumbersome metal on her chest and back. But also for this exact reason - she would roast within the protective sheets of steel. And Imelda hated being too hot.

With that thought in mind, she briefly placed her sword back in it's sheath to unclip her water from where it hung on her belt. Unscrewing the cap, she took two large sips before providing herself the luxury of allowing some of it to spill onto the back of her dampened neck. Despite enjoying her work, she couldn't help but already imagine the soothing coolness of the rive that was near the village that they had been called to. Or simply just having a cold water bath after their job was done within the tents they had set up upon their arrival.

Imelda still couldn't get her mind around the situation that laid before them, things just didn't seem right at the village they had been called to. A brief look around showed they had an unusual amount of Catalyst, despite the size of their village and the objects that they could potentially be trading for more Catalyst.

But it wasn't her job to question; it was her job to hunt.

Clipping her water back onto her belt, Imelda once more unsheathed her sword. She allowed it to rotate in her hand, enjoying the feeling of the hilt push against the heel of her palm as the blade cut through the air. A sharp glance from the man to her left had her rolling her eyes and taking a firm hold of the weapon; her own eyes up and moving across the landscape.

They moved slowly as a unit through the forest, keeping close together for the time being to avoid any vulnerabilities in an area already unknown to them. They weren't there to investigate, only to search and kill. They had been told minimal details, that the livestock kept near the edge of the forest had been killed in ways that were much too abnormal for it to be the work of regular, hungry predators like wolves.

Yet no one had set sights on the monster they had been told to seek. This did make things a little more difficult, since they didn't know where to begin in their search. If they knew the kind of creature they were searching for, they could begin to narrow down possibilities on where it could be hiding. Instead, with the limited information they had, the group settled on travelling to the nearest water source - a nearby river in the depths of the forest, they had been told - to see if it held any clues to point them in the right direction.



Imelda Ophelia Fletcher


NAME
Imelda || Ophelia || Fletcher
NICKNAME/S
  • Im
  • Mel
AGE
26
OCCUPATION
Slayer
HEIGHT
5'4 (164cm)
BODY
Curvaceous || Toned || Lean ||
DRESS
Leathers, cotton, muslin || Trousers and tunics || Sturdy leather boots || Darker, earthier colours ||
TATTOOS
PIERCINGS
  • None
SCARS
  • Claw-like scars on her left hip || Old and healed || Faint || Ripping through the tattoo that she had done only a few weeks prior ||
  • A single slash mark across her chest || Old and healed || Faint ||
  • A single claw-like scar curving behind her right ear || One end hidden in her hair line and the other stopping at the base of her neck ||
  • A burn scar on her left thigh || Old and healed || Faint ||
  • The usual nicks and miniature scars along her hands and forearms from fighting ||
FACE CLAIM
Poppy Draton || Actress || Shannara Chronicles || The Little Mermaid (2018) || Charmed (2019-2020) ||



LIKES
The smell of leather || The coolness of steel || Crunchy apples || Crunchy carrots || Reading || History || Mythology || The smell of mint || The smell of lavender ||
DISLIKES
Being laughed at || Being told she isn't good enough || Arrogance || Injustice || Being trapped || Being confined || Cows || Ducks || Being too hot ||
ABILITIES
Archery || Sword wielding || Dagger throwing || Close combat || Medical aid ||
PERSONALITY
Always up for a challenge, Imelda enjoys being out of her comfort zone and thrives on being told that she won't be able to do something. Deriving pleasure from proving people wrong, it's safe to say that she's quite a spirited, competitive person who'll give anything a try once. Her sarcastic nature and sharp tongue had a tendency to put her in a tight spot in her youth, but she has managed to wrangle that into some sort of submission, despite it sometimes coming out when really irked.

Stubborn, strong-willed and determined, Imelda will not move from what she has set her mind to, whether it be wanting to learn more from something or someone, or simply doing what she believes to be right.
HISTORY
Inspired as a young girl by the stories she had heard about the monsters that were a normalcy in her world, Imelda knew from a young age that she wanted to be a Slayer. She wanted to bring honour to her family name by becoming what everyone else looked up to, aspirations of being the best Slayer in the world was often the theme for her nighttime dreams. With that thought in mind, Imelda focused on what she wanted and fought tooth and nail to get where she has climbed in the rankings.

Now one of the most skilful in their lands, Imelda finds herself going from village to village with a small team to locate the source of grief - monsters - and put an end to the chaotic tyranny or nuisance that they caused. Often not even needing to have a day or two of investigating, but simply getting straight into the hunt, a part of her job that Imelda thrived on.


Hex Code: #86818c
 
The people of Mineral Hill Village were a tough, steely kind of folk, coarse of word and even rougher in action. They had to be, living on the edge of a place like the Silent Forest. There weren't many people who would dare to live on the edge of a Nightmare Territory. Not when monsters could come crawling out of the dark at any minute, and there was nothing humanity could do to control or repress it.

However, opportunity lurked under every danger. Monsters could take lives, but it was fragments of monster that had allowed humanity to grasp the edges of the terrifying power of alchemy. Villages that bordered a Nightmare Territory survived, fighting tooth and nail against the territory to ensure their safety, caring for Slayers, and trading the Catalyst they earned from their efforts. For all of the villagers born and raised here, that ceaseless struggle was how they had learned to go through life.

Naturally, none of them were the kind to give charity to a filthy, drunken beggar. Many people in the village found it a mystery how a man like Old Corrick could survive in a place like this, never working an honest day, treating his bottle of booze like a greater treasure than the small vial of Catalyst he was rumored to possess. A rumor no one had ever been able to confirm, even after some of the local ruffians had beaten the man half unconscious, just like no one had ever managed to confirm how he managed to survive to his age in a town like this.

None of the people who walked past him on a daily basis would have guessed that Old Corrick had already died two weeks ago, and something else had taken his place.

He watched the villagers going about their daily lives through the cloudy eyes of the old beggar. When they faced him he showed nothing but Corrick's usual decrepit appearance, taking sips from a wooden jug that had once contained alcohol, but now had been emptied and refilled with nothing but muddy gutter water for days. But when they looked away his eyes would change, brightening with distaste and derision for everything around him.

He heard the rumors. Another party of Slayers had arrived in the village. They were the fiercest group within the county. They'd hunted countless monsters that had come out of the depths of Nightmare Territory. They would be able to kill the beast that had been tormenting Mineral Hill.

In his head, he laughed at them. Slayers. Beast-like creatures that were true to their name, killing everything that stood in front of them before resting on their laurels as heroes of the community. They were so proud about protecting humanity from monsters, unaware that the ones they were protecting were as monstrous as those they slew with such pride.

The old beggar lingered at the edges of the crowd, watching the group of five that only briefly mingled among the collecting people, before heading their way into the forest.

Disappointment momentarily lingered in his gaze. This wasn't the first group of Slayers that had been sent from outside the village to try and get rid of the abomination that was inside the Silent Forest. However, it seemed like this group would be just as foolish as the ones that had come before, obedient hunting dogs that killed anything they were pointed at without so much as a question.

With the attention of everyone in the village still focused on the retreating backs of the Slayers, the 'old beggar' made his way to the adjacent corner of the village, before slipping out from among the buildings. Unobserved, his crumpled form darted towards the shadows of the trees. As he was swallowed up by their shadows, the old man's entire figure began to stretch and distort upwards. What was once a somewhat stocky male figure transformed into an unnaturally long and thin silhouette, covered in thorn-like spines.

The monster of Silent Forest was on the hunt once again.


Silent Forest was true to its name. Other than plants, there was no living thing to be found within it. Those plants had long since outgrown the forms of normal trees and bushes, changed and mutated by the Nightmare Territory into shapes that far more resembled fleshy, cancerous growths than wood and fern.

The plants within the Silent Forest were the most fearsome force within it, and while the humans often confronted spriggans and ents, which almost resembled humans in their form and weakness, it was the strange, carnivorous plants that posed the most danger to anyone entering the forest. Slow moving, powerful, and greedy, they caused the very terrain of the Silent Forest to shift around like crawling mounds, leaving their victims, including each other, confused and misdirected.

However, even the faster moving spriggans were constrained to a speed slower than that of a running person. It made the darting flash of darkness that passed through the forest an utter anomaly, the figure present and then gone before the plants even had a chance to react. This far from the center of the Nightmare Territory, the plants were slow and stupid, unable to catch anything that wasn't holding still. Even humans would be safe, for a time.

He was long used to adjusting himself to adapt to the weaknesses of each Nightmare Territory. Even the humans knew that each Territory had its own strengths and weaknesses. The burning piles that were stacked at the edge of Mineral Hill Village were proof of that. However, only he was able to make himself perfectly suited to exploiting the area's weaknesses, while still leaving people to believe he fit with the forest's standards.

The Slayers were moving carefully, but quickly. He'd stolen chickens last night, and they'd soon reach the area where the last remains of feathers and blood would be swallowed up. The space was an unnatural clearing in the plant-covered forest, something he'd gone to great effort to clear. But the time had been worth it. He didn't want there to be any chance of some plant getting in the way of his hunt, and the last groups of Slayers who had entered his area had proven it a wise choice. None of them had escaped with their lives.

This group would be no different. The moment they began to search the clearing for further signs was the moment he would launch his attack.
 




Imelda Fletcher

"It's too fuckin' quiet here." The man at the back of the diamond finally observed, hands positioned on a bow ready with an arrow.

Imelda snorted softly, "Well it's called the Silent Forest, Jobe, what did you expect? A fuckin' orchestra?" She retorted, eyes remaining on her surroundings. Her nose wrinkled at the sight of the crawling roots and vines, hand tightening around the hilt of her sword.

She heard the man spit behind her, which caused her to smirk and briefly look to him over her shoulder just in time to see him flip her off, "I wasn't asking for a smart-ass response, Mel. It was just a statement."

"Yeah, a statement we didn't need. It's a good thing you know how to shoot an arrow, Jobey-boy, 'cause we certainly didn't bring you along for those keen observational skills of yours." Imelda drawled with a snicker.

"Fuck you, Mel."

She blew him a kiss over her shoulder before turning back to face forward. There was nothing too serious to worry about for the time being, considering they had only just started the search, so for now the woman was feeling fresh and even confident. Why wouldn't she, being in the group that she was? They had been together for four years, and knew almost too much of each other. They hunted, trained, and practically lived together for those full four years. A dysfunctional family of Slayers.

It didn't take long for them to find the water source and make their way downstream, the deeper they ventured the closer they came as a unit. There were a few easy kills made along the way, mostly cutting down a vine or a plant as it lashed out toward them. But yet not other physical being or creature had made itself known. But it was no cause for concern, not for the experience Slayers that stalked their way through the forest.

It was when they reached the clearing that Imelda felt her skin begin to prickle, the hairs on her arms raising. Something didn't seem right, not with how clean the area was of those carnivorous, killer plants. But there were chicken feathers scattered all over the area, blood staining the grass that dared to grow in such a volatile space.

They all remained still for a moment, simply observing. A cool breeze brushed past them, carrying their scent into the clearing which made Imelda even more tense.

The team leader, Ivar, finally took a few slow steps out into the clearing. His foot reaching out to be carefully placed in the spot of his choosing before his weight was put onto it. This motion being repeated a few times more until he was five meters away from his flanking team members, Hilda and Imelda.

He then turned to face his team, providing a single nod that all seemed fine before pressing forward. His team did too, moving forward to join him. Imelda hesitated until she felt Jobe patting her on the back, "Don't tell me you're scared now, Mel." He challenged, but she knew it was all good-natured.

"This don't seem right, Jobe. Look how perfect it is out there--"

"Yeah, with the chicken feathers and spilt blood this little clearing could be a slice of paradise. C'mon. Whatever was here is gone now, probably looking for its next meal." Her fellow Slayer answered, patting her on the shoulder once more before returning his hand to the bow's string.

Growling softly under her breath, Mel exhaled heavily despite the twisting sensation in her stomach and pressed forward to join her team in the clearing.

They formed a loose circle around the biggest section of ripped out feathers and spilt blood, Imelda crouching down into a squat to get a closer look. Her sword resting across her thighs as she studied the scene of slaughter.

"More than one chicken, there's too many feathers and too much blood for just the one. If it was a four-legger it wouldn't have been able to carry more than two here at a time unless this is just where it comes to feed. But this blood looks fresh, too fresh for it to have been the result of many feeds over a time." Mel observed, finally sticking the tip of her sword into the ground to keep herself balanced. Her eyes raised to Ivar as Jobe turned to begin surveying the rest of the surrounding area and the tree line they had just come from, "What do you think, Ivar?"
 
The monster watched the Slayers from the twisted shadow of the trees, his own dark-skinned, elongated figure blending in among the gnarled, cankerous roots. The Slayers were clearly professionals, cautious and attentive, but the very nature of their job meant that there was no chance they wouldn't step into his trap. They had no choice, if they wanted to try and gather information about a monster no one had yet been able to see or describe.

Only one woman among the bunch seemed to sense that there was anything amiss with the situation. Her eyes vigilantly scanned the forest, looking for anything that might provide a threat to her and her team. In his heart, he somewhat acknowledged her. She wasn't obtuse, at the very least, and her instincts were good. If it wasn't for the fact that she was just as dead set on doing her job, and nothing but her job, as every other Slayer who came through these parts, she would have been a good pick for his little game. Unfortunately, now she would have to die like all the others.

He didn't attack as soon as they entered the clearing. That kind of behavior was far too impatient for his tastes. Instead, he'd give them time, let them investigate the clearing, believe that they had the situation firmly under control. No Slayer worth their price would ever fully relax while in Nightmare Territory, but their confidence would wax and wane according to the situation around them.

And as the group gathered around the scattered feathers and blood, he prepared himself, tensing the lean muscles that ran across his body until they stood out from his body like knotted wood. And, the moment the Slayers finished inspecting the remains of the dead chicken and turned to begin inspecting the rest of the clearing, he launched his attack.

His figure transformed into little more than a dark blur as every muscle in his body burst forward with explosive power. The long, thorn-like blade on his hand that had taken the place of a human thumb swerved with unerring accuracy towards the exposed throat of a Slayer carrying a bow and quiver of arrows. The man's eyes barely even had a chance to go wide before his head was separated from his neck, causing a shower of blood to gout up into the air. He certainly didn't have a chance to scream.

The wet, metallic, cloying scent of blood filled the clearing, overwhelming the dark soil and rot that otherwise pervaded the air. But the monster's attack didn't slow down with the successful kill. In fact, using the weight of the crumpled body of the dead hunter, the creature pivoted unnaturally on the spot, before flying towards another Slayer.

And then the clearing was filled by nothing but screams, the swish of metal through the air, and meaty thuds as flesh collided with solid ground. The Slayers were skilled at their craft. They took one arm from him, alongside opening several gaping wounds in his torso that would sew back shut a second after they were formed. But the reckless abandon with which he fought overwhelmed their skill. He had no fear of a situation where they traded fatal blows, after all.

He left her for last. The one who's cleverness had caught his attention. He wanted to savor his interest in her, rather than simply sending her to the grave with one quick movement. And so he scuffled with her, playful in his own mind, but in truth more persistent and ghoulish than a plague.

Until it ended with him finally pinning her to the ground, face to malformed, spine covered face. His tongue had unfolded from his mouth at some point, dripping thick saliva. And he stared at her, and suddenly realized her face was familiar to him. Older, more worn, changed by time and scars and battle and weariness, but familiar nonetheless. In the back of his mind, he could almost hear a girl's voice, filled with laughter as she begged.

Mister! Tell me a story! Tell me another story. Mister, please!

He froze in place, hot air filling his mouth as he roughly panted in and out.

"Im…" Under the rough shaping of a mouth and teeth meant for biting and tearing rather than speaking, the sound came out far more like a low growl than any intelligible sound.

As the seconds dragged on, his desire to maintain the little game he was playing conflicted with his memories of the pretty, vivacious little girl who'd always come to pester him for stories. Gradually, the girl won out. His remaining hand loosened from where it had been pinning her neck, and he slipped to the side, freeing her from under him.
 
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Imelda Fletcher

Pain grew with every slow, torturous second that the attack continued. It had come from nowhere, and Imelda felt stupid to not have expected such an invisible assault. The blood from Jobe's severed neck had splattered onto Imelda's face before his head had even dropped to the floor, and she could only thank whatever Gods were above that she had been in the position she was; having avoided the swipe that took the man she regarded as a brother.

She stood as Jobe's body was flung into Kalvar, turning before receiving her first hit of the fight which knocked her flat on her back with a lack of air in her lungs. Her eyes watered as she rolled onto her side to collect her sword, gasping for breath. With no time to truly collect herself, Mel launched herself toward the creature, battling against it.

It was unlike any other that they had faced before, and Imelda knew that they had no name for the foe that they faced. She herself had never seen a power as great as the beast that raged against them, and with that thought took great pleasure in every strike she managed to land against it's gnarled body.

Never would it dawn on her that the monster would intentionally save her for last, that though still not crossing her mind as it's hand wrapped around her throat and it leered over her as her back pressed against the blood soaked ground.

Imelda struggled for breath as she stared up, eyes wide with the realisation now that she would soon be dead. To die by the hands of a monster, as a Slayer, was a risk of the job. But Imelda never envisioned herself dying that way, having always had the utmost confidence in her abilities, as well as her team's. And now they lay scattered around her, dead. Their blood staining the clearing and soaking into the grass, as well as the back of her tunic and her hair.

Her one hand wrapped around the beast's wrist as it's face neared, tongue unrolling and bile rose in Imelda's throat as saliva dripped onto her face. It's breath hot and rank with rotten blood and flesh. Her other hand was thrown out toward where her sword lay, fingers pulling at grass as if that would bring the weapon nearer to her as her legs kicked out to no prevail.

As the beast paused, she gagged at another drop of thick saliva, head turning to the side to try and rub it off into the grass despite the bruising sensation it caused as her skin pulled taunt in it's grip. Then it growled.

Im...

Her body froze, fingers pausing in their desperate scrambling for her sword. Had this beast really just uttered the beginnings of her name? The nickname she occasionally went by? Perhaps it was a hallucination, brought on by this creature. She had read some monsters could do that, to lull their prey into a false sense of comfort and security.

Her head turned back, pace of breath still quick as she met it's gaze.

A glimmer of recognition - was that what she could see within it's eyes? Imelda wasn't sure, but as soon as the grip around her throat was released and the weight over her removed, she was rolling for her sword.

Pausing in a lunge position, with one knee planted on the ground, Imelda watched the creature for a moment as she caught her breath. No It couldn't have possibly have been saying her name. It was a trick. Just as was his letting her go. It was all a game it wished to play.

With that thought in mind, Imelda launched herself forward with the sword swinging furiously toward the monster's throat.

Perhaps she should have run, but there was too much shame in that. She would rather die at the hands of a monster than be known as a coward for the rest of her life.
 
The more he watched this grown Slayer's figure, the more he could see the shadow of that child in her actions. Imelda had always sworn she was going to become a Slayer. She'd proclaim it proudly, waving a long twig through the air like a sword as she'd raced around the little wooden cabin he'd called home for a time. He'd always warned her against it. Told her that one day one of the terrible beasts that hid in the depths of Nightmare Territory would stumble its way out of the darkness and gobble her up until nothing remained. He'd intended the stories to scare her. Instead, she'd seemed fascinated by them. Had she ever considered his cautionary tales anything more than the fantasy of a rambling loner?

Now it wasn't a stick she was waving through the air at him, but a true sword, long and sharp. He pulled back reflexively, but without his attention focused on the fight his action was neither quick enough nor far enough to stop the tip of the sword from digging into his throat. It ripped open his flesh, tearing through his esophagus, and dark red blood splattered from the wound. A second later, and the flesh knit back together, just like the other wounds the Slayers had carved into his torso. Other than the arm he'd lost somewhere at the beginning of the fight, there was no sign of injury on him.

The appearance of this girl had ruined his game. He'd never been one to believe everything would go his way just because he willed it to be so, but the sudden bout of uncertainty that struck him left him feeling confused and frustrated. Growling and snarling, his one remaining clawed hand lashed out at her, darting through the opening her attack on his throat had left. However, before his claws could actually carve through her flesh he pulled back, unwilling to actually hurt her.

The sword flashed through the air, and his choice caused his other hand to go flying off, arcing through the air with another splatter of blood.

He was no fool. Twice now he'd had the chance to kill her, and twice he'd pulled back. He didn't want to kill her, and what he didn't want to do, he wouldn't. But his game stated that no Slayer who entered the forest without first investigating the secrets of Mineral Hill would be allowed to return alive.

And then a thought struck him, one that caused a ripple of satisfaction to quiver through him, even as the silver sword was once more aggressively flying towards him.

The key word wasn't alive, it was return. He didn't want to kill her, so let her stay with him. He'd sequester her away in the forest like a prized possession, and keep her for himself. Let her call out to him again, like she'd once done. And when his game was over, then he could let her go.

The sword dug into his chest, before swinging upwards, separating his body into two parts. Clever girl, it hadn't taken her long to figure out that dismemberment was the key to 'killing' him. Unfortunately, such things mattered little to him. With blood still flowing out from the body, he pulled away from it.

A burst of brilliantly silver smog erupted from the corpse, flooding into the air. Without his presence to hold it transformed, the week-dead man's corpse began to twist and shrink, changing back into the body of the old beggar, his eyes vacant, the new gashes appearing across his flesh in an instant.

He flowed through the air, swirling. It was a shame to lose such a good, covert body, but at the moment he was far more interested in Imelda. And, after the fight, there were plenty of other, far more intact options for bodies. Metallic smoke swirled through the air, before heading to the cleanest body remaining from the fight. He'd pierced the man's heart in one blow. The body wouldn't be able to support him for long, but that didn't matter. He'd either patch it up with other remains, or go find something else when the time came.

Like a reverse explosion, the smoke gathered around the corpse, before flowing into it, submerging under the dead man's skin before integrating into his body. With a twitch, he pushed his way back to his feet.

"Going to dismember your colleagues, too?" he asked, laughing slightly as his eyes squinted into a smile. This throat was certainly much better for speaking.
 




Imelda Fletcher

A chill broke out over her skin as Imelda stepped forward cautiously toward the body as it collapsed in two parts to the ground. Dark red dripped from the cool steel of her sword, chest rising and falling rapidly as she surveyed the fallen creature. Just as she was beginning to feel the start of her satisfaction for killing the monster that had slaughtered those had been her family for the past four years, she was startled by the dense smog that seemed to erupt from the body.

Retreating backwards, her sword was instantly up as she watched the smog glide through the air. Her eyes lingered on it for a moment, before returning to where the body once lay; she didn't think the heavy fog was anything to be concerned about. Mel tentatively approached the human body that now lay in place of the creature, brow furrowed with confusion. The poor elderly man held the wounds that should have belonged to the monster her and her team had been fighting, and a guilt settled heavily on her shoulders. Guilt both at the fact that no on could have saved this man from the possession he may have been subjected to, and also because of the battering she had unwittingly provided the body.

She had no idea that the elderly beggar had been possessed after his death, how would she know? This was unlike anything she had witnessed before, or heard of, even in the myths and legends she had once been taught.

Exhaling harshly, Imelda turned to survey the area, beginning to place her sword back in it's sheath. But she had turned just in time to see the last of the smog being absorbed into Kalvar's body. Immediately her had tightened around the hilt of her sword, ready to bring it back out as she waited to see what would become of her old friend.

At the twitch of the body, Mel swept the sword back out from the sheath and set a foot behind her in her stance.

When it rose, bile once more bubbled in her throat and her skin crawled, the hairs on her arms raising. Hearing Kalvar's voice, his laughter, but knowing it not to be him set Imelda even more on edge. Poor Kalvar. How grotesque for his body to now be a mere puppet to a creature he had just died trying to vanquish.

"I will if it means killing you, monster." She snarled, forcing herself to move and slowly circling the beast that now possessed Kalvar's body, "There are only so many bodies in this clearing, you'll soon run out of vessels to use." Mel added, eyes narrowing.

She wouldn't wish to harm any of the bodies that belonged to her fallen colleagues, but they all knew the risk that came with the job. Possession potentially being one of them. While she didn't ever wish to disfigure the bodies and longed to give them the dignity of a proper burial with all their body intact... Mel understood in this situation, it may not be the case.

"I will kill you for what you've done to them. I promise." She then spoke softly, tenderly as if making a promise to a small child. Her body remained tense, balanced, humming with energy that longed for vengeance.

Imelda then charged again, feigning right to then strike through her weaker side in an attempt to throw the monster off her regular pattern of fighting.
 
Imelda's strong words earned nothing but a noncommittal hum from her former companion. A flick of his foot sent the narrow rapier that had fallen alongside its owner flying up into the air, where he fluidly snagged it, flicking it through the air to parry aside Imelda's attack.

Unlike the former bestial recklessness he'd shown when possessing Old Corrick's body, his actions now were smooth, neat, and elegant. One might have called it the influence of a higher quality body, but in truth it was simply that he didn't feel like being reckless anymore. For killing, brutality was best. All of the injuries he got before deciding to spare Imelda were basically superficial. Even the arm could have been reattached after being given enough time. There was simply no reason to be careful.

Now there was.

"That's a very noble sentiment." Despite the swords flashing between them both, his voice was unnaturally calm. Every step, every swing, and every word seemed equally measured and controlled. Somewhere in the fight, the dagger that had been secured at Kalvar's waist had ended up in his left hand. He was continuing to smoothly deflect Imelda's aggressive swings, oftentimes the edge of the blade missing him by scant millimetres, or even slicing open some of his skin. Red blood had begun to stain his skin, but it didn't stop the lazy smile that was spreading across his face.

"Of course, made under the assumption that depriving me of enough bodies would actually kill me. Which it wouldn't. No, all it would do is let you leave this place."

As Imelda stepped forward again, his blade slipped around her sword, thrusting towards her throat, while his dagger caught the tip of her sword and twisted it to the side, sending the blade spinning out of her hand. Rather than continuing his own thrust, he dropped his blades as well, springing forward with unnatural speed to grab her arm and twist it up behind her back. His other hand landed heavily on her shoulder, pinning her in place.

"But that would ruin my plan, and I don't like that. So, instead, you can just stay here. With me."
 




Imelda Fletcher

Blinded by the desire to bring an end to the monster that killed her family, Imelda was numb to the slight nicks and superficial slashes she was earning herself in this sword fight. It irked her, how calm this unknown creature was during their battle. It reminded her of her younger years, when she was still leaning how to defend herself. How her Master would smirk and drawl and coo tauntingly at her while she dripped with sweat just to have his expression melt into one of concern.

Not once did this creature show concern, the smile still dancing along Kalvar's lips. Even with blood running down his arms from the wounds she had managed to create. But she was equally as shredded, her emotion having become too involved. Her first mistake.

Her second was that step forward, believing that she saw an opening to dismember her former colleague as she had done to the previous host body. Then the familiar roughness of her sword hilt was gone from her hand, the same hand which was then twisted behind and up her back. Imelda gasped at the suddenness and then growled at the sharpness that followed, promising the delights of a dislocated shoulder if she attempted to dislodge his hold.

With his other hand on her shoulder, and the closeness of his voice, Imelda forced herself down onto flat feet. She had previously resorted to standing on tiptoe to try and loosen the tightness on her arm, but soon remembered through her training that that was not the best thing to do.

Setting her feet shoulder-width apart, she exhaled softly, "And why do you think I'd agree to stay here with you?" She demanded to know before throwing her head backwards. The satisfactory sound of a nose breaking snapped through the otherwise silent clearing, but Mel found no letting up on her arm. Her breathing began to spike, quickening as she attempted to think of another way to break his hold. The elbow of her free arm swung into his side, aiming for his ribs with all the force she could muster in her limited position. Drilling her elbow into the ribs countless times seemed to accomplish little, except for some intense bruising and maybe even a snapped rib. Her foot raised to slam backwards into his knee, once more treating herself to another blood-curdling snapping sound but again the pressure did not let up.

Imelda found herself tiring, both in ideas and in strength while within this harsh lock. If a broken nose, bruised ribs and a dislocated knee wouldn't provide her the escape she desired, she wasn't sure what else she could do.

"What do you want?" She finally hissed, her free hand reaching awkwardly to grab onto some of the tunic sleeve material on his arm that held hers twisted behind her, "I don't understand-- if you wanted to kill me, you could have done that long before. What. Do you. Want?"
 
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Her first blow took him enough by surprise that it caused his head to jolt backwards. Blood instantly began to gush from his nose, dribbling down over his lip before his tongue flicked out to catch it. A second later, and the rushing blood stopped, albeit doing nothing to straighten the unnatural tilt to his nose. He'd need a hand to fix that, which were both currently occupied with restraining Imelda.

After that, the element of surprise, such as it was, had been lost. He didn't even flinch as her elbow drove into his torso repeatedly, nor when her foot snapped his knee in the wrong direction. Instead, he focused on maintaining even and constant pressure on her locked arm and shoulder, even as he kicked his damaged leg to the side a couple times, straightening out the knee at least enough that it would be able to hold his weight again.

Other than that, he showed no reaction to her abuse. It wasn't as though the injuries were particularly meaningful to him. He was aware of the damage, but to him it was of no more consequence than a ripped shirt might be to any other person. It was only superficial, and he had no attachment to this 'shirt'.

The feel of Imelda falling somewhat limp under his hands brought a trace of satisfaction to his expression. Of course, he had no doubt that if he were to release her right now she would go back to fighting in an instant, but it would make the remainder of their conversation much more pleasant. "You're right, I don't want to kill you." One of his fingers that was on her shoulder scratched restlessly against her armor, almost like stroking. "If I did, you would have died the moment I had my hand around your throat. It's precisely because I don't want to kill you that I'm in such a conundrum."

He hummed slightly, contemplating, before finally deciding to explain things to her. It wasn't as though he had any reason to keep it a secret, seeing as he wasn't going to let her go back to tell anyone else. "You see, I can't let any Slayers return from these woods alive, or it would ruin all my effort to lure them here in the first place. Thus, since I don't want to kill you, but I also don't want to let you go back, you'll just have to stay here until I'm done.

"As for whether or not you agree to stay… Frankly, you have no say in the matter. Whether or not you agree is irrelevant. I'll make you stay, by much less pleasant means if it comes to that."
 
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Imelda Fletcher

Imelda pulled at her shoulder at the sound of the soft scratching against the leathers that were layered on her upper body, teeth gritting as the noise ground against her nerves. Her head turned so her ear wasn't directly besides the sound too, a muscle in her jaw jumping.

With her head turned, she attempted to look at him from the corner of her eye, frown deepening on her brow, "You're damn right I'd never agree to staying here! But why? Why keep me alive out all the others you had no problem killing?" She demanded to know, wanting to get answers from him while he still seemed confident and amiable enough to give them to her. Perhaps it was due to the position they were in, with her defeated... for now.

But Imelda hated this vulnerable position she had gotten herself into. It had all gone so terribly wrong. Their roles should be reversed, with her in the more dominant position asking these questions and forcing out the answers rather than hoping his willingness to respond would continue. It was this anger and irritation that she focused on, because if she allowed her eyes to linger too long on the scene of devastation that surrounded them... Imelda wasn't sure how she would react.

She began to struggle again, but the movements were brief as tears sprung to her eyes. She had almost caused the damage she was hoping to avoid, but stopped before it was too late. But that didn't mean the pain of that near miss had disappeared either.

Sucking in a breath, she turned her head away to look at the tree line. Mel didn't allow her gaze to dip for the fear of landing on the bodies of Ivar, Hilda and the beheaded Jobe. No, she couldn't remember her friends like that. She would keep the memories of them untainted by their gruesome slaughter.
 
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"Don't hurt your arm," the man standing behind her scolded lightly, as though it wasn't his actions—and his actions alone—that had put her into this situation. In truth, he'd be capable of fixing her in the same way he was capable of fixing the other bodies he had taken over, but possessing her landed squarely into those "less pleasant" methods he'd spoken of earlier. Considering the negative impact it always seemed to have on his host's state of mind if they were conscious at the time, it was something he'd rather not have to do to her.

Who knew what she might end up doing if she kept struggling like this, though.

"As for why I'm leaving you alive, it's because I like you." His words were brash and straightforward, with no trace of shame. To him, it was a simple statement of fact, like saying it was sunny out. "I don't kill things I like."

He contemplated a moment, before once more rejecting the notion of releasing her. The fact that she was still struggling proved that there was nothing he could do at the moment other than maintain their awkward stalemate. Of course, he'd have to think of something eventually, they couldn't just stand like this forever, but at the moment he was surprisingly enjoying their little chat. He was more than happy to continue it for a while longer, so long as Imelda continued to behave herself, of course.
 




Imelda Fletcher

"Fuck you." She muttered in response to his comment about her arm, wincing just from shifting on the spot. As she continued to think of ways to escape, Imelda could feel the adrenaline from the fight beginning to wear off. She was slowly becoming more aware of the stinging pains from the cuts gathered from their sword fight, and also the wounds earned during their larger battle while her teammates were still alive. Her throat was beginning to dry up and her tongue poked out to run over her chapped lips.

Her free hand reluctantly let go of his arm, reaching for the water bottle on her belt. She attempted to flip off the cap, only to lose her grip on it with the blood on both her hands and the bottle causing it to slip just as the cap was released. Imelda, in reflex, leaned down to the side to try and catch it only to have to pull back with another curse as the hold on her arm dealt her with another shot of pain. So she was left to stare down at where the bottle laid in the blood soaked grass, water trickling out tantalisingly.

Anger stirred once more within her at the injustice of it all. Her jaw clenched and the heel of her palm rubbed hard against the centre of her forehead, smearing blood across the skin.

"I don't understand." She finally uttered, blood tainted fingers running through her hair to shove loose strands back, "I-- I just don't. Under. Stand." Each word, each syllable, was suddenly, and quite violently, punctuated with another elbow to his ribs. "You'll let me go eventually. So what does it matter? Just release me now!" She yelled, twisting her neck so she could attempt to see him from the corner of her eye again.

He said he would release her when he was 'done'. What would he be done with? What was this plan of his? Besides, how could Imelda trust he was telling the truth. For all she knew, this could be some sick game. Perhaps he'd let her go and make it a hunting game for himself, to see if he could get her back before she reached the village. Or maybe he was planning on killing her, just back at wherever he was hiding out. Gods knew what this unknown creature had truly planned.

With those thoughts in mind, her head then turned the other way, eyes on the hand that applied pressure to her shoulder. Imelda then made a move to try and latch her teeth around his two nearest fingers.
 
He felt the moment Imelda shifted in his grasp, but didn't try to stop her from reaching for her water container. After all, he had no reason to. It wasn't as though letting her drink would do him any harm, and even if there was some secret alchemical concoction hidden inside her waterskin, throwing it on him wouldn't really change their situation much. At absolute worst, there were still several bodies handy, and he was sure he would be able to capture her again quite quickly.

However, watching her fumble her container and let it fall to the ground caused a moment of sympathy to stab through him, especially as she reflexively tried to catch it only to end up yelping in pain instead. He still couldn't let her go, he reminded himself. There's no way she'd behave herself if he did.

Indeed, as though to prove that thought was true, she once more began to writhe within his grip, slamming her elbow into him repeatedly. Same as last time, he kept himself stable and still as a statue, not so much as flinching as her blows caused another faint snapping noise, like a dry twig breaking. There went another rib.

"It matters a great deal…" he began, already preparing to try and figure out a way to explain how the mystery was the entire point, that he needed intelligent Slayers that would ask questions, not hunting dogs that bit wherever they were pointed. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately considering the offense his explanation likely would have given, Imelda gave him no chance to continue speaking. He noticed the sudden damage to his fingers, and saw Imelda viciously gnawing into them, blood trickling around her lips.

"Honestly," he groaned, before his hand lunged forward, tearing out from her mouth, leaving behind scraps of flesh that were stuck between her teeth. The freed hand circled around the front of her neck, and he released her other arm, beginning to squeeze his arm in, pinching both sides of her neck. If she kept up her biting, it was likely that hand would have ended up crippled entirely, and that would have made it impossible to continue their 'peaceful' conversation.

"Just sleep for a while," he murmured, ignoring her reflexive kicking and bucking as her body tried to struggle out of his grip. It did her no good, and a few seconds later she fell unconscious, the blood cut off from her brain.

Sighing slightly, he carefully picked up Imelda in his arms, before beginning to stride forward. The trees were already edging their way into the clearing, eager to devour the gore his battle with the Slayers had left behind, but wary of his presence after he'd successfully chased them out of this space once. He ignored them, having no further need of this clearing, and therefore no reason to pay attention to it. Instead, his eyes were focused on Imelda. Slayers were fit, and quick to wake up even if they were knocked out.

Who knew how many times he'd have to render her unconscious again until he found a suitable place to keep her?


Deeper and deeper into the silent forest he walked, until it seemed that he'd entered a completely different world. The ground could no longer be seen under layers and layers of roots that heaped up on top of each other like cancerous sores. Wild plants, twisted and malformed, crawled along the roots like slow-moving slugs, climbing over each other before greedily attempting to swallow their rival.

He stepped on them casually, causing green fluid to explode from their forms like a popped pimple. As for the larger beasts, they would gather around him for a second, investigating the hot smell of blood that was so notably absent from the depths of the forest. They'd only recoil away after touches of silver smoke emerged from his form, sending an instinctive fear through their consciousness that warned them not to get close.

No human would go this deep into Nightmare Territory. It was the same as suicide. After all, there were no rules in this place, no techniques that any being could logically follow to survive the assaults of the monsters. The beings that survived in places were filled to the brim with Catalyst, causing them to change continuously at the whim of the universe. The results that survived were rarely stable, and never natural.

But it was only a place like this that could guarantee that there was no way Imelda would be able to escape before he was ready to let her go. Now all he had to do was guarantee her life in this unnatural place. And he knew exactly what he was looking for.

The abomination he found that finally met his criteria was larger than most houses that humans would live in, covered in masses of vines and wooden branches that were darker than the night sky, and harder than steel. They seemed to swallow all the light that got close to them. Numerous, tiny, worm-like roots sprouted from the base of its bulbous body, slowly dragging it across the ground. Anything that didn't manage to get out of the way in time was stabbed by a sudden, quick moving strike, before being dragged back to the main body and enveloped inside a mouth almost indistinguishable from the blackness of the trunk.

Once more double checking that Imelda was solidly unconscious, he placed her carefully on the ground, before laying Kalvar down next to her. A second later, and silver smoke began to gush out of the man's body. For a second, it seemed like the smoke caused the very air to distort, before every scrap of smoke suddenly rushed towards the giant black abomination. It shuddered for a second, before countless branches began to wave wildly through the air, desperately attempting to fend off the smoke. However, even when a branch swished through the silver mist, nothing happened to it. Meanwhile, the many little roots were desperately trying to pull its body away. However, there was no way such a slow moving creature could escape the thick smoke, which fluidly swum through the air.

A second later, and the smoke was digging into the black monstrosity's body, and its limbs went rigid, before suddenly falling still. A second later, and the entire form began to shift. Several long tendrils reached out, scooping up Imelda and Kalvar before drawing them towards the tree. Meanwhile, seemingly endless branches were sprouting out from within its body. Black, sticky liquid was dripping from it, causing a small tidal wave that sunk among the root-floor with a hissing sound.

When the branches finally settled, what remained was no longer a living thing of any sort, but instead something that resembled nothing so much as an ironwork cage. The black sap that had been squeezed out of the tree's interior was coating each piece, and rapidly began to solidify under contact with air. It would take some time for it to dry fully and ensure that his cage was perfect, but until then he would be in control of the plant monster's remnants, and there was no way Imelda would be able to get away from him. She would simply have to wait patiently once she woke up until he was done.
 
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Imelda Fletcher

When Imelda first woke, all she was aware of was the pounding headache that greeted her. She groaned softly, hand raising to press the heel of her palm against her temple. Her eyes squeezed shut in her discomfort and she drank in a large breath as she battled against the pulsing that pressed rhythmically against her skull. Then she became aware of the metallic taste of blood in her mouth, causing her to turn her head and spit into the ground with disgust, body rolling to the side with her. There was a restriction to her movements, however, something not allowing her to fully turn onto her side to expel the harsh taste of copper.

At the rock solid material under her hand, Imelda paused at the unfamiliar ground. It wasn't stone, and it definitely wasn't the grass from the clearing. The bastard had moved her, that much was certain, just as he had promised. Trying to stay calm, Mel focused on her breathing as she slowly sat up. Her eyes immediately took in the bars that surrounded her, made of some branch-like material and the same black covering she currently sat upon.

Hesitantly, she pushed herself to her feet with the help of one of the bars, her nose wrinkling at the odd coolness of it under her hand. Placing a hand on the bar besides the one she originally grabbed, Imelda began to push, teeth gritting and muscles becoming defined as she fought to break what seemed to have just been wood. Instead, nothing. Not one ounce of movement. It was just as strong as the steel bars back in the village jail. Mel looked out passed the bars for a moment, trying to figure out just where he had taken her. But everything was darker, more sinister than what her and her team had walked through at the start of the day. While she had no concerns about the plants when she first stepped into the woods, the area she was in now had her anxious about her lack of weapon.

She watched as the grotesque roots all fought for position, a noise of disgust escaping her at the sight of them each devouring the other. Eyes roamed on until they landed on Kalvar's body, which laid prone and unnaturally still. Her gaze narrowed as she attempted to figure out if the monster was still occupying Kalvar's body, but then she suspected the vessel would not be so still nor would it have similar vines wrapped around it if the creature was within the host. But if it wasn't in Kalvar, where was it?

Imelda raised a hand to wipe the blood from her mouth, knowing that if it wasn't within Kalvar then she at least had a chance to get her old colleague's weapons. Mel immediately approached the body, muttering curses under her breath as she noticed the rapier was gone. Most likely dropped and left, forgotten, along with her own sword in the clearing. But the dagger was there. At least there was some luck on her side.

Taking the weapon, Imelda quickly placed it behind her back, tucked into the waistband of her trousers and hidden by her tunic. With a weapon secured, she next took her old friend's water bottle, expelling a breath of relief to hear water still sloshing around inside. Immediately she flipped off the cap and gulped down half of the contents, breathing heavily afterwards to catch her breath as she secured the cap back into place. She would not make the same mistake twice. Gods knew how long she would be in this place - would this monster even feed her? Or just let her slowly wither away?

Quietly, she moved away from Kalvar's body to sit in the center of the cell, her legs crossing and the water bottle resting in the middle. Her gaze took in the structure she had been caged into, the panic that came from being trapped creeping forward to press against her chest and Imelda was forced to close her eyes. But the branch bars, dark and glistening like ink followed her into her mind. She couldn't even understand how such a cage was just simply ready and waiting for her arrival. It wasn't exactly like this monster seemed to have her kidnapping in mind, but simply a spontaneous act. Because he liked her.

What. The. Fuck.

But these branches, bent and arranged so unnaturally away from the tree which had, also abnormally expelled all it's sap, could not have been as they were without some sort of influence.

Instantly Imelda remembered the monster's ability to possess Kalvar's dead body and she choked on her sharp intake of breath. She hadn't expected the ability to range to living creatures, of course it was a concern but now it had potentially just been proven to her. The tree was also still, not moving like all the others within the depths of the forest. Imelda would have imagined it would slowly be crawling along the forest floor, devouring anything that got in the way. But instead it was stationary, with a jail-like cell sitting in front, perfectly ready to be used.

The monster's words of her staying with him echoed in her mind as she kept her eyes squeezed shut, leaning forward with her forehead almost touching one of her bent knees. Why? What was this grand and mysterious plan of his?

Where even was he?
 
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With nothing in particular that required his attention while the sap dried, he noticed immediately when Imelda began to wake. Her breathing and heart rate both increased, and the air in the area began to stir under the force of her movements. Unfortunately, even giant, moving, carnivorous trees did not have super high sensory abilities, and while he could tell that she was definitely 'doing something', what exactly she was doing remained a mystery.

At the very least, he knew she wouldn't be able to get out. The whole reason he had picked this monstrous plant as his host to make a cage was because it was one of the toughest things he'd encountered in the Silent Forest. All the other creatures avoided it by instinct, terrified of getting swallowed up if they were caught, and the smell of its sap would likely drive anything that would harm Imelda far away. Add that to the fact that even spriggan claws were incapable of clawing through its bark, and its sap would dry harder than stone, and it was a creature that Slayers would truly deem worthy of the title of 'nightmare'. However, for a creature that was able to possess any organic being, all he saw it as was a near perfect construction material.

Only when the sap had dried to his satisfaction did he once more pull himself out of his host, transforming into a grey mist that flooded back towards Kavlar's corpse. Having been abandoned for a couple of hours, his body was no longer in quite as good of a condition as it had been when he left it. He sat up carefully, moving his fingers around for a moment to make sure that all the nerves were still working and get the partially congealed blood to soften and flow towards his extremities once more.

Only once that was done did he turn to look for Imelda, finding her almost instantly. And just as quickly finding the familiar, sharp dagger that was in her hands, and pointed straight at him.

Ah. It looked like… he'd forgotten to leave Kavlar's dagger behind. That was inconvenient.

"Do we have to start fighting again?" he asked, mildly exasperated. "If you chop up this body too much I won't have a good way to talk to you until I get a new one."
 




Imelda Fletcher

"You say that as if it's a bad thing." Imelda snapped, watching him cautiously. It could be easy to just lunge forward with the weapon and pin him down where he sat. Perhaps slash and saw at the neck until that was separate from the body. But something held her back. Mel wasn't sure if it was because the monster hadn't attacked her first unlike any she had met before, or because she had an irritating notion that she somewhat owed it something because it hadn't killed her. Yet.

She kept her eyes focused on where the monster now stood, occupying Kalvar's body once more. If she took another look at the bars and the space she was enclosed in, Imelda wasn't sure if she would be able to ignore the tightness that would form in her chest. She detested being confined, and even though this may not necessarily be a small space, it still kept her trapped and that sent her anxiety spiking.

Chasing away her agitations, Imelda swallowed hard and tightened her grip on the dagger.

Imelda took a step closer toward him, slow and tentative, "Why am I here? Yeah-- yeah I know you said you like me. But do you realise how fuckin' insane that sounds? You just slaughtered four others that were Slayers just like me. I am no different to them." She was trying to get her mind around the whole situation.

She never exactly had an opportunity to talk to a nightmare creature who could coherently speak back, and that spiked an unwanted curiosity within her. The monsters she had fought before were all guttural growls and feral snarls. Perhaps a few words exchanged, but mostly with the promise of spilt blood and the enjoyment they would have in killing her.

All that boring stuff.

"You need to start answering a lot of questions here and quickly if you know what's good for you." Imelda knew she wasn't exactly in the best place to threaten a monster that had just overpowered her, knocked her out, kidnapped her and now entrapped her. But it was instinct... and perhaps a dash of desperation to know what the fuck was going on.
 
Clearly not intimidated by Imelda's looming presence, sharp words, or the dagger in her hand that was still pointed right towards Kalvar's body, he didn't even bother to stand up. Instead, he looked away from her, turning once more to survey his body. He carefully exercised each finger one by one, before moving on to twisting his wrists, bending and straightening his elbows, and rolling his shoulders. All the while, he spoke in a calm and moderated voice, as though the two of them were comfortably seated in a high class inn.

"Have I failed to answer any of your questions thus far?" he asked, pausing and thinking back over their conversation. He did not have an eidetic memory, and could not perfectly recall their conversations from over an hour ago, but he'd done his best not to ignore her while they'd been wrestling with each other. In fact, he considered himself as having been quite attentive and forgiving.

"You asked… two, this time?" He shook his head slightly, before moving on to repeat the exercises he'd just done with his hands and arms, with his feet and legs. "No, I don't consider it insane at all. You and the other Slayers are, after all, completely different people. There's nothing similar about you, beyond the fact that you share a species and an occupation. As for why you are here, I believe I've already explained that at least once. I don't want to kill you, but letting you go back alive to report anything about the situation would ruin my plan. Since I can't let you go back, but don't want to kill you, I'll just have to keep you out of the way until I'm done."

Finally satisfied that he'd gotten Kavlar's body fully operational, and that he wouldn't be lumbering or stumbling about like a zombie, he pushed his way up to his feet."I suppose you can keep the dagger out if it makes you feel better, but as you can see, there's certainly no need for it."
 




Imelda Fletcher

Growling softly under her breath with frustration, Imelda soon realised that holding the dagger in a threatening manner wasn't going to get her anywhere with this thing. It clearly didn't seem to care about her or the danger she could post, and thinking about it, Imelda wasn't even sure she was a danger to it - not with the strength it posed earlier. Of course it was just Kalvar's strength but the fact that he didn't waver or release her at her brutal blows? It didn't exactly fill her with the utmost confidence.

"I-- uh-- No. You have answered my questions. Just-- just not in enough-- Oh for fuck's sake. Your answers haven't told me anything except that you like me. But what sort of response is that? Don't-- don't answer that. It's rhetorical." She turned away from him, going against her training on putting her back to a monster but her gut feeling telling her that it wouldn't hurt her.

Imelda kept her eyes on the dagger, fingers of her other hand holding the weapon tip as she rotated it slowly in hand. She focused on her breathing for a moment, attempting to make sense of all that had happened in the day. She wasn't even sure what time it was. If she didn't return to the village that evening, they would assume the worst... and another band of Slayers would be sent to their slaughter. Having now seen what the cause was behind the murder of the livestock, it filled Imelda with immense fear for her fellow Slayers, and sorrow that she wouldn't be able to warn them of what they would face.

"I don't mean literally about myself and the Slayers. We were sent to kill you, yet you slaughtered all of them and kept me alive. I just don't understand it." She finally allowed the words to roll off her tongue, frowning down at the weapon in her hand.

Turning back to face him, Imelda eyed him cautiously, taking an additional step back as he pushed himself to his feet. The weapon stilled in her hand, but she didn't move to hold it in front of her in a defensive manner.

"What plan? What are you planning?"
 
He watched Imelda fidget and chatter with mild interest in his gaze, but didn't try and do anything to interrupt or distract her. He knew this was some mixture of her thinking and adjustment process. As a Slayer, suddenly finding herself under the control of a creature she considered herself the natural predator of must feel quite complicated. But, she was here, and wouldn't be getting away from him until he was ready to let her go, so he saw no need to rush her process at all. Even if he considered it quite strange and full of unnecessary behavior.

"You want to hear about my plan?" he asked, sounding unexpectedly enthusiastic about her request. It wasn't so much that he liked sharing, almost all of his plans required secrecy as a minimum criteria, and he'd long gotten used to keeping them to himself, but more that he was satisfied that she was asking. If she was asking questions about what he was doing, it meant she was taking an interest in him. Which meant she was starting to see him as something more than just a monster that needed to be killed on sight. If she didn't consider him a monster, it'd be much easier to keep her here until he was able to let her go. Overall, he considered it a big win.

"I'm trying to lure an appropriate group of Slayers here," he explained. "Ones that like to ask questions, and dig for information, rather than just charging in headfirst and killing whatever they're pointed at. A team like that will start asking questions the moment they arrive in Mineral Hill, and it won't take them long to notice all the odd things about the village. And then all of that community's nasty little secrets will come spilling out, one after another, and cause a huge, chaotic mess. And I'll get to watch the fallout."

He smiled then, his expression showing impish glee. "Until then, everything needs to remain a mystery. Because if they get information, they'll send Slayers specialized for that, rather than Slayers that are good at figuring things out. And that's not what I want. So that's why I can't let you go back and tell them anything, you see."
 
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