Impetus (Peregrine x Ragamoofin)

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Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
I'm here whenever you need me, my dude.
Writing Levels
Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm fine with both.
Favorite Genres
Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#61
From the wordless shriek Jukheyr let out, bodies writhing into themselves, it was hard to say. The twisted, jagged masses of metal quickly regained their form, rushed and disjointed as they were. The crows were thin and quivering, metal in odd, uneven structures where feathers should've been. The god looked in bad shape, and it only got worse when it tried to scoff at Amaris' offer, ignoring it's current state of decay.

For all it's rage, an unfamiliar creeping had settled in the dwindling web of it's essence. It was cold, and as each of it's forms began to be taken out, Jukheyr would allow itself the rightful fear of being snuffed out. It was - unlikely. It was weakened; the passing of the storm made sure of that, but there was no way some wild spirit could hurt it in a way that truly mattered. It's tricks were annoyances, at best.

So why didn't it believe that? For each second the god spent trying to track the pattern of it's destruction, the remaining crows fell to pieces. Wings and feathers, becoming brittle from the waning essence, simply shattered when it hit the ground. It was all but impossible to even focus on the single flock with the growing pain of countless pieces of itself dying.

Rage had bled in with it's fear, and the result was a wicked fury.

"Please," it ''spoke'', wind trapped in it's shells escaping in an eerie growl. "Don't think so highly of yourself, witch! For me, a God, to stoop so low to ask you fo-" Words choked up in the hollow of it's throats, a short silence came before the crystalline break of the god.

Where the crows had stood were a spray of arrows; thin, green and sprouting. Growing, smothering, crushing. In a matter of seconds, the metallic piles of the god were nothing more than plant food, the strange, living arrows compressing what was left of them.

In the woods beyond, hidden by the trees, stood a tall, willowy figure. It's impression in the darkness was nothing more than a silhouette, the potent and tangible feel of magic like a fragrance in the air. The wind blew it's scent through the trees, and on that same wind, a single arrow was launched at Amaris. The arrow was small, shaft green and its tip a blooming, white dart. Hemlock, fashioned into that of a fatal arrow.

For someone of Amaris' caliber, there'd be no mistaking that this was the very thing that had taken Ansell.
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SITE SUPPORT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
#62
Amaris almost growled in response to Jukheyr's tone, and she felt a steam of words, bordering on insults, starting to build in her throat as the birdbrain refused to even share the location of something that was damaging it, when they both had a reason to pick a bone with the creature. Amaris had never said anything about help.

However, that argument died before it could ever be born, killed by a shower of green arrows that resembled wild brambles far more than manufactured shafts. Amaris turned slowly in the direction the arrows had come from, her eyes narrowing into slits and blood beginning to drip from the symbols on her arms.

She didn't even flinch as the arrow came whistling out of the tree, embedding itself solidly into the center of her chest. A faint tremble passed through her muscles, and a grimace of pain that seemed to surprise even the bloodwitch passed across her face. And then it was gone, the arrow falling to the ground as though it had bounced off some sort of invisible shield instead of striking her, any trace of emotion or pain vanishing from her eyes just as quickly as it had come.

Blood ran up her arms, coating across her shoulders and chest almost like some form of armor, spiky and shifting. "Finally done playing games, are you?" she asked, the question far more accusatory than curious. "Or are you just going to disappear back into the shadows like a coward?"

A ball of particularly dark blood formed in her hand, as she prepared to launch it at the creature to mark it should it actually attempt to disappear back into the woods.
 

Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
I'm here whenever you need me, my dude.
Writing Levels
Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm fine with both.
Favorite Genres
Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#63
The shadow was still against the trees, looking as if it were apart of the forest. For all it's stillness, it's gaze was most certainly felt. It watched it's arrow fly, strike, and fall to the ground like it'd never touched the witch at all. Then, and only then, did it move. Long, twisted antlers followed it's shift, the head of the creature cocking in obvious curiosity of the witch's apparent recovery.

It showed little reaction to her words, however, more concerned with it's arrow than whatever threat she'd thrown it's way. What did get a reaction was the swirl of blood in her palm, it's branching set of antlers weaving through the air yet again, a longer limb at it's side rising. The cool wind spread the aroma of it's magic further, and on it, an eerie whisper.

"A war is not decided on a single battlefield."

At Amaris' feet, the fallen arrow sprung to life, roots taking with an unnatural speed into the dirt. In an instance, a nest of brambles shot up, tips darkened by the intoxicating poison that was oozing from them, surrounding Amaris and closing in with the intent to trap her. As they continued to grow, the bunches of vines that had consumed Jukheyr's shell launched themselves across the ground, seeking her blood as they'd devoured the metal of the god.

The shadow, when Amaris would, inevitably, escape, would be gone.
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SITE SUPPORT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
#64
In the instant that the arrow began to grow, the ball of blood in Amaris' hand flattened out into a disk, and it was just possible to catch sight of it expanding into a bubble around the woman before she was sealed from sight by the pant matter. However, the lack of sight didn't stop the sound of wet impacts that emerged from within the shell, until finally pale fingertips emerged from within the mass of plants.

"What fucking war?" Amaris spat as she forced her way partway through a gap in the brambles. Her hair was surprisingly disheveled, and scratches ran up and down her arm, at least for a moment. It was clear that it had taken the bloodwitch some effort to claw her way out from within the cage of plants, and that she was in a less than agreeable mood. "Cowardly piece of a pig's asshole," she continued, even as she scanned the forest for a trace of the thing. Nothing. "What did I do to get dragged into this?"

With another growl, Amaris forced herself forward, tearing free of the clinging brambles. She stumbled when she gained her freedom, tremors running up and down her back as the last of the bramble's toxins worked their havoc on her systems before vanishing along with the last traces of scratches on her skin. She straightened then, running fingers through her disheveled hair in some attempt to straighten it, while she tried to figure out what to do.

The birdbrain was gone, either vanished while she was trapped or slain by some other bit of belligerent shrubbery. The stupid shrub that had attacked her had vanished just as effectively, and she had the feeling that trying to track it down tonight would end with her marching uselessly through the underbrush all night and finding exactly no traces of the thing. Forest creatures tended to be like that when they were in their home territory, and Amaris had no desire to go burning down anything this evening.

"Gods damn it," she cursed instead, turning her back on that particular bit of the forest. She really didn't want to miss her boat this morning, and she'd already gotten herself tangled in one oath this evening. As much as she wanted to light that stupid shrub on fire and see it squirm, that wouldn't be happening this evening. Especially not if she wanted to make it on her boat while still making sure those dumbass hunters were out of work.
 

Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
I'm here whenever you need me, my dude.
Writing Levels
Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm fine with both.
Favorite Genres
Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#66
As Amaris resumed her task at hand, the forest, at last, finally became quiet and the night still. The hoards of beasts were deeper into the woods, gathering among themselves, likely resting after their earlier raids upon the town. If Amaris kept on the trails, beaten and implying even more than the number that ran amok in the streets, she'd have her work cut out for her. Or, perhaps, it would prove to be a slightly more difficult challenge to get them all in one go. The beasts were wily, quick-footed things, after all.

But the beasts were not hunting in the dead of night, and that left the forest without the tension of bloodlust and killer intent. Even with the lack of foul blood in the air, the woods hardly felt safe for anything with a pulse. Unless that living thing was effectively immortal and shrugged off fatal blows with all the concern of a farmer over a bee's sting, then the woods were perfectly fine.

In the wake of poison arrows and savage beasts, the canopies drinking in moonlight was perhaps the safest sight of a very long night. Storm clouds without a drop to spare spread around the moon, shining bright and full over the woods, stars glittering about its pale visage.

The moon dipped lower in the sky, the clouds moved towards the horizon, and light broke across the fog.




Just keep going. Just push, keep going.

The world around him was an afterthought, every part of him too busying following his own command, to keep going. The winds that should've flayed his flesh in a new pattern of scars went right through him, his body there but not solid. It was always like that, Ansell remembered, when he took in fog and mist and became nothing more than a wisp. There was an unbelievable freedom that came with it, and that's what he loved about taking on such a form. He was weightless, or as close as he could get to it, anyway. He flew on his own wind, fighting against the breath of the world, a streak of rebellion in an element that was as tame as a young dragon.

Thin, streaking, and determined, Ansell headed towards the clouds. Breath caught somewhere in the shifting gale in his chest, Ansell let it out in a exhale felt in every droplet that made up his being, faster and faster, and then-

The clouds gave way, thinner air crisp as Ansell breathed and took it all within him, floating and body catching light - sunlight, free from the veil of gray clouds, warming him immediately.

Ansell opened his eyes, glowing in the sun's kiss, and gasped at the sight.




It was beautiful. How long had it been since he'd been up so high? Try as he might, Ansell couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the sunrise; clearly, anyhow. He'd since gotten used to waking up before the first rays of light broke over the farm, but there was something so much more enrapturing about seeing the sun in all its glory.

Ansell wanted to feel it, even though his body was practically drowning in sunlight, no more than a living prism to cast rainbows about him. He took a breath, and let it go. And with that breath, Ansell let go of the mist. He let go of the murky fog, he let go of the icy winds, he let go of everything he took on his way up until there was only-

"Me." Ansell whispered, to the sun, to the sea of clouds, to himself and the God hiding behind his chest. Flesh and blood manifested, gravity taking hold of him, heavy handed and rough. As he began to fall, Ansell admired the lightness of his head. Dizzy, almost. Launching one's self up to where the clouds were had that effect.

Wind dancing over his flesh, Ansell focused on the sensation of his skin breaking into goosebumps.

The clouds swallowed him up, and the sight was gone.


Fog had already smothered the town, and that was a blessing in of itself. As much as Ansell would've liked to simply land in the street the fear of someone seeing him fall from the sky was much too possible for his taste. Luckily, there was always an alley to duck into.

With nothing but wet cobblestone and fog around him, Ansell let the part of him that would become his feet touchdown, ice that had stuck to him cracking apart when his body emerged from the fog. Just like he'd done leagues in the sky, Ansell let go of the fog, clothes spinning from fog and flesh forming from mist. Cloak falling around him, Ansell took a moment to tuck his braids into the collar, pulling up his hood.

Ansell gave a great sigh. "That's better," he mumbled, color returning to his cheeks now that his blood was back to pumping. His mind stuck around on that thought; just what happened to all his living bits when he turned into something else? Waving away the thought, Ansell tacked it away for another day when he had time to wonder about mysteries like that. In the meantime, he had something to do.

Pulling his cloak tighter around himself, Ansell stepped out of the alley, looking both ways down the street before he walked out onto the cobblestone. Despite all the fog filling the street, Ansell knew exactly where he was going: the inn was his destination. Sleep had eluded him after his mind replayed his accident just over the inn, when he called down the lightning and fried Amaris, almost setting fire to the inn while he was at it.

A bitter taste was left in his mouth since then, and it showed in the frown Ansell wore. Amaris had glossed over it, and that made him feel - marginally better. Just how was the inn? He'd hoped everyone made it through the storm without incident, but only time would tell if that were true.

The smell of ozone and smoke was in the air, which was impressive considering the strength of the storm. The lingering scent made it easy to find the inn, at least, though it made the weight on Ansell's shoulder that much heavier. Lantern unlit at the front, the inn seemed in better condition than Ansell had hoped. A few pieces of it had came loose, and only a few windows seemed in need of repair, other than that it seemed fine.

"Thank goodness," Ansell breathed, hands beneath his cloak resting over his thundering heart. He felt bad enough about letting Jukheyr escape, he couldn't imagine how he'd feel if he managed to put the entire inn out of commission. The street was blackened in some spots, which lined up just right with where the lightning had struck. Ansell pulled his face into a grimace at the burnt stone. "Oops." Nothing a good rainstorm couldn't take care of, right?

A creak catching his attention, Ansell glanced towards the inn's door, young man with a head full of auburn hair stepping out. His waist was surrounded by a number of pockets, the odd nail sticking out of some of the more worn pockets. As Ansell stared on, the person Ansell could only assume was some kind of smith found him. A toothy grin broke across the man's face, raising one hand in greetings towards him.

"Ey, mornin' to ya," The man shouted over to him, Ansell slipping a hand from under his cloak to return to gesture. The man looked up to the battered front of the inn, whistling loudly. "Some storm last night, huh? Thought this rickety shack was bound to blow away!" Smithy laughing at the jab towards the place, Ansell could only wear a sour smile.

"Yes, it was - uh, quite the storm." That was my fault, Ansell thought.

Producing a hammer from one of his pockets, the smithy went over to the lowest of damaged windows. "Suppose it wouldn't be all bad if the place did fly off, would get those sorry excuses for hunters out of our hair."

Eyebrow quirked at the mention of the hunters, Ansell gave a brief glare to the inn. "Wouldn't be a bad thing at all," Anselle quietly fumed.

Clash of metal on metal was drowned out by the smithy's chuckle. "Nah, wouldn't at all! Dunno, maybe that spitfire finally got their asses in gear."

Looking from the inn to the smithy, Ansell cocked his head. "Who?"

As the smithy pounded in another nail, a pondering expression came over his face. "Ah, ya must've rode out the storm elsewhere, then! Had a stranger stompin' through last night, got into a little spat with a bold lil' hunter." Chuckle ending in a snort, the smithy shook his head. "Had those sorry saps red in the face from that tongue lashin'. Told 'em she was gonna run 'em out of business!" The smithy shrugged, window he was working on looking less crooked now. "Must've done some good, they've been out to the woods since morning. That spitfire must've lit a fire under 'em!"

The smithy wore a grin at the memory. "Ya' should've seen it! Never seen that bunch so eager to head out! Let's just hope they don't come back, huh?"

Silence greeted the smithy, the man looking over his shoulder at - an empty street.

"Uh, lad?"


At the shoreline of the lake, where pebbles gave way to open water, fog covered the depths like a blanket. Just past dawn, it would seen that the boat was going to be on time.

For one creature, that was the best news it could've gotten.

Standing, or rather, hunched at the threshold of the lake was a strange, clumpy body. Made of mud, moss and dirty water, a distinctly powerful presence had made the unappealing shell it's body for the meantime. It paced the shore as best it could, limbs looking about to break off reforming only to snap off again. A nervous energy made it's body fragile, even walking seemed difficult.

For one blood witch in particular, it wouldn't be hard to figure out just what, or who, the creature was. As much as it was unbecoming, Jukheyr was the force behind the ugly shell.
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SITE SUPPORT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
#67
Amaris hunted all through the night, her pace never slowed by the burdens of exhaustion or injury. She’d long since stopped bothering to keep count of the number of hounds that had fallen before her, while the marble of corrupted blood she kept in her pocket slowly swelled from the size of a small coin to the size of a child's fist. She was going to have to find some way to safely dispose of it before too much longer, but time waited for no one. The night was slowly wearing on, and she had more urgent matters to worry about.

Of course, she wasn’t able to kill every one of the house from the numerous packs that surrounded Ilsworth. Such a task was beyond the scope of a single night’s hunt. But those she wasn’t able to kill she drove deep into the mountains, chasing them all the way up the sides of the mountain, and out of one of the passes that connected the foggy little valley to the rest of the mountain range. It would take the hounds over a week to work their way back into the unclaimed forest around the town, and that was assuming they didn’t intrude upon the territory of something even more nasty than themselves and get slaughtered.

That didn’t really mean Ilsworth was safe now, though. Eventually, something would move back into the unclaimed territory, and maybe then there’d be need for the hunters again. But, Amaris still considered her promise well served, as she had stolen all of the hunter’s prey from them, and the resentful villagers would likely run them out of town before the next wave of monsters returned. Nodding to herself, Amaris surveyed the night-dark valley from a steep slope, before beginning her way back down the mountain. From her higher vantage point, she could see a touch of light coming from the east. It would be dawn soon, and while the thick cloud cover would make it hard for her ship to leave exactly on time, she had no intention of giving the captain any excuse to try and leave her behind.

Amaris skirted around the outside of Ilsworth, having no desire to cross paths with any villagers or hunters, making her way steadily towards the dock. Shortly before coming into view of where the ship had been moored, she stopped to exchange her clothes with a pair in her shoulder bag. Like the bag itself, her clothes had been imbued with several powerful cleaning and repair charms, and a couple of days of rest would return them to their normal state. The sailors would have no way of knowing that Amaris had spent the night soaked in blood, unless they could catch a whiff it’s metallic scent in her hair.

Despite the fact that it was still a little while before dawn, the sailors were already moving. They moved off and on the ship, taking boxes off and bringing other boxes on. More men were working with ropes, while others scanned the sides of the ship, checking for any damage or wear that might impact their journey down the river. Amaris stepped her way onto the gangplank, ignoring the way the men’s glances locked on her, before instantly snapping away if she so much as glanced in their direction. She was going to be off this ship just as soon as they reached the next major port, and find a merchant caravan with a little more class than this hunk of wood.

Amaris settled back into the space she had occupied the evening before, resting comfortably between two large boxes that had been tied to the railing. She stared out at the hustle and bustle with vacant eyes, as the sky began to lighten, even through the thick fog. Of course, it didn’t make it above a certain level of brightness, but the captain seemed to be watching the sky eagerly from the poop deck, ready to set underway the moment they had enough light to navigate safely through the fog.

“The hell…?!”

Amaris glanced up at the sound of a frankly unmanly yelp coming from one of the men, followed only an instant later by an intense bout of swearing. It appeared that, in his surprise, he’d just dropped one of the boxes they’d been loading onto his own foot.

Several other people moved over, while the captain glared from on high. “‘The hell’ what?”

The man glanced to the shore, before visibly paling. “There’s somethin’... strange movin’ out there, Cap’n.”

Everyone turned to look, Amaris included, expecting to see nothing more than some log carried by river current, beating against the shore. Instead, there were gasps and muttered swears at the sight of a figure, made of dirt and river water, struggling on the edge of the shore. Amaris frowned, pushing her way to the front of the deck. There was something familiar about the power that surrounded that thing…

A moment later, and she identified it. “What, come to see me off?” she asked the muddy figure, tone mocking.
 

Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
I'm here whenever you need me, my dude.
Writing Levels
Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm fine with both.
Favorite Genres
Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#68
Not unlike a bubble of trapped gas in a swamp, the growl that came from the clumped vessel of Jukheyr wasn't as intimidating as it would've hoped. If it had more time, it could've put together a form to sink the ship if it'd wanted; the witch seemed impervious to harm, but the God wondered just how long she could handle being drowned. If only- no, it chastised itself. Getting mad at Amaris wouldn't solve anything, wouldn't help anything, and certainly wouldn't make her anymore willing to help it.

Gathering itself as best it could with such shoddy material, Jukheyr took to ignoring the scurvy-ridden crew of the ship, turning it's attention solely on the witch, it's best hope at - as much as it killed it - aiding it.

"I'd see you off if you'd done your job proper," Jukheyr gurgled, shuddering closely to shore, murky water pulled at the base of it's form, becoming more liquid with each step into the lake. Muddy water spread like veins over it's surface, running deeper into it's body, Jukheyr's movements became looser, fluid with the intake of water. "I would've pushed your ship out to open waters myself if your crusade hadn't involved the impressionable whelp."

Fighting against the waters, Jukheyr became a wave all it's own, of river stones and mud, coasting over the water until it was at the boat. "Had him up restless all night, worrying about you," Jukheyr said on a gurgle that sounded more like a serpentine hiss. "Asking why I hadn't stayed with you, why I was back so soon." Jukheyr spoke with a sense of wounded pride, it was obvious it's encounter with the same being that escaped Amaris had left it spurned.

"Why someone would claimed to be hunting those beasts would leave something like that in one piece eludes me. Surely you don't think your hunt is complete? With that overzealous nymph still wandering those woods?" The waters swirled beneath it, slowly rising up in a pillar, Jukheyr's clumpy limbs allowing it to crawl up the side of the boat, it's ascent stopping with it clasped rails of the deck. Towering over Amaris, Jukheyr's body was frozen over, the ice all that was keeping it together. "I hope you don't, because that imp took my boy!" Fury getting the best of it, Jukheyr swept in and invaded Amaris's space, seething mere inches away from her.

For a few moments, it seemed Jukheyr was going to spring another attack, but within the space of a few gurgles, it retreated from Amaris. Ice cracking, parts of it fell into the water, making a heavy splash far below. "I...I can't find him, our bond has been warped by a strange magic; I can't feel him. It's like he's gone, and I can't-" Groaning, another piece fell from it's body, an entire frozen limb dropping off. Going silent, Jukheyr swallowed it's pride. "I can't last like this, I won't be able to remain if he's - gone."

Body shrinking, Jukheyr formed another limb, a frail claw of mud, gripping the railing for balance. "Amaris. Please, help me find him."
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SITE SUPPORT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
#69
"Proper!?" Amaris cried back, indignant. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she stared back at Jukheyr, completely ignoring the cowering figures behind her on the ship, who watched Jukheyr like they were peering at an avenging god, here to smite them for their disobedience. Some of the eyes locked on her, too, a strange mixture of indignation, for bringing this catastrophe down upon them, and awe, amazed she could confront such an abnormal being with confidence. "My hunt is complete. I never once claimed I was going to empty the woods. I only swore I wouldn't let those hunters see another copper." She snorted, flicking her head to the side in dismissal. "They're not good enough to even catch a glimpse of that thing without losing their lives, let alone trying to threaten it."

All the same, even as she protested his verbal abuse, Amaris could feel like something was wrong. This behavior wasn't like Jukheyr. This waterlogged birdbrain might take any opportunity to ridicule her as it presented itself, but it certainly wouldn't go out of its way to come seek her out just to trade a few barbed comments. Especially not when she was leaving, about to return it to a position of unimpeded dominance over this foggy little valley.

No, something was definitely wrong. And Jukheyr didn't leave her wondering for long.

"Ansell?" Amaris all but repeated, her narrowed eyes instantly widening in surprise. She leaned forward aggressively, hands grasping at nothing as she tried to grab onto Jukheyr's impossible body. "You lost him? How? We took him home, and you let him just wander back off into the woods?"

It seemed like Amaris was only moments away from attacking Jukheyr as well, or at the very least giving it a good smack. She was absolutely certain it deserved it. For losing Ansell. For dragging her into it. For being its utterly intolerable self. But as Jukheyr retreated, Amaris' clenched fists uncurled as well, although the clenching of her jaw didn't lessen.

"Useless," she spat out finally, turning around to march a couple of steps away, before whirling back to point an indignant finger at him. She didn't believe for a moment that Jukheyr was as weak as the act it was putting on, and she felt no sympathy for the thing. "I should just leave you like this. Let you fade away, so he can be free of your constant abuse!"
 

Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
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Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
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Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#70
At the receiving end of Amaris' own verbal lashing, Jukheyr was oddly quiet; submissive to the point of cringing at her threat of leaving it to fade, let whatever magic that thing had tainted it's bond with eat at it until there was no more. Melting limbs pushed against the rails, fractures spreading through them. "You can't," Jukheyr all but rasped, the energetic hold it had over it's form slipping, the once godly presence it commanded reduced to nothing more than a wisp.

Physically, Jukheyr didn't have a leg to stand on, and any of the fight in it was quickly being snuffed out by the very real possibility of it losing form. Normally, that wouldn't be a concern; it knew it's own nature and it's habits to wear out it's forms. However, there was something fundamentally different about this form, about it's very energy.

It was weakening. Like a fire burning itself into cinders, Jukheyr's power was being wrenched away from it. In all of it's existence, never had it experienced such a terror.

A shudder rippled through it's form, Jukheyr's form giving strange creaks as it's icy parts became to crack. More pieces falling off, less of it hanging onto the boat, mere scraps of it's energy in the body. "You'd sooner leave him to that beast than help me find him?!" Jukheyr tried to shout; all it ended up doing was rattling it's ice away, splits like chasms in it's form. "That thing would like nothing more than to see me gone, with my boy in it's grasp it'll be all too easy for it!"

Ansell was resilient, that much Jukheyr had known to be true since the boy could talk back when he was feeling particularly brave. He was also a cage, seemingly unbreakable and refusing to give an inch, no matter what methods of torment the god thought of. It could never escape, and outright killing Ansell would leave it without a foothold in the physical plane. So it pushed, tempting death but never beckoning it to it's vessel. Ansell was a survivor, taking it's worst rages and coming out of them bloody, but alive.

That thing - that wildling, there wasn't a thing that was reasonable about it.

Shrinking, and looking close to mania from just how little of it's force was left inside the mudball, Jukheyr stared with a featureless face at the witch. "Amaris, you can't leave him out there," it begged, sounding torn. "Save him, please."
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
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Primarily Prefer Male
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Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
#71
"I won't leave him," Amaris promised, the words far more threat than consolation. "He's a good kid, and he deserves to be safe and happy. And while you may care about the first, you seem to delight in depriving him of the second." A snarl passed briefly across Amaris' lips, but it faded away a second later back into steely determination.

"So, no. I won't help you find him." Amaris crossed her arms and stepped back from the railing, eyes narrowed as she waited to see how Jukheyr would respond to her pronouncement. "In this instance, I'm in agreement with the shrub. Ansell would be much better off without you. I'll find him once you're gone."

She turned around then, observing the rest of the ship, and the cowering boat workers. The only person who seemed to have maintained a shred of rationality was the captain, who was watching her as though he wanted nothing more than to feed her corse to the fishes. She laughed at him silently, rolling her eyes slightly. "Don't worry, I'm leaving."

And she did exactly that. Amaris made sure that her bag was secured across her shoulder, before she stepped up on the edge of the railing, staring down into the murky water. Then she jumped, vanishing briefly under the surface of the water before she resurfaced, and quickly began to swim towards shore.
 

Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
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Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
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Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#72
"Happy?" Jukheyr parroted, sounding as taken back as a crumbling mass of mud could. In spite of it's failing body, Jukheyr's temper remained intact, though the usual power and threat that accompanied it was dwindling faster than it's patience. "That whelp doesn't deserve the right to keep me! Every breath he takes is by my allowance! And so is yours-" Rant stopped dead in it's tracks by Amaris' refusal to help it, but instead Ansell, Jukheyr was lost for words. It's last limb gripped the railing with all the might it could muster, wood giving odd squeaks as ice grew in the cracks.

Jukheyr gathered itself, swelling a fraction larger, lakewater at it's base churning furiously. "You wouldn't dare," Jukheyr growled, tempting Amaris, and perhaps fate itself. She was bluffing; she had to be. Amaris was awfully perceptive, but for all she knew Ansell and itself could've been tied by the soul. Yes, that could've been a bluff of it's own. Save itself, save the boy.

However, with a brief announcement to the ship's crew, Amaris was off, diving off the boat and into the water before it could even turn it's sluggish body. It couldn't go after her, not when it felt like it was going to fall apart just existing. But there she was, swimming to shore, leaving it in a prison of it's own creation. Leaving it for dead.

Everything inside of it raged; it's mind ran wild with just how many ways it could've killed the witch. Temporarily, given her annoying habit to just keep coming back, but pain was an excellent motivator. It tore it's limb from the railing, breaking it off when it couldn't melt the ice that stuck it there. Handless, featureless, but mad with fury, Jukheyr forced it's last iota of strength into the water. It coaxed it to move, intention to drown the witch, pull her under, anything.

"You wouldn't-" It's voice was lost, every bit of it rushing into the water, pushing it towards Amaris. A froth bubbled on the surface, swelling then crashing out towards Amaris, swirling water turning to a wave, a wave that - fell back into the lake. Essence disappearing into the lake, then away altogether, Jukheyr's body fell into the lake. Ironically, the splash from it's fall made a bigger impact than it's own attempt of an attack.
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
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Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
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On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
#73
Amaris felt the water surging around her like she'd jumped into rapids instead of calm river, and she took a deep breath in preparation of upcoming submersion. A thin tendril of blood swam through the water like a serpent, arcing through the water to latch onto the bank. When her head went under, she'd still know which way to swim.

Whatever Jukheyr might imagine, Amaris' intent was deadly. She didn't make idle threats, and she certainly didn't hesitate when it came to taking a risk. The small part of her that had urged her to team up with the strange spirit had immediately been squelched under the knowledge that she would simply be subjecting Ansell to more torture at Jukheyr's hand. She'd take the risk to see the spirit banished from the world.

As for her confidence that such a choice would not bring harm to Ansell, that was born from Jukheyr itself. Were they irrevocably bound together, Jukheyr would not have merely plead for its life when she first made her intention to see it die clear. She had utter confidence it would have simply mocked her, and told her that would be sentencing Ansell to death, or that it would only die when Ansell himself passed.

No, she'd take the risk, and see if Ansell could come out of this encounter minus one particularly annoying spirit.

However, Amaris found herself able to make it to shore with nary a hitch, a few large waves dampening her hair but otherwise leaving her untouched. She waded out of the water before standing solidly on shore, feet splayed wide as water cascaded off her clothes. She scanned the riverbank carefully, eyes narrowed, but didn't see a trace of Jukheyr. A faint snort escaped her lips. "Playing hide and seek now?" she asked the empty air. "Well, we'll see how well that works out for you."
 

Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
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Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
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No Preferences
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I'm fine with both.
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Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
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Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#74
Whether or not Jukheyr was truly bluffing remained to be seen, and as for the God itself, so did it. For as long as Amaris made her way back towards the town, and back into the woods that surrounded it, there was no surprise of Jukheyr manifesting to attack. Instead, there was just Amaris' destination and all the brush that stood between her.

Perhaps it would seem all too easy, to snuff out such a pest of a spirit with no effort on her part. On the same hand, it wouldn't seem satisfying in the slightest. A perishing spirit, grip on the world fading and on the tide, gone. Was it a trap? An elaborate plan to bait the witch into yet another fight? Only time would tell, or, if fate would have it, Ansell himself to explain just how the God went from boasting to begging. Either way, Amaris would have to find him first.

Amaris' hunt was not unlike her one the night before, although the prey had succeeded in capturing Ansell this time around. Even with how frantic and borderline unhinged Jukheyr had been in it's rant, there was no mistaking that Ansell's kidnapping was the work of the supposed master of the woods. That bold imp, the daring shrubbery, by a certain God.

To the townsfolk, it was better known as the Wildling. Less of a fear and more of a myth, the few people that had seen likely would care to forget, letting mystery reclaim the thing. With the latest incidents within the town, it seemed it was determined to make itself known.

The woods were particularly unwelcoming this morning; the low fog and early sunlight made a dizzying show through the treetops. It would've been all too easy to mistake a proper track from a trick of the light, lest one took to feeling the ground for impressions. However, an experienced hunter would find a silver lining despite the difficulty the fog presented...

An experienced hunter would, others would...not.

Keeping on the path marked by wide, flat, definitely human tracks, Amaris would find a sight rife with irony and embarrassment. Struggling, cursing, breath rolling out as steam between the bars of oak, stood - trapped - hunters from the inn. The foursome that braved the woods had been caught up, quite literally, in said woods. Weapons at their feet, branches grown too tightly around their armor and limbs for them to reach without dislocating something. Crossbows and arrows, swords still in their sheaths, daggers and axes laying about, just as useful as their owners.

Red-faced and frustrated, the bowman of the group managed to get his head turned in Amaris' direction with no small amount of effort, arms askew in the space he was allowed. "Hey! Hey, you!" He blustered, taking a moment to catch his breath before starting on another shout. "You're that - that braggart from last night!" Still shouting, the bowman seemed more taken aback than upset, though marginally. "Here to take our hunt again?! Just you wait, bitch, show you what's for once we -" Stopping to breathe, and try to get his arms free before he broke them, the bowman lost his breath, and his threat.

The three others in the group were anything but silent, though their shouts were far more unintelligible; a mix of their own weight and tighter quarters making them breathless.

As hilarious as the scene was, Amaris might've noticed something amiss about the hunters' situation, having been in a trap much like theirs, albeit temporarily. While their confinement was thorough, and likely they'd be stuck there until freed, nothing about it seemed trying to kill them. The branches were snug, and the leaves that grew them from thick enough to shield them from the sun, but they weren't growing through their flesh like the bloodthirsty barbs used on Amaris. No, they weren't meant to kill, but do nothing more than trap them. They could've been saved for later, put away until nightfall and let the beasts have their fill, but even that seemed preposterous. If they were meant to be killed, there'd be corpses in the oak, not mouthy hunters.

It wasn't the work of the Wildling, it couldn't be. Nothing harmless came from that thing, nothing at all...however...

On the bowman's cage, the oak was discolored where the branches grew around his chest, a small blot against the shedding brown. A closer eye would prove it to be...

A hand print. A human hand print, nothing clawed about it. The impression was deep, like the tree had grown around it, or rather, from it. So detailed was it, one could make out the gnarled press of the hand, scarred and likely very familiar to Amaris.
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SITE SUPPORT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
#75
Amaris slipped into the woods on the bank at about the same time the fog swallowed the last visible traces of the river boat. There was a shadow of resignation cast on her shoulders that had nothing to do with Ansell’s plight. With the riverboat vanishing downstream, Amaris was going to be trapped in Ilsworth for several days, until the next trade boat made its way downriver. Of course, in the grand scheme of things, a few days shouldn’t have meant anything to her. She’d spent the last seven years hunting the Shaper of Magic through the Frozen North, after all. Yet, somehow, those few days seemed a great burden to her. She was ready to head south again, to the great desert cities, where she’d find work with a caravan or mercenary group and travel under the heat of the sun until she was sick of it. Instead, she was going to be trapped here, in this little foggy valley, rescuing a kid who seemed incapable of keeping himself out of trouble.

Amaris sighed, and focused on winding through the trees. She didn’t blame Ansell. He was an innocent in all this, caught between a malicious not-god and the strange magics that ruled this world. And while the bloodwitch didn’t consider herself to blame for his capture, there was no doubt her fight with the birdbrain last night had played a part in drawing the stupid shrub’s attention. She’d repay that debt, and the debt of his kindness, by freeing him from Jukher’s influence, leaving him to live a normal, safe life.

The concern over whether or not she’d even be able to find him never entered Amaris’ mind. She’d encountered the Wildling twice now, and both times the shrub had shown a level of arrogance that bordered on egomania. It wasn’t trying to hide. It wanted to taunt them, to flaunt that their power was useless in the face of its cunning. She’d show it where that kind of thinking got it when she put her boot through its face and then set it on fire.

Amaris’ confidence proved well founded only a few minutes later, when the sound of a stream of curses began to echo through the fog. A moment later and Amaris broke out of the undergrowth, stepping out onto a well-trodden path, littered with muddy boot prints. She’d found her way onto a hunter’s trail, and apparently a well used one at that.

The next bend in the path granted her a clear line of sight to the source of all the noise. Four hunters had found themselves entangled at the edge of the path, trapped within a dense mesh of brambles. Amaris approached with a light, cat-like step, clearly unconcerned by the hunter’s tauntings. Instead, her eyes studied the thorns.

They were familiar, yes, but there was something strange about them, an uncertainty to their form that lacked the clear, sharp elegance of the trap the wildling had sprung on her last night. These vines were hastily made, shoddily crafted, and any creature with more power than these human hunters would have been able to bust out of them with a shrug. No, she was confident that this wasn’t the work of the Wildling.

One lap around the trapped hunters confirmed her suspicion, when her eyes locked onto a familiar hand print that had been carved into the vinewood. Whether guided by the Wildling or not, Ansell had trapped these hunters. Which also, presumably, explained why they were still alive.

It also meant Amaris had found her first clue.

Her eyes cast about the nearby path, only moments later finding a reft in the bushes that hinted at an unnatural passage. She was about to head out after Ansell when she suddenly hesitated, her eyes turning back to the hunters. Something in her dark gaze caused their unintelligible cursing to fade.

“W… what are you…” one of the hunters mumbled, before accidentally biting his own tongue and falling silent. Amaris continued to ignore them.

There was still the matter of the birdbrain. Amaris did not imagine this journey would quickly find her upon Ansell and his captor, but she had no way of knowing how much strength the spirit had left. The last thing she wanted to do was free Ansell when power still remained in Jukheyr. If that was the case, she was simply going to have to hurry things along a little bit.

With slow, deliberate steps, she walked towards one of the hunters. He began to wriggle and writhe, attempting to move away from her, but the vines held him as firmly has they had only moments before. With careful motions, Amaris drew out a small, sharp, silver ritual dagger from within her bag.

The hunter froze, eyes wide, before his mouth opened in a scream. However, before he had a chance to make a noise, Amaris had shot forward, the dagger sliding across his neck. The blood that cascaded from his throat, however, didn’t touch the ground. It gathered together in tendrils, before merging with the blood that poured from Amaris’ own wrists. Accompanied by the screams of the other hunters, the blood began to weave itself together, tightening into the dense, corded sinew of muscle that slowly built bones and limbs. As the hunter’s blood ran out, Amaris supplied the last of it on her own, completing the form of the blood golem.

It towered several feet above her own head, sharp clawed hands and feet, three sets of horns growing from its head, spikes protruding from its joints. The last time this monstrosity had touched the air, it had reaped the lives of countless soldiers on the battlefield, replenishing its own health through the blood of the fallen. But, this time, Amaris would not set her creation free to wreak havoc. No, she had another purpose for it.

Amaris had undergone enough dealings with dark spirits that she was confident that the combination of soul, blood, and magic would prove an irresistible temptation to the spirit, whether it was trying to hide from her or not. All that was left was to call to it. She’d heard the kid say its name, just before their first fight. What had it been again? Ah, that was right.

“Jukheyrhileth, come!”
 

Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
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I'm fine with both.
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Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#76
In the time it took for Amaris' to speak the last syllable in the God's name, an undeniably foreign presence had entered her creation, tendons twitching and solidified body seemingly getting a mind of it's own. In this case, however, a better word would be soul. The blood golum shook, as if feeling itself out, the crimson behemoth expanding with a series of wet groans; a mist of red billowed from it, a bloody fog that was attracted back to it's body with a bizarre magnetism.

The presence that filled the blood golum was only alike the possessed storm and subsequent metallic avian in one regard: aura. The power that had been lording over the thunderstorm was not present, but the sensation of a unfathomably vast being was kept within the blood of the witch's summon. Myriad, yet small all at once, Jukheyrhileth stood before Amaris, still stretching out it's new body.

The maw of Jukheyr dripped with blood, hot on it's own but steaming in the briskness of the morning. It snapped it's mouth opening, inside reminiscent of an oozing wound. It shook, just for a second, body shifting from the tough consistency of formed blood to that of jiggling fat. Throat bulging with the effort to speak, Jukheyr's clawed hands rose and fell at it's sides, not having enough power to keep them together. Desperate to keep together, Jukheyr focused on letting it's arms merge with it's sides, leaving a mere torso and legs.

Choking, gurgling, Jukheyr gave a short wail.

"Find him!"

Unable to maintain the body, Jukheyr's spirit, yet again, was snuffed out by the effort and vanished. The body was fell to it's own devices, head sinking into useless shoulders, stumbling down towards the ground where a puddle had already began to form.

All the while, the hunters', those that remained, were in a sickened state of panic. They fought desperately against their binds, but as the morning had taught them, their escape was in the hands of those who chose to help them. So, they begged.

"Please, let us go! We- we'll leave! We won't tell anyone, just please-"

""Get us out of here! Get us the fuck out of here!"

"She killed him! She fuckin' killed him!"
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SITE SUPPORT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
#77
Amaris eyed the shifting, raging demon she’d created with a coolness that mirrored pure apathy. Jukheyr’s scream had as much effect on her as the buzzing of a fly might. The birdbrain would have been better not wasting its energy. All the same, two tendrils of blood kept Amaris connected to her golem, ready to attempt to wrest control of the bloody monster away from the spirit should it dare to try to turn her creation against her.

Apparently, though, Jukheyr was too weak to bother with even that futile effort. As the power within the golem vanished the whole form quivered for a moment, before suddenly collapsing in a shower of blood that created a russet-colored puddle in the clearing. Several crimson droplets splattered onto Amaris’ clothes and face, but she didn’t wipe it away. Instead, her eyes turned back towards the hunters, and only then did she respond, albeit faintly, to the god’s words.

“I’ll find him,” Amaris promised quietly, hands clenching into fists. “But not until you’re gone.”

Of course, the screaming and begging of the hunters had as much impact on Amaris as Jukheyr’s own pleas had. Which is to say, none at all. The ritual dagger appeared in her hand again as she walked up to the next of her bound prisoners. She covered his mouth with one hand, momentarily muffling his scream, before slicing the sharp edge of the dagger across his throat. With a few quick, familiar motions of her arm, the blood golem formed once more, and Amaris called out to Jukheyr again, waiting for it to inhabit the body she’d created.

After Jukheyr’s power was once more unable to sustain the golem, and the blood splattered to the ground again, she would repeat the process three more times. Each time she would watch with a cold gaze as Jukheyr went from pleading, to raging, to, eventually, silent.

Of course, it hadn’t taken the spirit long to realize that Amaris’ intentions in summoning it were far from benevolent, or even helpful. The moment she completed her third summoning, Jukheyr had lunged towards the two bound hunters, claws outstretched. Amaris didn’t know whether its goal was to try and get some information from them, or to simply kill them so that she wouldn’t be able to use their blood and souls to waste even more of its energy. Either way, Amaris used her bloody bonds to the creature to tug Jukheyr back, and the weakened spirit was unable to resist her demand. A moment later and the golem disintegrated again, adding another layer of blood to the already sodden ground.

By the fourth, Jukheyr was unable to act at all, merely remaining in the body for half a minute, quivering, before the whole thing literally exploded. And by the fifth… by the fifth, nothing happened. Amaris’ golem remained still, uninhabited, waiting dumbly for her to feed it her own magic and then release it. Amaris couldn’t help but let out a breath, wiping a palm across her bloodsoaked face. She was as much of a mess now as she’d been after her first bloody battle with Jukheyr.

For one reason or another, Jukheyr was now unable to answer her call. Amaris didn’t know whether this meant the spirit had found some way to resist her summoning, it had grown weak enough that its presence was no longer able to influence the golem, or if Jukheyr had truly vanished from this realm. All she knew for sure was that there was no point in her staying here any longer. Even if Jukheyr had found a way to defy her, she wouldn’t be able to do anything from here.

Amaris briefly studied the five desiccated corpses in the clearing around her, before turning her eyes to the sixth man, who had long since gone dumb and silent. “I guess you got lucky,” she told him, before turning away to survey the forest. It was time for her to follow through on her promise, and track down Ansell.

And, just as she’d anticipated, it didn’t take her long to find the first unnatural flower blooming at the edge of the clearing. It had become as soaked in blood as everything else in the area, half wilted under the burden of the liquid, but that didn’t make its presence in the clearing any less unnatural. She hadn’t seen any flowers the entire time she’d been hunting the Hounds, and doubted one would coincidentally turn up here.

From the first flower she spotted the next, from the second she spotted the third. It was a veritable breadcrumb trail of flora, a garden path paving her way, and it seemed over the top even for the theatrics she’d seen from the stupid shrub. It didn’t take her long to come to a different conclusion.

Ansell.

With a small nod of acknowledgement, Amaris set off into the woods. She had a boy to rescue.
 

Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
Roleplay Invitations
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Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
I'm here whenever you need me, my dude.
Writing Levels
Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
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No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm fine with both.
Favorite Genres
Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#78
The deeper Amaris would go into the woods, the more extravagant the flowers would become. Bursting to life, the path of them, prior to Amaris' own footprints, were surprisingly untouched. From the manner they sprung up, colors practically screaming to be noticed, from the overgrown look of the them, nothing fit the bill of that of the Wildling. It's lures in the forest had been precise, taunting in the toxic blooms. These were grown like a child had gotten hold of a seed bag and thrown them about. As high as the grass had grown, it was all but lost to the sheer number of flowers shooting up from every inch of soil.

It would be all too easy to keep on the trail, as many turns and twists as it had. Fallen tree limbs were devoured by mushrooms, pebbles and stones looking like fuzzy emeralds from their coat of moss. Soon, the scent of fresh blood was far behind, except that which stuck to Amaris herself. The woods unfurled the further the witch would go, a new heady, intoxicating spring-like scent filling the air. The flora only grew larger, more plentiful, more exotic and strange. Branches hung low with all manners of fruit and flowers, no pattern to their growth, the life contained in them overly eager to escape. Again, each step took Amaris into a stranger place, each swatch of the woods more afflicted by unchecked growth than the last.

Fruit grew from the ground, ripe and bursting under it's own weight. On the patches ahead, fruit grew from flowers, mushrooms from branches, flowers from everywhere. It would soon become a mess of flora, a kaleidoscope of colors, scents, textures. Not even the ground was safe from the change, soil sticky from the fruits that fell from the treetops, smashed into a sweet slick that encouraged the most peculiar mushrooms. If Amaris waited just long enough, she would've seen the mushrooms grew before her very eyes, flowering into yet another unheard of fruit. And even that, too, would fall, juice adding to the slick.

Hybridization, typically useful for gardeners or farmers who wanted traits from another plant. This, however, was beyond that. Different species of plants, of flowers and mushrooms and trees, they were exploding into new kingdoms all their own. Along the trail, it seemed the king of the new breeds wasn't too far off.

A tacky layer of orange and yellow covered the ground, the pollen from the plants had drifted all over, carrying with it the scent of an overwhelming sweetness. And, by the feel of it, something more.

It had been minuscule at first, the first few flowers just that: flowers. But it slowly started to feel different, a budding tension in the air that was impossible to ignore now. In the flora, was the working of magic, the pollen floating about like bits of mana itself. Everything was saturated in it, and perhaps that was the reason behind the accelerated growth, the state of nature twisted by magic that, even while dormant in the flowers, felt powerful. Powerful and wild. There was no form to the magic, it was just power; without shape, without purpose, left to grow unchecked and free.

The sensation of raw magic, much like the pollen in the air, drew to a clearing, utterly overgrown and thoroughly drenched in pollen. Like a heartbeat, the clearing thrummed with a pulse of magic, life springing into being with every beat. And that pulse...

A familiar voice chuckled, bubbling into an all out cackle.

"Isn't that something! You're growing all by yourself! I thought I was the gardener, here!"

Came from him.

In the epicenter of it all, Ansell sat, flowers and grass close to blocking him from view. In terms of appearance, he was but a moving figure among the plants. Yet, the closer Amaris would come, the more obvious it was him, but even him, like the forest, had been changed. Gone was the boy Amaris had known, in his place was a thing that looked to be a plant itself. A Wildling all his own.

He went still, the sway of the plants coming to a sudden halt. Slowly, his head turned, staring back to the edge of the clearing. It was hard to see, but a smile came to his face.

"Hi there! You couldn't stay away could you?"
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SITE SUPPORT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
#79
“Hardly,” Amaris replied dryly as she stepped out of the trees into Ansell’s clearing. Pollen and the remains of fruit and flowers had coated her already bloodsoaked clothes, matted her hair, but Amaris hadn’t reacted to the filth at all. She walked like a queen entering her court, a gladiator into the arena, and her eyes never wavered from the thing in the center of the clearing.

There was something cold in Amaris’ eyes as she looked at Ansell’s ruined form. It was a harness that spoke to both disappointment and revulsion. “I would be long gone by now if a certain birdbrain hadn’t come to me to beg for its very existence.” The revulsion in her voice seemed to double at the mention of Jukheyr.

Amaris wished, more than anything right now, that she could just forego her debt to the boy’s kindness and friendship. If she moved quickly enough she’d be able to catch back up to the boat, and leave this boy and the slowly growing corruption he’d set free far behind. Ilsworth would be wiped off the map by the tide of wild magic, of course, but it wouldn’t be the first town lost to powers that people couldn’t understand or control, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Now frankly,” Amaris continued, leaning sideways against a tree that squelched when it came in contact with her shoulder. “I couldn’t give any less of a damn what that thing wanted. But I figured you’d want to go home. Looks like I was wrong.”

But, desired or not, Amaris couldn’t just wipe away the kindness Ansell had shown her, just like she’d never dream of ignoring the discourtesy the hunters had displayed. She was here. She had to make an attempt, at the very least. That certainly didn’t mean she had to like it, though.

“After all, you’re having fun. Should I just leave you be, Ansell? Leave you alone to get swallowed by magic, and let your ‘fun’ destroy the town you’ve professed to care about so much? Is that what you’d like? Because that’s certainly what you are doing.”
 

Ragamoofin

Candle Goblin
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Private Convo Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
I'm here whenever you need me, my dude.
Writing Levels
Elementary, Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm fine with both.
Favorite Genres
Uh, let's see. Fantasy, magical, drama, fluff. The usual.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not really a fan of nonfiction.
#80
While initially Ansell seemed delighted that Amaris had arrived, the seconds after he looked away told a story of apparent indifference. He still wore a smile, but his joy was directed to whatever it was he toyed with in his lap. He nodded frequently, splitting his attention to the pollen and blood soaked woman and his latest creation. Even from afar, the feeling of magic permeated the air as much as the almost sickening aroma of strange fruit. Deft hands worked in great haste, fingers grown like reeds, nail and flesh merging to frightening claws. The boy's gentleness remained, despite his speed.

Magic was an odd, fickle thing, and in the hands of the inexperienced, it was more than likely to disobey. However, it was clear from Ansell's act that he was working up a spell; the only thing odd about that is that he was doing it manually. His pollen, the plants, all of it was so full of mana it might had well been the stuff manifested. Bit by bit, he snatched up petals, crushed fruits, clawed out seeds and put together his spell. His first, true one. Everything before had simply been an accident. What it was, well, that remained to be seen.

"Yeah. Uh-huh, birdbrain." Was he listening? It didn't appear so, and it wasn't like him to be so dismissive. Typically, the mere mention of the God was enough to send him coiling, yet that wasn't the case. "Haven't they flown west for the autumn, or something?" Stopping the weaving of his hands, Ansell held his gaze to the sky, clouds rolling overhead and gleaming from the sunlight behind them. "South. South for the winter." Thoughts organized, Ansell went back to his handiwork. "You talk to birds? I think I can talk to cows, and, uh, sheep. I think. Headbutting counts as conversation for them. I think."

And back he went to fiddling with his spell, the wild flowers sprouting around him making sure he had no shortage of material to work with. With how he looked, one could imagine he could pick parts of himself off and use that. Sitting, or rather, emerging from his head was an enormous poppy, hair replaced by the flower. Scarlet and black, it bloomed like a layered crown on Ansell's head, petals fraying at their edges and scattering pollen. Papaver somniferum, otherwise known as an opium poppy. That explained the loopiness, at least. If it was half as bit as full of magic as anything else, Ansell must've been producing it's namesake within himself.

"Home?" Ansell chirped, poppy bouncing as he looked over his shoulder. His smile dimmed, his gaze turning glassy as he stared at the ground. He mouthed the word, and then said it again. "Home. I...am home." He muttered, sounding like he was trying to convince himself. A weak chuckle tore out from his lips, using a hand to scratch away a crust of pollen from his brow. His fingers brushed a flower that grew from his temple, purple, four small petals, like a cross. Moonwort. "You want to take me home? Th-that's silly! I'm already here!" Ansell cried, giggling without a smile, chlorophyll flushing under his minty skin. He was nervous.

As Amaris pressed on, Ansell only grew more uncomfortable, barely able to keep his eyes on his working spell for stealing second short glances at Amaris. "No, I'm not, I'm just-" Biting his lip at the mention of destroying the town, a puzzled looked came to Ansell's face, brow furrowing. His eyes peered down, at his hands, at his flowers, juice stained cloak taken in hand. His claws pressed on it, Ansell biting his lip that much harder until he drew blood, green and oozing down his lip.

The clearing wilted at his harm, his own flowers looking neglected. The magic working through the soil retracted, drawing back to Ansell, and then-

"Amaris?" Ansell spoke, eyes wide and brown again. "Amaris! Why did you come back?! You can't be here, you have to-" Gasping, Ansell's words caught in his throat, eyes shutting as his hands went to his chest, claws sinking into his flesh. He trembled, tears spilling over his cheeks in white streaks. With a cry, a burst of color grew around his hands, white and purple and blue growing from his collar. He shuddered for a second longer, breathing evening out, pain in his face leaving. A finger flicked at the new flowers, lips pursing then breaking into a smile. "Oh, look, I'm sprouting!"

For Amaris, one flower would be a grim reminder of the night before. From Ansell's neck, grew hemlock, alongside it, nightshade and monkshood. Topping it all, buds of lavender. "Weird, I don't remember wanting to grow these."

"You did not."

Voice coming from the trees, Ansell whipped his head around to find it, his smile growing bigger at the sight. Horns, like branches on a great tree, came before it. That alone sent Ansell reeling, glancing over to Amaris without any of the concern from earlier, giddy and shaking.

"I did."

Ansell screamed, delighted and unable to stay still any longer. "You're back! I'm almost done with the spell!" Plucking it out his lap, Ansell held aloft the physical spell; it was hideous. It was a squirming, heaving thing, vaguely spherical and looking to be breathing. An array of colors rippled over what looked to be skin, pollen sticking to it's tacky surface. Ansell looked only a tad embarrassed. "Almost, just have to put on the finishing touches!"

The Wildling waved away the notion, a creak coming from it's limb, spindly digits coming to a dagger-like tip. "You have done more than enough, pet. Leave the rest to me." It scrolled through the clearing, four eyes keeping Ansell and Amaris in sight at once. It's legs, six of them in all, carried it with an ease that was reminiscent of a spider. It's lower half resembled an arachnid greatly, flesh looking more like an exoskeleton of hardened bark. Rising from it's protected half was a torso that fit numerous arms, two folded behind it, two carrying bundles of flowers, another pair used to part the high grass.

"And you have brought company," said the Wildling, a creaking grin on it's face. "Very good."
 
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