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Post by Zen Sellardor on Jan 30, 2023 18:50:03 GMT -5
It had felt as if many moons had come to past since the last time Zendrix had found himself strolling about the moonlit glade. Back then, much like now, he had wandered endlessly, lost within the ever so thick foliage of the forest around. Although the serenity of the forest had not changed, he knew much had in his absence, as he had journeyed beyond the lands of charon, losing himself to his own ambitions, a thirst for power still left unquenched. His last time here he had become entranced, or so it felt, as the elf recalled the lucid dream of times of old. The croak of a raven, the dark eyes of a beauty that had touched his inner being, and cut through his very soul. He still remembered the words shared, the moments had had often replayed in his head throughout his journey. He had always been facisnated by the complexities of the individuals he had met throughout, and this one was no different, or perhaps she was? As her eyes still trailed him, the woman in black, her raven in tow. "Mischief” He whispered recalling the bird.
The forest before him opened up to a clearance, one awfully similar to one he had once chosen as his place for respite. His mind wandered over the day spent with the woman, the witch who had offered him kind words and her company. There were times he had questioned if the woman was nothing more than a mere fragment of his imagination, if he had dreamt the whole encounter as an escape from his ravenous nightmares. He wondered if this was the true reason he had returned, having forgotten why he had roamed into the glade once more, hunting perhaps? Or was he returning to the city, the alcohol had made him forget what drove him here, his memory reminding him where to push forth.
He took a seat on a stump at the middle of the clearance, the light of the moon shined above brought a radiating glow to the elf skin. Zendrix pulled off his black hood, letting his fiery red hair spill down on the floor before him as he sat. Parting his black robe the shimmering elf let his barecheast feel the breeze of the cool night, his tattoos and scars glistening. He lifted his blades, placing both of them on his lap, his finders running over the blades carefully. The elf let out a deep sigh before closing his eyes, letting his mind wander through the sounds of the empty night.
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Post by Lady Kamille Verlithax on Feb 4, 2023 14:12:44 GMT -5
Moonglade didn't look much different - ever - even if so much has happened. So many bandits, so many monsters, so much going on... And yet, the forest always had the ability to find its balance once more, as it should. It shook of the threats, not without some help, and moved on.
It was easy for the dreamy to be interspacing with the waking moments in the forest, a faint aura of the arcane drifting about lazily as the gentle darkness felt embracing, rather than scary. But it was far from empty, bustling with activity in every nook and cranny, every hole and behind every tree. As the darkness condensed in lustrous feathers of black, the raven traveled through the night in search of his shinnies, expecting the shinning Lady above to help him in his crusade. It wouldn't take long for him to spot the man in the middle of the glade, so close to home. The rustle of his feathers was soft, and yet pierced through the other more natural sounds of the forest as sharply as his cawing. Mischief was already a regular appearance in the forest, yet still dissociated from the wilderness. He loved the forest and was loved by it in the same measure he was different from it, being more regarded as a Familiar. And on that front, Mischief brought his Witch as much treasures as trouble...
Which one would it be this night?
His bettle eyes spotted someone in the forest, which caused him to softly land on a branch to inspect him further. This one he knew. Yes, he remembered this one. Not an enemy, he remembered. Well, if he was not an enemy, than supposedly he was a friend? Mischief happily glided over to the stranger, landing right in front of him, squinting his small eyes at him in a quizzical way, tilting his head.
"CAWW! Hello!"
Yes, that one was a friend, for sure. He remembered. Master would want to meet him again, he assumed. Mischief happily flapped his wings at him.
"CAAAWWWW! Follow me!"
Mischief, in his undying wisdom, was one of the things that could pierce through the protection Kamille casted around her house, and she was yet to assume if that was a bad decision or not. He was able to guide anyone to her - if they so wished to.
The water was cold, despite the Witch not feeling it anymore. No matter how much the breeze tried to steal her warmth, it was pointless, for The Pyromancer had plenty to spare. Her feet on the water, she brushed her wet hair with her fingers while her eyes remained on the current before her. It was too close to home to care for formalities, so she had traded her heavy, daily clothes for her comfortable purple silk robe, the one she would often sport at home. Truth be told, the forest was her home now, and just on top of the slope, following the river, was her house.
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