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+--- Thread: Phantom Hollow make thick my blood (/showthread.php?tid=36270)
make thick my blood - Andraste - August 25, 2019
‘ You made your choice. ’
The verdict had forged an ember resentment so thoroughly within her hurting heart that the searing, hateful ashes could be felt upon her tongue where words were meant to be. There were no words, though, and her chords remained strained, alight; so all Aurëwen could do was damn all and loose a perturbed, hoarse call for @Guildenstern as she marched ostentatiously from the riverlands, sick with indignant, ugly fire in the belly.
She should not, would not ever beg forgiveness of it: the claim of the basilisk had been a means to the end, and she had not figured their ways entirely in the time she’d mostly (somewhat, then!) kept to that fated thicket. It had been the only known place in the silver’s mind to think of, so near to laboring — beyond that, and nothing more, and Aurëwen would remain unapologetic in her sights of such.
But with each step into this unseelie hollow, the silver surmised that hers had been the ruin of whatever her family had become and also was not. Each step told her that the gargoyle’s words of Diaspora is your home was nothing more than a mockery, and his offer of returning therein to her children was nothing more in itself of—!
“What else am I to do with myself?” letting herself, for once, be as ugly and as dreadful as she felt: she cascaded to the mists how she would never amount to be the unwavering, nuturing mother she’d once promised herself to be — her most recent encounter only furthered that she was the entire opposite. She swore away with friends and lovers, all of those that it was so pitilessly apparent she did not deserve for neither would be in her good company.
And the druid swore herself in the same breath, almost at her wit's end; lungs brimming over with her own melancholia that she knew would smother all near and dear and far and away. Only her request, an undeniably desperate “Mentor me” seemed to make sense, anymore; the hopeless, agitated gleam for some control in her life — to sunder those who rose before her, ill intents towards her person and to others. To kill.
To understand something she would know and never doubt in.
RE: make thick my blood - Guildenstern - August 29, 2019
The fog had long since disappeared by the time that her call sounded through the trees. Guildenstern had stopped at the edge of the winding river. Bent over, quenching his thirst, the great white knight filled until his throat no longer ached with the need for it, and turned his head toward the pale woman’s summons. From his scraggly chin dripped the remnants of the river water. Overhead, the sound of birds in the trees carried a musical note throughout the hollow. They passed just as soon as they had arrived, for the hollow did not seem to be a place for many living things. There was a ghostly air to the wood and the moss that hung against the stones and bark of the trees seemed to breathe with the spirits of the forest.
The knight moved through the hollow as swiftly as his limbs would permit. The wood did not seem to prevent him from taking powerful strides, from one place to the next. Before long, Guildenstern had covered a vast stretch of earth and the scent of the woman was closer to him than it had been before. It was here that he paused and searched the wood – nose to the earth – for signs of where she had gone.
A ghostly flash of pale white passed before him, and there she was. The narrow features of her face coupled with the horrific scars that were spattered across her surface. Had he not known any better, Guildenstern would have imagined that this woman was already a warhound. After the few short times that he had found himself in her company, the pallid beast had found that she was much softer than her appearance would suggest. While she may have been marred by the vicious force of another, she had not allowed it to cripple her. It was the start to something that he knew would amount in a great transition for the desperate mother.
“To fight? To battle? To win?”
They were all so very different. Fighting was necessary. It was something that they did on a regular basis without truly realizing it. They fought for every moment that they were alive. Battle was something else entirely. Guildenstern had seen himself at the front of many large wars. He had known the raging of the warriors around him, and the force of fear that came with the arrival of their adversaries. To win… well, the knight was not entirely certain that such a thing could be taught to another. It was a measure of spirit, and just how much that spirit could take.
“It will not be easy.”
RE: make thick my blood - Andraste - September 05, 2019
this is ridiculously short i'm so sorry
"I would not ask for it any other way."
Chords a bit ragged from her plighting to the blood queen's daughter, but the silver flame within the herbalist's eyes hadn't been too exhausted just yet. Aurëwen turned to her ... well, she couldn't make out exactly what Guildenstern was in her presence, really. Well ... "I ... have been invited to Moonspear, a pack amongst ze Barriers, southwest of here. Their queen has asked me to mentor her young," lips quirking with a note of uneasiness, "yet, I do not know how, or what I will teach. Had I either Sanguinus or ... or Rosencrantz, both full of brawn and with half-sight, too, I would have asked for their company. As it stands, you are ze only sellfang I have ze ... delights ... of knowing, and so, you are my choice." Another pause.
"If you would accept?"
RE: make thick my blood - Guildenstern - September 10, 2019
The challenge did not seem to dissuade her from her goals. This was confirmed in the sharp glint of her gaze and the way that she drew her narrow muzzle toward him – confident and driven. The knight had always spoken of the pliability of a willing mind. He had often stated that it was all that he would seek in those that he taught. To have found someone who was so willing to simply push through the trials that would plague her was refreshing. Guildenstern was not certain if it was by the hand of fate that they had crossed their paths, or if it had simply been a sweet and fleeting happenstance. Regardless of what it was that had drawn the two pale creatures into each other’s company, it was time for them to determine what it was that she needed.
Just before his lips were to part and he had intended to speak, the scarred woman spoke a name that the knight had never anticipated to hear. Rosencrantz, he repeated inwardly. So, the mad woman had stepped into the same path as his brother. For Guildenstern, that moment did well to establish just how small their world was. He had known that his brother was roaming the area; Guildenstern had not anticipated that the one-eyed sibling would have happened upon the grieving mother. Did he meet her when she had lost her son? Had he offered to help her find him? Something told him that this was not likely, so the towering specter did not pursue the one individual that they had in common.
“I am a sellfang. It is my purpose to accept such pacts,” Guildenstern answered her with a slow dipping of his muzzle. In other words, he was willing. “You have much to learn, but time will show how adept you become, the way that only time can.” Eyes like the moon latched onto her features and remained there. The knight’s brows were stitched across his forehead. His lips were thin and curled downward to provide him with a thoughtful expression. The towering beast of the north was curious to know just how long she would remain a pupil, or if she would flutter away from him on broken wings to seek the comfort of a life at peace.