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Messages - Vengeance Elessar

Pages: 1
Dea al Mon / Re: The Trickster's Dice
« on: Oct 24, 19, 10:52:00 AM »
Escort duty.

She had been relegated to escort duty.

With the Brood activity at a near silence, it vexed Vengeance to be assigned such a lowly role. Yes, it was something to do, and an honorable service, but it still rankled Vengeance to be merely escorting someone from point A to point B. The months of inactivity had done her no good. Her blades itched to spill Brood blood. Her temper was nearly always on the rise. But as vigilant as the Ebon Guard and Red Cloaks remained, nothing came their way.

It was an honor, her cousin Tempest had reminded her, to be escorting the Territory Steward. Vengeance had snorted and scathingly said that she cared nothing for that sort of honor, only the kind earned in battle. Yet, she had taken the duty because she needed to get out.

At least it wasn’t messenger duty. Having a conversation with a sackful of letters was an even worse fate.

Vengeance was probably poor company but she did not care. Her crimson cloak, with its bloodstains and tears, was draped along the hindquarters of her horse as she took point in their little entourage around Cypress Tanithil. One of her short sword blades rested across her thighs, ready to be used, but so far, their trip had been…uneventful.

“We will stop for a short rest in the village ahead,” she informed the other guards and their charge. As the darkest Jewel in the group, she took it to mean that she was in charge, even though Prince Tanithil greatly outranked in her social stature. It just went to show how little Vengeance cared about formalities.

But she was not inconsiderate. “Do you have any business we must see to before we reach our destination?” she asked the Prince as she dropped her horse just a pace back so that she was not quite calling over her shoulder at him. What did Vengeance, a fighter, know about the duties of a Steward? Nothing. She could not imagine enjoying such a boring life.
She still thought that her cousin, Tempest, would have been a far better choice for this assignment but Tempest’s duties as squad leader demanded that she stay put. Plus, if something did happen, Vengeance was the better fighter.

If only something would happen.

Dea al Mon / Re: Does The Lion Inside Of You Sleep?
« on: Jul 08, 19, 10:54:41 AM »
As Vengeance sat, listening to the Prince confirm her own suspicions about Brood activity, she felt that simmering brew of unrequited retribution churning within her, urging her to act. She slowly took a mindful breath – in through her nose, one, two, three, out through her slightly parted mouth, one, two, three – and again, until she felt it banked once more. As the servant arranged a fair spread of food, Vengeance nodded her thanks, waited for the servant to leave, and then began serving herself at Prince Ancalima’s motion.

As he spoke about how one of his daughter’s friends was chased from Esgarth to Eddersea, Vengeance paused, tilting her head to the side as she listened. “Chased?” she echoed softly. Her brow furrowed in deep thought. “To Glory Glade? When was this? And who?”

As much as it perturbed her, maybe even struck a note of jealousy for missing out on the action, it unnerved her more to hear what Prince Ancalima said next: that maybe the Brood were beginning to fixate on individuals that might serve purpose.

Immediately, Vengeance thought of her cousin, Tempest, who was a Sapphire Jeweled Priestess. Priestesses in the Territory were rare and for Tempest to be both Priestess and Sapphire in rank painted a very large target on her. That she served as a Holy Matron and did not allow herself to be kept hidden away in an Altar somewhere would have been another point of concern to some but not Vengeance. Tempest was aptly named – a storm gathering to unleash its fury upon all in its path – and she would not be caged. She lacked Vengeance’s ruthlessness and recklessness but she was deadly just the same.

“If it is as you say…” Vengeance said softly, still piecing together her thoughts. “Then that would explain why they so rapidly retreated after breeching the Black Castle. They found what they wanted – a person – and left with their prize. But what other persons could they be after and why?”

Oddly, in that moment, Vengeance felt more concern towards her cousin Tempest than towards her lover Sparrow, who also wore the Sapphire, though it was not out of lack of care. Sparrow could handle herself as easily as Vengeance. Then, what about the Queen of Glory Glade? And what of Prince Ancalima’s own Queen daughter? Did the Court of the Dea al Mon have the same suspicions?

The food rested in her hands, forgotten for the moment, as she tried to think back to their last good battle and the tactics used then. There had to be a piece of the puzzle somewhere to be found that could answer these questions and allow the Dea al Mon to thwart the Brood further.

Dea al Mon / Re: I'm Only In It For The Give And Take
« on: Mar 20, 19, 03:31:02 PM »
Pain, sharp and clear, rang through Vengeance’s wrist up into her elbow, as Alusair’s strike hit. Vengeance morphed her gasp into a growl, gripping the polearm hard so as not to lose it now. If Alusair had struck a second time in that moment, she would have disarmed Vengeance, since the nerves and muscles in that arm were currently screaming in protest.

Does it bother you so much to see a foreigner in your midst?

“Comparison?” Vengeance barked in response to Scion’s second question. “There is no comparison between us. No matter how long you remain within our borders, you will always be an outsider to us.” But there wasn’t much philosophical or scientific backing to that response. If pressed, Vengeance would realize a great many similar things between her and the other woman – a feral commonality, a like of sharp objects, a love of fighting, -- and that would wash away Vengeance’s weak line in the sand that they were so different.

Luckily, sparring left little room for thinking.

Alusair’s taunt did the rest. Challenged with a possible truth, Vengeance snarled. She would never admit to her people losing to the bestial Brood. But the attack on the Black Castle – its swiftness, its retreat, its undiscerned purpose – left Vengeance wondering if perhaps the Brood had figured out an upper hand to this fight.

Her next few attacks came swiftly, a flurry of activity meant to overwhelm Alusair with their speed and precision, though not brute strength. When Vengeance finally felt as those she had beaten Alusair back a few steps, she growled, “They will not win this war. I will not let  them.”

Again, another flurry of blows, as Vengeance did what she was known for – being an extremely aggressive melee fighter. At a distance, she was weakened, but up close, she was ferocious. She would sweep, jab, twist, and strike her way into defeating a foe.


She ignored the first call and leapt into another strike, aimed to splinter the halberd Scion had raised to block. When that failed, she whirled around with a backhanded blow, catching something on her opponent.

She would have kept going except an unexpected Purple Dusk Shield came up between the two of them and Vengeance slammed into it instead of Scion.

Dea al Mon / Re: Does The Lion Inside Of You Sleep?
« on: Feb 28, 19, 02:49:31 PM »
She arrived at a sitting room styled from entwined trees, as though a quiet little grove had been carved out of the forest just for this purpose. A table, some seating, nothing fancy. Vengeance instantly approved. Her gaze swept the room quickly, noting, as it always did in unfamiliar places, exits and ambush points, before settling firmly upon the Prince stepping forward to greet her.

Ardent was an older male, near leaving his prime, but he moved with a grace that came from years of military service. Time had only polished that, though Vengeance wondered if it had also slowed him down. “Prince Ancalima,” she returned his greeting evenly. When he motioned for her to sit, she did so. Disarmed physically, she forced herself to disarm mentally as well. This was not meant to be a difficult conversation. “Food that is not rations would be welcomed,” she told him, forcing a grateful smile on her face that was more a crinkling of her eyes rather than a turning of lips.

A fierce light entered her eyes when he asked if he could pick her brain over recent Brood activity. Her blood, forever heated from the attack upon the Black Castle, stirred, an old response to any older enemy. Her fingers itched to clench something -- her sword preferably -- but she willed them still.

Her time in Glory Glade and on the quiet road had only made her thirsty for a fight.

“After the attack upon the Black Castle, they retreated to their borders,” she said derisively. Cowards! “Whatever they came for, they got, and have not pushed nearly as boldly since.” A pity. Vengeance had gone to Glory Glade expecting a fight. None had come and now, revenge sat unquenched in her heart.

“But even from that attack we have learned things,” she said. “They are more organized now. More...intelligent.” Still half-crazed beasts, a shadow of their former Dea al Mon self, but powerful in other ways. “There is one that commands many,” she said. She pointed to her eye and then spread her hand over it. “They wear his mark, branded on their skin,” she explained, and then retracted her hand. “My guess is that the thralls are the captured from small raids and skirmishes.” But she had yet to engage him in battle and test the strength of his command.

Vengeance wrinkled her nose in a restrained snarl. “I do not like how they hide now. It gives off the feeling of...waiting. Waiting for something to happen,” she admitted. And what would it be then? What grander scheme did they have than to attack the capital of the Dea al Mon? What horrors were they plotting? “What of here? Any attacks?” she asked.

Dea al Mon / Re: I'm Only In It For The Give And Take
« on: Jan 21, 19, 03:28:52 PM »
“You go where you please?” Vengeance echoed, her voice layered in doubt that Alusair was here because she wanted to be. No, the witch believed that the other woman was here for a reason – the rest of her tainted family most likely – and just wanted to hide behind the illusion of independence.

Vengeance had not been bothered by the restrictions. She enjoyed a good flurry of blows, a series of lightning strikes brought on by sheer physical prowess. She expected a bit of Craftiness from her opponent, but not the locking of weapons. Alusair twisted and then Vengeance found herself with the other woman’s back against her chest. In a heartbeat, Vengeance understood that Alusair meant to disarm her somehow.

Alusair curled in on herself and Vengeance had just a moment to act. It wasn’t the best of moves but it would give her another chance to fight. She planted one knee in the small of the other woman’s back as best as she could as she bent and used it to push herself away, releasing her right hand on her polearm so that she could attempt to unlock their weapons as her left hand swung her weapon wide and away. If she was successful, she’d dance back about ten feet to gain her bearings and grip. And if she wasn’t, she’d take on Alusir with her bare hands, at a disadvantage.

Regardless, the Green witch taunted, “And what pleases you here, little witch?” The emphasized word dripped with disdain. “The scorn of others? Being in exile? Is there no home for you to return?”

Vengeance smirked at Alusair’s challenge. “I stay to destroy the things that want to devour you and everyone beyond these borders,” she said, speaking of the Brood that sought to overtake Dea al Mon first and, later, the Realms. “Have you fought them yet? Or do you prefer to hide behind the walls like a child?”

Dea al Mon / Re: I'm Only In It For The Give And Take
« on: Jan 07, 19, 11:30:57 AM »
When the Untamed woman grinned at Vengeance with that feral glint, the Green witch felt a slash of wild kinship. Predators both, they were, just wrapped in human skin. Vengeance grinned back, though her grin had a bit of a snarl to the end of it. A challenge, a thing best experienced rather than spoke of.

Vengeance approved.

She stretched her arms and legs smoothly as she moved into the sparring ring, picking up a halberd to match Alusair’s. The wood was worn with use but the shaft was still straight and strong. The guarding sheath on it remained…for now. She tapped the butt of the halberd on the ground sharply, attracting the attention of one of the trainers. “Time us,” she commanded. “Ten minutes.” The trainer nodded once and took up his position just outside of the circle, ready to call time or any other ruling.

Vengeance then turned her attention back to Alusair. “Decide the conditions of your defeat,” she said, giving the Untamed the chance to set the rules of the fight. She wore no Jewels, none that Vengeance could see, but that meant little when it came to battle. A Black Jewel, if foolish enough, could not stop a blade from a Landen. Underestimating one’s opponent was the first stupid thing soon-to-be-dead warriors did.

And while she danced with Death every time she stepped on to a battlefield, Vengeance had no desire to be embraced by it just yet.

Once Alusair had decided the rules, Vengeance nodded and began circling. She watched the set of the other woman’s shoulders, the sway of hips. The way she put her weight on which foot before shifting again. The same sort of thing her opponent was watching. For a tense minute, they circled, gauging the other’s reflexes and resolve.

But when it seemed like all they would do was circle, and waste another minute to posturing, Vengeance opened with a fierce, but easily blocked or evaded midrange slash, beginning the first volley of blows between them. When the woman parried one of Vengeance’s strikes, with their faces just a foot apart, Vengeance growled softly, “Why do you stay here, Untamed? When you are not welcomed.”

Dea al Mon / Does The Lion Inside Of You Sleep?
« on: Jan 04, 19, 01:44:05 PM »
Her courier duties were complete and Vengeance was on her way back to Glory Glade to continue her duties as warrior and guard. She did not rush back to that forest, however. She, instead, took a leisurely pace upon her horse through the woodland paths back to her destination, taking those hours and days to reflect.

Since the attack upon the Black Castle, it seemed as though Vengeance did little more than that – reflect.

Her cousin, Tempest, had led them to Glory Glade, to route the Brood incursion there, but there had hardly been a whisper of the monsters since their squad had arrived. Restless, Vengeance found herself doubling down on practicing, testing out new techniques and keeping her skills sharp. But practice only went so far in smoothing away that itch for battle, that craving for blood. And while the sex with Sparrow satiated her on some levels, there were other facets of Vengeance that were left wanting.

It was nearing sunset. Vengeance knew that Celarith was not far ahead on the path and decided to stay the night there. As she approached the perimeter of the city, she hailed the Red Cloak and Ebon Guard protectors, seen and unseen, introducing herself with a simple, “Vengeance Elessar, of the Omega Company, traveling through to Glory Glade and seeking shelter for the night.” She did not miss a few of the surprised looks of recognition. Vengeance had a carved a bloody reputation for herself and, even without her warpaint on, she still held herself like the force of nature that she was.

Her mount was handed over to another’s care and she was shown simple quarters within the barracks for her night’s stay. After instructions regarding routine and where to find sustenance, Vengeance took a moment to mostly disarm herself, deciding to rely on others for more of her safety that night in favor of indulging herself in the hospitality of the Court there. Perhaps she would share stories and gather news from the Red Cloaks stationed here. Something to occupy her restless mind.

She was unstrapping her wrist guards when a knock sounded on her doorframe. She turned to see a younger witch, her scarlet cloak shiny and untested, looking at her expectantly. “You are requested,” the witch said. “By Prince Ancalima. He wishes to welcome you.”

Vengeance returned to her armaments but replied, “I will attend to him shortly.” She heard the whispering footfalls of the recruit leaving. A few moments later, Vengeance began making her way towards the Court estate. After a brief inquiry, she was directed towards his location.

She knew very little about Prince Ancalima, aside from his ranking in the Court. But one other tidbit she knew was that his daughter was Virtuosa, a fierce Queen that Vengeance longed to meet, perhaps even test in battle. How did that work, a Queen fighting? The glory of it, Vengeance could only imagine. Queens, being the heart of Blood society, never joined combat, but they were the fiercest of the fighters because they had the most to lose. This duality had to be beautiful and terrible to behold. Unfortunately, Queens were not allowed to unleash that aspect of themselves.

Vengeance made note to ask Prince Ancalima how he felt about that.

Dea al Mon / I'm Only In It For The Give And Take
« on: Dec 03, 18, 01:58:39 PM »
The forest was not entirely silent as Vengeance passed underneath the canopy, the clopping of her horse’s hooves muffled by the underbrush, but it was not vibrantly awash with noise and activity. Partially, it was because Vengeance was there and she knew that. But she often wondered if the diminished noise was because of other...predators...about.

The Brood had shown to the Dea al Mon that they could infiltrate the borders of even the most defended of grounds, the Black Castle, so what stopped them from passing unsuspected through the rest of the trails through the forests?

Vengeance did not worry. She itched for battle. One of her swords lay across the saddle, at ease but ready, while the other was still vanished. The weeks spent in Glory Glade had passed without incident and Vengeance had begun to wonder if the Brood were amassing elsewhere in preparations for another attack. Restless to do something besides patrol the vibrant woods around Glory Glade, she had volunteered to deliver these missives to the Black Castle, glad to be on the road, idly hunting, but doing something different.

Peace just did not sit well with the warrior witch.

As she approached the Black Castle, she felt the familiarity of a homecoming. She did not sheathe her blade but she felt more relaxed. She would dwell a few days here while letters were written to return with her, catch up on the news from around the Territory, but, most importantly, brush up on her sparring skills with new partners. Sparrow, her lover, could be fierce, as were most of the fighters in Glory Glade, but Vengeance never turned down a chance to trade blows with someone new.

After delivering the bundle of letters to the Steward’s office, Vengeance found a light meal and a place to bed down for the night. But since it was only afternoon, she had plenty of hours before sleep, so she roamed towards the familiar sparring grounds where the Red Cloaks and Ebon Guard often trained.

But the woman she found in the ring was neither.

She was one of the Untamed, the uncultured Blood that came from across the borders, who thought they understood the Dea al Mon. But she moved with a feral grace and sharp skill that came with years of training. Vengeance had seen such grace from another Untamed on the castle grounds, the one called Vanguard. Perhaps he had trained with this woman.

The Green witch waited, watching, until the woman had finished the latest string of practice movements and stopped. “You move well,” Vengeance said as a compliment. Her smile then turned feral, challenging. “But do you know how to fight with those moves?” she asked.

Dea al Mon / Re: Crimson and Clover
« on: Aug 22, 18, 05:14:41 PM »
Throughout the introductions and welcomes, Vengeance had stayed close to her cousin and commander, Tempest, and her lover, Sparrow, and said nothing, her face impassive. One hand rested on her sheathed shortsword, the other hung unadorned at her side. All it would take was a flick of her wrist to call forth her other sword but there was nothing in Vengeance’s posture that indicated tension.

Inwardly, Vengeance found it oddly fascinating that the Queen had living ivy holding her Jewels at rest. It spoke of some of the Craft that the Brood embodied, with their forms twisting under the burden of their new spirits, but in this case, it was beautiful. It spoke of the strength of life and not corruption. It reminded Vengeance of what it was like to be feral, to be wild and gorgeous. To be Dea al Mon.

At the introduction of Lady Estinaria’s Master of the Guard, Vengeance lifted one eyebrow with intrigue. A woman, no Jewels displayed, with a strong jaw and a gaze that Vengeance couldn’t wait to challenge.  "Lady Falk will be happy to discuss the security of Glory Glade with you. She has advanced it quite significantly in her time here," the Queen said.

**I look forward to testing that,** Vengeance purred privately to her cousin, who replied with only a sidelong, warning glance.

Their new Queen dismissed them to enjoy the feast and settle into their new quarters. Vengeance, trailing Tempest but keeping abreast of her lover, gently brushed her blade-sharp mind against Sparrow’s. **An interesting group of people, don’t you think?** she remarked. Her gaze shifted back to look at the warriors -- both men and women -- that had been introduced to them so that Sparrow would catch her drift. **Who would you want to take in a fight first?**

Dea al Mon / Re: Our Lives Are Made In These Small Hours
« on: Jul 27, 18, 04:43:10 PM »
As her Healer lover reminded her of the risks involved with this posting -- of a Queen who could coax the trees into lush life, of her cousin the Priestess that the Brood craved to collect, of the concentration of Dark Jewels in the area offering themselves as prime targets -- Vengeance felt familiar anger, the kind she had hardened into a discipline, uncurling within her. Her fists clenched and unclenched. She closed her eyes to calm it, lest Sparrow think that she was angered by the Healer’s dark words.

“We were offered this position for a reason, my love.. because we are what they need," Sparrow said at the end of her speaking. Vengeance knew those words to be true. They were precisely what was needed against the Brood. She heard Sparrow moving behind her and did not turn, allowing the Healer to slide her arms around Vengeance’s waist and rest her head against her back. "Trust in the Night, and that we will prevail,” Sparrow abjured her, “For if we lose hope.. then why do we bother?  We must fight not only for your namesake... but for Survival."

In yet another rare show of vulnerability, Vengeance said softly, “Did you know...that I was not born with this name?” Not being able to see Sparrow helped her speak of the time before she had been reforged into the weapon that she was now. Her hands intertwined with Sparrow’s around her waist, keeping the Healer in place. “I was given the name Autumn at birth, after my mother’s favorite season. All of us, her daughters, are named such.” Every season for every sister in their branch of the Elessar family.

Vengeance tipped her chin up, preparing herself for this old pain in telling stories of her past. “It was not until my Offering, years after my mother and brother were slain by Brood, that I took this name and this mission. I became this. I could have chosen peace. But even as a child, after that attack, I knew that I would never be comfortable with peace.”

It was after that that she turned in the circle of Sparrow’s arms to cup her lover’s face. “Would you? Ever be comfortable with peace? Could you truly lay down your arms and surrender?” she asked softly, without judgement. She wanted to understand something about Sparrow then, some deeper part of her, in the hopes of settling this unrest within her.

But regardless of Sparrow’s answer, Vengeance’s next move was to kiss her lover deeply, hungrily, as though she were a drink of water in a spiritual desert.

Dea al Mon / Re: Our Lives Are Made In These Small Hours
« on: Jul 03, 18, 02:28:34 PM »
Vengeance came to sit on the floor beside Sparrow, crossing her legs into a posture akin to the one she used during meditations, as her Healer-lover said, “It’s a pretty illusion, here.”

The Green witch looked out the window at the dark forest beyond and then said, “I agree. An illusion of safety. Peace, even the illusion of it, does not sit well with warriors like us. We were told here was the most vulnerable, the most prone to attack. And yet…”

Yet they had seen nothing yet. For a bit of time, Vengeance had thought that it was because their aggressive presence was causing the Brood to avoid confrontation. The trio of Tempest, Sparrow, and Vengeance, with their Sapphires and Green, were formidable foes on their own. And others had joined this Omega Company, bringing more firepower to the fight.

“I feel as though they are still out there, plotting, and yet I cannot figure out where,” Vengeance admitted. “The trees here, they…” The trees here were thick, lush, and almost...alive. It had to be the Queen here that bringing it about. “Tempest says that they sing to the Queen,” Vengeance confided in Sparrow. “Have you heard of a Queen that can do this?” Vengeance hadn’t.

The Green witch rose from the floor and drifted towards the window. “Where are they?” she asked. “Have we come here only to leave another area undefended?” These sorts of doubting questions showed that there was more to Vengeance than just fighting but also showed her anxiety over the quiet. Her posture became guarded against this inner vulnerability. She was not used to this state.

Dea al Mon / Our Lives Are Made In These Small Hours
« on: Jul 02, 18, 11:38:10 AM »

Glory Glade had a beauty unlike anything Vengeance had seen in the rest of Dea al Mon.

The locals attributed it to the Queen who could sing trees into being. And as Vengeance walked through the forests to gain familiarity with them, she believed it. There was a peace here that defied reality -- she could easily forget that the Brood lingered closer here than ever -- but her disciplined mind kept her paranoia sharp.

But that did not mean that Vengeance did not ever let her guard down.

They were bunked in small, private quarters, as soldiers ought to be, but the quarters given them were still spacious and accommodating. At least, by Vengeance’s standards. She was certain that her cousin Tempest would have preferred something more spartan. The first two nights passed without cause for worry but by the third night, Vengeance itched for companionship and something more.

She left her armor behind but her blades she carried on her person, vanished, as always. Though divested of her warrior attire, Vengeance still moved with purpose, until she reached the door to Sparrow’s room, where her uncertainty began to show.

There was something here in Glory Glade that both called to her soothingly and chafed at her incessantly. She could not decided which. And she decided that if she had to be trapped in this maddening limbo, she would do so in the presence of her lover, allowing her to see this vulnerable side.

She knocked, softly, and let the sharp tang of her Green rest against Sparrow’s mind so that the Healer knew who was there without a word. The low witchlight in the hall would make her look more lost than she felt when Sparrow opened the door to a Vengeance with her hair unbound and her ruby red cloak left behind. Vulnerable, yes, that was a good word, yet in those dark eyes Sparrow would see her warrior-lover still fierce and ready to fight.

“It is too quiet tonight,” Vengeance murmured to Sparrow, whom she hoped would understand that peace did not sit easily with the Green witch. “I cannot sleep.”

Dea al Mon / Re: It's Dangerous To Go Alone
« on: May 16, 18, 11:50:30 AM »
When Sparrow said that the conversation had basically been curses and threats due to blooding and bruising, Vengeance’s smile turned into one of feral approval. Then, yes, like Sparrow said, it didn’t matter if they could speak or not. So long as they didn’t start developing lengthy philosophical conversations with the Dea al Mon about the pros and cons of being Brood… Them not speaking like civilized creatures went a long way in assuring Vengeance that they were not tampering with Sparrow or others, trying to...convert them or sway them to their hideous cause.

"What I want…” Sparrow said, “is for the cure to the Waste to be discovered.  No matter how much we fight the Brood.. It won't matter if eventually all of us fall to that plague." The tone of her voice was bothered.

Vengeance paused for a moment and then slid from her horse, striding slowly to Sparrow’s side. Her fingers captured the Healer’s chin gently but firmly as she looked into her eyes. “It is something we all wish for,” she agreed. Though many, even Vengeance herself at times, would wonder what the Dea al Mon would be without its vicious conflict, Vengeance’s warrior heart longed for a day when she could lay her weapons down and know that there was peace within their lands.

The Queens and the Priestesses would discover a cure, Vengeance believed. Until then, they would have to continue fighting.

Vengeance leaned forward to kiss Sparrow gently. Feral and fierce, there was also a tender side to her, much like a lioness who was fearless yet nuzzled her cubs knowing they were fragile. Vengeance the fighter had no gentleness to spare. Vengeance the lover was passionate in many forms -- having her for a lover meant that there would be times of sharp, almost painful pleasure and times of savored love. “We will live to see that day,” Vengeance murmured against Sparrow’s mouth.

Announcements Archive / Re: Dea al Mon Inheritance Petition Vote
« on: Apr 05, 18, 03:21:19 PM »

Dea al Mon / Re: It's Dangerous To Go Alone
« on: Apr 02, 18, 02:28:27 PM »
Vengeance listened to Sparrow puzzle out her thoughts and feelings about the Brood and their intentions with the piercing focus of a hawk spying a mouse to eat. Though her face was impassive, masked, there was a critical light to her eyes that suggested a hardened heart, that she vehemently disagreed with Sparrow’s line of thinking and was looking for a way to craft a trap with her words.

Even after Sparrow let out that sigh of resigned amusement, the piercing look remained for too long of a moment. The logic behind Sparrow’s words made sense, coming from a Brood’s twisted point of view, but the fact that Sparrow had spent time thinking about this sat ill with Vengeance. That combined with the fact that she had recently had skirmishes with the Brood in very odd, almost...arranged circumstances.

A niggling thought inched its way into Vengeance’s mind: was Sparrow being hunted for more than just death by the Brood?

Vengeance looked over to where Sparrow had buried the fallen apple. Thought about the chuffing sound of a cat nearby. The unnerving silence of the forest around them. The absence of the Brood, the feeling of waiting… And yes, how effective the attack on the Black Castle had been.

Paranoia, perhaps, but one did not become paranoid without what seemed like logical reasons. Cautiously, Vengeance urged her mount forward again. Were the Brood plotting an ambush nearby?

Thinking back to Sparrow’s encountered with the feathered Brood, Vengeance, “When you fought the bird one, did he speak? Did he say anything?” Nearly all of her interactions with the Brood were without words -- and she preferred it that way. It was easier to think of them as mindless monsters, controlled by an Ebon Gray monster, rather than thinking and feeling Blood, even a shadow of their former selves.

But, in Vengeance’s mind, if the feathered Brood -- or any of them -- had spoken with Sparrow during her encounters with them recently, then that could explain Sparrow’s softened heart more than just her Healer Caste.

There was one thing that Vengeance could just not wrap her mind around just yet. Vengeance had lost family to the Brood, as had Sparrow. But if her family had become Brood or succumb to the Waste, would it not be kinder to end their lives quickly, rather than foster a sense that they could return to their former selves? It fell along the lines of a rabid animal -- just because it had moments of clarity, of calm, that did not mean the animal would never lash out at the hand that cared for it. The Brood and their Waste, like rabies, were a disease in which death was the only option.

Common Grounds / Re: The .gif Game, Part IV: THE RETURN
« on: Jan 23, 18, 05:15:30 PM »

i'll rip that heart from your chest and eat it...

Dea al Mon / Re: It's Dangerous To Go Alone
« on: Jan 18, 18, 12:57:45 PM »
It was Sparrow’s nonchalant handling of the apple falling that reigned Vengeance back in. If her partner was unperturbed, then Vengeance would not jump at shadows either, though she was not entirely convinced yet that they were safe. As Sparrow went to bury the little apple, in the hopes that it would one day become a tree, Vengeance listened to her speak about her encounter with the feathered Brood, her gaze critically thoughtful.

And as she listened to the retelling of the Shieldmaiden who had unexpectedly and very violently lost her life, Vengeance concluded with, “Retribution. For your escape,” though she did not know then that she was incorrect. In her mind, with his original prey out of reach, the feathered Brood went for the next target he could acquire, which had been the more vulnerable Shieldmaiden. But the fact that the witch had died in Sparrow’s abode troubled Vengeance and she could not piece together why. It would be something for her to review later, if the subject came up again.

"We should keep moving.  Stationary targets are easier to ambush,” Sparrow pointed out after she finished burying the apple seed. Vengeance nodded her agreement and they moved on.

At midday, they halted near a stream so that they could water the horses and eat a small meal of travel rations. Vengeance’s eyes continued to scan the forest around them absently but she sensed and saw nothing. “What do you think they have planned, now that they have a daughter of Queen Galoneth?” she asked Sparrow, though the chances of the Healer knowing any new information about this theory were slim as well. The obvious reason for their sudden retreat had to with the fact that the Brood had attained a prize of some sort -- now the Dea al Mon had to figure out what they planned to do with that prize.

It all went back to that feeling of waiting, and Vengeance fingered the hilt of one of her short swords restlessly. She wished something would happen, some enemy would appear, because waiting for the next battle was aggravating beyond words.

Dea al Mon / Re: It's Dangerous To Go Alone
« on: Jan 03, 18, 03:43:09 PM »
"Perhaps they are simply watching, studying,"  her Healer-lover-partner said. Vengeance inwardly agreed with this statement. That is what it felt like, like they were being watched as a society. That the Brood were waiting for some distant cue to begin the next round of battles.

Vengeance, of course, did not like waiting.

"I sometimes wonder..."  Sparrow said softly.  "I wonder what remains of who they were in the ones that can look more like us.  Do they remember their families, and their loves?  Or are they just..."

“Monsters,” Vengeance finished for her, her voice just as soft but far more damning. “They have forsaken us, Sparrow, forsaken themselves. If they remember anything at all of their families, they choose not to honor those bonds.” They were damned, quite simply.

After a moment, Sparrow said,  "Never mind.  It doesn't matter, really.  If we come across them, then they have to die."

“They will not hesitate in showing us the same violence,” Vengeance assured her. “We are the monsters to them. Truce is unacceptable.” There could never be a truce, Vengeance felt, so long as both factions lived. One had to conquer the other entirely eventually. Vengeance intended for it to be the Dea al Mon and would believe that until she died, fighting.

Sparrow then warned her, "If you see a dark haired male... with feathers on his head?  Be wary.  He's... fast."

Vengeance turned her head to look at her, her expression darkly quizzical. “Fast? How?” By the Darkness, could the Brood now sprout wings and fly? Her gaze becoming piercing, she added, “You have fought one? Recently?” A hunger for battle sang in her blood, as sharp and as heady as wine. Her horse stepped closer a few paces at Vengeance’s involuntary nudge. “When? Where?” she whispered fiercely.

That’s when, from the trees above, a tiny little crab apple dropped almost neatly into Sparrow’s lap.

Vengeance looked at the apple for the longest time and then up at the tree that had most likely spawned it, her eyes narrowing warily. Did they have company? Or as it truly just the fumbling claws of a critter that had dropped the apple?

She called one of her short swords to hand just in case but said nothing, her eyes continuing to scan the trees.

Dea al Mon / Re: It's Dangerous To Go Alone
« on: Dec 04, 17, 10:42:33 AM »
As they mounted their horses, Sparrow asked, "No complaints this morning?"  She gave Vengeance that slow grin that usually sent the other woman into a prowling state of mind.  "Stiff muscles or creaky bones?  Good.  Let us get started." And she urged her horse forward. Vengeance followed behind.

They went on for a bit in silence, Sparrow in the fore and Vengeance protecting the rear, before Vengeance paused her mount for a moment, her eyes scanning the forest. There was a stillness to the forest that came with the nearness of a predator. Vengeance knew that she and Sparrow were predators but there was something else to this silence. It waited. It...watched.

Nothing happened. No sound, no attack. The stillness persisted. An itch developed in the back of Vengeance’s brain but she did not scratch it by giving in to paranoia. Not yet.

She urged her horse forward again. “It has been too quiet lately,” she remarked to Sparrow, deciding to give voice to her frustrations lately. Bedridden with healing, Vengeance had not been able to practice her weapon skills those days, and now, patrols were equally uneventful.

Where had the Brood gone? What were they doing, now that they had one of the Galoneth daughters?

Vengeance’s lip curled. She wanted to find out and, once she had discovered their surely nefarious purpose, she ached to put her blades through the Brood Queen that orchestrated this war.

“Where have they gone?” she mused aloud. “They cannot be afraid of us.” Though she did think of Vanguard and his malicious sword. Was that enough? No, it did not seem...likely. The Brood were not cowed so easily.

The itching feeling of something watching remained.

Vengeance looked out into the forest again, as though the source of that nag would reveal itself. “What are they planning?” she wondered quietly.

Dea al Mon / Re: Bringing The Fight To Them
« on: Dec 04, 17, 10:03:00 AM »
Another patrol with nothing to report except fleeting scents and the ever-present feeling of being watched.

It frustrated Vengeance to no end. She desired to sink her blades into something and the Brood had been stubbornly out of sight for weeks now. Only Sparrow’s presence at her side kept her from charging off to find one of their dens to vent her fury. The Healer was both partner for fierce sparring and partner for equally passionate lovemaking. If the squad had gossip to speak about the pair, Vengeance paid it no mind. She knew what she wanted.

She had planned to take out the itching frustration of their quiet patrol by pinning Sparrow to the first sturdy wall she could find -- had even begun envisioning the Healer coming undone under her fingers -- when her cousin, Tempest, interrupted her daydreaming with, **Cousin, do you have time to meet me. I wish to speak with you about an opportunity.**

Opportunity? All thoughts of a naked Sparrow were discarded as Vengeance’s mind zeroed in on that word: opportunity. She knew her cousin could sense her sharp interest even before she replied with, **Sparrow and I are just returning from patrol. Meet us in the barracks.**

Vengeance turned to look at Sparrow. “Tempest is coming to meet us. She says that she wishes to speak with me about an...opportunity. She did not request to speak to me alone once I told her we were returning from patrol.” It was the closest Vengeance would come to saying “stay with me” in that moment, since her mind was racing over what the discussion could possibly be about.

They went into the barracks after removing the tack from their mounts. Vengeance had just unlaced the first of her vambraces when Tempest strode in. “Report,” she commanded but it was softer, more thoughtful than normal.

“The usual,” Vengeance replied in a soft snarl. “Nothing.” Nothing was not entirely true but it was closer to the truth than just the feeling of being watched. She looked at Sparrow to see if her Healer-lover-partner had anything to add.

Bring it!

Dea al Mon / It's Dangerous To Go Alone
« on: Nov 10, 17, 03:04:00 PM »
Vengeance stepped from the shower, wrapped the towel around her trim form, and made her way back to her quarters to finish with her morning routine. It had been some days since her incident with Vanguard and the healing was complete -- Vengeance was cleared for duty once again and eagerly sought the first patrol. But as she did every morning before either sparring or going on patrol, she took fifteen minutes to meditate in her quarters.

After spreading the towel on the hard floor, Vengeance tucked her hair back, crossed her legs as she sat, and rested her hands lightly on her knees. She aligned her spine straight, imagining it a tree reaching resolutely towards the sky, before closing her eyes to begin. The air in her quarters cooled her damp skin, reminding her of the cool autumn breezes that tickled the gaps in her armor when she was outside. Drawn by that slow stirring of air, Vengeance descended slowly to depths of her Green, imagining the forest limned in that same verdant hue.

The silence around her became the stillness of that mental forest. There came no thoughts, no words. Vengeance walked softly, her bare feet buried in the loamy earth, delicate fronds caressing her thighs as she passed. That was all she ever did during these meditations -- walk the land that she fought so hard to save. Its beauty, even imagined, reminded her of her charge, her duty, why she had chosen her name, why she carried her blades. She did not imagine animals or other sentient inhabitants of the woodlands -- just forest with its endless Green.

Her fingers brushed the roughened bark of trees as she walked. Her hair flirted with the breeze that flowed over her bare shoulders and down her back. She walked until she felt completely at peace and then she paused, slowly turning to take in the forest around her. Her forest. Her land. One day, her fight would end and she would return to this. She would become the very forest she had died to protect.

Vengeance opened her eyes, knowing, without a doubt, her purpose.

With limber grace, Vengeance rose from her position and went to retrieve her clothes. With deliberate slowness, she armored herself -- pants, jerkin, weapon belt, armguards, boots -- and finally fastened her blood red and tattered cloak to her shoulderguards. Since this was patrol and not battle, Vengeance did not smear on her fearsome style of warpaint. She felt a bit naked without it still.

She saddled a horse -- a gray gelding -- and went out to meet her patrol partner for that day. It would feel good to be back at work and, as Vengeance prepared to set out, she felt her senses sharpening, extending. She had just led her horse out beyond the stables when she stopped, seeing her cousin Tempest nearing, with an unexpected companion at her side.

Dea al Mon / Re: Make It Bleed
« on: Oct 29, 17, 07:26:42 PM »
"Mmm... we should do this again."

Vengeance had decided before those words were spoken that they would, indeed, do this again. Feeling Sparrow buck and writhe, cling to her and try to escape at the same time, it had been a delicious game of cat and mouse, needing and not needing, wanting and try to keep away. Vengeance’s fingers milked the last of the few wracking aftershocks from Sparrow’s body as she leaned in close to nibble gingerly on the other woman’s earlobe and neck.

“Yes, little bird, we should,” she purred throatily. She tenderly kissed Sparrow’s swollen lips and drew back. A flick of Craft and there was water spilling from the shower, which Vengeance tested it with an outstretched hand. Within moments, the air was heated by more than just sex.

Vengeance rose easily and turned to help Sparrow do the same. Water caught her shoulder, sluiced down her naked form. “Come. Let me wash your wounds,” Vengeance offered. Though she relished it rough during sex, Vengeance turned quite the tender lover afterwards, caring for whatever injuries inflicted during passion. Those who saw Vengeance as merely a violent creature never knew this side of her, a gentle ferocity of protectiveness and devotion that ran just as deep as her desire to kill Brood. Her cousins knew of this side in some forms but a lover...a lover would see other, no less violently passionate sides of Vengeance if they so desired.

She was not someone who did anything halfway. Vengeance did not wade into the water, she dove headfirst into it. She pulled Sparrow under the spray, gave her a thorough kiss, and went about cleaning the skin she had just ravaged.

“You are an interesting one, little bird,” she remarked at one point. “Not many love to play like you do.” Nor did many fight like her. Vengeance liked both sides of this Sparrow. They would definitely be doing this again.

Dea al Mon / Re: Let The Arrows Fly
« on: Sep 22, 17, 10:35:23 AM »

When Vanguard sent that Ebon Gray shockwave through the ground at Vengeance’s feet, her snarl of reproach was cut short as she struggled for balance. Another trick she would have to steal from him, that was certain. She kept her blades in a blocking pattern, expecting him to leap at her while she was unbalanced.

He sailed over her head. At Tempest.

Vengeance snarled furiously, both her defensive nature to protect family and her anger over being deprived the first exchange of blows coming to the front. Tempest took a glancing blow to her calf and went down. She managed to roll away and Vengeance caught Vanguard’s return strike with her own blade, knocking it off course just enough so that it didn’t come down on Tempest again.

Her cousin managed some distance and fired off an arrow. Vengeance snarled at the futility of it. Tempest might be able to keep Vengeance at bay with her arrows but Vanguard would not fall for that tactic. And Tempest was weaker when it came to melee fighting. Those two daggers she wielded -- they would be no match for the greatsword.

Vengeance let out a scream as Vanguard tried to slam that sword into Tempest’s shoulder. Her leap took her high, aiming for his unprotected back as his sword came arcing around. Tempest was dancing away after missing her own strike. The short swords that Vengeance used clashed with the practice sword in Vanguard’s hands, Green power crackling angrily.

Baring her teeth at him, trying to set herself up as the greater threat in melee so that Tempest could attack from the range, Vengeance snarled, “You will not defeat us both, Prince. She feinted, ducked, and slashed at Vanguard’s thigh. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Tempest had not danced away, as she had hoped, and was aiming to strike Vanguard’s torso if he twisted to deflect Vengeance’s attack.

Dea al Mon / Re: Let The Arrows Fly
« on: Sep 17, 17, 09:45:10 PM »
Vengeance answered that slow smile that came to Rakal’s face with her own. Bad moods were perfect for fighting. Punches were not pulled, strikes were not held back. It was as close to true battle as Vengeance would get on a day like this and she wanted it. Badly.

With her blood singing hot, she strode forward, rotating her right blade in a circular motion while she gripped her left blade harder in preparation to feint her first move. “A few extra bruises will not scare me,” she told Vanguard with a feral smile. “Especially if you are buying drinks later because of them.” She snapped her teeth together. “Come at me, Prince. Show me what you have,” she challenged, that right blade still circling, looking to draw first blood. Perhaps, if Vanguard proved himself again, she would visit him at a later, more private time, where blood was drawn in the throes of passion rather than battle. Just thinking about that possibility made her smile deeper, the heat in her blood gather more towards her hips, and the catlike step to her stride became a dance of both seduction and death.

And then, an arrow landed right between them, a sharp thud of a sound just before Vengeance could raise the first of her blades to strike. Vengeance paused, snarled, looked over her shoulder at her cousin, thinking that Tempest meant to thwart the battle.

Instead, her cousin, calm and collected, drew herself tall and regal, nocked the next arrow, and said, “You will fight us both.”

Vengeance smiled in agreement.

Dea al Mon / Re: Make It Bleed
« on: Sep 17, 17, 09:31:48 PM »
The first wave of seduction Craft pulled a low, throaty moan from Vengeance’s lips unexpectedly. She managed to stop the next one that attempted to escape but her body betrayed her need. Her hips twisted, arched, and she shuddered as the first orgasm rippled through her taut frame. The curling of Sparrow’s fingers, the sharp quivering of Vengeance’s core...she opened her mouth to cry out but her breath was robbed from her by Sparrow’s other hand, still locked around her throat.

It was delicious. Her body bucked rhythmically as the edges of her vision blurred into black. Her lungs filled with air for just a brief moment as Sparrow leaned forward to kiss her, and then, even that breath was stolen away as Vengeance screamed into that lovely mouth. Sparrow’s teeth on her lip made her smile ferally. Yesss...This had been a good choice. This one would be good to take to bed another time.

“Come apart for me, Vengeance,” Sparrow said.

“Nev-” Vengeance started to snarl and then another ripple of seduction Craft tore through her, denying her that defiance. The second orgasm was soundless, her back arched, her mouth open, her eyes wide, as it ripped done her body from torso to toe. It hurt, Sparrow’s thumb rubbing across that sensitive nub of flesh, but even that pushed another lightning arc of pleasure through Vengeance.

She grit her teeth as her body shook rapidly, her hand fisting Sparrow’s flaxen hair tightly, holding on as she came apart. When that next wave subsided, Vengeance gasped and then kissed Sparrow deeply. “Again,” she commanded through her panting. “And then…your turn...”

Once Sparrow fulfilled that demand, Vengeance would jackknife from her vulnerable position and pin Sparrow against the wall behind them in a sitting position, one hand going to work on those soft folds between her legs, while the other groped, caressed, and fisted breast, face, and hair. Any sounds Sparrow tried to make would be swallowed by Vengeance’s mouth.

Dea al Mon / Re: Let The Arrows Fly
« on: Sep 08, 17, 04:26:15 PM »
Vengeance hated this fucking game.

Outranked by both Jewel and role within the Red Cloaks hierarchy, she had no choice but to obey. This time. She voiced her frustration at being unable to get to her cousin enough times. She even saw the damned smug smile on Tempest’s face at one point when Vengeance had taken a blunted arrow to her thigh rather than take one higher up on her body.

Two arrows next, one meant to force a sidestep into the second one following. Vengeance snarled and dashed forward, hoping to use momentum to counter tripping. It worked, gaining her another few feet of distance, and then Tempest danced back to widen the gap. “You’ll have to do better than that,” her cousin taunted.

Vengeance snarled. The next arrow that came at her she sliced in half with her blade.

“You owe me an arrow,” Tempest calmly told her as she nocked another one.

“Fuck your arrows,” Vengeance snapped back. She narrowly avoided the next volley. A quick sidestep and then a dash forward and she had gained another foot, just in time to deflect the next arrow. This move worked again but not a third time but by then, Vengeance noticed something about Tempest that gave her the edge she needed.

Tempest was distracted.

Victory sang in Vengeance’s veins. She surged forward, knocking aside two arrows and grinning wickedly as Tempest threw away her bow. Finally. Finally! A real fight! Even though the Sapphire Shield around Tempest absorbed most of the impact, it was still a better fight than being at a distance. They clashed, they danced, they spun, they parried. Each strike came faster until Vengeance finally began landing them. One across her shoulder. One slice at her ribs. Another strike at her knee.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Tempest said with that damnable calm that Vengeance hated. The Priestess straightened, conceding. She vanished her blades.

Vengeance spat. “You will never get any better if you keep giving up,” she snapped at her cousin. Tempest looked away. Vengeance, her blood boiling, paced, wanting to continue the fight. Damn Tempest for conceding so quickly! They had barely begun! The Brood would not allow surrender so why did Tempest insist upon surrendering during sparring matches like these?

“Your friend has arrived,” Tempest said. Vengeance followed her cousin’s gaze to see Vanguard standing nearby. Yesss…. YES! There presented itself a challenge! She had yet to see him draw that devouring sword in battle but even without it, Vanguard was a worthy fighter!

“Prince!” Vengeance shouted in a ringing voice as she strode towards her next opponent. “Fight me!”

Dea al Mon / Re: bleeding on your hallowed ground
« on: Sep 08, 17, 03:05:01 PM »
"What have you heard of it?" he asked her.

It was a difficult thing for Vengeance to admit ignorance. It was nearly impossible for her to admit weakness. So when Rakal asked her that question, she met his golden gaze for a tense moment before looking away, out over the people of Nieste scurrying about their day, and said, “Not enough.” And that was as much as she was going to say.

Luckily, Vanguard filled in the silence, talking about the spirits of the Dea al Mon. Of this, she knew, mostly from her cousin, Tempest, who was a Priestess. Vengeance, as ruthless as she was, began her day in meditation, focusing -- a habit she had learned from her cousin who often did the same thing, but communing with the forest around her instead of the power within her. Tempest often talked about the spirits of the forest. Vengeance had never encountered them but she believed her cousin. Tempest did not lie.

Balmung, he named the sword on his back. A spirit of hunger. Of loss and entropy. Devourer. Vengeance tasted the name on her tongue and felt the need to spit it out. It was a wretched name, most likely fitting for such a spirit. She listened, her brow furrowed in thought but her gaze now back on Vanguard, as he spoke about the spirit was chained to the sword but how now Vanguard was chained to it. Her lip curled briefly when he said that. What good was such power if it made one a prisoner? It was not a deal she would have taken. She heartily agreed with Rakal’s desire to destroy the world-eater.

But not before it was used to destroy the Brood.

Vengeance’s gaze went to to the glittering gems embedded in the hilt, ruby eyes glaring back at her. She was unafraid. “I will help you,” she told Vanguard after a long moment of thought. She tilted her chin defiantly. “When you go to kill the Broodmother, I will be there,” she informed him, as if she had the authority to decide that. “You will bring their death and I will be the harbinger.”

She wanted...needed to be there for that final battle. Defeating the Brood was her entire reason for existence. “They must die, Prince. You and I will see that day through. We will be the death they deserve,” she said, that ruthless fire glittering in her eyes.

Clapping him on the shoulder, she said, “But until that day…” A feral smile. “Today, we drink. Tomorrow, we train. And soon...we fight.”

Dea al Mon / Re: Make It Bleed
« on: Aug 28, 17, 11:10:16 AM »
Vengeance rewarded Sparrow’s adept move to the floor with a sharp laugh. She arched her hips invitingly as the Healer began to peel clothes away. When Sparrow’s mouth closed over her hard nipples, she arched, hissed, moaned softly. “More,” she growled, threading her hand into Sparrow’s hair to keep her mouth teasing those little sensitive nubs. Between her legs, an ache developed. Need. Warm like blood and just as slick. Sparrow would be able to scent that arousal once she peeled Vengeance’s pants away.

When Sparrow clamped her hand around Vengeance’s throat, the other woman snarled and bucked. It was an instinctive reaction. She was predator, not prey. The smile that Sparrow gave her was met with a baring of teeth. Vengeance could still breathe, if she did not struggle too much, but presently, that desire to struggle was distracted by the hand going to work on her slick folds.

Better. That was better. Eyes glazing over with lust, Vengeance gripped Sparrow’s hand at her throat. “More,” she demanded. She tried to shift her hips closer to Sparrow’s other hand, wanting to feel more, and growled in frustration when she was immediately denied.

Then, there was the flickering kiss of Craft there, filling and thick. Deep. Vengeance’s head rolled back, her hips arched. “Yesss…” she purred. Her lips parted with soft moans. Her eyelids fluttered as her body tightened, readied itself, gathered that warmth between her legs into a little tight ball spinning faster towards explosion.

Eager to feel more, Vengeance hooked one leg around the back of Sparrow’s thighs, keeping her close. She hungrily licked the Healer’s wet fingers, tasting herself on them. Her teeth captured one finger before it could escape. Hungry. Hungry. Hungry. More. Sparrow’s hand kept her restrained from getting that. If it had not been there, Vengeance would have reversed their positions and done the same to the Healer.

The hand that wasn’t keeping Sparrow at her throat began toying with the nearest breast it could reach, unable to get a hold on the Healer’s hair to drag her closer. She pinched and tugged at the nipple, repaying pleasure with pain.

Her body tightened. She was losing this fight, this time. Her back arched. “Give it to me, little bird. Show me what you can do,” she moaned, her voice lacking all of the challenge it had given previously. Sparrow would be able to tell, if not by the quivering of Vengeance’s body and heat of her core, how close the witch was to orgasm.

Dea al Mon / Re: Make It Bleed
« on: Jul 27, 17, 10:28:31 PM »
Those teasing little touches earned Sparrow low purrs. That light slap earned her a sharp, pleased sound accompanied by the playful snap of Vengeance’s teeth. “You want it too,” the witch growled gently in response to Sparrow’s question. Devour? Hmmm….maybe. Maaaybe. So long as Vengeance got to do the same to this little bird. There was enough meat on her, unlike her namesake. Enough muscle and curve for Vengeance to sink her teeth into. A feast waiting to be consumed, caged behind leather and flesh, but waiting nonetheless.

Nibble. Tongue. Bite. “Yesssss,” Vengeance purred, arching against Sparrow’s fingers. The hand that had been pinning her wrists now moved to her throat. Vengeance smiled wickedly. She wrapped her hands around Sparrow’s wrist. A feral gleam entered her eyes. She strained against that hold. She loved a good fucking with a stranglehold involved. That moment of courting Death just at the peak of ecstasy. It was nearly as good as courting Death on the battlefield.

“Say it,” Sparrow said.

Vengeance growled back, “Not. Yet.”

She hitched one leg around Sparrow’s thighs to pull her closer again. “Harder,” the Green witch demanded with a lusty growl. “Show me what you can do, little bird.” A challenge. Just like on the sparring grounds. Vengeance would eventually give Sparrow what she wanted -- two moments of complete vulnerability, one from Vengeance and one for Sparrow. But she would make her work for it first.

“Fight me for it,” Vengeance growled, each sentence punctuated with bared teeth. One hand left its spot gripping Sparrow’s wrist, shot out like a viper to snag the flaxen gold hair roughly. Pulled that delicious mouth closer, wanting to kiss, to bite, to draw blood. “Show me your worth.”

Dea al Mon / Re: Make It Bleed
« on: Jul 27, 17, 09:37:20 PM »
“Rough,” the Green witch echoed, her voice a growl and her teeth bared as though she was an animal just learning how to speak. Her smile turned lazy and cocky as Sparrow took charge. As she let Sparrow take charge, she told herself. When Sparrow undid the fastenings on her pants, Vengeance arched her hips towards the Healer, encouraging her to explore further. She did.

Tilting her head back against the stone behind her, Vengeance let out a pleased throaty growl.

She leaned forward, as close as she could without truly fighting Sparrow’s one-handed grip, and nipped at Sparrow’s jaw playfully. “Little bird, let me show you how rough I can be,” she growled, her husky voice promising pain, her lithe body promising pleasure. She’d let Sparrow have her fun for a little bit but not the entire time. Vengeance wanted a chance to have this Healer writhing for her touch as well.

But for now, she let Sparrow’s fingers explore that sweet triangle between her legs. Her mouth did all of the encouraging, nibbling at the line of Sparrow’s neck, nipping at her earlobe when it came within reach, letting out throaty, hungry growls to let the Healer know she wanted more, more, more. Her hips arched towards Sparrow’s fingers. Clothes became even more of an impediment. Vengeance voiced her frustrated opinion about that with bared teeth. Little bird, did she have what it took to bring another woman to pleasure? Hopefully she was no novice lover. Vengeance certainly wasn’t. She preferred women and preferred them violently passionate. There was no fun to be in a limp, unresisting partner. This was a dance, just like fighting. Except less bloody.


Dea al Mon / Re: bleeding on your hallowed ground
« on: Jul 24, 17, 05:02:14 PM »
Vengeance had little doubt that the men entrusted with guarding both the Black Castle and the Queen Galoneth would quickly want to recruit this man to fight where they most needed it in order to even the odds or tip them back into the Dea al Mon’s favor. But guarding Saffron? Vengeance’s brow knit in derision. The Lady Saffron had plenty of ...protectors, namely in the form of males she had twisted about her dainty little Healer fingers. Why did she need yet another one? Vengeance saw this order from their Queen as wasteful and an inefficient use of their resources.

But she remembered that the most recent attack had taken one of the Queen’s daughters prisoner, though there were plenty of whispers that the woman had gone willingly. At the thought of that being true, Vengeance’s lip lifted in a silent snarl. To choose the Brood over the Dea al Mon? To prefer those...monstrosities over one’s own Blood?

Vengeance hoped that both Zephyr and Hope Galoneth were impaled repeatedly on the thickest swords possible for their betrayal. And she did not envision those swords going through just their torsos. They had whored themselves out to the enemy. They deserved their fate.

She was still silently snarling when Rakal mentioned that he would probably be moved to a critical fighting point, which she approved of, of course. But when he mentioned that using the sword was a mistake, she nearly paused. A mistake? Her head tilted slightly to the side as she looked up at him, trying to discern how such a powerful weapon was a mistake. Was it...too powerful?

As she formed the question to ask, there was a moment’s silence, and then he changed the subject, asking her how long she had been in the Red Cloaks. “Since my Offering,” she answered, which meant that it was something over fifteen years ago. There was a proud tilt to her chin as she spoke, remembering that day as something of a bloody rebirth. The girl that she had been -- Autumn -- died that day, and, in her place, Vengeance was born. On that day, the Darkness whispered a name that the Brood would come to fear, for Vengeance was a powerful, if a bit reckless, fighter.

But she could not let the subject of the sword go. She paused in her stride, gripping Rakal’s elbow firmly but not tightly. “Why would using the sword be a mistake?” she asked in a low voice, her fierce gaze meeting his. If the weapon he held had the power to defeat the Brood, as Vengeance hoped it did, why did they not use it?

Dea al Mon / Re: bleeding on your hallowed ground
« on: Jun 28, 17, 03:21:49 PM »
Vengeance did not like showing weakness but he was right -- she would hardly be able to enjoy a drink, or anything more strenuous, with ribs paining her. She barked at one of the Healers that tended to hover around the sparring rings for her attention. Vengeance ignored the scurrying little girl, her eyes on Rakal while the Healer quickly set the ribs. When the Healer began to softly remind Vengeance to take it easy, Vengeance bared her teeth and growled, dismissing the girl.

Pain reminded her that she was alive. Only the weak ran from it.

“I will buy,” she agreed. “This time.” The look in her eye suggested that there would be another round of sparring at some point in the future where she expected him to be the one buying. But, lucky for Vanguard, that day was not today. Had anyone told her that her odds of ever besting Vanguard were slim, she would have thrown them to the ground and told them to never tell her the odds. They were never in her favor and she never wanted them to be.

“And do not insult me with wine,” she told him pointedly, ignoring the word "frilly" in favor of the more serious insult to her alcoholic integrity. “Strong ale, hard liquors, or get out.” Her challenging look came with a wily smile. She pivoted and began walking towards where they could find drinks, not waiting for Vanguard to follow. He’d catch up soon enough.

“And you will tell me what our Queen has planned for you,” she said once he finally did match her stride. It was a question that her cousin Tempest would have asked, but for strategic reasons. Vengeance wanted to know if Vanguard would be fighting or not. Simple. And if he was fighting, where, because that was where Vengeance wanted to be. She wanted to watch this man in action. She could learn a lot from him, with or without an imbued sword.

Dea al Mon / Re: Make It Bleed
« on: Jun 21, 17, 03:35:18 PM »
Vengeance’s lips parted as though she intended to lightly bite the pulsepoint at Sparrow’s neck but instead, she made a soft screeing sound, the sound of scent being pulled over the roof of the mouth, the same motion some animals did when testing to see if a female was in estrus. At the end of that soft sound, Vengeance’s teeth barely scraped Sparrow’s skin.
“The showers at the barracks,” she answered the Healer. She swiftly reversed her arm that was held in Sparrow’s grasp and now she was doing the same to the other woman. And pulling her towards the barracks without another word. She’d be open to more private suggestions, if Sparrow wanted, but the showers at the barracks had mostly private stalls, and no one was going to barge into a stall blocked by Green and Sapphire shields.
Their haste -- and possibly also the bared teeth displaying Vengeance’s hunger -- kept their progress towards the showers unblocked. Vengeance pushed Sparrow into the confined space, slapping the stone wall nearby to initiate the shield that blocked them from intrusion and eavesdropping. Her feral smile became lazy. She stalked towards Sparrow, if such an act could happen in the space of about six feet. Her hands went to the top of Sparrow’s shirt, as if intending to rip it in half.
She paused, debating destruction. Her head tipped to the side, then neared Sparrow’s neck again. Her hands now shifted, her grip becoming open palms that slid expertly down the swell of Sparrow’s breasts on their way towards the flat of her stomach, while Vengeance’s mouth nibbled and brushed against the lines of Sparrow’s neck.
Just like in the battlefield, Vengeance would dominate the foreplay. Sparrow was welcome to try to take control but she would find it a constant but perhaps quite fun battle, just like sparring had been. This back and forth would ensure a fair amount of pinning and biting but nothing that would send either witch to the Healers.
And if so, well, it was a good thing one of the participants was a Healer. Vengeance smiled to herself as she backed Sparrow against the shower wall. 

Dea al Mon / Re: Make It Bleed
« on: Jun 08, 17, 09:36:38 AM »
“No,” Vengeance agreed to Sparrow’s last statement. “You will never improve if you are never tested truly.” She took Sparrow’s staff from her and returned them to their holding area. Whatever crowd was watching her defeat, she ignored in favor of focusing more on this woman. “And yes, I want to learn that little trick of yours. And other ones. Something like that would be good to have up my sleeve in combat.” She fetched two towels and handed one to Sparrow, staying close enough to the other woman to reach out and touch.
“My cousin fights like you, at a distance,” Vengeance explained as she quickly mopped the sweat from her forehead but nothing else. “It is a good arrangement to have with someone. Because you are right. The Brood do not like to stay at a distance.” But Vengeance preferred it that way. She loved watching the blood arc from the swift slices of her swords, smelling its tangy, coppery scent as it splashed against her armor. It was the sweetest perfume, the scent of blood. And to hear them take their last breath by her hand was the sweetest sound in her ears. Almost as good as a lover’s ecstatic cry.
The thought of that shifted Vengeance’s blood again. She stepped within Sparrow’s guard, her fingers hooking into the waist of her pants. With a sharp tug, Sparrow was now close enough for Vengeance to scent, which she did, her mouth hovering near Sparrow’s jawline as the witch drew in the Healer’s sweat and spice. “Yes,” she agreed with a throaty purr. “We should do this more often.” This and other things. If Sparrow tensed at the close, intimate contact, Vengeance would let out a soft growl of sexual frustration. But if Sparrow allowed it, the Green witch would lick the line of sweat sluicing down Sparrow’s neck.

Dea al Mon / Re: bleeding on your hallowed ground
« on: Jun 08, 17, 09:22:19 AM »
In answer to his rage, Vengeance let out a throaty, stuttering laugh.
Her ribs -- one, maybe two -- were bruised if not hairline fracture broken. It made laughing very painful. Her arm, where he had slapped one of her swords away, complained as well, but it was a lesser pain compared to the constant throb throughout her ribcage. His weight on top of her only added to her difficulty with taking a full breath but somehow, Vengeance found this abrupt change of events amusing.
She had gotten a riled response out of him. She considered that some sort of victory. Now that she knew he had a button to push, she would remember that. She wouldn’t be spiteful like some women did when discovering this, using it at every turn to belittle or demean him. No, she would use it to goad him into being a warrior for the Dea al Mon. Like he should be.
“Bring it,” she told him, “Prince.” She gave him a smile of bared teeth, feral and playful. She lay there for a heartbeat after he rolled off of her before taking his proffered hand. Though the pain in her ribs made her wince briefly, she did not give anyone the pleasure of seeing her additionally made weak by placing a hand on her injured torso. Vengeance welcomed pain. It reminded her that she was still alive. She used Craft to recover her blades, employing the edge of her red cloak, tattered and worn, into cleaning them.
“You fight well, for a man not wholly of our ways,” she told him, dispelling insults she had previously used with compliments like this. Her ribs complained softly with every breath but the fire in her veins pulsed harder. She did not want this interaction to end just yet. With a soft scree of metal scraping leather, she slid her blades back into their scabbards and eyed Rakal with definite interest. “Come. Drink with me.” The glint in her eyes suggested that drinking might turn back into another impromptu sparring match or a different sort of wrestling match in the dark. It was hard to tell which one would turn Vengeance on more at this point.

Dea al Mon / Re: Make It Bleed
« on: May 25, 17, 09:58:45 PM »
Vengeance met Sparrow’s first reply of attacks with an eager, feral smile. The pain in her knee subsided as her body sang with fight response, with the thrill of being matched blow to blow with another. She pivoted quickly, intending to drive her staff into Sparrow’s side. She knew it would strike, knew it would knock the other woman down, knew it would bring victory.
She thrust.
Into empty space.
And looked...up?
The Healer had not only evaded Vengeance’s strike, she had used some sort of trick to get above the witch. Before Vengeance could counter this new attack, Sparrow’s staff hit her shoulder. Hard. Driving her into the ground with a grunt. Pinning her.
Vengeance, realizing her situation, let out an appreciative, purring laugh.
“Well played,” she congratulated the other woman. Her blood still sang, still called for more, despite the fact that she was on her back in the dirt. But victory in the sparring ring went to Sparrow. This time. Vengeance would claim victory elsewhere. She held up her hand, silently requesting assistance in standing again.
The Healer said, “"There should always be something you hold back, or you may end up dead."
Vengeance chuckled. “I do not fear death,” she told the other woman. “I greet it. It has been friend to me for a long while and will be friend to me until the day it turns to claim me.” It made sense, though, that a Healer would be afraid of death. Healers were the perpetual enemies of it, always trying to steal away the souls that Death sought with her sweeping scythes. Vengeance saw herself as a Sister of Death and did not fear her own demise.
“I am Vengeance Elessar,” the Green witch said with a sultry grin. “And you are?”

Dea al Mon / Re: bleeding on your hallowed ground
« on: May 18, 17, 10:10:55 PM »
His comment about steak was rewarded with an honest, if sharp, bark of laughter and a feral smile to match. So, they had something in common, even if something minor as that.

But that smile became a full blown snarl when Rakal’s face came within inches of hers. She could scent him. Male. Musk. Heat. She preferred women in her bed but if a male proved himself...if this male proved himself...maybe…there could be a clash of another kind in a darker setting somewhere. Such thoughts were fleeting, but the feeling they produced remained. Her blood simmered. She craved...something. The sinking of flesh under her teeth. The grappling of sweat-slickened bodies. The thrusting, the dancing, the release, be it from battle or sex.

She heard the contempt in his voice. “Then, we are agreed on two things so far,” she growled back. He hit her blade arm, pushed her back. She stumbled, regathered herself, eyed him across that space with a curling of her lip.

He smirked at her. Said, “My enemy is whoever Lady Gale tells me is the enemy." A lie. Even she, without Craft, could taste it. Vengeance’s lip curled again in disdain. Was that all he was? A warrior and a liar? Was this all the Untamed could offer her? Veiled words and restrained blows? Pathetic.

Vengeance spat on the ground to her left. “She is not your Queen. Do not act as though she commands you, cur, she said. She let out a primal cry as she dashed forward for another strike. If she did not get some sort of satisfaction from Vanguard soon, she would abandon the bout with frustrated disappointment, taking her fury elsewhere.

Dea al Mon / Re: Make It Bleed
« on: May 18, 17, 07:22:43 PM »
Sparrow twisted out of Vengeance’s range. She snarled, whirled, dashed. Closing the space between them. Tempest did things like that, moves that kept Vengeance at bay. Tempest’s strength was in her bow. Her daggers were a last, deadly resort. Vengeance, however, was useless at a distance. She knew how to best Tempest and her dancing away.

Staves clashed. Teeth bared, Vengeance was inches from Sparrow’s face, her breath hot, a soft growl rumbling in her throat. Reckless? No, but if Sparrow wanted to see reckless, Vengeance could give her a new definition of it. If they were allowed to draw blades.

Another time, perhaps.

“I would not call it reckless,” she purred at Sparrow while they stood there, pouring their strength into keeping the other from overpowering them with brute power. “Can you say the Brood are so?” Some were reckless, yes, but most of them fought with a ferocity that Vengeance unconsciously admired and emulated.

Abruptly, Vengeance dropped her staff just enough to free it and whack Sparrow in the ribs. Now, Vengeance danced back, settling into her prowling-circling again, her eyes watching Sparrow intensely once more. “When you fight the Brood, they hold nothing back,” she purred.

“And neither do I.”

Her dash forward was staggeringly quick, an illusion created by calling in a sight shield and then immediately dropping it, giving Vengeance the appearance that she had magically teleported the distance between them, rather than used her stride. Her attacks came at a flurry, accompanied by grunts or soft cries of effort. A few of those blows landed, a few of Sparrow’s blows returned the bruising favor. Vengeance took a vicious kick to her knee. She favored it while she considered a new angle of attack.

Her blood sang as she circled. Warmth gathered in her limbs and low in her belly. Nothing roused her like fighting. If Sparrow did not watch herself, Vengeance’s lust for battle would turn into a lust for a different sort of wrestling, equally as crushing and perhaps just as satisfying.

Dea al Mon / Re: bleeding on your hallowed ground
« on: May 18, 17, 01:37:49 PM »
And Vengeance realized that.

He had answered her question with a “no.” He was withholding, restraining his moves. He did not even prick the Red to allow her a glimpse into his true strength. He was insulting her, in a way, by not giving her that challenge. She knew he had more to offer in this bout. Yes, her Green ranked below his Ebon Gray. Yes, she was a woman, a witch.

But Vengeance was not inferior.

“Liar,” she purred in response, rankled by his reservations. When he went to throw her back again, she ducked and grazed the flat side of her sword against his hip. Taunting. “Do not lie to me, Prince.” She said his rank with a bit of disdain and a hefty dose of disappointment. She expected more from him. Yes, she was playing with Ebon Gray fire, but that was Vengeance. She was a bright Green star, streaking across the sky of life with the full intent of burning out gloriously. Some day. Just not today.

“Surely, there is someone, some thing that you enjoy robbing the life from,” she purred after another series of attacks. “Everyone has an enemy.” Strike, counter, dodge, grunt, dash, dart. “What is yours, Untamed? The Brood? My people?” Feint, lunge, thrown back. Growl. “Your father?” Oh, yes, she had heard about this one’s father. Everyone knew what Blade Amdir had done to that man.

Blade Amdir had been too kind, Vengeance thought. Never maim when you could kill.

But then again, Blade Amdir was also weak in Vengeance’s mind, for he had shown mercy.

Dea al Mon / Re: Make It Bleed
« on: May 18, 17, 11:51:59 AM »
"Don't worry.  If either of us break, I can put us back together."

Vengeance’s laughter was barking, sharp.

So, that confirmed it. Healer. Interesting. Vengeance’s grin sharpened. Was this Healer the kind who would use her own Craft against another in the battlefield? Cauterizing an artery to save a life was just one step away from cauterizing that same artery to take life. A nifty little skill that would be, Vengeance thought. Maybe she could learn something from this Healer.

But first…

“I,” she said softly, intensely, “do not break.”

The Healer woman struck first, intending to take Vengeance’s feet from under her. How easy to avoid that and flow into a counter strike that forced Sparrow to defend her upper torso from attack. The next few attacks came at a flurry, for this was Vengeance’s style of fighting: to quickly overwhelm. In battle, the Brood came the same sort of way, flinging Craft alongside blades and bows. Vengeance did not use Craft this time, as she would in true battle, but her attacks remained at their same ferocious standard.

“You are not the usual sort of Healer,” Vengeance purred after another round of strikes and counterstrikes, having danced away to try a difficult angle of attack next. She prowled in a circle around Sparrow, like a wild feline watching its prey. “Not hiding far away from battle,” she elaborated. Circling, prowling. “Do you enjoy slitting throats as much as you enjoy mending them, Healer?” Vengeance purred.

She did not give Sparrow the moment to answer. She dashed forward, blocked, then reversed her grip so that the lower end of her staff arced upwards towards Sparrow’s ribs.

Dea al Mon / Re: bleeding on your hallowed ground
« on: May 18, 17, 11:36:15 AM »
Vengeance struck.

Unlike other fighters, who would spend the first few moments of one on one combat testing the reflexes and defenses of their opponent, Vengeance’s style of fighting relied heavily on speed and overwhelming her opponent with a flurry of attacks. She thrived at being too close for her opponent to draw a full strike, forcing them to take the defensive in order to protect their guard.

“Manners,” she growled, teeth bared as she whirled around to avoid his counter strike, “are for the weak. And the weak, in her mind, were as good as dead. Manners did no one any good on the battlefield. Honor was for the old. When it came to the Brood, there was only victory or death. Those concepts Vengeance understood very well.

She did not expect to win against an Ebon Gray Warlord Prince. Vengeance was not that stupid. She would count a win if she drew blood or if she learned a new maneuver from him. Some of the Ebon Guard and the males -- Blade Amdir came to mind first -- fought like water flowing, an elegant dance of death, with barely a hair moved out of place. Far too graceful to be human is how Vengeance saw it. Theirs was a pretty style of fighting, victory without the thrill of the kill or the love of watching blood spilt.

This was not Vengeance’s style of fighting. Hers was one step above bar room brawl, one step away from a great feline fighting for its territory, one step below trained and skilled. She fought with more than just her swords. If her teeth came close enough, they would bite. If her elbow was within reach, it would jab. She had ferocity on her side. She fought as though she intended to kill him but the glint in her eyes, the smile on her face said that she was having fun, toying with him like that same great feline would toy with its prey.

“Tell me, Prince,” she growled after dodging another strike, “do you enjoy killing others?” Of course he did. Every Warlord Prince did. Vengeance wanted to see how much he enjoyed killing Brood, because that’s all that mattered to her. Vanguard could carve up the Dea al Mon people all he wanted, so long as he destroyed the Brood and their abomination of a Queen. Her question was a test to see how committed he was to that cause.

Dea al Mon / Re: bleeding on your hallowed ground
« on: May 16, 17, 02:14:40 PM »
She was dressed for fighting but not dressed for battle. On days like this, Vengeance appeared nearly human, her ritual of smearing ash or blood across her face to create a fearsome visage set aside, since there were no worthy opponents to fight today.

Or so she thought.

As she strode towards the sparring ring, she immediately picked out her cousin, Tempest, standing as an unmovable oak at the edge of the ring. Tempest, as well, was dressed for fighting, but not battle, her blood red cloak not attached to her attire that morning. Vengeance came to stand at her cousin’s side, finding the thing that held her attention quite easily. Immediately, her interests sharpened. It was the Untamed warrior, the one called Vanguard. Had she been a beast, Vengeance would have licked her lips in hungry anticipation of the bloodshed ahead. As it was, her mouth parted slightly enough to snarl softly.

He moved like a predator should, though Vengeance could not guess why he had chosen an inferior sword to practice with that day, not with that beautiful blade strapped to his back. What would it be like to hold such a marvel in her hands, to watch it spill blood at her call? Even without that blade, he was still an impressive sight, flowing like water into the next move. He feinted, turned, thrust, reversed, pivoted… His movements were not hurried, not choppy. It was a dance like Vengeance craved to experience herself.

Tempest, damn her, interrupted Vengeance’s enjoyment of the moment by saying, “He may not wish to be disturbed.” Vengeance answered her cousin’s words with a reproachful snarl and went back to watching. Eventually, she could take no more idleness and left her cousin’s side, ignoring the suffering sigh Tempest made.

Vengeance strode into the ring, calling in her blades, smiling at their familiar weight. She paused within his line of sight, her body tensing like a feline ready to pounce. “Dance with me, Untamed,” she challenged, her voice a guttural purr, her teeth bared to bite, her eyes hungry for blood.

Dea al Mon / Re: Make It Bleed
« on: May 16, 17, 01:37:59 PM »
At first, Vengeance ignored the other woman’s request in favor of completing whatever warmup routine she was moving through in that moment. She danced forward a few steps to complete a spinning maneuver that took her further away from Sparrow, but like lightning striking, Vengeance pivoted and dashed back, slashing just shy of Sparrow’s vicinity.

Vengeance straightened. Regarded the other woman will cool, critical, emotionless eyes. There was the barest flaring of her nostrils as she tried to psychically scent the other woman out. Darker than she. More than a witch. Not Queen though. Sapphire like Tempest? Maybe Priestess as well? Definitely a Red Cloak though, by her aggressive stance, the tilt of her chin, the trimness of her body.

The edges of Vengeance’s mouth turned up slightly. A challenge, perhaps? That would be good. She could use a nice little bout today. She’d even take the pretty little face attached to it. Now there was another issue of Vengeance’s -- her lust didn’t extend to just spilling blood. Too many males turned squeamish at the idea of a woman riding them rigorously, treading that line between pleasure and death. Too many women preferred that squeamish sort of men in their beds.

Vengeance lusted for a great many things in her life, first among them the death of the Brood. Barring that, she’d take a tangle in the sheets, right after signing up for an exhausting sparring session.

Maybe today she’d get one of those things on her list.

“Dance?” she echoed, purring the word slightly. “The only dance I know is with death. Are you a favored partner of him as well?” That slight smile of hers turned feral, hungry. If the woman wanted to dance, so be it. Vengeance would let her have a chance. The strength of a witch’s Jewels were one thing -- footwork and bladework mattered more in this little circle of dirt. “I will not send you to his arms today, though, if you would like,” Vengeance promised the other woman. “Even if you lose.” It would be a waste, a foolish death, to inflict upon someone, especially after recent events and so many of them escaping death then. Vengeance would save her deadly strikes for the Brood.

Dea al Mon / Make It Bleed
« on: May 15, 17, 08:00:29 PM »
The Black Castle was still recovering from its attack by the fearsome Brood, a process that would take a lengthy amount of time in order to heal the wounds received both physically and emotionally. The city of Nieste was hyper vigilant, with Red Cloaks and Ebon Guard patrolling in tandem, with scouts scouring the forests for another advancing onslaught, with commanders deep in discussion long into the night about what to do.

For Vengeance, the answer was simple: prepare. Though her muscles still growled with a bit of soreness, she strode out into the sparring ring that the Red Cloaks claimed as one of their own for practice, staff in hand. Her morning meditation had provided her plenty of focus, honing her hatred into something nearly as sharp as her blades. Eventually, she would get her chance to repay the Brood for every death and more. She considered herself blessed by Mother Night to have escaped death and offered that opportunity.

The staff was not her preferred weapon but it sufficed for today’s exercise, which was a series of dance-like moves designed to increase her flexibility and warm up sleep-stiffened muscles. Around her, others of the Red Cloaks practiced, either together or alone like she. The mood was tense, with whispers heated by emotions. Those who reeked of fear Vengeance discarded from her mind. Unworthy. But those whose manner matched her own, those were the ones she considered her sisters and brothers in arms, for they would be the ones calling down destruction when the Brood so foolishly returned.

Just thinking about that day brought a fire to Vengeance’s form. If Tempest had not held her back the other day, another dozen Brood would have met their doom by her blade. Vengeance cared not for the danger of being separated from her squadron in the midst of a few dozen Brood. She cared for the deaths of the Brood! Did no one else feel that conviction with such heat as she?

The answer to that question, Vengeance found so far, was no. And that lent additional fire to her form, as she internally railed against finding no equal or better to aid her quest so far. The destruction of the Brood, the eradication of the Waste -- was that too much to ask?

Dea al Mon / Re: The World Will Never Take My Heart
« on: Mar 14, 17, 05:27:44 PM »
Vengeance gleefully let her wrath take her towards the heat of the fighting. If Tempest attempted to call her back now, she would receive only a defiant snarl in reply. Vengeance’s Blood sang, echoed in a roaring battle cry as she found new opponents to decimate. Her blades drank deeply. The greenery of the forest turned nearly black with the blood spilled and still Vengeance sought more. Not an inch of her skin remained clear -- blood tracked irregular lines all over her, as though someone had used her as a canvas to fling at a watery crimson paint.

With a satisfied hiss, she drew her blade free of her latest victim and whirled to take down her next target.

Except, there was no target nearby.

Snarling in surprise, Vengeance hastily looked around. The thick of the battle had changed its tide somehow. She had been in a great throng of Brood when she started but now, she was standing in a forest of felled foes and the Brood...The Brood were...leaving?


With a thundering cry of defiance, Vengeance dashed towards the nearest enemy, still some dozen yards away. Belatedly, it turned to defend itself but it was too late. The next enemy was another dozen yards away and Vengeance dispatched it as well, but she realized with damning exasperation that the Brood were shifting away from her, retreating...retreating!!

“COME BACK, YOU COWARDS!” she roared at the top of mind and Jewels. “Come back, you whores of the false Queen! Come back and FIGHT!” To emphasize her anger, she slammed the flat side of her right sword against a tree, creating a ringing sound that made her arm vibrate painfully. She bared her teeth against it and against any Brood who dared to respond.

None, not one of the hideous, malformed, cowardly beasts turned to answer her challenge.

Screaming, Vengeance dashed forward again, intending to continue her taunts, bent on hamstringing the slowest of the throng, determined to incite their rage again somehow. They could not just pleasantly walk away from this! They could not just...just...LEAVE! THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO DIE! THEY WERE THE BROOD! THEY WERE THE ENEMIES OF THE DEA AL--

Dea al Mon / Re: The World Will Never Take My Heart
« on: Dec 08, 16, 04:26:45 PM »
Vengeance grunted as she shoved her booted foot into the face of her latest Brood victim so that she could slide her blade free of its rib cage. There was a satisfying slick, wet sound that came with her sword leaving the sheath of flesh, along with the soft thump of the body hitting the ground. Vengeance put her fingers to her mouth and blew out the spell that would finish the kill, bursting mind and Jewels, like she was kissing a lover goodbye.

She looked up to pick her next target but her eyes fell on Tempest, astride her cream gelding. Her cousin’s focus was elsewhere. Vengeance curled her lip. Tempest was an easy target like that! With a snarl, the Green Jeweled witch charged forward to protect her cousin’s flank. Her blade flashed like bloodied starlight through the neck of another Brood convert, relieving his body of his head.

Just as she got within striking distance of Tempest, there came a great roar, an explosion, forcing Vengeance to cower near the ground as it passed. As it rattled her bones, she snarled back. In the back of her mind, she wondered what sort of spell or catastrophe would cause that much power to be expended. In the front of her mind, she looked for the next point of attack.

Luckily, Tempest spotted it before she did.

The Brood, screaming, flowed like a dark tide towards the hole created in their ranks by whatever backlash that had been. “Route them!” Tempest cried at the top of voice. “Do not let them join with the main group!”

Easily done. Vengeance grinned like a lioness sighting a herd of fat antelope to feast upon.

She sprang into flight, picking out her target -- the biggest brute at the head of that tide. Her right blade whipped out and hamstrung one of the slower Brood as she passed. She heard the whistle of an arrow and then her injured quarry screamed. Her smile widened. Tempest, already watching her back again.

**I will head off the big one,** she sent back to her cousin on a Green thread, as if her path wasn’t obvious already. There came no verbal reply but Vengeance could tell that Tempest had understood. A heartbeat later, an arrow with Tempest’s red fletching buried itself in the eye socket of one of the Brood who had turned to stop Vengeance’s charge. **My thanks,** Vengeance said quickly. She hoped that Tempest would not turn too protective and being depriving her of kills.

The arrow-felled Brood before her became a launching stone. Vengeance stepped up and leaped high, drawing her blade over her head like a praying mantis preparing to strike. The cacophony of battle faded in her ears as she let out a wild roar. The brute turned, drew its arm back to strike with taloned claws, took a step--

Vengeance’s blades severed the muscles right behind the collarbone, sinking deep into lung and arteries. The monster’s roar turned into a gurgling sound, accompanied by the hissing of blood as it sprayed outwards. Momentum carried them to the ground, Vengeance riding on top as her entire view turned red with blood.

What a sight she would make when she returned home later.

“Die,” she snarled at the thing that had once been Dea al Mon. She yanked her blades free and looked around. There were still more to kill. Grinning that her bloodlust would not yet be sated, she pivoted and picked her next target.

Dea al Mon / Re: The World Will Never Take My Heart
« on: Oct 19, 16, 04:23:11 PM »
“Miiiine,” Vengeance hissed as she dove straight at the apex of the approaching Brood. Maybe others of the Red Cloaks had been given specifics orders and points to defend but not Vengeance. When the battle was joined, she would be in the thick of the fray, cutting a swath into their enemies that turned the ground as red as her cloak.

This paltry force of fifty had been so focused on Tempest, making herself an easy target aboard that pristine horse of hers, that they had failed to see Vengeance until her Sight Shield had fallen, which was when she plunged the first of her blades into the poor creature’s neck. She heard Tempest shout orders to her warriors but Vengeance paid attention to none of it.

The sweet scent of Blood was in the air and it was hers for the spilling.

Her smile became feral as she struck at her next target. There was a soft hiss of an arrow lodging itself into an enemy on her right and then the familiar brush of a Sapphire against her wild mind. Tempest. Tempest was watching her back, as she always did during battles like this. **You pin them. I will finish them,** Vengeance snarled on a Green thread back to her cousin.

**We are in agreement,** Tempest answered easily. That was all there was to say. Vengeance swept her blade left and deftly removed the head of one of the Brood, casting a spell to finish the kill at the end of the arc. There was a satisfying shattering sound as his Jewel and mind became dust.

Tempest had left her two targets, easy pickings, to her left, and Vengeance fell upon them like a lion upon lambs. Two strikes, two spells, two more Brood reduced to ash. Vengeance dodged a blade and then another one, dancing away to get more room. She sensed something to her back, pivoted to defend herself, but heard a sharp grunt as her attacker became the attacked. The red-fletched arrow that perforated his neck made Vengeance grin. She reversed her grip on one of her blades to ram it into the attacker now at her back and then released a spell to finish the kill on the pin cushion in front of her.

Dea al Mon / Vengeance Elessar
« on: Sep 26, 16, 07:55:27 PM »
The Basics
Character Name: Vengeance Elessar
Age and Birth Year: 34 (born 160 AP)
Race: medium lived
Caste: witch
Birth Territory: Kassel, Dea al Mon
Home Territory: Dea al Mon

Birthright Jewel: uncut Summer Sky
Offering Jewel: uncut Green

Role: Shieldwoman
Faction: Holy Matrons

Play By: Alycia Debnam-Carey
Distinguishing Features:


Some might say that Vengeance is cold or detached. She carries herself with an air of stoicism and callousness, striding purposefully to every destination like she is on a mission. She may not be in charge of others, but she is in charge of her life. Her interactions with others tend to be clipped, and don’t be surprised if she angers someone with a dry or cynical response. She’s willing to listen to other people's’ ideas, provided that they are good ones, but don’t expect her to follow along. She’s the type of person that can be depended upon in a fight but also the type of person to drop supposed allies in an instant because their goals no longer match hers.

Truthfully though, Vengeance is a passionate woman, but one who reveals it in unexpected ways. She loves battle -- the thrill of fighting, the sweet tang of blood. She embodies and embraces the ruthless side that witches have during these moments, letting it sing in her Blood. When she chooses a lover, that lover will lack nothing in the bedroom, and will have a stalwart champion until they part ways.

That passion is also revealed if someone crosses Vengeance. Question her methods and be prepared to step into the ring to fight. She’s the type of woman to rise to the challenge, not run from it, but be advised: if Vengeance is caught showing weakness, she will vehemently deny it. If she is not fighting or training, she is most likely calculating the next course of attack or watching others in the room for potential alliances or enemies, depending on her goals. Vengeance can be a handful to those in authority, but she is a brilliant and inspiring fighter, which makes her a great asset in the battlefield.

  • 1 - Fighting. For Vengeance, this is the height of life. She spends hours training, sparring, checking her armor and weapons, etc. In her opinion, it isn’t a good fight until blood is drawn.
  • 2 - Meditating. While a passionate fighter, Vengeance understands that if you want to win, you must fight with your heart AND your head. She meditates in the morning, clearly envisioning her path before her, which helps to center her for the battles to come.
  • 3 - Baths. As feral and wild as Vengeance can be, she does enjoy evenings where she is left alone to soak in a warm bath. Candles, bubbles, and a glass of wine, please, and that’ll make her content.
  • 1 - Her moontime. Three days of not being able to use her Jewels and being vulnerable? It puts Vengeance into a near rage. She will often suppress her moontime and gladly take the pain the second one brings, just so that she isn’t as vulnerable.
  • 2 - Menial chores. Generally, anything that involves cleaning irks Vengeance. Laundry, dusting, etc. Her room is far from being a mess but that’s honestly because she doesn’t keep much in it to begin with. She’s pretty bad about cleaning her armor, preferring to keep it bloodstained as a happy reminder of vanquished foes.
  • 3 - Dresses. Not talking about practical ones a woman can fight in. Vengeance can’t stand ballroom gowns or styles like that. If she has to wear a dress to any function (who brings Vengeance to a social function?!), it’s complete with thigh high boots and plenty of leather.
  • 1 - The Waste. Vengeance already rides the line of being called Brood and her antisocial, feral ways give the rumor mill plenty to go on some day. But she fears becoming the thing she kills, and fears succumbing to the thing that killed her father. If she falls to the Waste, who will protect her sisters?
  • 2 - Losing her sisters. Vengeance adores her little sisters and goes to great lengths to see them cared for. She’d rather lose a limb than lose one of her sisters.
  • 3 - Closed spaces. There’s no room to fight in small rooms or tight crowds. If anything can bring Vengeance to the state of near panic, it’s places like this.
Craft Strengths:
  • 1 - Finishing the kill. Vengeance LOVES this. Back to the Darkness, you fiend! She gets such pleasure with that final kiss of death coming from her hand.
  • 2 - Defensive Shielding. Vengeance is great at keeping her shields flexible and rotating. She may double shield one area at first and then quickly shift the power of that shield to another area, depending on an incoming strike.
Craft Weaknesses:
  • 1 - Battlefield Triage/Healing. This is something of a conundrum as to why Vengeance is bad at it. Part of her welcomes the pain and the blood but her logical side knows that blood loss and injuries can impede her in victory. She is at a crossroads about this use of Craft and her own inability to come to a resolution is what drags her down.
  • 2 - Sensing Spells. Vengeance is just generally weak in this area and it bothers her. She will not admit this weakness either because she thinks other will use it against her. Vengeance has learned to counter this with better Defensive Shielding but it still bothers her.
Life Story

Mother: Ivy Elessar, Purple Dusk witch (deceased at age 39)
Father: Mace Elessar, Opal Warlord (deceased at age 57)
Siblings: sisters Spring, Yellow to Rose Healer (age 31, born 163 AP); Summer, Rose to Opal witch (age 28, born 166 AP); Winter, Tiger Eye to Summer Sky Black Widow (age 24, born 170 AP); brother Glaive (deceased at age 2)
Cousins: Tempest and Willow Elessar

Vengeance was the firstborn daughter, named Autumn at birth because it was her mother’s favorite season. This suited young Autumn perfectly, since she grew to love the changing leaves and the warm colors that came with fall. To this day, her favorite colors are still reds and ambers, which stand out in bright contrast to the rest of the earth tones she wears. 

Autumn grew up in the Bremen District of Kassel, in an idyllic sort of family life until her teenage years. She learned to hunt and defend herself, but also to read and analyze things. Her cadre of sisters provided companionship, all of them named for the seasons of the year. By the time Autumn was twelve, a brother had joined their family band. Autumn looked forward to teaching him all that she knew about hunting and fighting, since her sisters were more interested in traditionally feminine things.

Alas, that was not to be. During a Brood attack, Autumn’s mother and her little brother were killed. The remaining family fled north. Autumn’s father relied on her heavily, since his grief over losing wife and son was apparent. That grief would eventually drive him mad, weaken him, and make him susceptible to the Waste some years later. But for the time before that, Autumn learned how to be a leader. 

She did not forget what had happened to her mother and brother. And that festering memory forged something terrible within Autumn: a need for revenge.

It did not take much discussion with her father to allow her to take additional fighting lessons. Her father had stopped caring about the world, while Autumn cared far too much about it. If she could not bring her mother and brother back, she would die defending what family remained. And send as many of the Brood back to the Darkness.

All of this passion drove Autumn into becoming the woman she is today. She went into her Offering with one purpose: to return as a warrior ready for battle. She did just that, emerging from the Sanctuary with blood streaked across her face, clutching her new Jewel tightly, and declaring a new name for herself: Vengeance.

At first, her extended family thought this was a phase. Her father said nothing, and it was his lack of words that forced the rest of the community to accept Vengeance’s new stance in life. Vengeance joined the Red Cloaks and became known as the fighter who painted her face before battle, creating a fearsome visage and a ruthless reputation as a melee fighter whose twin blades were the last thing an enemy saw.

It came as no surprise to Vengeance that her father succumbed to the Waste a few years later. She had grown used to him retreating from the rest of humanity, so when she caught him leaving the house late one night, she let him go with the warning: if she ever saw him in the forest after this point, she would kill him to protect the others. He understood.

From then on, Vengeance was the protector of her family and her community. She was the first to sign up for counterstrikes or to defend an area against Brood incursions. She did not shy from any of her duties, but many people around her whispered that she had grown heartless. She ignored them. What heartbeat that remained hers was now locked within passion of battle and in protecting her sisters from the Brood.

Show Us What You've Got
Character in Play:
“Mother Night!” her opponent yelled as he scrambled away. Her left sword, a blade a little over two feet long, had struck the ground, point down, right near his groin, missing it by mere inches. Luckily, he was Shielded, but the strike still knocked him off balance and served to severely rattle his confidence in winning this match.

Vengeance grinned malevolently.

“Are you trying to cut off my balls?” he snapped, though there was a worried, plaintive whine to his voice that she heard. He was scared. Good. She had unsettled him enough. Without answering his question, Vengeance launched into another series of strikes, only half of them successfully parried, The other half found their target, except that Vengeance turned her blade at the last moment to smack her opponent with the broad side of it, rather than the skewering point. He’d have bruises to remember her by in the morning.

“I yield! I yield!” he cried, stumbling back, trying to protect his battered torso. “Mother Night, Vengeance, we’re just practicing!”

“The Brood will not ‘just practice’ with you during battle,” Vengeance snarled back in a low, husky tone. Even without her war paint, she was a fearsome sight, with her intense gaze, her predatory pose, and those long blades eager to shed blood. She was dressed in her usual armor, an amalgamation of browns and black hardened leather, with a crimson cloak cascading from her pauldrons like a waterfall of blood.

Her opponent grunted and set aside his weapon. Vengeance straightened coolly, and then slid her blades into their sheathes across her back. She watched him stagger and offered no assistance. He would make it fine to the infirmary, where he would most likely grouse and grumble over her treatment of him. But this particular recruit to the Ebon Guard was weak, which was probably why he had been pitted against her, to further bruise his proud male ego. He would learn or he would die. That was the way Vengeance saw it.

She felt more than she heard Tempest approaching. She did not look over her shoulder so much as slightly tilt her head towards her cousin, who was also a Red Cloak. “Another victory, I see,” Tempest said calmly. Without looking over her shoulder, Vengeance could easily imagine what her cousin looked like: standing tall with her own crimson cloak spilling down her back, the very image of a warrior Priestess, as the first Holy Matron must have been. Though cousins, they were as different in looks as day and night, with Tempest’s pale tan and white leathers a sunlit contrast to Vengeance’s darkness.

“He will be kicked out of the Guard soon enough,” Vengeance replied. Her gaze returned to the retreating back of her opponent. “He is weak.”

“He is,” Tempest quietly agreed. Where Vengeance made it a declaration, Tempest said it with a contemplative tone, which made Vengeance think that her cousin was looking for an excuse to justify that weakness. It was something that curled Vengeance’s lip. It was true that Tempest was a good fighter in her own right, and because of that Vengeance did not insult her cousin for being a bit more merciful than she would have been. But that still didn’t mean she had to like it. The Brood were not merciful. Tempest understood that but Tempest had her own weaknesses, ones that Vengeance did not share except for one.

Both of them were afraid of losing their sisters.

It was an unspoken thing between them and yet the driving force of why they were Red Cloaks. They approached the problem of this differently. Tempest preferred to stay back, with her bow nocked and aimed, pinning enemies to the ground with her arrows. Vengeance preferred to jump into the fray, letting her blades carve new, bloody tattoos all over her opponents. Tempest was quiet, the silent strike you didn’t see coming. Vengeance howled her fury. Perhaps Vengeance should have taken Tempest’s name instead.

No, Vengeance suited her. She was made for it. She embraced it.

“Regardless,” Tempest said, interrupting Vengeance’s feral thoughts. “We need every fighter we can muster against the Brood. You know that.”

Now, Vengeance did turn her head to look over her shoulder. “Not if they will be little more than sheep bleating. The Guard and the Cloaks are warriors, Tempest, not children waving swords about in play.”

Tempest looked towards the forest. “We were all children once,” she said softly, most likely thinking of a time when they were more innocent and carefree. “And the Children of the Wood, we remain.”

“Save your poetry,” Vengeance said as she turned to stride past Tempest with a hard look. “The day I made my Offering, I ceased being a child. You were there that day. You remember.” And with that, she walked on, her crimson cloak billowing. Tempest watched her quietly for a moment, calmly remembering that fateful day.

Autumn, as she had been called then, emerged from the Sanctuary at dusk, when the sky was crimson and amber. She had come forward like an animal wounded, her teeth bared in a feral snarl, her wrist bleeding so that she could smear her own blood across her face in gruesome warpaint. The gathered family had gasped, some rushing forward to help her. She held them at bay with a bloody hand.

“I am no longer Autumn,” she declared, like a Queen announcing her will. “Autumn is dead. From now on, you will call me Vengeance.” She tilted her chin defiantly, challenging the world. Tempest had remembered looking over at Autumn’s father and noted how worn and old he looked. If there was anyone who could turn Autumn aside from her choice, it was him. But he said nothing. He didn’t even seem to care that she had gotten a new Jewel. He was a husk of a man, and Autumn embodied the fire of a witch and had embraced the death inherent of her namesake season.

On that day, Autumn had died and Vengeance had been born. And no one dared correct her.

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