- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- Writing Levels
- Advanced
- Genres
- War, Horror, Dark, Psychological, Medieval/Ancient, 19th Century, Crossovers, Dysoptian, Fluff, Cyberpunk & Steampunk
If there was one flaw that Arya clearly exhibited, her stubborn hubris was certainly one.
The words did not ease her troubles nor calm her spiteful resentment, being forced to play yet another life, her body like some mesh of mechanical, organic, and now immortal attributes. The words from Teresa and Joshua hit her hard, yet she dared not visibly show it. Life was simply unfair, and that unfairness almost made her wonder if the Old Gods had damned her to this horrid fate for the sins of her noble name. From Father to Ellie, three deaths more agonizing than the last, the cycle never seemed to end. Partially, it affected Arya's ability to feel sympathy or solace, her icy, Northerner heart still bent full on vengeance and blood-lust.
"Justice has still not been served, a'ye, you know that. I spent for six months lookin' for justice and it got me killed." she softly spoke, her words lowly and grim. "The only comfort I wish is the steel of Needle and blood of those that deserve it. Nothin' more, nothin' less." the She-Wolf admitted, such bold claims from a girl whom cannot see anymore. "If it takes me sic days or six years, I won't stop, I have a list of names to cross out." Arya finally elaborated, her normally hollow voice turning a bit sly, the softest traces of an almost devilish smile creeping on the corrupt girl's lips. This was brief, however, reaching up to gently graze her fingers against her wings.
No comment escaped her lips about them, hearing the names of this "Joshua" and "Teresa" echo outwards, the Northerner princess simply nodding in response. Eerily, she could not find a name for herself, keeping simply silent, as if she were not deserving an identity anymore. Abruptly, she flicked Needle upwards, the girl able to finally walk without much of a crippling limp, the Braavosi rapier twirling artistically in her left hand. Making another "sk sk sk" sound, using some primitive echolocation again, Arya paused, intent on walking wherever they must go.
"Now, I'm sick of bein' treated as if I'm in the wrong. Ye dragged me from death with little explanation, what did ye expect? Now, is there any purpose I have here, or a'ye, are you just here to taunt me snarky remarks?" Arya peered, her temper and patience running thin. "Because if that is the case, I will happily go back to the Coalition, where I'm looked at like I'm some horrendous traitor...even though they hire killers and murderers to serve them with the all'ring ch'rm of gold." the Northerner concluded, her voice showing shocking intelligence, having spent six months in research had an effect on the She-Wolf's capabilities.
Biting her lower lip, Arya suddenly began to lift her left hand, the child curious about one trait of her that she was unsure about. Closing her blinded eyes, she breathed in through her nose, as if trying to channel some sort of power. Letting out a faint growl, the She-Wolf began to exhibit some strange aura. Shadows danced around her, thin and weaken, but remnants of the Archdemon still within her. Despite being somewhat reborn as a Reaper, her body was tainted and marked, forever curse lest healed.
"It still is there...faintly." Arya whispered, recalling her days of countless research and honoring the process of death with her cult of lost and damned souls.
@Hospes @Klutzy Ninja Kitty