i will cover my eyes

POSTED: Tue Dec 01, 2015 12:49 am

Yeah, freedom is mine, and i know how i feel

The sun rose over a kingdom cold.

The waif woke as the first shafts of light penetrated the curtain of deerskin that shielded her bedroom from the worst of the cold outside. She was reluctant to move at first, but she disentangled herself from Basilaris and stretched out, her long arms raised high towards the ceiling and her legs tensed, rising to tiptoes. She gave him a fond glance before slipping her black and red skirt and shirt over her limber body and walking swiftly, but quietly out of the room.

The grey bag she carried her supplies in rested on the counter where she often left it, and she snatched it absentmindedly and made a low, grumbling sound in the back of her throat that woke Samman from her pile of deerskins. The little vixen followed her wolfmother, keeping time with Bane's steps as the witch woman hummed a faint song, her grey bag thumping against one hip as she walked.

The clinic was a second home to the woman.

The waif settled herself to sit on the clinics steps, eager to bask in the cold chill that pervaded the Kingdom. She had lived the longest part of her life on a Mountain high, and was no stranger to the cold. There was a clarity in frost, a brighter sort of sight that came in the winter. The spirits were closer to the surface than ever when the days turned icy, the old woman had told her that. Perhaps it was madness, but Bane thought it closer to wisdom. The witch busied herself with the grey bag she carried and pulled out a small, but sharp blade and a few small bones.

The bones had been gathered from kills from both of her men, Basilaris and Heine. Ever efficient hunters, the pair of them provided her with more than she needed, and she was eternally grateful for the both of them.They were small and rather fragile looking things, but there was strength in those off-white bones. Samman huffed and peered down at her work and Bane reached out and lightly poked the fox's dark nose with one long finger, eliciting a surprised yip and perked ears as the fox leapt down the steps and began to scurry about the yard. A low, affectionately amused chuckle escaped the dark woman as she returned to her task at hand.

The blade had come from Bellatrix, that ever helpful cousin who had always been so generous.

The waif shifted the knife and began to shape the first bone. Such tools had been commonplace on the Mountain of her wretched birth, but she had only been able to bring a few things with her. The clinic was decently supplied but Bane was driven to always make and bring more to her place of work. It would not do for one of the Family to be wounded and to suffer for a lack of supplies. Such things would reflect most poorly on the Curandera, and though she was not the only one, she often behaved as if she was. The waif needed to outshine her older competition after all, Bane would not stand for being second best.

The slow scrape of knife on bone quickly became rhythmic. The motions were old, her hands had long ago become deft at such work. A slow sliding of man's metals against the building blocks of nature, she watched Samman frolic more than she watched the work at hand. Gold-green eyes flickered down as some time passed and she held the needle up closer for a better inspection. The tip was sharp, she could tell by poking one finger on her right hand lightly and a pleased, slow grin swept across her dark face. The waif worked the tip of her knife into the blunt end of the needle oh so carefully until she had managed to make a small hole, and could see the sunlight through the opening. Thread would be worked through and she would easily be able to punch the needle through the wounded flesh of her fellows if it came to it. The witch set the needle down oh so carefully next to her and began to work on carving the next.

private for seester | [wc — 700]

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hilli
Luperci Curander, Boticario Mate to Basilaris tak

the night is dark
and full of terrors

POSTED: Wed Dec 02, 2015 8:13 am

(371) seeeester

She awoke colder than ever, her bones chilled, and her heart worse for wear. Plague grimaced, clutching at her bare form. Sleeping like this wouldn't do; she would freeze before spring came. It was never like this on the mountain. That cursed place full of self-righteous monsters and demons, while cold, was made of stone. It was easy to make light a fire to stay warm. In this cabin though, that wasn't an option. It was too easy to set the place ablaze on accident. She would be damned if she walked into the fate the Khalif had handed her.

The wraith rose slowly, rustling the bedding below her. At the foot of the bed laid Tabby, who awoke from the movement and noise. She stretched her limbs, her jaw parting in a silent yowl. The bobcat's head turned to the dark woman, and she mewled in greeting. Plague's gaze drifted to her, and she murmured a quiet hello as she dressed herself. She decided that day to adorn her outfit with the wooden snake-head necklace, a rare act of decoration. It was simple and unassuming, though, barely visibly under her cape.

Plague moved to grab her leather bag, adjusting it for a moment, and soon she was out the door with Tabby at her heels. The cat had grown used to simply following the woman without question. Her ward was not one to explain herself so readily, especially not so early in the morning.

It wasn't long before they were at the Clinic, her sister at its doorsteps and a silver-coated fox prancing around the yard. She smiled for a short time at the sight of the animal, but it soon faded as she approached Bane. While she would formally say her arrival was for another lesson in Salsola's culture, this wasn't the entire truth. The wraith was aware of her sibling's housemates— a man of the Eternity line and her slave. Despite distancing herself from their family, she still felt a sort of protective-instinct towards her litter-mates, the waif in particular.

"Busy at work, as always, sister," her monotone voice was especially fitting for the weather.

Salsola
The Tradesman (NPC)
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Marcy
Luperci
BORN IN BLOOD

POSTED: Sat Dec 12, 2015 8:15 am

Yeah, freedom is mine, and i know how i feel

They were the closest to twins in the litter.

When Misery had chosen her, she had put a distance between the waif and the others. She had grown up at the old woman's side, shaped from the first moment to serve. There had been no choice in the matter of healing, no choice in the matter of liking the old woman. Bane was meant to keep the crone's life going, no matter the personal cost. Her siblings had suffered Anguish's tyranny and forced to watch as Prophet failed to protect them. The waif had watched from a distance as Fire grew more reckless and wild, a man possessed by his terrible god, as Hope prayed and reveled in the glory of Ankh, all the while unable to look away from Fire and sin. She had seen Victory rise so high, his melancholy expression showing no joy in it all, his talented mind oft wasted by the trappings of his predestination. Hallow had looked to the Gods, and found fault within them, fault within the Mountain, and her heart had grown cold.

But Plague had fascinated her the most.

The old woman had spoken often of Plague, and there had been a deep bitterness there. There was a fragility and an obsessiveness about the woman Bane did not entirely understand. Plague had set out to be a Priestess, but the sons and daughters of Tak, like so many on the Mountain were corrupt. There had been times when she had wanted to reach out, to ask the questions that needed to be asked, but her duty to the old woman had come first. Whispers of Plague's presumption that she was meant for Tak had reached Bane, and when she had questioned Misery, the answer (like so many others) had been bitter and curt. "It means they're gonna eat her alive, girl. She made her choice 'n you can't save everyone." Arguing with their grandmother had never done any good, and so Bane had hung her head and went back to work.

The old woman had saved her, after a fashion though. Salsola was a pit of vipers, but better serpents than demons. The witch had found her place among the thistles and thorns, and was thriving. She could see the same for Plague, perhaps more than any of the others. She was useful and she knew how to serve. Fire was volatile and Hope disdainful, but Plague could serve. Her dark sister was learned, and talented with her plants and poisons. All things that would do well to further the glory of Salsola.

A grin touched her dark face as she looked upon Plague, and she was glad of the promise Salsola held for her.

Though her gaze turned from her work, her deft hands never stopped. The blade scrapped slowly down the length of bone, faint shavings scattering to the cold wind. The Revlis line had a propensity towards being injured, and she had no doubt that another among them would need stitches soon enough. Her dislike of their patriarch notwithstanding, she would never shirk her duties. Even when she preferred the beast beneath her hands ragged and wounded, the waif never faltered. Salsola would not forgive willing failure, and she would not disgrace herself in Salvia's poisonous gaze. The pack's size was growing and too was its need for medical supplies. Her work never ended, and she enjoyed it. There was goodness in a day spent working, proof that though she had been born to the dark god her soul was not inherently wicked.

Gold-green eyes studied her sister before she spoke, a faint scolding note in her tone, though it was full of affection. <"We should go to the Outpost together, soon. Or hunt through the pack's stores, you'll need a proper fur cloak for winter here. My slave keeps me well stocked in furs, I've got plenty to trade for you."> Bane spoke the rough german tongue they shared, always enjoying a chance to speak her first language. <"I've no doubt you've started working as well, sister. You never were one for idleness."> A valuable trait in Bane's eyes. The lazy (particularly black wolves) on the Mountain never lasted long. <"Have you considered any of the jobs Salsola offers? It would be a good way to move you up into the family, if you distinguished yourself with one."> Fire had finally joined Hope in the Family ranks, though she had plans already in place to see him rise higher. Their golden cousin would serve well, she thought, and it would keep her from loneliness. Bane's intentions might have been ambitious but they were pure as well.

<"Sit, sit. Its been too long since I've seen you."> She could not have been more happy with her sisters arrival, though it made her worry more and more. Misery had promised to come, and yet she still had not arrived. But she didn't doubt the old woman's words despite the evidence to the contrary that was mounting more and more with every passing day.

| [wc — 836]

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hilli
Luperci Curander, Boticario Mate to Basilaris tak

the night is dark
and full of terrors

POSTED: Sun Dec 13, 2015 8:41 pm

(443)

In another life, perhaps they would have been closer. Maybe, in that life, Misery would have chosen a different pup to pluck from Prophet's side. There was no doubt in Plague's mind that in some life, it was she who had been chosen by the crone.

But, those were other lives, not the one she walked through now. As interesting as they seemed, she couldn't live with her head in the clouds; to do such would be her undoing. It was useless to dwell on what could have been.

Though she resented her relatives in most regards, she withheld the cold shoulder she wished to give them. To her, they'd left her to rot. None of them, as far as she knew, seemed to care about what the mountain had done to her. It'd torn her apart, and they'd stood by as she tried to stitch herself back together. For that, she damned them all.

It wouldn't do her any good to express this, though. She needed them, especially Bane, to show her the ways of the Thistle Kingdom. Plague would fail without this knowledge, so she locked away the worst of her thoughts in the deepest parts of her mind. Their cell was weak, though, and any provocation could set them free.

The wraith let her prattle on at her without a word. It was clear she was listening, however; her ears were pricked and her eyes were set on her dark sister. The notion of a fur cloak interested her, though the journey to this Outpost did not. Bane knew her well, though—she had been working, or at least, trying to. Salsola offered many jobs, and she had observed many at work. She'd yet to decide on what it was that she wanted to do here.

Plague sat down when the Curandera beckoned for her, her face unchanging even in the face of the warmth her sibling extended to her. <"I suppose it has been a while,"> she said, <"You are everything I remember you were."> Busy. Successful. Beautiful. She was everything the wraith wanted for herself. Everything fate hadn't handed her.

<"I've been eyeing a couple of occupations; Conserje, maybe even Signorina. I'm not sure,"> she shrugged, watching as Tabby found her place at Plague's feet.<"You seem to have made a name for yourself here, though, so perhaps you might help me in deciding."> She'd never been one to make such decisions on her own. The wraith had always been told what to do, so she found herself lost without a force to guide her.

Salsola
The Tradesman (NPC)
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Marcy
Luperci
BORN IN BLOOD

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