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Canon: © Anne Bishop
Board's Plot: Blood Rites
Points Scheme: Mother Night
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Established February 2010
by Jamie, Gina & Bowie.


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* Plot Informaton for Scelt

Scelt is a Territory in turmoil and peace is tenuously held together by the Sceltic Queens. Rivalry between the Clans errupted into horror for the Territory that resulted in many dead, on both sides, and culimated in Clan Sheane being outlawed in the Territory. Further troubles plague the Territory in a variety of manners - Landen villages are raided, Courts are attacked, and no one seems to be safe.
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Scelt's Hourglass Coven

Author Topic: Dancing with fire  (Read 41 times)

Description: attn: Ian

Offline Oona Sheane

  • Character Account
    • rose2bo
    • hp
    • Role

      First Circle

    • Faction

      Sheane Clan

    • Territory

      Scelt

    • Character Sheet

      [Link]

    • OOC

      Caryn

    • Posts

      33

    • View Profile
Dancing with fire
« on: Nov 14, 17, 05:57:59 AM »
(TW for slightly unhealthy coping mechanism and for mention of infant death in childbirth)

Oona shrieked in surprise as she hit the mud, almost immediately picking herself back up from the remains of the previous evening’s storm. The witch wiped the muck out of her face with her free hand, both shocked and pleased to find that her other still gripped her weapon, and snarled a rather nasty implication about her opponent’s fondness for the remaining Sheane livestock.

Acair didn’t reply for long moments as he visibly assessed his charge’s ease of movement and temper. Oona had enough of both to bare her teeth at him, raising the quarterstaff they both held back into ‘ready’ position. It wasn’t the warlord’s specialty, but after last night her escort’s skills were more than sufficient for the task. Oona wasn’t training so much as she just wanted to hit things- and perhaps to be hit, a flicker of guilt whispered, as punishment for her failure.

Despite the Clan’s reconciliation with Dallan’s merry band of misfits, Niamh had been forced to seek out mercenaries as well. And with them came their women and children. Oona had been called out to one of the bands to attend a birth that was going badly. The first babe of twins had been too big- and born wrong, so that she’d drained her Blood Opal repairing both the defect in his heart and the gash in his mother’s abdomen that she’d removed both he and his sister through. Her Rose had gone when they realized the boy still hadn’t roused enough to nurse. Delicate tendrils of Craft had revealed something wrong in the boy’s brain, but she’d been unable to pinpoint where the problem lay or how to fix it before Acair was forced to intervene and cage her Jewel, lest it shatter from the strain. The babe had died before morning.

Acair’s firm nod and shouted “Again!” pulled her from her memories, the warlord apparently satisfied with what he’d seen. Oona feinted left and danced in to attack, determination singing through her veins as the birds sang in the trees. Despite the stress of the previous night, this promised to be a beautiful day and the witch was looking forward to it. She just had to keep moving, that was all.

Offline Ian Malcolm Falkirk

  • Character Account
    • opal2sapphire
    • wp
    • Role

      Laird

    • Faction

      Falkirk Clan

    • Territory

      Scelt

    • Character Sheet

      [Link]

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      Idariel

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      46

    • Strike Fiercely!

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Re: Dancing with fire
« Reply #1 on: Nov 22, 17, 07:22:01 PM »
192 PP,  A Sheane encampment, hidden in the wilderness
This occurs a bit after I hope you dance.



Only a cold brush of air announced his arrival, rather than footsteps. A Highland breeze, complete with the scent of granite and freezing rain, swept through the sunny morning. Jade green eyes surveyed the sight of his Ialach being knocked into the mud. Still Ian Malcolm made no sound as he approached. His Shields held at the depth of the Sapphire, but the silence with which he moved was the skill of a consummate Highland Warrior. Sunlight flickered and failed where he stepped, then refused to come out of hiding, dimming the sky.

Lust permeated the clearing. Lust, and near-mindless rage.

The birds ceased singing.

The trees trembled.

The horses bolted.

The mud began to chill, spiderwebs of ice coating the clearing.

Ialach wiped the mud off of her face, snarled defiance and went at the Warlord again. Just as she stuck, Ian Malcolm’s power flowed out, through him, around her in a deeply sensual caress that grazed every part of her flesh, marking her as his.

His Woman’s blow landed with desperate, sickening force, shattering her opponent’s staff. All of the strength of a Sapphire burned within it, runes etching themselves into the unassuming wood. It glowed in her hand, but his power did not harm her. It aroused to lust and blood lust, it enticed to murder and sex. But it not harm her.

Not yet.

So fast did he move, that Ian Malcolm Falkirk’s body appeared to flicker into existence, just behind his woman. Rough, rock-hewn hands settled on her shoulders, as the Warlord Prince fought not to finish off the Warlord himself. Ian Malcolm didn’t know how he’d gotten here. He didn’t know where here was.

But he’d found what he’d been searching for, his Hunter’s Mark enmeshed in his woman’s aura as his body soon would be in her flesh.

Ian’s Craft touched Ialach, caressing, strengthening, exploring. He murmured in her ear, his voice seductive, deadly and full of raw lust. “Finish him, or I will. No one comes near you without dying. You are mine.

Offline Oona Sheane

  • Character Account
    • rose2bo
    • hp
    • Role

      First Circle

    • Faction

      Sheane Clan

    • Territory

      Scelt

    • Character Sheet

      [Link]

    • OOC

      Caryn

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      33

    • View Profile
Re: Dancing with fire
« Reply #2 on: Nov 23, 17, 05:13:56 PM »
What the Hell was that?

Oona felt the power in the blow as she landed it; felt the power sliding over wood and skin, and awakening the neglected core of her to tingling life. She panted lightly with exertion, drawing her weapon back automatically in surprise. She wanted to spar with her opponent, not kill, and now a power not her own had entered the equation. 

It took her long moments to place the male at her back, so long had it been since their (i]incredible/i]) night of passion and so sure had she been that he’d move on in in his life as she had in hers. Separate Clans, separate worlds. Perhaps their time together would bring a smile to his face on a lonely night, but nothing more. “Ian?” (Perhaps to the good) Her questioned confirmation emerged more breathless than incredulous, her body automatically swaying to mold itself against his hard planes even as her mind questioned his presence here.

Of course, her mind was rather too busy with other things to exert the sort of control it might have liked on her body. Now she noticed the air that chilled the bone even as it heated the blood. Now she tasted the lust that whispered across her skin and the anger that blew into the clearing like the wind before a storm, and knew that this storm had come for her. Any educated witch knew the signs of an impending Rut; healers and priestesses, by nature of their work, even more so. For several panicked breaths, Oona’s mind spun like a rodent in a wheel as she tried to find a way out that wouldn’t get one of them killed.

She could yet call her Clan to protect her, she knew, or even try to turn Ian’s body against itself with her own Craft. People forgot, but healers could be deadly if they wanted to be. Perhaps she would, if ever she got the opportunity. It was too risky as present, however.  The same went for her Clan- they might win, but the Price against a Sapphire Warlord Prince would be far, far too high for a Clan at full strength, let alone what the Sheanes had become. Oona had a healthy ego, but she never had been and never would be worth that. She wouldn’t want to be.

Oddly, it was Ian’s grip on her shoulders, his touch steadying even as his Craft inflamed, that grounded her enough to give her an idea. She tapped her Rose with a sure and practiced touched, not yet daring to test her Blood Opal, and reached out to brush against Acair’s shields. She’d need her escort’s cooperation for this, if she wasn’t resorting to her jewel of rank to force the issue. Please let Acair see what she was doing, please let this work, please, please, please…

Across from her, Acair met the witch’s eyes and gave a slight nod. His shields folded in response to the light touch of power as though they had never been, as the warlord stoically waited to see if he would live or die. Oona nearly sobbed in relief as she wove –ironically- the same Craft she’d once used on the Warlord Prince behind her and targeted a particular part of Acair’s brain. The Warlord dropped like a stone as her sleep spell took effect, and Oona let him fade from her awareness as well. She’d done the best she could for him and she prayed her Clan would find him before bandits or the wrong mercenary did.

There were so many things she wanted to know, wanted to turn around and look at him properly. But training had her staying relaxed and not fighting his grip (not yet, anyway), learning her head back on his shoulder and straining up on her toes to kiss along his bearded jaw. She wouldn’t get the answers she wanted –likely wouldn’t get many words at all- until the Rut had mostly run its course. Maybe, if she remembered the Laird’s taciturn nature correctly, not even then.
Then they’d find out, if they both survived the pleasure and the pain and blood, whether the same trick would work twice on a canny old wolf.

For now, her task was to eliminate the danger to her Clan. “It’s done. Finished. But I haven’t yet, so perhaps you could work on that?” Slyly tempting wasn’t Oona’s natural speed, but desperation (on oh so many levels!) proved highly inspiring. “Take me away from here, Ian. Somewhere we won’t be found.” It was a dangerous request, but worth it to keep any other poor soul from tripping across a beast they’d be ill prepared for. Mother Night help them all.

 

 

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