[PRP] Into the woods (Vincento x Naoreth’Saeval)

[Faithofthefallen]

Vincent's breath clouded the chilly autumn air as he strolled leisurely down the trail. His hooves were silent, but his long hair rustled the leaves as he passed. Strength and arrogance was etched into every elegant inch of his statuesque frame. His long flexible tail was held aloft from the ground, curling and uncurling leisurely, its deadly spaded end glistening in the moonlight. He was an exemplary model of his breed, his father had seen to that, only prime bloodlines had been funneled into his creation. His mother had been fodder, soil to grow his father's seed, desirable only for the pure blood that flowed within her veins. Vincent had rejection that cold existence and been ostracized and cast out for his stubbornness. Such was the rage of his father when he found out that Vincent had taken a part blood mare as his mate that he had attacked the small family Vincent had formed while his son was away and shattered it. Jacqueline, Giovanni, Morphia, Maeve... The names of those he had lost were engraved on his heart. He had lost his first family and had not even been there to defend them with his own body. Blood boiled in the Kalona's veins at the memory. But. He had Evangeline, and now he had Jessamine back as well. His family was his pride, they were beautiful, strong, deadly. He would protect them this time. Vincent had brought those of his descendents he could find into a stronghold into the mountains and made a sanctuary for them. They need not stay, but they would always be welcome there.

Vincent had left his heavy scythe at home, judging it too much of a handful for this hopefully simple errand, but his cleaver was clutched between his teeth, and he had trained his body to be a weapon like many in his family. His horns, teeth, hooves, wings, and tail would all draw blood for him if it came to that. His betrayal by his own father had taught him to never take his safety for granted. Vincent's masses of black hair were pinned at the back of his head in elegant coils that tilted his chin back slightly from the weight, his heavy lidded red eyes flashed as they scanned the area around him for danger, prey, and the strange female he had come to see.

A stallion had wandered into his territory two nights past, gibbering about an old witch woman who could see into your soul. Vincent's mouth had twisted in distaste, he had no doubt the woman had found this strange stallion wanting. He had had Coquette drive the intruder from their lands promptly, not wanting him near his family. Something about his psychic scent seemed to foul the air he passed through. Nevertheless the intruder had proven useful to him, which was why he had allowed him to leave unscathed, with a warning to never return. He was sure there was more to the story behind this mare, interesting tidbits the other stallion had been too foolish or stupid to pick up on. Vincent was... curious. Evangeline was home watching over his flock, and Coquette was patrolling with her warriors, so he had decided to come see for himself what had imbalanced the stallion so.

Jessamine was suffering, having asked her lover, Relic, to take away her cleaver until her children were no longer in danger from her. She shared an unhealthy bond with the object, but it was unbreakable, Vincent couldn't remove it permanently without doing her damage. Coquette and Cosette were now grown and well able to defend themselves against their mother, but little Colette was still vulnerable, so the blade stayed hidden. Vincent wanted to find a calming draft of some sort to help Jessamine cope with her discomfort over the loss of her blade. She was becoming more unstable the longer she was kept apart from it, and Vincent was beginning to think that the best course of action would be to give it back to her and then only allow her around her youngest child while chaperoned for Colette's protection. He didn't want it to come to that. His own shaman, Vervada, was well versed in poisons, she could treat mild wounds, but healing was not her strong suit. A potion such as this was simply beyond her skill.

Vincent stumbled at a crossroads in the path, having picked up a jagged pebble in his hoof and swore loudly, his deep voice reverberating through the silence and making him wince. Foolishness, but he had to stop to pick out the rock before he suffered a worse injury.

Crimson Ribbon

Eep, sorry about the length, got a little swept up. The jist of it is he is walking near where she is and swears loudly to call attention to himself and has stopped to deal with his injury x'D.

 

[Crimson Ribbon]

Naoreth'Saeval's day started as it always did. The former concubine woke at dawn and bathed herself in the small pool fed from a run-off waterfall of the mountain river. Clean and refreshed, she walked about her glade, eyes roving. She loved her little sanctuary. It was split in half, to the right rock chipped away by the steadily running water, to the left a ring of trees that met the rock facade that was the entrance. At the far back was the largest oak tree she had ever seen. Between it and the other trees, it created the perfect spot for her bunk down at night.

For what Naoreth sought, she never quite knew; something misplaced or out of order. Some sign that someone had invaded her sanctuary. But like every morning, she found no sign of disturbance, no broken branches or trampled grass. The only sign of disorder was the bed of fine pillows and silks, velvets like plush moss, she took her rest in. The luxury of the bedding was the only sign in the glade that she'd ever been anything more than an herb brewer, a witch-mare. They had been packed in the crate she had stowed away in, partly for comfort, partly for cover. She couldn't explain why she had kept them, certainly she didn't want any sort of reminder of her old life. But on cold nights the silks and velvets kept her warm and the pillows kept her comfortable. She couldn't ask for more than that.

When she had dried her mane and coat in the patches of sunlight that streamed through the branches overhead, she made her way to the giant old oak that took up half the space of the glade and lent it shade on the hottest of days. Tacked to the tree was one of her silks, it spanned most of the width. Her tail darted out to pull back the cloth and hang it on an overhanging branch. It created a kind of canopy, keeping the contents behind the curtain safe from light. It had taken her years, but she had managed to cut shelving into the living face of the tree without harming it. Glass bottles of all shapes and sizes, of every color, lined the shelves. The shelving was as high as she was tall and ended at her knees and she could easily reach any bottle with her tail. Some of them held perfectly ordinary herbs and spices, some ground, some whole. Others held odder objects, starling feet, jellyfish tentacles, otter whiskers. Other held items even stranger, bloody bandages, pieces of stone that threw off sparks occasionally, and a particularly oily black pus that pulsed when you breathed on it. That last one was particularly hard to come by and the memory of how she had acquired it was not pleasant. Thank goodness the few spells that required it only took a few drops.

Naoreth took quick stock of her supplies. She was lacking in her more simple ingredients, vervain, coriander, rose-hips, queen-anne's-lace. This was good. It meant she would not have to travel far. All of the herbs she needed could be found in the surrounding forrest and meadows. She reached up, grabbing a small sack that hung from a branch and tossed it around her neck. With a flick of her tail, she let the silk fall back into place. With a satisfied nod, she left her glade and set out among the trees.

Half a bagful of herbs later, she trotted just off the main path, humming quietly to herself.

"A most productive morning," She said aloud. "I'm only missing moonflower, and that I won't be able to collect until tonight. Perhaps I will pick night violets as well. I'm not low yet, but their smell is lovely. Perhaps I'll pick some for my satchel..." Naoreth fell silent as a loud deep voice uttered obscenities to her left. She cocked her head, and followed the voice, her curiosity piqued. She broke through the trees to stand clear at the edge of the forest cross-path. There she observed a rather large stallion acting the better part of a fool. She barely restrained a chuckle, the sight quite comical, this large stallion hopping around on three hooves, shaking his fourth, trying it seemed to dislodge a stone.

Faithofthefallen

Don't worry about it, it's a good start. Gives me a good idea of his motivation xD. Good lord, I've forgotten what it feels like to get those creative juices flowing @@;;

 

[Faithofthefallen]

A heady scent drifted past his flaring nostrils, a mix of various flowers, herbs, and.... A mare. Vincent's head shot up instantly, hackles raised, teeth bared. He has been using the narrow point of his blade in a clumsy attempt to extract the pebble from within his cloven hooves, hopping awkwardly to keep weight off of his bruised foot and prevent further damage. Eyes narrowed, he met those of the mare squarely. Setting down his hoof for better balance in case he needed to move quickly, pain shot through his leg, making him want to quickly lift it up again, but he had spent the better part of his life training his body to do what he willed it to do. He did not flinch although his eyes tightened as he absorbed the pain and set it aside. Vincent's eyes were approving as he took in the breathtaking mare before him, her long mane shimmered and glistened with each movement, her well shaped flanks, the elegant curve of her pointed tail... His interest sharpened. Still, it would take more, much more, than a beautiful face to make the Kalona drop his guard. His own family was irrefutable proof that beauty was quite capable of concealing a deadly nature.

Still, it was hard to talk with a blade clenched between you're teeth. He drove his knife into the ground with a decisive thrust and then immediately returned to gazing at his amused companion. He smiled, projecting an aura of lazy arrogance that wasn't entirely legitimate (even the most confident stallion would feel a p***k in the place where he kept his pride at being caught hopping so, and Vincent was no exception).

"Something amuse you?" he purred coldly, quirking one eyebrow. His eyes betrayed the slightest hint of embarrassment, but he would never willingly admit that. He was distracted from his temper by her quiet intensity and the smells coming from her bag piqued his interest, she smelled like an herb woman. Was she the witch woman he had been searching for? If so, he should have checked that stallion's eyesight, for old and ugly were the last two words he would use to describe the enchanting creature before him. He shifted his weight warily and winced again as his wounded hoof throbbed.

Crimson Ribbon

 

[Crimson Ribbon]

Pride, Naoreth thought, reading his expression. Pride is the downfall of all stallions. This one is no different, no different than Him. Still...

One hoof touched the path, then another. Naoreth glided towards him, her gaze locked with his. It was strange sometimes, how her former tutelage in the Harem was useful in her disguise as a witch-mare. The Crown Prince wished her to be elegant, so she was taught how to move. He wanted her to be entrancing, so she learned to level her gaze, to ensnare anyone who met her eyes. To bat and flutter and simper and coo. Thinking about all she knew made her sick. But the training had its uses. Such as now, she could walk forward without fear that the stallion would advance upon her. He was held fast to the ground, his eyes following hers and her every move.

She slowly circled him, appraising him, leaving enough distance to make sure he could not reach out and snap at her. Her eyes never left his, although she observed his eyes roving over her, just as appraising. His mouth quirked at the corners and Naoreth guessed he liked what he saw. Finishing her circuit, she stood before him. Still keeping eye contact, her tail shot out and snaked around the knife handle. She pulled it from the ground with a swift motion, held it out horizontally between them. Naoreth cocked her head before speaking.

"Peace be with you, on this day," Her voice was soft and even, belying the iron will behind it. "I mean you no harm. Tell truth, I have misstepped. Laughed, where I aught not have. Allow me this repentance, a boon, free to you on this fine day."

This would come back to bite her, she was sure. There was a reason she did not consort with other Soquili unless pushed. They sought her out, for one thing or another, and if she happened to meet them on the path she passed by them without so much as a glance. So what was it about this stallion? She could not blame this all on Him. If there were any similarities that she could see, for truly she did not know the stranger in front of her, it would be the same air of command. Here was a stallion who was used to being obeyed. That alone should have sent her running in the opposite direction. But she had not spoken falsely when she had accused herself of blatant rudeness. While she might be called curt and silent, very few could accuse her of being rude. Manners had been beaten into her, literally. Training like that could not be ignored.

Naoreth slowly walked towards the Stallion, turning so that she was broadside against him, close enough to touch. He was a large stallion to be sure, heat rolling off of him in waves. For a moment she shivered, lost in the past, a distant memory looming at the edge of her peripheral. Naoreth was afraid in spite of herself. Giving herself a mental shake, she tapped the offending hoof with the knife. A signal that he should lift it, so she might remove the stone for him.

Faithofthefallen

 

[Faithofthefallen]

Vincent was wary, his tail lashed an unconscious warning as she came closer, her luminous eyes affixed to him. She was truly splendid, her movements as fluid as water, but even as he watched her, he registered that this was no empty headed beauty. She was quite dangerous, as he had initially sensed. He allowed his eyes to trace after her and to admire her, for that was what she seemed to expect, but within his mind was cold, calculating, not hazed by his desire.

He kept his head low as she circled him, feeling the air churn as she parted it, she was just out of reach, she was being very careful. When her tail snaked out to wrap itself around his blade his mouth twitched into a wry smile. She was a quick little thing, he'd give her that. Vincent kept a wary eye on his blade, but he didn't really believe he'd need it if it came to that. She would certainly get a few good slices in, but he was a warrior, pain was no stranger to him. In the space of a breath he had planned how he would do it, his eyes glazed with barely controlled savagery as he imagined the burst of bright crimson that would reward his success.... Well, he could only be who he was, no more, no less.

Her voice pulled him from his musing. It was a sweet voice, a voice a stallion could get lost in, Vincent didn't trust her for a moment. His smile widened, this was turning out even more interesting than he had originally anticipated. He had to admire her style. He nodded carefully as he listened, "Certainly, you caught me at a disadvantage... However, I am certain my pride can stand a little chafing every now and again." Now that it was over, he felt a small surge of humor at the scene she must have walked in on. There had been no other observers, Vincent could live with that. He watched her eyes, wishing he could hear what she was thinking, for certainly her thoughts were flying. He could see the ghost of them for her gaze never left his own. They did not trust each other. Good. He laughed internally at her assertion, certainly they had not come here intending harm, but that did not mean it would not fall to blows, Kalonas were not to be trifled with, regardless of their sex. Their tempers burned fiercely and they had the means to back those tempers with muscle and skill. Vincent sensed no fear in her, no, nor anger, but certainly a hesitance. A distaste. She did not want him here.

He wondered at her story, her voice held just the barest hint that she was not native to these lands. A surge of scent, she was close now. He inhaled deeply as fear tinged the air around them, and then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it dissipated. So it was not he that had caused the fear, at least, not directly. Interesting. His body tensed, his membranous wings flaring to reveal the clawed tips as she came within his reach. Vincent's mouth parted slightly to reveal glistening fangs. A low purling snarl escaped his lips. Not a threat, per say, but certainly a warning. He was not helpless simply because she had claimed one of his weapons.

Vincent raised the sore hoof as she tapped it with the blade, angling it just slightly so that she could reach the stone that was bruising the tender flesh within the hardened edges of his hoof. He did not think she would dishonor herself by attacking him after offering to help, but Vincent had not survived this long by trusting another with a blade in reach of his throat. His long tail snaked around one of her legs lightly, not enough to bruise or cause discomfort. He lay the spaded end of his tail against her hamstring flat side down. It was sharp, this close even if she stabbed him he need only a single thought to incapacitate her. He would not do it unless provoked, but he would do it without hesitation or remorse should it prove necessary. Again, he raised a brow, his eyes sparkling with grim good humor. "Very kind of you to offer." he purred in his his warm baritone.

"I heard tale of a witch woman in these parts," he continued lightly, for all the world as if they were taking a casual stroll rather than being locked in this odd, threatening embrace, this silent battle of wills. "I came seeking her aide. I hoped to purchase a potion, for my daughter." He offered by way of explanation, "I can offer my skills..." His eyes flashed with silent laughter, "I am quite strong enough for most tasks, or I have some goods to trade." He gazed at her questioningly, "Would you know where I could find such a woman?"

Crimson Ribbon

 

[Crimson Ribbon]

Bile in the back of her throat. All she could taste was bile. Stars exploded behind her eyes, her head swam, and for a few terrible seconds Naoreth was sure she would faint. Sheer willpower kept her upright. When was the last time she'd allowed someone to touch her? When was the last time anyone dared touch her? Surely it had been that night, that last night, when she promised herself that no one, no one, would ever touch her again without her permission. Run! Naoreth’s mind screamed at her. Run! Run fast! Run far! Why don’t you move, why do you remain?! Fear rooted her to the spot, shivers rolled down her body. She fought against the urge to bolt, to flee and not look back. The muscles and tendons underneath the spearhead of the stallion’s tail jumped and rioted. Panic, fear, all spiraling down on her and then, sharp, stinging clarity.

As Naoreth shifted, the stallion’s tail tightened around her leg, a warning, and its sharp edge bit into her skin. Not deeply, leaving a welt only about an inch wide, but the pain was enough to focus. Panic told her to turn the knife on him, to plunge it into his shoulder, into the muscle between the joint. But rationally she knew if she used the knife, his tail would slice through her hamstring like freshly churned butter. He would lame her and, if she managed to get away, he would run her to ground. He was large and imposing to be sure, a fine example of the Kalona breed. In a contest of strength she was no match. She might outwit him, but he would win the end game.

In truth, she could not blame him. He could not know who she was, or how she came to be there. He could not know that she had been broken down and remade, over and over, into someone unrecognizable. That she might prefer not to be touched. He asked for the witch-mare and he might think he had found whom he sought. He might play with her, trying to seek out the truth, but he did not truly know. The stallion was alone, in the forest and on unfamiliar ground, with a strange mare whom he did not know. But he was not afraid, he was wary, careful. Naoreth could not blame him for this. She would have acted the same. So as much as it made her skin crawl, she would have to endure his touch for a while longer.

“Few seek the witch-mare of the woods. Fewer still think her little more than a dream. Or a nightmare,” She said, dryly with a hint of humor, but her eyes held anything but. Deftly, she picked the stone from the fleshy underside of his hoof. It fell to the ground with a soft plink. With a flick of her tail the knife buried itself point down, deep into the earth between them. She sidestepped away from him as his tail loosened from her leg. She did not even pause to glance down, where small droplets of blood started to congeal.

At a safe distance, Naoreth regarded him carefully. What did she see, what was her impression of him, truly? Why was she still conversing with him, engaging him? Good sense told her to let him find his own way, to limit as much contact with the stallion as possible. True Kalonas were not to be trifled with. This stallion was no exception. If Naoreth breathed deeply, scented him, the air presented her with the smell of hair oil, blade oil, and blood in the same breath. And though she carried Kalona blood within herself, she did not count herself among them. She might have a temper and she might prefer her solitude, but she was mostly a gentle mare. She lived and let be. He carried an air of almost royalty, certainly nobility, and it would not surprise Naoreth if he led his own herd. He seemed suited for it. She suspected he had been bred for both the battle field and the dining table. And he asked for her skills, not for himself as another might, he asked for his daughter. Family must be very important to him.

“I will take you to her, for she turns none away, though I doubt she will be pleased. Think well and hard what you will offer her, she will require payment.” With that she turned and headed back the way she came. Naoreth did not look back to see if he followed. She knew he would. “And pray,” Her voice carried back to him, edged in steel. “Do not take leave to touch me again."

Faithofthefallen

I'm sorry this is a little late. I had it all typed out last night ready to go and then lost all of it trying to preview D8 XD;;

 

[Faithofthefallen]

She was panicking, Vincent could see it in her eyes, his tail pulled a bit tighter in warning, if she tried to stab him, she would regret it. She flinched. Just barely, but it was enough, his tail, honed to a razor's fine edge sliced through the skin like butter, blood sluicing from the break in a bright trickle. It was not intentional, but he felt the rage rolling off her in waves. Vincent sighed, for truly it had been her movement that had caused the injury, not his. One should not cough if a knife is pressed against one's throat after all. He wondered if she would stab him in vengeance, he smiled at the thought, she could try.

He waited silently, waiting for her to either settle or make a move. His thoughts had been drifting when she finally spoke, pulling him out of his reverie. She had changed, she was different, even more deadly than before when she spoke of the mare of the woods. He began to entertain more than a few suspicions about her true identity at this point. As he had thought, she was not simply a pretty face. Good. Useless, pretty mares bored him. How could one enjoy another's light with out some darkness to add depth and complexity to an otherwise flat existence.

Vincent sighed in relief as the small stone plunked to the ground, the pressure had been akin to having something horrible large stuck between one's teeth on top of the pain of the jagged edge biting into his flesh. He shook the offending limb a few times and tested his weight on it. It would hold, but he would not be travelling much until it healed after this little adventure... A flash of silver and his blade was buried into the ground between them up to its hilt, in a split second his tail had unravelled itself from her leg and deftly pulled the weapon back into his possession. His gaze flicked to her wound. It would heal cleanly. Despite his silent conviction that it was she who had caused her own injury, he had not wanted to hurt her. He was not a brash youth to draw blood for pleasure's sake. Blood was life, sustenance, it was to be revered, not spilled frivolously. Suddenly, he wanted her to understand this about him.

He was quite sure she would not be pleased to see him, the stallion huffed a silent chuckle. This mare was certainly keeping him on his toes. Her threat scarcely made him blink, he was certain she would try to draw blood should he attempt such a thing, but he was sure if she really thought about she would see that her own actions had left him no choice but to act in his own self defense. Had she not touched his blade without permission, he would not have needed to give himself some insurance against her good behavior. As he was here on behalf of another, and was charged with the protection of many others, safeguarding himself was as selfless an act as any the stallion was capable of. Vincent followed her silently through the forest, limping slightly. He focused on her, but his eyes also tracked the forest around him, taking note of landmarks and terrain, not wanting to be caught unawares by outside threats, nor wanting to get lost when he needed to come back. He was fairly sure the mare would not offer an escort back to familiar territory, the thought made him smile.

"That was not intended," he suddenly spoke, breaking the silence. She could not see where he was looking, but she was intuitive. Vincent was sure she would understand he was speaking of her wounding. His eyes held no apology, but they did hold regret, he did not like his body being used as a weapon unless guided by his own intent. "If you require help tending it, you need only ask." He was skilled at basic first aid, he felt certain she was as well, but the stallion felt his honor required that the offer be made, even if he thought she would not accept it. He left it there, returning to his own silent contemplations as he followed her. Vincent felt there was nothing to say for the moment, only she knew where they were heading and he doubted she was inclined to give him details about their destination or herself simply because he asked her for them, he would not lower himself by asking only to be denied. He would take only what was freely offered for himself, and for his daughter, he would pay the price with a light heart.

Crimson Ribbon

 

[Crimson Ribbon]

And in my haste last night to post I edited this post instead of quoting like I wanted to -_____-;; I'll have to see if I saved it somewhere.

Edited:Yep nope, it's gone. I'll see if I can pull it from the dredges of my mind later tonight, but it won't be the same. I am, for the record, an idiot...  

[Faithofthefallen]

The corner of Vincent's mouth curled. Unsurprising, he hadn't really expected her to accept his offer, but he felt better about the wound now. "I'm sure you are." he replied, his voice completely neutral, not even a hint of humor or sarcasm could be detected in his smooth reassurance. For indeed, he was sure. His eyes followed her movements as she stripped the plants around them with deft familiar movements, curious about her intent. When she spat out her mouthful, his brow creased only slightly in distaste, but he accepted her offering. He was sure the mess would do its job and he wasn't about to get squeamish over a little saliva. Vincent stopped a moment to pack the mixture into his hoof. He doubted it would stay long if they kept walking but to his intense surprise, the pain began to drain out of the wound steadily almost as soon as the poultice was in place. She certainly knew what she was doing.

"Thank you-" he began, and then stopped. In the brief moment he had glanced at his hoof in surprise she had disappeared as completely and quickly as if she had simply melted into their surroundings. He huffed out a breath, of course he thought with an irritated tail flick. Vincent knew how to get back so he didn't feel as concerned about being abandoned in the woods as another might but he was wary. He hadn't herd the slightest rustle, so she was quick and quiet, in her own element he was at a slight disadvantage. He assumed a protective stance and listened intently, it didn't seem prudent for her to heal him only to kill him a moment later so he wasn't really that concerned for his life, but he was cautious.

His ears detected the barest hint of noise, before he could whirl towards it the air was billowing with a smoke. He thought about charging towards where he was sure she had been a moment before, but Vincent thought it was the epitome of foolishness to walk into a trap unable to see what you were facing. Indeed, she had vanished so easily before she could quite easily have already moved. Vincent took a deep breath right before the cloud reached him, not wanting to fill his lungs with the smoke.

Her voice rang out from all around, Vincent flicked his ears trying to trace its source, but she was masterful at her craft. Clearly she was well versed in confounding strangers. He wanted to chuckle but he didn't want to release the breath he held. The fog spread, draping itself across the surrounding woodlands. Now, Vincent was in a bit of a fix. If he moved too far from this spot, once the fog cleared he would be lost... He tapped a hoof in frustration. She was muttering, he did wish she would speak up. He caught the gist of her meaning though, this was a test then. Vincent's tail lashed, she was certainly committing to this. His chest was tight and burning, he needed to breath. He was still unsure about the smoke but she had been close and speaking, so he assumed she had breathed. To be safe he lowered himself, smoke rises after all and took a deep breath as he considered her words. He hated riddles, and his instinct was to dismiss them offhand, but she had clearly put a lot of work into this and he also didn't want to disappoint her. Vincent felt sure she could brew what he was seeking now, and he was too proud to walk away when he was this close. He decided to move, if he did end up lost, he would simply find a clearing and fly home instead.

Vincent strode forward into the woods confidently, but carefully. Because of the fog, he was quite taken aback when a towering rock face seemed to appear suddenly out of the gloom. Had he taken a wrong turn? He thought about that for a minute and considered her riddle. He scanned the rock and indeed, there was ivy along one side. He inhaled and detected a trace of her smell, she had walked this way recently, although there wasn't much for the scent to cling to, it still hung in the air as evidence of her passing. Raising a brow in silent approval of her hideaway he also slipped behind the rock facade and halted for a moment to take in the scene. The glade was lovely, billed with a shimmering mist that made him feel as though he had stepped into a dream, a delicious smell drifted on the air enticing his senses.

Vincent's eyes took in the changed mare before him, his gaze sweeping approvingly over her new adornments, she was quite a sight to behold. His interest sharpened, but now was not the time. Plus... there was something in her scent and her demeanor, and in her theatrics... They were quite impressive of course, and they did add significantly to her mysterious image. Overall he approved. She was formidable, beautiful, fiercely intelligent... But also quite young, and carrying the burden of a past that was still almost too heavy to bear. Vincent understood dark pasts, having one himself, either she would adjust, or she would break. He was very curious about the events that had shaped her life, but again, he would not pry. There was a long silence while bright crimson eyes assessed the mare ahead of him, there was an undercurrent of amused resentment floating through the air.

"I nearly thought you'd abandoned me for dead in the woods," he remarked, his voice was a soft purr, but his teeth were bared in a fierce smile as if daring the woods to face his wrath. He softened as he moved closer, his movements slow so as not to startle her. "I think I am right in assuming that I am now speaking with Naoreth'Saeval, the witch mare?" he remarked mildly, "In return, you should know that you are speaking to Vincento Sinclair, patriarch and protector of the Sinclair herd." He might as well cut to the chase, he supposed. "I come to you, not as the elder of my clan, but as a father. My daughter is in pain, not a physical one although just as debilitating. A certain object... Into which she has attached far too much of her spirit, has been hidden from her. It was taken by her will, to protect her own children, but the pain of its loss is fracturing her control. It pains me to see her suffer so. Can you help her?" He did not want to have to provide the intimate details of the fix his family was in if he could help it, he would start with the bare bones of his problem and if she demanded more of him, he would decide whether he would provide it.

Crimson Ribbon

Sorry n_n, work 'week' drained me on top if gross grey weather and I just couldn't get my thoughts together to post, thanks for waiting <3

 

[Crimson Ribbon]

“Somehow, I believe, the dangers of the forest would not have touched you,” Naoreth said wryly, her voice heavily laced with irony. As if a stallion such as he, could ever be left for dead. She was sure that he would do the leaving. Alpha stallion of a herd, she thought to herself. Of course he was, her instincts had not gone amiss. “Vincento Sinclair.” Naoreth rolled the name around her mouth. Yes, she had heard of him. Or more accurately, his daughter. Truth told, Naoreth had not heard more than mere whispers of the mare called Jessamine, but it was enough. Crazier than a loon out in a storm, a mare full of pain and loathing, and none of it her fault. She did not know the poor thing personally, nor had she ever had contact with her. But fate would demand this of her, she decided. She would be asked this, to cure a mare most considered beyond curing. A culmination of all her skill and bravery, to face the edge of darkness and pull a soul back from its clutches. Naoreth smiled, and it was not pleasant. A challenge, a true challenge. This was what she had been made for. Not to be some Prince’s plaything, but to make a difference in the life of someone who truly needed it. And there was no question in her mind that Jessamine needed help. Some might have argued that after what the mare had done she might not deserve help. Naoreth was not one. She knew horror and no one, despite what they might do in the grasp of that horror, deserved that kind of a fate. To lose themselves so thoroughly, as to be unable to find the person they once were. Naoreth had been there, gone through that. Someone had given her the chance to save herself. Jessamine deserved that chance as well.

But how to do it? Easy to say yes, harder to follow through. Her book, she needed her book. Naoreth turned, muttering to herself, the wheels in her mind already churning with possibilities. She had several options. Two of them permanent, both very dangerous. Mind altering dangerous. From her bedding, she pulled a medium sized, leather bound book and held it securely in her mouth. The Alchemist had given it to her before he had secured her crate. For knowledge, he had said. For all that you know and all that you will learn. Safe journey, my child. It had served her well, keeping her sane on the journey west. She plopped it down into a niche in her tree, meant to hold it at eye level. Naoreth turned back to Vincent, wondering how he would take what she told him next.

“You asked for the Mare, she has come. You ask for your daughter, the one called Jessamine, and what you ask is no small favor. Indeed, what you ask for is dangerous. You ask for a calming spell. I can give one, a potion of soothing. But it is not permanent, and in truth I fear it will fracture her mind even more, knowing that she would be dependent on the draught forever,” She turned back to her book, to riffle through some pages. What she had to offer next, he would not like. Would he choose it? Would he choose for his daughter, regardless of the consequences? “Or I can cast a true calming spell, if that is your wish, though I almost dare not. A true calming spell will affect her mind, change it. True she will never feel the murderous urges she craves, but neither will she feel…anything. There will be no pain, but also no emotion, no life. She will be able to communicate, but what she will say will have no value. She will stay in a complete state of utter tranquility for the rest of her days. And that is no way to live. Life requires balance, the good and the bad. If I take away the bad, it will upset that balance within her.” Naoreth held up her tail, to prevent words that threatened to spill from Vincent’s mouth. “And no, it would not matter the skill of the mystic or magician. The spell is the same principle regardless of the caster. In rare cases, the personality is unaffected, but that is entirely dependent on the mind it is cast on.”

She walked to the edge of the pool, to peer into it through the mist. She dipped the spadehead of her tail into the water, cupping a handful, peering into it, letting the liquid fall back to the shining pool below. A pause for dramatic effect, she thought. Let him think his options over, you will seem more the hero when you offer the safer option. Safer for Jessamine, Naoreth amended. Not for herself. Quite dangerous for herself indeed. Finally! A true challenge!

“There is…another way,” She said, after she had let him mull for a moment. She cocked her head, the silk shifting, her hair catching the light and showering off bright sparks of sun in every direction. You must convince him you can do this, Naoreth thought. Stallions like this only bow to shows of strength and bravery. You can do this, you are the Witch-Mare. Act like it. She walked slowly towards him, close enough for him to touch. Naoreth might fear a stallion like him, might cower and shake, but Naoreth’Saeval did not. She gazed into pools of deep crimson, and found a depth there she could not possibly begin to fathom. Lust, yes, covetous desire, absolutely. She was used to that. But this, this went deeper. What I wouldn’t give to understand you, my strange, beautiful herd leader. The stories you might tell me.

“Bring me the object of her desire,” She said after a moment, breaking eye contact. “Let me assess the energies of it, the tie that binds between them. Mayhaps I can break that tie, enough to let a potion of soothing do its work, without risk of withdrawal. Not a balm, a bandage to cover the wound, but truly start to mend the damage done. I have the power to break the hold, though I fear I cannot fix her mind completely without doing more harm. It will take work, long hard work, but without the hold and a potion of soothing to help, mayhaps Jessamine could right her own mind. Bring her back to what was and what should be.”

Naoreth was almost certain the option that Vincent would choose. Why risk his daughter’s life, when he could risk hers? Still, Naoreth was confident. She had not been the Witch-Mare of the Woods for many, many seasons without the skill and cunning she possessed. True, she had never done anything like this, but in theory, an exorcism of a cursed or possessed object was simple. What was required was will. In herself she had spades, and in the stallion before her, she had multitudes on which to draw. He would lend her that strength, of that she had no doubt. All for the love of a daughter. Would that Naoreth had felt such love. What a difference it might have made.

Faithofthefallen

That's perfectly okay. My own muse s**t the bed, which is why this reply is later than I wanted it to be e we;;

 

[Faithofthefallen]

Vincent tilted his head regally in appreciation of her observation. He met her eyes, he would not dispute her conclusion. Because he was looking, he saw the recognition in her eyes when he spoke his daughter's name. It was not the first time he had encountered one who knew Jessamine, he was interested to see it was not fear or disgust that filled her eyes. A small trace of pity was all, Jessamine hadn't been stable even before the attack that had erased her memory of her childhood and family, believing herself to be a mind sick regular with a taste for flesh rather than a mare of dual bloodlines who required a diet that catered to both of them had twisted her into a realm that was frightening even for those who loved her. Vincent did not fear his daughter, but he did fear for her. He also worried about her children's safety when she did slip into the separate personality her cravings had created in order to sate themselves without her interference. Her cleaver had been hidden at Coquette and Cosette's birth but she had still had to be restrained at times to stop her from attacking the foals before they could protect themselves.

Vincent mulled over these thoughts as Naoreth puttered around, doing whatever it was witch women did to craft their spells. He eyes the book she examined with interest, wondering where she had acquired such a thing, but he kept his thoughts to himself, as usual. When she turned to face him, something in her eyes made him bare his teeth, he had a feeling he was not going to like what she had to say. He walked closer to hear her better, but not so close that she would worry about him trying to touch her, or positioning himself for attack.

Vincent listened to her words, his face growing grimmer with each syllable. He would not condemn Jessamine to a life without emotions. He held his tongue in response to her appeal for silence, but as soon as she finished he shook his head emphatically and suppressed the urge to either leave or lunge to rip out her throat.

She walked away from him, good. He used the opportunity to gather himself, doubtless she didn't realize the deadly insult she had delivered with her assumption. She was trying to help, and from her behavior and pain earlier it was clear Naoreth was used to dealing with the sort of monster that would strip a mare of her emotions for the sake of convenience. Still, her attitude irked him. He wouldn't hold it against her, but he would remember.

Vincent let her continue her game. His eyes narrowed as she turned back to face him "I should think so," he snarled. "I didn't come here to change her, Naoreth. She's my daughter, I don't want to replace her with a tame puppet, an empty shadow. I would slit Jessamine's throat before I would ever consider condemning her to that existence." His brow furrowed, sweet rage simmering through his body in outrage that she would think he would need to be convinced not to commit such an atrocity. He was many things, but he was not that kind of stallion.

As she approached him, he bit off more angry words and met her eyes with a challenging glare of his own. He made no effort to hide the desire sparked by her proximity. No hint of discomfort or shyness dimmed the sensuality simmering in his crimson gaze, even when she recognized it. He quirked one brow, as he felt something pass between them that even he could not quite put words to... Interesting.

Vincent thought about this. "If you could break the hold, that would be enough." he said finally, "I don't want to change her temperament, I don't need her soothed, and I won't risk her mind even trying to ease her pain. It would be useful if the things absence didn't hurt her so. Without it, she is controllable, but it discomforts her to the point of distraction to have it out of her sight. If breaking the bond doesn't work... Well, we've managed thus far."

Reaching across his back, he severed the thick ribbon holding a battered Cleaver. Unimpressive and barely noteworthy, the thing had been mostly concealed by his long mane, and partially by his large wings. He tossed it to the ground before the mare, his eyes glittering. The owl had hidden Jessamine's Cleaver well, she was clever, but no match for him, it hadn't taken much work to extract the location of the blade from her. No harm was done, he would return it to its' hiding place after they finished here regardless of the results, but something had told him he might need the blade.

"That's it." he stated simply, "Her cleaver, her weapon, it is as dear to her as if it housed her own soul.... Can you help her?"

Crimson Ribbon

 

[Crimson Ribbon]

“My dear stallion, I would never deign to insult you,” Naoreth said almost as an afterthought, though her eyes were fixed on the cleaver, and she said it so softly she wasn’t sure he had heard. Nor did she particularly care. The glint in her eyes was almost gleeful as she surged towards the object, a new toy in her sights, a puzzle to solve, magic for her to unravel. Her entire focus fixed on the thing as her tail darted out, serpentine, poking gently as the metal glinted dully, testing the energies of it. She didn’t like what she found. In her mind the thing felt like snake oil, raw, thick, and smothering. This was not an object that Naoreth would ever want in her possession. And the poison of it had been there a long while. Poor Jessamine. The object that was supposed to offer protection was betraying her instead.

“You do not know how true you speak. House her spirit it does, but I can guarantee you she did not give it willingly. It was siphoned off, slowly, over a long period of time. When this is over, I think mayhaps you will find yourself on a journey to seek they who put a spell on this blade. This is no natural thing, this is the work of another caster. You have an enemy, or Jessamine does. Your daughter is, for lack of a better term, possessed.”

Naoreth turned away to walk back to her book, riffling through the pages with her tail. She found the page she searched for easily, her tail running over the painstakingly written words, tallying the ingredients she would need for the ritual. She had almost everything she needed. Three ingredients missing, two relatively easy to get. One she would have to search for on her own. He would provide the others. There was also the question of payment. She reached up to pull a small glass vial from one of the shelves. In it was a small, dried sprig of Baby's Breath. She grasped it in her tail and glanced over her shoulder. He was willing to die for his daughter. Was he also willing to bleed?

“It can be done. I will do it, of course. I am only missing three ingredients. One I will get myself, the other two I require your help with. The first is your strength. The strength of one who loves Jessamine more than life itself. Who better to give that strength than her own father?” Naoreth walked slowly towards him again, sidling up to him and offering him the bottle. “Your strength is in your blood, your life force. I don't ask for much, just a couple drops. I won't steal all of your strength, may my own spells rebound on me.” She said, with a small smirk, inviting him to share in her small joke.

There is something very alluring about him, Naoreth thought to herself. Perhaps it is only that he is so willing to do anything and everything, for the health and happiness of his daughter. Naoreth did not even know who her father was. Neither did she know her mother. Her father had just been a donor stallion, the other half of her perfected genes. And when she was born, she was taken from her mother and raised with the other wives and concubines in the harem. Naoreth used the term raised lightly. Her training was not the life any child should be raised to. No concubine ever knew where she came from, who her parents were. It was considered useless knowledge. Her thoughts should only ever be turned to how to please her future master. Subservience. That was the only thing a concubine should ever be preoccupied with. Never mind that she might have actual thoughts in her head or have dreams and ambitions. Never mind that she might be good at something other than pleasing positions to be bedded with or pretty flower arrangements or making the perfect cup of tea.

“The second, I will retrieve myself, and the third I also require your assistance. The ritual requires the hair of a pure moonlight Unicorn. I have none, and know of no one to trade with. And even if I did, trade would be more expensive than I have in personal stock. No,” She grimaced, for what she was about to propose went against her personal morals of live and let live. But the only moonlight unicorn in the area was a skittish thing and could not be persuaded to trade. So Naoreth would trade the unicorn the only thing she would have when she caught the unicorn; it’s life. “Unfortunately we must hunt one down. One lives in the forest below, but we must be swift to catch it. I will flush it from its den and you will run it to ground. I will trade its life for hair, and then will leave for the valley plains for the last ingredient. In three days’ time, you will bring Jessamine to me and I will remove the cleaver’s hold on her.”

“As for payment, I will only ask this. Fair wind brings danger, one moon passes by, blood and roses and seeds from the east. I have had this dream for months now. I can only guess at its meaning,” Her eyes clouded over, tinges of fear rolling off her flanks. Roses from the east. Danger indeed; he was close. She would need to renew her wards before she settled down for the night. “Your protection for your daughter’s life. A fair trade, I should think. When I come to you, you will offer me sanctuary within your herd for as long as I require. I will, of course, carry my own weight. Perhaps you will have need of my services; you will have them, without remittance. What say you?”

Faithofthefallen

 

[Faithofthefallen]

Vincent narrowed his eyes at her words but held his tongue, some of the tension draining from his body. He had come to help Jessamine deal with the necessary loss of her blade, not to make her condition easier on himself. He huffed air out of his nose irritably but it was surface temper rather than a blood rage that danced in his eyes now. He watched Naoreth's face as she examined the blade, her cool professional interest was slowly replaced by something close to revulsion. His tail flicked impatiently, worry clouding his thoughts, had she changed her mind about helping them?

At her words his temper lit again, spiraling down from hot rage to a cold fury that glazed his eyes. Who would dare curse his daughter? He would rip their flesh, crush their bones, and drink the living wine until nothing remained of them but a whisper of a memory. He was lost in these thoughts, his breath hitching in his throat with desire when she spoke again. Vincent's eyes trained on her, his eyes still glazed with a deadly calm, violent potential etched in every inch of his well honed body. There was a reason Kalonas were feared, there was a reason he was feared.

He waited, content that she had consented to help him correct this terrible act against his family. The time for vengeance would come, and he would savor it then. He eyed the bottle as she approached again, it was fitting that the spell required his blood to work. Vincent was not a stallion who spilled blood lightly for sport. Blood was life. it was sustenance, it was what bound his family together. He didn't even pause to consider it, should this be a trick to drain his strength, he would make sure she regretted it, but he doubted she would do that at this point. There was much he still did not understand about Naoreth'Saeval, but he felt nearly certain about at least this much of her nature. He smiled at the mare in return, although his eyes still held a hint of abyss as his tail whipped forward, he summoned his strength so as to offer the best he had to give and sliced his foreleg deep enough so that the blood would run freely and held it up so she could collect what she needed.

He listened as she spoke of the unicorn, he would have offered what riches he possessed gladly, but he preferred her solution. Vincent had no qualms about manipulating a nearby unicorn to bargain for a hair, if he couldn't convince the unicorn to comply with his reasoning, he would be more than happy to provide more incentive for its' cooperation. Vincent could be damn scary when he put his mind to it, and was certain, with his help, Naoreth would get her hair. In fact, he could probably secure a few of them for her to store against a future need. The stallion felt grim approval at the idea of providing for her this way, his eyes heating for a moment as they met hers and the energy between them crackled.

Bring Jessamine... He thought about that. He was certain he could protect her from Naoreth, and reasonably certain he could protect the with mare from his daughter but... If Jessamine saw the Cleaver, she would likely go wild, it would be tricky. After a long hesitation, he nodded to this demand as well. "Be sure you keep the blade hidden until the last possible second, she would kill you for it, has killed others for it. I don't want to have to hurt her to keep her from ripping out your throat." His voice was casual, but his words held the weight of truth. He was not exaggerating the level of danger Naoreth would be putting herself in by placing her body between Jessamine and the Cleaver. He would be there, but he would not kill his daughter, and the desire to protect both of them in a battle would be a handicap in a fight.

Vincent's eyes held hers in silent contemplation as fear sang through her body, the scent of it flavoring the air in the clearing. What terrors rode her from her past that could make her react in such a way to the ghost of a memory? He felt an almost predatory satisfaction at the thought of her staying with his herd, for the first time in a very long time, he wanted. The anticipated game of cat and mouse held a great amount of appeal for the stallion, he was what he was after all, and the thrill of the hunt was a strong instinct. Naoreth would have her third payment as well. "Done." There was a hint of a purr in his deep voice, "I will pay your prices if you will free my daughter... When do we seek out the unicorn?"

Crimson Ribbon