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 Posted: Mon May 02, 2011 1:35 pm
WHO: Sloane (Snoof), Lady Sanguine (Roo), a bunch of cultists
WHERE: Mage Headquarters; Anica, Shyregoed
WHEN: March 22nd, 1411; Early morning
WEATHER: Strong winds, light flurries, but a bright skyA Lovely Corpse
What isn't particularly good for you Plaguefolk, Excitos included, is that while your Grimms are being stalked, you're being openly confronted. If you're not within the House of Obscuvos well, it's always better to convert later than never. The House of Obscuvos will attempt to take you, back to the consorts of the House chapels. If you don't comply, you will be taken by force. Do you fight back at all, and if you do, do you succeed or fail? A fine wintry mist hung about the morning air, dawn not quite having reached the horizon and keeping the sky painted with light blues and greys instead of the vibrant pinks and golds everyone so looked forward to. Small flakes drifted lazily through the air, clinging to any surface they could. As they touched his warm face and red hair, they nestled themselves against him and soon melted, only to give way for more. They mingled with the light bit of sweat lining his brow from running, the Sword Plague keeping a steady pace as he navigated the corridors from the large Anican courtyard.
Just moments ago he had fended off and felled a black cloaked attacker, a burly and strong man with a similar stature to himself intent on knocking him unconscious and bringing him into the dark feathered arms of Obscuvos. With a great deal of effort, his attacker had fallen upon his blade and his now bloodied claws clung to corners of the stone walls as he weaved in and out corridors, attempting to locate any awake Grimms or Plagues about the castle. Only a few humans were awake, mostly maids getting their chores in order early. They spared him confusing glances and stepped out of his way, the large Infitialis making no move to stop as the scent of taint did not cling to them; they had no Plagues to care for.
Of all those he needed to warn, for their mission seemed to be a simple one of acquisition, the most important was his own Grimm for she would be able to spread the word far quicker than any mouth of any foot soldier. As he rounded another corner, heading toward a flight of stairs, a younger maid with her hair wrapped up in a white bonnet and her dress lined with fur rushed forward, calling for him.
"Sir Sloane, wait please!" Her voice sounded frantic and troubled, causing the knight to freeze in place. "Outside. There are cloaked men--"
He didn't need to be told anymore.
The knight rushed over, gently holding her shoulders and directing her toward the stairs he was about to ascend, "Warn her Ladyship. They're Obscuvans. Tell her to get everyone at the ready while I try to fend them off." She gave a clumsy nod in response and began shambling up the stairs while trying to keep from tripping over her long skirt. In time, he rushed toward one of the windows in an effort to spot the group of dark cloaks as described. It didn't take long in the sea of white to notice a fair congregation heading for the foot of the castle's entrance and so the knight resumed his run, hoping no one would be caught in the crossfire before he was able to deal with them.
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Posted: Sat Sep 24, 2011 4:14 pm
Sanguine watched, but in the shadows, and wandered about the castles since early morning, staying in one place for only moments before changing her destination completely. She knew the ins and outs of Anica better than she knew herself, and no secret compartment nor labyrinthine passageway was unknown to her. It made it simpler for her to examine men, women, Plagues; as if she were the castle itself, Sanguine felt astray and cautious when the cloaked men came armed dangerously close to Anica's walls. They would find a way in soon, if the humans of the Fellowship were not careful, and this made the Blood Lady possessive. She was posessive of her home, her birthright, and she felt a boiling rage bubble inside of her while her hate for the House grew untamed and unnumbered.
She would allow no cloaked creature roaming her corridors leave; not alive. If she called for it, she knew she had the power to, the raw power that many men feared when they told of the mythical siren that lurked the Grand Magus' very walls. To the people she disliked, she was mad and uncontrollable, loud and violent.
That is what she felt when she guided herself along amidst the shadows of the castle, red eyes glowing against darkness and frightening what few people glanced in her way. She festered with ripe emotion that she could not channel since the death of her Lady, and she thought of the ways to kill a man, vivid images that provided her with the pools of blood that made her feel so at ease. Sanguine felt no shame, then, being kept to herself while she plotted the murder of hundreds of men seeking their ways into the Fellowship gates.
That was, at least, what she felt until she caught sight of the Sword himself. Still amongst the shadows then, as he stormed past the halls of the Anican castle with ease, Sanguine gasped and hid herself until he was gone, after which she poked her head out one of many nooks in the castle passageway to stare at the back of him. The smell of blood lingered like a perfume when he roamed past, but it was not his usual smell-- it was the smell of human blood.
Cultist blood.
The Blood Plague stalked Sloane, loyally mapping her path in unknown places to catch up with the Sword Plague's urgent pace. She overheard the conversation at the stairs, with the maid, and it was only when Sloane paused to stare at the window that Sanguine felt embarrassed. The Infitialis felt too bold for herself, bare in front of the company of only one and one so familiar to her.
She mustered the bravery, then, and took a step forward to inch closer to the knight so intently watching his enemies.
"Sir Sloane? You smell of human blood..."
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Posted: Thu Sep 29, 2011 10:21 am
The Infitialis turned from the window, ready to continue his quick pace, but the soft voice behind stopped him in his tracks. Lady Sanguine's voice was an easy one to recognize, and as he turned to face her he attempted to look pleased in her presence but it was difficult with the current situation creeping up on them. At her words, his swirled eyes found his own claws, now red, and he flexed them experimentally.
"Crows are flocking, Lady Sanguine," he uttered simply, directing her attention to the window with a tight frown, "Soon there shall be a murder."
Sloane's eyes drifted back to the Blood Plague, looking her over, brows upturning subtly on occasion. Her form was so pale and fragile, and so exposed. Simultaneously, he wanted to cover up and protect this poor woman but also the more primal urge writhed around, demanding things he could not abide though could not deny the existence of in his mind. His fingers twitched, wanting her to come closer and be near, but he restrained himself from being too forward just as he restrained the growing warmth and tightness in his gut. It was no such time for frivolous infatuation.
The guards out front were fending the large group off, but small plumes of smoke and darkness alerted the Plague to their disappearing act. Split seconds later, cloaked figures stepped out from the aether and into the gigantic open courtyard at Anica's center just a few floors below them. Sloane's teeth clenched tight, the sound of strained bone under pressure creaking outward as his claws dug into the stone surrounding the window. "They're in. I cannot wait for them to rally..."
Quickly his gaze shifted back to the Blood Lady, holding out his free hand toward her. He had fought many masks on his own, large groups of them fell to his claws and blades numerous times, but for the most part it was always because there was no ally in combat for him during those times.
Now, at least, he could ask: "Milady, I ask that you defend these walls with me. Would you protect your home?" his voice lowered, to a more somber and serious tone, "Would you protect Grand Magus Estratus?" There was little time and the Obscuvan dogs were converging. He knew of her own teleporting abilities to some degree, was aware of the constraint for blood. If they were to fight together then they would need to make use of their every trick and be on even ground. He did not know the extent of her strengths, for how vulnerable she appeared to the untrained eye, but he could feel her potential and their common hatred of the House was enough for a bond in battle between the two Infitialis.
It was left unsaid, but the burning of his red eyes spoke it clearly in silence. Shed Obscuvan blood with me.
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Posted: Mon Nov 07, 2011 6:18 pm
Sanguine retreated from her place at the sheer bluntness of Sir Sloane's words, and she was left to stare at the stone floor below their feet, embarrassed despite herself. The Infitialis then looked at the red claws of her own, ones that matched th state of the knight's in front of her now, and was confounded at the similarity between him and herself. Her fingers flinched, ravenous and craving to fill its appetite for so long now, and it seemed like years upon years since she had let herself sing the rightful tune of the Blood Lady in Anica. She was conflicted-- was she not a lady? Did she have this right to shed blood and call herself a woman of respect if she would spill blood by her own hands? That was not what the Grand Magus before Lady Estratus would do, she knew, and she hid away her clawed hands from sight and behind her back.
"Sir Sloane," she uttered, just barely enough for him to recognize that she'd made a sound, "I should nae... but I cannae decide what is best... I would not be a lady of elegance if I should."
The raven-haired Plague blinked before easing her sights onto Sloane, taking a bold step toward him. She outstretched her hands and reached for his own, trickling the edge of her claws around the blood shed between Sloane's metallic gauntlets. Sanguine eased and tensed her palms and soon the blood from Sloane's hands floated into her own, swirling in a mist of scarlet before her palm faced the ceiling and a puddle of blood trickled between her fingers. Sanguine brought the now-bloody hand up closer to her so she could see, her hands so close to her face that temptation urged her to feed her hunger and absorb it into her flesh--
But she could not. Sanguine's other hand, the one still clung tightly around one of Sloane's own, let go of the Knight and started to reform. Blood red claws were replaced with a more human look, round and fleshy fingers marked with pink from cold its tips. "Is there no other way I could help protect mine home, and mine Grand Magus, Sir Knight? I would like to fight alongside you, tae reap the profits of Cultist blood shed, but would thine Grand Magus Estratus forgive a Lady for doing such things?"
The woman noticed Sloane looking intently upon her, and she reclined, her shoulders taut and stiff with nervousness. "I cannae answer until you assure me of my cautions."
Outside of Anica's walls the onsurge of cultists made for an impressive lot, many dressed for battle as if they were Imperial Guardsmen themselves. There was a loud ringing that burst through the walls below them as the ground stirred with activity. The clanking of steel against rock pattered against the ground, gallavanting its way up the stairs until it came to reveal a soldier, branded with the Fellowship's mark on his forehead in blood, an arrow struck through his side, standing before the two Infitialis. Wide-eyed, the soldier knelt in front of Sloane, near crawling toward him with the last of his energy.
"Sir Sloane, please-- you-- the front--!"
Sanguine remained in the shadows, quietly watching.
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Posted: Thu Mar 15, 2012 10:54 pm
At the moment the Blood Lady's slender fingers curled around his own the knight's breath caught. Though he could not feel her warmth through his armor, the contact was enough to bring out jarring emotions -- positive ones at that, which turned to ones of conflict. He had no right reveling in a simple thing as a lady's touch (not even on his own flesh) when the stronghold of the mages, the Heart of the Fellowship, was about to be stormed by a flock of black cloaked heretics.
Briefly, there was a moment of silence as the bloodied Infitialis before him drew her hands around his own, shepherding the blood staining his claws onto her own. It was a familiar sight, human fingers encased by the mist of red into a less than natural shape. Hers, though, were so fragile looking, so delicate, and before long their shape melted back into the simple and defenseless human flesh and nail.
How elegant she could be, in her own fierce splendor, and yet she denied herself such a natural right to their species. He could deny succumbing entirely, allowing himself to be that monster more than absolutely necessary, but to deny his very nature and purpose as a Sword was something he could not do.
Sloane's fingers moved to close around her own just as she pulled away, missing the chance to keep her touch. Whether she saw it or not, he sneered at himself for the action, corner of his lip raising in a silent growl before she deigned to speak again. The words that left her lips perplexed the knight, issuing a strangely bemused smirk upon his face. Her request was so simplistic and innocent he was almost envious of her naivete.
"Lady Sanguine," the knight began slowly, pausing to offer a quiet scoff of uncertainty, "Have you not lived all your life in these mountains? Surely you are aware of the warrior queen seated upon Shyregoed's throne, or the many fierce princesses she has raised who wielded swords of their own?" His smirk faltered briefly and Sloane's gaze shifted to the nearest wall, the memory of Valhalla's blade cleaving through Waldgrave's flesh still fresh, as well as Sanguine's anguished cries. "Shyregoed's women, its ladies of elegance," he attempted to elaborate without dredging up more negative memories, "Are as fit to fight and defend their land as any man, my Lady Sanguine. Grand Magus Estratus would surely find it more worrying -- perhaps pitiable -- if you were not to utilize all of your worth against these threats."
His words had barely finished before the rhythm reverberated around them and the Fellowship soldier approached weakly, wounded. Sloane knelt quickly, clasping the man's shoulders. The soldier's warning was enough; there was no more time to waste attempting to pull the Blood Lady to his side for this battle.
"Rest here. I'll fetch someone to give you aid," he spoke with practiced ease, not a sign of awkward emotions or shyness in his speech as the reality of battle weighed in on him. As he assisted the soldier in sitting against the wall, he glanced over his shoulder to Sanguine who had retreated at the soldier's approach but still remained within earshot. "It is your choice, milady, but I can say with confidence Lady Estratus would not condemn such actions in the effort of defense and peace." With that, he stood and began his retreat down the hall. The next mage he stumbled across would be directed to the poor soldier and he would make his way to the front of the castle with the others, the warriors and mages alike, to defend his Grimm's new home. To defend her.
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Posted: Fri Mar 16, 2012 2:43 am
Sanguine caught a glimpse of the blood knight's stare before receiving his words with a flush, thoughtful frown and a glance towards the Fellowship soldier. She sadly recalled the formidable strength of Queen Valhalla and her now dead princesses, whom she admired from afar since she was but a Servos, yet she struggled to call any Shyregoedian royalty ladies of true elegance. The way her Lady Waldgrave had moved, the way she commended her men and how she carried her form whilst in the castles, that was how Sanguine learned of elegance. The blood lady shivered, sorrowfully recalling the Queen's valorous conquest over her felled Grand Magus, and could only remember the most repungent and worst of emotions, made worse by her rejection.
How could she, Lady Sanguine, be anything like Queen Valhalla?
"I simply wish to be vile no longer," Sanguine whispered, withdrawing her form when the soldier let out a gruff and pained voice to signify his presence yet. The mention of Lady Estratus silenced Sanguine's interjections, however, and she bowed her head to the new Grand Magus' name.
When Sloane finished his remarks, of the women of Shyregoed, Sanguine shook her head in heated reply, but could say little more. She instead watched the knight command his warrior, and fervently desired to do the same, yet the Infitialis found herself frozen still in place. She knew the Fellowship and their soldiers faces from her many seasons in lurking here, and the familiarity of this man alone was enough to hide her face away in shadow.
Her hand pressed against the bloodlike gem placed at the center of her chest, clear and pulsating with fluid blood. Her thoughts raced, and the pungent smell of blood trickled through every vein of her body and caused her to shiver with stagnation. She could feel warmth touch her lips, and she placed a hand over her mouth with disgust reserved for this near insatiable impulse.
"It is your choice, milady, but I can say with confidence Lady Estratus would not condemn such actions in the effort of defense and peace."
"Sir Knight..."
Lady Sanguine looked up, adrenaline bursting through her. If this is what the Knight had pleaded, so be it-- though she could not ignore the soldiers dressed in wounds to the side, she raced towards the Infitialis, reaching upward to grab at his armored shoulder. Next to the gargantuan Plague, however, she proved too small, and simply traced her pale human fingers on his back. Sanguine backed away, allowing her hands to shape into their clawed form once again, and stood firmly on her feet.
"I shall follow you," the lady pleaded, "I shall help you all that I can, if that is what a woman of Shyregoed shall do..." she knelt to him, as any soldier would, and bowed her head.
"...and what the Fellowship's men must do."
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Posted: Mon Jun 11, 2012 6:11 pm
Lady Sanguine's thoughts of herself mirrored his own self image. It was strange to him, their similarities, though they hardly knew each other. To feel so close to someone who was essentially a stranger was very alien to the knight and and he found himself glancing uneasily toward her as she backed further into the shadows.
The soldier before him coughed, but grasped Sloane's arm in acceptance of his orders, nodding firmly. Sloane did the same before releasing him and standing, turning to descend the hall further.
Once more, Lady Sanguine's voice gave him pause, though this time there was an accompanying touch that his body cursed his armor for impeding. When he turned to face her, his eyes widened at the sight. This fair maiden, this 'lady of elegance', this morbid and beautiful creature knelt before him as though he were worth such grace. His breath caught, the Infitialis remaining completely still as she swore her allegiance to him for this battle. His gut twisted, heating. If not for the impending threat, surely he would have swept the Lady off her feet then and there and-- no, no. Such thoughts could not be entertained, even in a time of peace, and they surely had no place here, now.
"Truly you are a Lady of Shyregoed," he sighed breathlessly, chest aching, and once more he reached his hand out to her. The sooner she was on her feet, the sooner they would be out there and fighting.
The halls echoed with their foot falls, armor clanging loudly and the light, gentle padding of bare feet against flat stone. Outside, the cultists were already engaging some of the soldiers. Many were holding their own, but several of the cloaked figures had decided to circumvent a confrontation all together and teleported into the courtyard. There were already numerous footprints in the snow there, large depressions from the Plague Knight and an acolyte of the House. Blood from both of them stained the pristine white, and the scent of his so tainted mingling with that of a wretched Obscuvan only made him hungry for more when they stepped into the large field.
Sloane's fingers tightened, subtle cracks and pops sounding from his armor as his joints stiffened and readied themselves. Warm breath drifted from his monstrous mouth in white clouds as he breathed deep with excitement. The cloak figures approached and drew their weapons. Surely the prospect of two Plagues was far more desirable than just one. A grin snaked its way across Sloane's face, overtaking his features, and his eyes grew wild."Kill as many as possible... my Lady..."
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Posted: Sat Oct 06, 2012 11:38 pm
Sanguine seemed reluctant to go out into the fray, at first. When the two Infitialis first exited the Anican sanctuary, she hid her pale frame inside of her cloak, dark hair breezing past her eyes as she stared intentedly at the ground. She'd kept her temperance for so long, it felt, but Sanguine thought it necessary to heed the knight's plea and to her newfound duty towards Shyregoed, her unfortunate birthplace.
Another shameful part of her knew it was desire. She clutched her fists and slowly grazed her sight against the battlefield's horizon, attention flickering to and from her thoughts. She could feel every inch of her rising to life, throbbing with anticipation, her swirled pupils dilating until they were but circles against her contrasting eyes. It was getting difficult to maintain herself: she gripped at the center of her chest, the ruby that pulsated with the color of her namesake, while she felt herself jut forward, croutching, breathing, ready.
"Kill as many as possible... my Lady..."
She could bare it no longer: she at her skin so tightly at her hands, slowly retreating back to their clawed, dark red form, bit into her and scathed her arms. Blood poured out from her newborn scratches and she laughed wildly at the sight, pulling back her cloak to better see the essence of her magic. Fully hunched back, she stamped one impatient foot after another towards the reddened pathway of Anica, bleeding arms spread from side to side.
Sanguine ceased her near-crawl, and stood straight, staring at the oncoming cultist slaughter. As if drawing life from marionettes, she drew her fingers up and rose her arms slowly, meticulously, until the very blood spilled on Shyregoedian snow began to rise. The sound of choking followed as the nearly-dead laying around her began to feel every pore of their being rise up, until their skin oozed blood and their bones cracked drily with the pressure.
The Infitialis glanced at every single one. When the corpses ran dry, they fell to the floor, skeleton with dry skin covering organs like leather. All around the knight and lady was a shield of ruby red, so perfectly dome-like in shape, until Sanguine clenched her fists.
Replacing the smooth ruby barrier were a sea of arrows, steady, glass-like and delicate.
Sanguine dropped her hands, and the weapons of her creation were let loose: chaos followed.
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Posted: Sun Oct 07, 2012 10:23 am
The Sword's demeanor was quick to change for battle -- a kind hand and reassuring glance becoming a sharp weapon and a dangerous glare -- but the change of the Blood Lady by his side was all the more drastic. While he bared his claws and readied the blade at his wrist, his eyes widened at Lady Sanguine's quick descent into madness. Her claws stretched out as if awaking from a well deserved rest and they looked oh so natural atop her delicate, slender hands. Her laughter shook him and Sloane was transfixed upon the bloody display; she controlled the fluid as easily as he wielded a blade, utilizing an ability he had only recently come to discover and could scarcely employ. The scent of her blood was overpowering as it leaked eagerly from self inflicted wounds. Sloane felt his gut tighten, breath shakily escaping in a white plume of warmth. She was absolutely intoxicating.
Arrows of crystalline blood rained down upon their black cloaked enemy. When the first arrow struck, his armored helm clamped down. The faceless monster knight of the Fellowship wordlessly before Sanguine, cold steel singing eagerly as every inch of him longed to be covered in spilled cultist blood.
Sharp, crimson spines embedded themselves in the sheet of white. They flew in every direction, their points thin and precise so they cut through the air with ease. Dozens of subtle thuds accompanied a symphony of tearing cloth and surprised shouts but many of the converging cultists thought the onslaught little a problem. When one came into their vicinity, their bodies exploded in a thick black smoke only for them to reappear some distance closer, unscathed. Their porcelain masks, pale as death, mocked both the Shyregoedian Winter and the Doctor who had nothing to do with their schemes. Behind his steel plated helm, Sloane grinned wildly and took the plunge.
The thick blade from his right wrist moved with surprising speed. It sliced the air with each motion, thrust towards any black coated figure. As before, many figures disappeared in a cloak of smoke -- but again, many were not so lucky. Where his blade could not reach, his left arm clawed and grabbed. A beating fist, a piercing claw, scratching and mutilating anything in his path. When his fingers closed tightly around around a face or windpipe, a long and thin blade reached out from the bottom of his wrist to deliver a quick kill. Their bodies were shoved into the surrounding figures, knocking some down and slowing their approach. The Fellowship mark emblazoned upon his brow connected sharply with their masks, cracking and breaking them. His study legs collided roughly against their forms, sweeping many to the ground. Every part of his body available was used to its fullest extent as a weapon with well versed precision and the desperation of a savage beast. Each time his bladed arm penetrated their bodies, Sloane let out a forceful and triumphant cry which dissolved into feral roars with each injury and kill delivered.
Both Plagues, so similar, were descending into madness and it felt so natural.
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Posted: Sat Nov 17, 2012 10:10 pm
Sanguine trailed behind the knight, spine arched and eyes growing wide. The amount of targets available overloaded her choices, and she was left to awe at the Infitialis before her for his stratagem. While she had a penchant for magic, she had little experience in the ways of battle.
It seemed that their numbers weren't shrinking as they made their way towards the red-and-white horizon, though, and the black-robed bodies still throbbing with life seemed to dive in towards the two Plagues with more enthusiasm than before. Why? A few cultists managed to dodge Sir Sloane's steel plight and dove straight in for Sanguine, weaponless palms extended to grab her. She recoiled and thrust her arms up into the cold air, and around her humans grabbed pathetically at their throats.
Sanguine favored choking, and the harmonious noise that followed. A crimson grin spread across her face as she slid her red claws against their squirming torsos. She was swift but gentle enough, scraping only the surface. It was like uncorking an ink bottle.
As her targets lay squirming painfully against the snow, Sanguine drew their blood and squeezed her fists. The pool of remains around her coagulated around her knuckles into sharp daggers, and Sanguine trembled, bursting with excitement.
A true laugh escaped her as she walked closer towards Sir Sloane. Her shoulders slid against his.
Sanguine bent her knees, sprinted past Sir Sloane, and dug daggers deep into the flesh of his opponents. She laughed as their sudden breathing tickled her neck along with the breeze. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and she retaliated.
She arched back, pulled the daggers from their bellies, and dove it deep into their throats.
Her movements were slow, then, and she stared at the two now-corpses beneath her crouching form gushing with blood. Several other cultists made their way through the fray and towards her, spears and swords and daggers pointed, lunging to pierce her skin.
Sanguine looked up, swirled pupils shrinking.
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Posted: Sat Nov 17, 2012 10:53 pm
Every beat of his heart filled his senses. Each subtle pulse, driven to the surface, blocked his ears with nothing but a steady thumpump, thumpump, save for the muted song that pierced its way through with every swing of his blade. This was so, until magnificent laughter broke through and his near deafened state was quickly turned back into a melodious cacophony of carnage and death.
Each slice, every piercing of flesh, grunt, laughter, choke, and yelp, all intertwined and filled the monstrous knight's chest with satisfaction he had not felt in months. Tired though he was from his previous encounter, it was as if the Lady Sanguine's presence in the battle rejuvenated and empowered him. Whenever she chuckled, he grinned and it was difficult to suppress the urge to follow suit. In the heat of battle, when he felt too compelled to hold off, all he managed to let out were loud, fierce roars only one who truly relished combat could release.
Once more, he felt a dulled touch against his back from the Blood Lady and, as before, he cursed his armor's presence as it denied him the full sensation. As quickly as the thought of releasing the armor from his shoulders came, it was replaced by the presence of another black cloak before him and instead the Infitialis saw fit to run the wretch through. In times as these, surrounded as they were, his mind ran a mile a minute and hardly a lick of it was rational thought, let alone coherent. His eyes caught the tail end of Sanguine's sprinted assault ahead of him, sharp grin still clinging to his features as his warm breath rolled out, panting deeply. It only took a split second's pause for him to assess the situation, four -- no, five -- masked figures descending upon her motionless form.
There was no time to ponder why she had stopped, why then she had been taken off guard. There was also no time for the first cultist to prepare for a bear sized knight's dagger-like teeth to sink into the tender flesh of his throat, or brace himself for the sudden fall and hard stomp of a boot to his ribs that followed. Two others following suit had no time to parry the length of two blades as they extended far beyond their physical bounds from Sloane's wrists and pierced their sinew. He rushed before the Lady Sanguine, a fourth attempting to catch her from behind, and both extended blades crossed, a hearty crunch issuing from the cultist's neck as their head sailed toward the white snow. Red sloshed against his steel and sprayed Sanguine's pale back, fresh and hot against Shyregoed's chill. The final attacker attempted the same, this time to the knight. He whipped around, an entire hand grabbing hold of his enemy's face. This one was not without injury, a curved blade slicing first against his cheek, then cleaved through the chainmail covering his arm. Sloane howled, thick and darkened red seeping from wounds both minor and debilitating. The injury was enough to cause release to the cultist, who fell back to his feet with a hearty flop against the snow. Before he could scamper away, the uninjured arm reached out, violently grabbing his neck and ripping the cloaked man off his feet, prostrate before Lady Sanguine's claws as if a sacrificial offering.
Hot breath and tainted blood caused an aura of light mist to trail off the knight. Sloane's fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt of the dagger and, with a grunt, he pried the offending blade free. Whether Sanguine had taken the offered kill or not, the dagger was swiftly planted in its owners gut and twisted roughly so that, without a doubt, the cultist would feel it.
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Posted: Sun Nov 25, 2012 5:50 pm
Sanguine looked up at the blood knight, dazed with visions blurred. She extended her claws and stabbed into the clenching gut of the cultist just in time, and she stood, gradually, staring bemusedly at the dead man as his muscles spasmed, gave out, and finally relaxed. She bent over and caressed the edge of the corpse's cheek, as it was a pretty face, despite its lack of coloration and the horrendous expression it wore.
For a time, both Plagues were distracted. It was, to the wise, an opening.
"Sir Sloane!"
Several cultists lunged at Sir Sloane from behind as he drew the dagger from the dead man's flesh, though only a few were able to dodge around the giant Infitialis towards Sangiune. She scampered against the snow and sloppily raised her arms to the air, summoning blood from the newly opened vat of crimson. The cultists after her were able to slog through the shield of liquid, though, as it didn't harden quickly enough, and they drew in towards Sanguine's flesh and dragged her face to the ground.
She screeched wildly as they buried her against the deep levels of Shyregoedian dirt, raven hair now entangled with a mess of roots and cold and the stench of freshly dead. The cultists caged around her meticulously dragged her through the snow, while the parade hurled towards Sloane were a more violent bunch.
Where the previous group had tried for a direct lunge, a few of the heavier men had dug their hands against the knight's red hair. One directly behind him drew a dagger against Sloane's forcibly extended neck, and the smell of alcohol and raw meat portruded from his heavy breath.
"Steady, now." Another woman came up from behind the larger man, robed as a mage would. She looked nervous, but her hands raised firmly like Sanguine's.
"We know a thing or two about Infitialis blood. That dourly b***h isn't the only one who have 'em tricks, you hear? Quickly, now."
The mage woman looked back at the bury cultist, shivering-- she was clearly unused to the weather, but she curled her fingers up and extended her arms all the same. As she did, she focused her energies on constricting what blood Sir Sloane had within his hands, attempting to force them still. It was an ambitious part of the body to overtake, but the woman closed her eyes, concentrating.
Meanwhile, Sanguine, both head and body pressed forcibly against the snow, let out a piercing shriek.
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Posted: Mon Jan 28, 2013 8:32 pm
"Sir Sloane!" As the hulking knight rose to his feet, his claws released the dagger leaving it nestled in its new home next to the cloaked figure's intestines. Steam rose into the cold air from the wound, as well as those given to him by Sanguine's claws, and his last choking breath carried on the wind for but a moment before it disappeared. In that same moment, a blood curdling scream broke the momentary stillness of the battlefield and Sloane's arms were held at his sides, blades ready to be drawn until a rough hand gripped his scalp. A loud grunt turned into a growl as Sloane attempted to throw a hand back and pierce his attacker through the side. Cold iron touched his throat roughly, scraping but not injuring, and the Plague's body froze before contact was made. Sloane's arms remained stiffly outstretched, one to the side and the other between himself and the large cultist.
With newfound vigor at successfully wrangling the Infitialis into submission, the acolyte pulled violently at his hair to release another snarl from the Plague. At the same time, Sloane's attacker pressed most of his upper body weight into the assault and a hearty sound of metal against hard ground sounded as the beastly Anhelo was forced to one knee. A few muted chuckles were heard behind masks, but the one behind him was not laughing. Instead there was a fetid stench on his breath, far more unappealing than the scent of death and pestilence, and the man spoke only of blood and insults.
Distant grunts and yelps from Lady Sanguine as her face was pressed firmly against the dirt intermingled harmoniously with Sloane's own harsh breathing. Plumes of white whirled around his face in hurried puffs through his gritted teeth. The chainmail covering his upper arm was damaged enough for the earlier dagger wound to be exposed, still leaking warm tainted blood and staining his armor. Wide eyes, swirls small and trembling, followed the robed figure. Their colors were muted but still present against the snow and black cloaks of her brethren. Though there were many magic users within the House, to see one don robes so similar to those of the Fellowship could only have been a mocking gesture. The knight's frown deepened, mismatched eyes taking on a vibrant glow filled with malice. A low grunt left Sloane as he twisted futilely against his hair's grip and the presence of the knife, which scratched against his flesh enough to leave a small indentation that immediately began bubbling with a dark liquid. His efforts were met only with the knife being pressed more roughly to his flesh and his head being pulled back harder so he could no longer look upon the wretched visage of his attackers. All he could do was huff and snarl like a wounded animal.
Poor Lady Sanguine's attackers were offering no quarter, either. While one pinned her arms to the ground, another pressed a hand to her head and kept her face planted firmly while pressing most of their weight against her back to keep her pinned. Yet another held her legs fast, though not without some unwelcomed feeling of her smooth, pale thighs exposed to the elements.
"Stop your squirming," the one atop her hissed, "It's for your own good! You'll waste away in this frozen North and the Fellowship will think nothing of it!" It was then he noticed the skinnier man behind Sanguine taking a keen interest in the Lady's body. Just as another sleazy caress went nearly too high for comfort, the back of a gloved hand smacked roughly against their hood and the misconduct stopped immediately as he raised his hands in defense.
As the mage woman raised her hands and concentrated behind a porcelain mask, Sloane felt an uncomfortable roiling that trapped his breath. It strengthened quickly, causing his body to shudder and subtly convulse. At his sides his arms shook, fingers twisting and flexing uncontrollably as he gaped and choked toward the sky like a fish out of water. Several seconds of climbing agony passed before the Plague couldn't control his vocalizations and unbidden shouts of pain escaped whenever he managed to get enough breath. It felt like thick tendrils were being pushed through every vein in his arms, both stopping and pulling the blood flow therein with shapes far too large. Her powers only continued to escalate the reaction until control of his arms was completely taken and they only remained rigid due to her machinations. A dizzying blackness began covering his vision and before long Sloane couldn't keep his eyes open even if he tried, lids clenched tightly from the searing pain that currently inflamed every nerve ending in his upper body and made his arms feel ready to burst. Just as it was becoming too much, Sanguine's scream ripped him back to the present. Sloane twitched violently and bucked. His upper back collided with his attacker's ribs and, in that brief moment of contact, instinct took over where the Plague could not think.
Steel spines pierced the cultist's cloak with precision speed, retracting just as quickly. The grip on his hair was removed instantly following a guttural bellow from the large Obscuvan. At this, the mage woman balked and her connection to Sloane's blood was severed. Pain immediately receded to a sharp ache and his arms fell limply to his sides just as he fell back to one knee, gasping for air. The knight didn't allow himself time to recover, pushing to his feet a second or two after, eyes burning with vengeance as his jaws quivered, eager to pierce cultist flesh. One step forward was made before his attention was drawn away, down to his arms which were still limp at his sides. No matter how much he willed or strained, Sloane's arms remained at his sides, completely useless. Once this registered, his gaze instantly locked with the one who crippled him and his lips curled into a terrible snarl. Yet again, instinct took over and as he stood there, surrounded by black cloaks daring to encroach in this moment of weakness, a terrifying howl ripped through him like a lion's roar.
Behind him, the larger Obscuvan choked and clutched at his ribs as he clumsily stumbled back. Blood from his wounds trailed into the air, separated, hardened, and sailed toward his attackers. Several cloaked figures were stabbed in their shoulders and backs as they attempted to flee, others through their necks and one or two being unfortunate enough to have the blood shards penetrate the eyes of their masks. Others disappeared in wisps of smoke, avoiding the assault all together. As this sudden surge of rage and control of blood faded, the one it was pulled from fell against the ground and the knight charged forward, barreling through the bodies to slam hard against the mage. He knocked her down easily, then did not stop. With his arms uselessly at his sides, the Plague Knight rushed to the figures gathered around her and wrapped his jaws around yet another throat -- the one pinning her to the ground. Sloane pulled the screaming body away, shook and jostled the Obscuvan by his neck like a rabid beast until there was a sick snap and the body went as limp as his arms.
Far ahead, a clamor of armor against stone sounded and dozens upon dozens of shouting voices carried from the Fellowship's walls. Its soldiers, carrying spears, shields, bows, and maces hurried down the stairs into the courtyard stained red and black with bodies. Cultist and Plague blood mixed, giving a wretched stench of death and sickness to the soldiers now joining the fray, but they did not hesitate in quickly beating away the few that still surrounded the Fellowship Plagues then encircled them, defending them from further cultist attack while keeping a safe distance themselves. A strange calm overtook the two Plagues in that moment. Sloane glanced about and saw no more moving black cloth, no peering white masks, and strained as he rose to his feet. One step towards Lady Sanguine, two, before he collapsed to his knees in front of her and fell against the snow.
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Posted: Sat Jul 06, 2013 2:13 am
The hand that smoothed itself against Sanguine's pale arm reverberated a fervent heat through her senses. It collected in her cheeks and through her throat, which burst with a furious swell of raucous, rumbling laughter, the Infitialis scraping her thin claws across the snow with every subtle loss of grace.
She dug her fingers and palm into the snow, grasping at what white she could to try and pull herself away from the snow, her sparse red clothing struggling against the hefty weight of the cultists and the cold friction below the Plague women. The cultists, both of whom were much heavier than her, stared cautiously at her and gripped her tighter by the shoulders, the legs, neck, but the Infitialis merely coughed blood onto the pale landscape and pressed onward, a shrill laugh escalating from her voice. Her pulling away from the cultist men, though scratched and choked and bruised, proved worthwhile, and her back was freed in a narrow moment where she could turn around at her attacks. Her hair billowed wildly around her glowing eyes, and she snarled, steam roiling from her nostrils as she greeted her cultists with a devoid, encapsulating smile.
An erratic laugh escaped her, and she dragged her arms toward her sides through the snow. The pools of blood caging her and the cultists hardened against the snow precipice.
Before they formed themselves into narrow spikes, however, the two cultists collapsed in front of her. She was trapped between the corpse of one of them; bewildered, she scampered to the freer spot in front of her and gasped for air, losing control of the blood around her as a consequence. Sanguine over her bruised shoulder and noticed an arrow struck through both cultists, now dead, and the striking field of red spikes on black-robed corpses, hunched sloppily over each other like beds of charcoal.
As her vision snapped back into focus, she recognized the softly bright plume of white in front of her was not snow.
Sanguine brushed her hair from her eyes and crawled over to Sir Sloane, unsure hands pressing against the back of his armor until she felt the heat of the nape of his neck, then the wet, smooth surface of his bright red hair. Sanguine desperately tugged at the knight's shoulder using her whole strength, only to find him remaining perfectly still.
"Sir Sloane..."
Sanguine looked up at the remainder of the battlefield, and noticed the swerving motions of men and the sound of clanging metal just around her. She recognized the colorful outfits of Fellowship men and felt an overwhelming surge of relief, yet a tinge of distrust did not allow her to so boldly speak-- no, not for help.
She focused her strength against Sir Sloane's shoulder again, only to find it still did nothing. She drew in her breath and closed her eyes, focusing as the cultist mage did, and gripped her arms tight around the Infitialis, pulling him up with a slow, steady strength, until he was up in an unsteady seat against the comparatively meek weight of Lady Sanguine.
She sighed once with relief, then breathed in for more strength, "Sir Sloane," she laughed pitifully against his armor, "Please!"
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Posted: Sat Jul 06, 2013 3:04 am
Sight, sound, and touch faded in and out every few seconds when he first collided with the ground. His chest slammed roughly against his armor, the armor against tightly packed snow, and frozen ground beneath, kicking the breath from him in an instant. Consciousness drifted and he merely saw glimpses of moving legs all around him, heard fleeting shouts of Fellowship soldiers and Obscuvan fighters. His entire body burned and ached but his arms felt as though they had been flayed and knives had been dug through his muscles. Each beat of his heart pumped blood through what felt like inflamed and blocked veins but there was nothing.
Sloane did not feel the first touch to his back, armor blocking his senses, but the delicate claws brushing against his neck brought him back momentarily; only long enough for his eyes to flutter, then shut. Already laying prone, his body became limp against the cold snow as Lady Sanguine's attention was drawn to the soldiers that encircled them, protecting both Plagues from prying eyes of wretched cloaks.
Her voice was lost on him, eliciting no reaction just as her push to his shoulder failed to do. The knight was motionless, dead weight, and with the weight of both his armor and muscle beneath it was a feat that Lady Sanguine was able to pull him to her at all. His arms and head hung lifelessly, knuckles still resting against the snow. Sloane's head lolled with her unsteady grasp, cheek resting briefly against her shoulder. A welcoming warmth blossomed on one side of his face and his lips parted of their own volition. The smell of human blood and Sanguine's natural scent hit him and caused his eyes to open weakly, a shallow breath caressing the nape of her neck before he had time to realize the position he was in. At that precise moment the pain in his body hit him again and Sloane hissed through clenched teeth, pulling his head away and holding most of his weight away from her without leaving her grasp. A strained growl rippled through his throat as he craned his neck back, trying to both brace himself for the pain and beat it back. He tried to move his right arm but the slightest attempt shot agony through every nerve, causing his entire body to go rigid until it subsided just enough. Sloane's breath was uneven, exhausted, and he lowered his head to lock eyes with the Blood Lady but he looked at the snow instead, feeling too weak to meet her gaze yet.
"L-Lady Sanguine..." Sloane huffed through thick breaths, plumes of white rising to the air like clouds from his dagger filled mouth. "Are you hurt?" he sputtered, finally attempting to pull himself to one knee and stand.
The effort only caused a harsh snarl of surprise as he nearly slipped against the bloody snow and he maneuvered his arm in such a way to catch himself before he toppled against the poor Infitialis before him. His armor was too smooth for the slick texture their carnage had added to the frozen, snow caked ground. Sloane grimaced, lifting his head back up to gaze at their surroundings. They weren't far from the courtyard entrance; if he could just get to his feet they could retreat to the safety of Anica's interior walls.
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