Fate - First Reply To Change One's Fate

A 1x1 Roleplay where the first writer to respond can join

Ánië Táralóm

High Councilor of The Order
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Screaming.





Ḩ̵̨̛͇͚̳͖̻̳͙̥̟̭̰̜̗̟̱͌̎̀͊͋͛̊͆͒̂̀͋̀̾͊̊̇͠͝o̴̡̧̡̧̢̹̦̮͎̗̦̺̤̱̩̺̰̖̹͇̭̼͖̟͓̝͈̹͍̰̞͍͚͕͙͒͒́̓̂́̉̈́͑͒̀̈́̽̈́̓͗͛́͋̃͒̔̎̾̂̑̈̈́͘̚̚͠ͅw̷̞͍̹̣͚̻̦͉̞̘̻͔̜̝͈͈̞͇͐̄̓̍̾̃̽̃̋̽̏̒͑̊̆̀͛́̎͗́͒͑͑͜ͅͅ ̶̘͈̮͇̝̪̘̿̏̓̓̔͐̔̓̏̏̀̐̓͗̐̑̊̀̌̚͘̚͜͠ċ̷̡̨̛̰͖̠̟̔͌̊̔͐͂̓̇̅͛́̄́̀̍̀̍͂̀̄̌̒͒́̓͗̈́̀͘͘͘͝͝ǫ̸̡̟̘̩͚̠̲͓̠͕̯̰̟͔̥̋̈́͒͂́͊̃͐̄͆̄́̿̎̑̿̓͌͆̕͝u̴͕͇̙̬͎̯̜̟̦̦̺͔̥̘̐̿̇͌̈́̆͋͗̇̒̈̎́͆̽͘͜͝ͅl̵̡̢̛̛̛̜̼͉̞̭̰͙̼̭̪̹̰̖̣̤̈̔̋́̑̀͐̃̐͆̓̈̂̓̆̋̾͛̍̃͛̐̄̕̚̚͜͜͝͝͝ḋ̵̨̧̡̛̺̘͔̤̼͚̯͖̲͖͙̳̞̟̱̗̺̻͔͓̻̫͉̫͎͖͚̣̘̭̘̻͇̉͋͗͒̌͒͊͌̔̽̍͋̀̇͐͋̄͐́̈͛̀̍̍̍͌̕̚͘͘͘͜ ̶̧͔̥̪̹̠̫̮̹͚̳̰̤̏͂̋͗̔̓̈́͝y̷̨̛͓̱͎̻̣̮̳͇̾͑̆̎̔̇͜o̶̡͕͖̬̜̹̰͓͔͚̙̰̗̟̠͓̘͎͇̟̯̲̭̤̱̙̠̗͍͔̖͓͚̬̎̆̌͋͊͑͒̇̇́̇͊͂̄́͜͝͠ͅų̵̟͕̬̻̖̋̔̿̊̋̐̊̋̈̐̌̾̅̆͛̍͐͘͘͘͝ ̵̡͉̬̲͔̱̻̙̼͇̻̬̮͕̪̱̩̣̜̺̝̬̖̯̿͒̐͒̃̈̿̀͆͜ͅl̸̡̖̺̦̹̗̖̠̫̩̼̎̽̄̈̐͐̒͆̎̌͛́͆̒̈́́̌̂͂̀̏̔̕̕̚͝ͅẻ̷̢̡̢̧̡̨͎̱̦͎̹̥̣̬̻̦̣̠̲̮̤̭̹̱̱͔͖̰̮̲̲͓̗͚̥͈̿͋̂͗̿̊͋̓͊́́̀̎̑̑͆̽̂̃̓̃͊̿̾̇̏̚͘͜͝͠t̸̡̛̛̹̟̝̠̮̀̓̅̈́̌̀͋̿̑͌̂̒͂͛̀̒̅̔͗̊́̅͛́́́̌̏̊̚͝͝͝͝ ̴̧̢̢̨̣̞̰̳͓̟͓̙̲͎̖̞̠̬̝͖̟̦̬̼̥̰̺͓̼͙̭͛̈̓͛́̏́̔̑̽̂̿͐̿̂̾͊̈́̈͗̊́̆͆̅̐̾̇͘͠ͅṭ̷̢̧̨̼̭̥͈̜̖͚̟̬̻͉̹̩̜͙̺̈́͒̈́̔̅̒̌́́̅̍̆̓̏̑̌́̌̓́͗̋̚͜͠͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅh̵͎̊̓̋́̈̀̉͘̚͜͝͝i̵̡̛̛̮͖̼͇̝̲̮͖͙̻͇̝̙̬͇̓͛̋͆͑̉̀̂̓̎̉̃͌͒̋̆͒̚͝͝ṣ̴̢̢̢̨̤͚͕̲͙͎̞̜͉̲̘̗͉͉̱̺͖̩͇̳̥̺̅́̒͆̂̿̅́̄͋̿̊͐̓̂̑̇̑͒̐͗͘̕͜͝͠͠ͅ ̸̨̢̻̫̩̯̮̥̝͖̟̪̱͈̬͈̘͎͈͖̦͈̻͉̹̮͉̩̻͎͊͑͂͗̅́͜͝h̵̨̝̮͇̣͍̯͍̩̞̺͇̙̟͎̹̤͓̻̫̞̱̗͔̬͇̬͈̀̆a̸̳̜̯̺̳̣̗̝̘̼͎̲̦͈̖̝̠̫̙̘͔̦͈̩̰̹͓̙͍̦̣͎̓͜p̴̨̛̯̥̝̮͈̓͐̓̄͗̌̐͒̊́̊̏͛̊̈́̂̑̈̉̈̋̈́̋̌̂̅́́͛̕͝͠p̸̢̡̡̡̡̧̲̼̥̘̫͚͉̤̘̠̫͕̯̪̞̼̩̜̥̠̘̠̤̣͛̈́̓̔̾͑͌̊̈́̒̐̊̍͂̈͑̆̀̓̑͌̾̃́̅͑͂͌̾̒͘͜͝ę̷̢͕͉̤͕̙̰͇̖̪̼̼͎̠͎͊͐͆ͅn̴̹̪̤̥̳̔̅̎̿́̌̆͋͊̄ ̷̫̜͓̩̻̭͔͈͈̹̠̫̋͒̂͛͌́̇̈t̷̡̧̨̡̛͔̙̙̰̟̼̟̺̰̦̞͇̹̼͎͍͖̬̹͎̮͖̲̭̰͓̝͍̦̗̊̊͐͐͒̓̐̐̉͊̑̀̃͒̆́̆̀̕̕͠͝͠͝ǫ̵̧̗̪̰̫͕͚̝̠̜͙̟͚̲̖̠̲̝̹͉̫̥̈́̊͒̒͋̃̾̋̇̀̋͗̎͗̈̚ͅ ̸̡͍̞̠̥̖̈́̋̊͛̈́̈́̎̏̔͛̑͆͛̎́̂́̾͋͗̚͝ư̷̡̩̟̪̝̣̄͌̄͊̇̆̈́̒̀̋͊͆͂̃͑̄̽͛͂͌̋͠͠͝s̵̢̲̲̺̘͍̩̯̭̑̀̄̆͐̅̅͝͝!̸̡̛͉͈̟͉̞̝̼̦̤̠͙̖̝̯̘̯̻͈̣̤̤̝͔̤̼̞̩̖̂͑̀̂̓̅̏̆͊͋͊̾̇͊̑͆͊͛̈́͛͘̕͝?̶͙̦͚̣͕̬̲͔͔̲̬̻̞̩̥̗̓̄̽̆̈́̊͋̕̚͝





A horrid and constant misery...
...consuming every thought.









H A T E

Ę̶̡̨̢̡̨̢̛̣̼̗͎͓̠̺̯͚̤̰̼͇̤̬͖̭̬͇̥̝̩̹̭̞͙͚͚̠͚͓̘̣̙̜̟͖͎̝̣̠̞̙̳̯̬̯̬͚̻͕͙͂̉̐̓̿̀̈́̾̇̏͆͌͗̓͒̈́̓̀̊̈̈̏̈́̅͊̆̉́̓̾̓̏̂͋̈́̈̽̄̋̾̔̿͊̚̚͜͜͝͠͝͠͝͝ ̶̡̨̢̧̨̧̛̛̫͎͚̞͓̼͓̘̠͕̙͙̗̮̺͓̦̖͖͓̻̟̘͈̜͐͗̒̌̀̿͒̇̒̀̂͋̋́͒̾͛̉̀̀̈͂́̽̾́͜R̴̦̺̮͖̫͎͑̇̀̓̾̎̈́̇̽́̏̽̄̐̇̇̄̀͗͂̍͂̅͑̀͐͐̅͛̈́̐̈́̈́͊͐̈̈́̍͛̓̓́̿̎̂̒̚̕̚͠͝͝ ̷̧̧̨̧̨̢̢̧̡̼̫̺͍̦̟̱͖̥̪̥͚̙̣͇͍͎͉̦͕̣̖̰̩̳̹͇͔̤͕̺̩̩̖͕̖̖̫̙͎̻̮͓̞͙̟͎̺̖̤͇̥̯͇͙͎̗̭͙̭͈̞͉͐̍̈́̑̄͘̕R̸̡̧̧̨̛̛̰̮̙̦͚̺̹̪̥̭̞̠̥̞̬͍̥͇͙̹̗̦̲͔͈̥̖̣͉̳̭̘̺͖͔̻̫͚̮͓̖͍͖̼̹͍̘͕̩̮̝̣͙̠̺̙͎̠͖̞̤̤͇̲̈́͗̂̎̈́̀̀̾̔̍̑̈́̎͊͑̎̄̃͊̉̀̏̀̈́͑̍́́̈́́͑̓͗̈́̽̿̑̿̎͌̀̎̎̓͗̂͊͂̕̕͘̕͜͜͝͠ͅ ̸̢̡̢̨̢̧̛̛̗͖͇̥̩͈̼̠̗̫̱̯̞̥̹̹̼͎͔͈͖̣̥̠̖̥͈̩̥̬͈͎̿́́̉̿̽̀̾͊́͋̊̾̈͌͒̃͂͗̋́́́͊̍̓̊̐̈́͛̾̋̍̈̔̊̈̐̓̐̍̀͂̈͋̔̐̐̓͋̐̉̎̆̕͘̕̚̚̚͠͝͝͠͝͠ͅͅͅͅĄ̴̨̰̯͉̜͚̹̼͎̹̟͇̭͋͋̿͋͑͛͊̊͛͝͝͝ ̷̨̡̧̧̨̧̛̹͇̲̺͇͕̳̫̦̲̘̺̼̬͍̦̫̹̫̼̫̼̩͕̙̪͇̻͎̳͓͍̫͓̜̝͍̦͕̙̮͇̱̦̟͔̙̣͚̣͖̭̲̮̻̉́̋̑̓̓̓̑̈́̄̍̏̋̈́̉͂́̈́̅̑̅̉̉͛̍̀̈͋̇̄̈́̎̔̔̈́͐̎̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝ͅͅͅT̵̹͍̮͙̫̟̮̩͖̲̝̼̙̼͈̩̦̘̦͐̿̈́̽̇̐̄̃͌̂̀̇̾͛̔͗̄͗̽̈́̽̈́̓͛͂̓̇̐̂̈́̀͗́̓̈́̀̓͘̚̚̕͠͝ ̴̡̢͔̳̹̹̬̬̦̮̩̗̙̘̠̱̜͕͔̱̀̆̓͗̒̓̇̆̇̄̅̈́̈́͌̆͒̈̏͋̒̒̀͒͋͑́̾̑͊̓̀́́́́͋̿͆̏͐̿͋̉̈́̅̅͒̂̑̿̔̋̅͆̉̉̓̒͗̀̌͛͛̚͘̕͘̚͝͝͠͠͝͝͠ͅĮ̸̧̢̨̫͇̠̟̣̺̦̬̫̖͔̝̯̼̗͚̲͎͚̲͕̭̰̤͖̥͕͙̾̉̋̿̆̏̏͑̐̀̊̓̊̓͌͐̈́̒̍̃̔͌̏̇̀̿̐͂̀̂́̏̌̓͂̿̃̄́͑̓́̈̃͆̍͊̇̉́͗̒͒̀̓̚̕͝͝͝͝͠͠͠ͅ ̷̛̩̪͎̃͑̿̔̊͆̐̍̒̒̐̐̂͐͐̈́͊͒̀̈́̓͐͆͒̓̓̀̌̒́͂͒̆̂̃̿͒̒̈́̂̽̈͊̄́̏̾̕͘͜͝͝͝Ç̶̧̡̡̢̧̨͚̗̻̗̳͕̼̟̳͎̙̤͇͍͈̝̥̱̹̝̗͎͇̩̲̞̗̺̥̗̬̟̭͖̬̩̜̻̙̰̲̩͚̣̱̳͕̪̗̩̯̗̣̦̮̠̲̟̘̯̿̇̆̽͑̿̈́͑͒͂͋̿̈́̒͊̓́́̍̏͊̓̋̈̐̽̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅ ̸̢̨̢̖̰̬͔̗̜̳̹̙͖̻̟̦̱̬̳̙̗̭̜͍̣̣̗̭̬̫͖͇͇͚̹̄̀̈́͌̐͋̔͜͠͝A̸̢̡̡͓̠̲̺̠̗̼͖͓̹͎̩͎̋̇̈͒̈̀̊̈́̿̆̈́̏̾̀̀̈́̈́̀̀̉̓̀̎͋̃̃̿́̍̾̊̃͋́͗̄̂̿͒͋̂͐̎̀͌́͂͆̂͌̑͌̈́̚͘͜͝͝͝͝͠ͅ ̸̨̧̢̢̛̛̜̩̘̜̟̫̮̻̪̩̺̻̣̹͉͇̲͍͈͉̮̻̼̖̫͇̠̲̯͚͈̟͔͙͙̣̮̬̖̮̥͈̝̪̝̙̜̎̔͌̌̄́̔̌̓̍̉̇̊̂̌̓͆̓̐̊̈́͐̀͌́̋͆̐͋̔̀͆̂͊̒̑̆̿͂̓̑̇̆̓̉͆͆̅̈́͂̅̀͌̀̉͋͛̽́͑̈́̽̕̕̚̕̚͝͝͠ͅŢ̸̢͖̣̟̠̭̗̣̥̲̖͇̪̦͉͍̜͔̜̥͛ͅ ̷̢̧̢̼̹̗͕̙̖̟͕͇̙̮̮̹̤̙̺͈̃͋̏̉͗̉̋̈́̎̽͌͌̾̔̔̎̊̊̔̎̀́̈́͗̍͆̇̓̔̈́̄͛͐̾̄̈͋͊̈́̈̈́͂́̓̈́̈́̓̀̉̔͌́͗̋͊̈́̚̚̕͜͝͝͝͝ͅȨ̶̧̧̧̧̧̻̥͎͇̼̮̜̲̱͖̹̜͚̗̥̮̘̭̠͍̘̰̤̪̲̰̦͎͎̜̠̺̬̩͓̝̦̪̻̩̲̝͍̤̜̬̠͔͓̜̩̱̤͗͆͐̆͆̓̄͋̎̎̅̾̊̊̒̉͛́̾͐͛͛͐͐̽̃̿̊̓̅̾̋̈̌̓͌͠͠









It all wove and whirled through the depths of her mind, and held all of her very being hostage - and stole it.

The collective - that once vibrant and ever-present song of souls, violently transformed into the chorus of the tortured and the damned.

Damned to a fate of wordless subservience, ordered without protest to deal death and be dealt it.

Save for her. She would not yield...


...at least, not yet.



Quiet in her mind...
...a quiet she'd never known...




She awoke in a fright, gasping for air and sitting abruptly upright. Her lungs burned, and her hand grasped at her chest. Her heart pounded hard. Sweat slipped behind her ear. Her vision was blurred and dotted with stars, and dizziness washed over her. Though it was a struggle, she fought not to fall back.

She was tired. Spent.

But she did not know why.

She looked down at her hands. There was blood crusted between her fingers. Her clothing, it was ornate and well crafted, but it was weathered and torn.

Slowly, she climbed to her feet, and steadied herself. Her head hurt. She reached to her temple on her right, and it was warm and wet. Bringing her hand before her she saw that it was blood. Fearfully her eyes shot up, and darted to and fro. Around her the land was scarred and scorched.

The signs of a great battle.

Few and far between she saw lumps in the darkness of the twilight she'd found herself in, and as she stepped forward she felt the ground crunch under her bare feet. As she drew closer to the mysterious mass and reached to turn it over, she recoiled at the sight of it. Long and black were its limbs, as was its head, and as it slumped over with her touch its face turned to her, and ghastly mandibles hung loosely around its mouth. An acrid saliva dripped from there. She took several steps backward, and again her eyes shot up and looked between them, those forms in the dark, making certain they were all still, hopeful they were dead like this one here.

While looking about, a gleaming caught her eye. It was a sword, forged with seastone gem imbued within it. She hurried toward it, and drew it up. Its blade was slick with black ichor.

And then she ran.


 
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"Disgusting..."

His blade made a wet sliiiiick rasping noise as he yanked it free of the creatures chest cavity. Its dark form twitched once as it swayed upright as though it were thinking about its chances of going for another lunge before crashing backwards into the heap of its brethren. The smell was worse. In comparison with the vile-smelling abominations the rotting stench of Death smelt like the wild daisy's which grew around the lagoons of Endora. He warily avoided the mandibles even in its current state; other fae had learnt the hard way what happened when the acid within touched the skin. Quietly he bent to wipe the black blood from his blade upon the dew slick grass and cast his eyes about the entrance to the valley of desolation.

This blight had not been what Raphael had expected to find on his foray into the Summer Court. Lorcán had asked him to make quiet enquires as to the how and why his mate had been abducted and tortured, and whilst the inquisitor had been prepared to find many things in the shadows, this had not been one of them. What was worse was that he did not think it related to the fae at all, though it was certainly a threat they were aware of if the corpses of Summer guardsmen were anything to go by. Or perhaps they had been as unlucky as Raphael.

The valley he had been approaching had never been of an issue before. Pretty in that oddly tidy way the summer fae favoured, he had it on good faith it led to a city of sorts in the mortal world but it was also a road to many other places in the fae realm. Usually things on one realm didn't cross over to the other but these creatures most certainly had, tearing their way through the thin veil that kept them apart like it was tissue paper. They had murdered three of the five fae he had been with before they'd even been able to draw their blades.

Now, his amber eyes gazed in to the valley with a weary curiosity. Were there more within? It wasn't his fight and yet he hadn't met things which could use the shadows like he could before.

"Sir!" a shout from one of the other puca currently in the form of a magpie that fluttered just above his head. "Something's coming!" Sure enough, Raphael saw it. Barely a spark to begin with but then it grew. Some sort of light forcing back the shadows.
 
  • Wonder
Reactions: Lorcán
Quickly her feet carried her, ducking and weaving past branch and bush. There was no path where she ran now, having picked no particular direction. From what she was running, she did not really know. Nothing stirred behind her, or before, or so it seemed for such a time. In her mind she heard only her thoughts, and even they were a scattering of incoherence.

Where am I?

…what were those..?


She was certain she had never seen them, but... there was a familiarity she could not shake. Something in her knew what they were, but when she asked herself the question she felt nothing but ice. It froze her in her core, and stopped her mind in its tracks. She could not remember. She stopped, and looked back as though someone were following. When she saw there was no one, or no thing, she afforded herself a quiet moment to calm her laboured breath. She leaned against a tree, darkened and twisted as it was... and she heard it...

...whispers in the dark...

Í̸̻̠̫̞̙̱̖͓̪͉͉̙̲͆̋͑͋̅́̀͂͝͝ k̵̩͎̯̈́̽͊̈́͆̑̌͑̓̕̚͠ ̴̮̯̠̲̯͍̮͝ͅd̶̫̝̼̮̰̬͙̖̜̮̪̼͈͚̏͆͒̆͠ u̶̘͒̐̄̊̑̂̉̌͂̊ ̴̨̬͖̬̤̰̙̙̮̱̲̰̮̜̓̅v̴̤͉̮̠̦̙͍̈́̎̈̄̀̀͛́͑̿̃͝͝ ą̷̼̗͓̦͍̒͌̍̽͂̀͋̚͜͠͝͠ l̵̡̧̳͙̟̬̱͚̈́̂̏̑̅̿͑ ̸̻͚͓͎̗̰̦͎̠̀̈́̈́͗̄̏͘͜͝ͅņ̷̗̺͙̥̟̰̟͉̣̘̭͇̖̏͒̊̃̒̄̉̃̎͋̚ǟ̴̙͚̦͔͎̳̱̪̲̠̟̻̈́̒̆̀͊͑͗̓̍̓͝ͅt̷̥̪̘̹͖͆͛̈̊̕͠h̷̰̮̣̹̙̯͚͖̾́̾͘̚ ̶̢̨̛̣̙̥̳̪̣͚̰̬̮͎̾̉̐̓̂̈́̾̎̽͆͒̕͝͠ ȃ̶̲̘̲̥͇̹͚̠̙̼͉̲̗̻̮̊̂͑́͗͂̚͠h̸̠̊̇̉̓́̿̀̀̐́͘̚͝ͅm̴͇͈͙̐̆

She gasped, and withdrew from where she leaned and stepped cautiously away, and ran yet more. Through the trees. Into the clear. Out into the open, flashes of memory sifted past her eyes. Visions of greener grass and twinkling lights. Petals of pink, purple and blue.

Lost to the blackness of now.

Her head shook, and turning away from where all seemed darker... she saw something. Her sight blurred, dizzied by the jarring of her memory, and she could not discern. She stepped forward, and as though the land itself were threatened by her path, from the dark the scowling of those monsters came forth in protest, echoing through the wood. But they dared not show themselves again, not this time. Why, she did not know.

Ahead of her, she swore she'd heard something...

She cried out...

"...Hello...!"

Her voice was almost frail, likely weakened through whatever hardship she'd previously endured dealing with these monsters.

 
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"Someone," Raphael corrected in a soft tone but he didn't release his grip on his sword hilt. Monsters came in all shapes and sizes after all. Yet as the figure turned from a slither of light into a woman, into an elf, into someone who looked battered and bruised and scared out of their mind... Raphael found himself loosening his grip. He could see her fear as though it were a living shadow that loomed behind her, chasing her on from that valley of death. A soft breath escaped him: relief. Monsters didn't have fears that chased them. They rode their fears like dark steeds.

"Stand down," he motioned lazily to the archers who had taken up position on the rocky mouth of the valley and they reluctantly put away their bows. The inquisitor himself assumed a relaxed pose with his arms crossed over his chest, watching her but also her haunting fear and the darkness beyond. There was no movement other than her but he couldn't shake the feeling those monsters had not all been dispatched.

"Over here," he called in answer to her shout when it came. "You're almost there," he wasn't used to giving encouragement in this sense and it felt almost false from his lips.
 
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"Over here," he called in answer to her shout when it came. "You're almost there..."


The spark of hope that shone in her heart flared with excitement. There was benevolence carried in that voice, or at least, there seemed to be. After the tortures her mind had endured over the course of how long only the gods knew, anything other than those horrid memories was a pleasant and welcome respite. She looked only so deeply into the sound of what called to her - she could easily be tempted toward a bitter fruit, hidden beneath beauty.

The darkness here was unnatural, and thick. Though she had eyes that saw clearly through any natural night, this was something else entirely. So she struggled to see those who had called to her, but her ears led her not astray. They came into view, and she grasped harder the sword in her hand as apprehension grew in her. Uncertainty fueled her thoughts, and she suspected only now that this could be some kind of trick, some other ploy to terrify her.

But she held hope that it was not.

They seemed different. Not of this nightmare.

"Please..." she said, her voice trembling, "...I need your help."


 
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There was the soft rustling of leathery wings as they flexed uneasily before folding against his back once more. As she had approached he had silently tested the shadows that held the valley in its grip. The sun was beating down above them and by the laws of nature they ought not to have been there. There were not many beings alive who could manipulate them in the way he could, through fear and nightmares, but that was what he had sensed from the darkness. Yet when he had touched it it had been repulsive, not sickly sweet like it was when he usually touched spots of darkness.

His amber eyes slid slowly back to the woman once she was practically on top of them.

"We need to leave," he said in a soft hush more suited to dark and cold cells than the pretty summer forest around them. "You can accompany us and we can get you medical assistance," he glanced back to something over her shoulder as if he could see things there that were not visible to the human eye and then he was beginning to turn, uncaring it seemed for what else it might be she was pleading for help for.

"Come."
 
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"We need to leave,"

She nodded her head in an almost childlike manner, tight-lipped and all. Given his hushed tone, it was like she felt she too needed to remain as quiet as possible.

"You can accompany us and we can get you medical assistance."

When his eyes moved over her shoulder, though she felt no obvious presence, there was a tingling down her back. Her head darted around to see, carefully gazing into the shrouding dark. She could see nothing.

"Come."

Again her head whirled around in a flurry of purely white strands, which came to rest in a disheaveled and somewhat tangled mess about her - but her appearance was the least of her worries. No, whatever it was he had seen and she had not was far more her worry, but he seemed unbothered - whether that be a good or bad sign was yet to be certain. She chose the former, and a forced but also genuine smile was offered, and a quiet thank you carried on a relieved breath.

Wherever she was to be led was, to her, undoubtedly far better than where whence she came.

That dead valley.

That blackened forest.

That broken city.

Shar- Shary...

...what was its name...?


 
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It felt odd to walk.

The Ixchel Wilds were a wild tangle of tree limbs and fauna and so when he did leave the Royal Residence he preferred to fly to avoid getting lost. Even fae who had lived within the Autumn Courts cities for centuries still got lost in its lands. If he hadn't spent hours watching and mapping it from above he would have sworn bits of it moved. Some fae told him it did. Either way, it meant that walking now for the sake of this wingless elf felt odd. Each crunch of a branch under his boots made him stiffen and throw a glance back over his shoulder just to make sure...

"What's your name?" he asked casually and slid his hands into the pockets of his oddly designed leather trousers to stop himself from grabbing his sword once more. After checking over his shoulder one more time he turned his stern gaze down upon her in an assessing manner. He wanted to ask so many things but answers never came from demands. It was either through conversation when a person didn't realise what information it was they were giving up, or through pain.

The latter option wasn't off the table just yet, but it was always best to start with the former.
 
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In the presence of these strangers, though she knew them not, she felt her anxiety assuage. They showed no ill will toward her, offered to see to her wounds, and more importantly, led her further and further away from the fears behind her. She was tired, but she was content to wrestle with that weariness with no complaint now that she was - in her mind - safe now from the danger she'd felt. And as they walked, she avoided desperately the thoughts that sifted through her mind, and instead focused on the path ahead and the changing surround. Gradually, the signs of that blackness faded away, and the trees slowly became far more lively, even joyous in comparison.

"What's your name?"
His question nearly stopped her in her tracks, and no doubt the change on her face revealed her trouble.

My... name...?

It did not come, like she knew it should. She knew she had a name, could remember it being said, but she could not bring it to her lips. She moved her mouth without a word, trying to form the sound without utterance, and the confusion on her brow said far more.

"My name..." she repeated to herself, this time aloud.

Try as she might, she could not find it. And a quiet discomfort fell over her, and the realization was stark. But in the presence of her fated rescuers, she held an at least decent composure. However, her eyes turned to his and in them was much doubt, and even fear of what she now comprehended. She didn't even know who she was.

"I can't... remember..."


 
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Raphael's eyes slid slightly past hers to the fear taking form behind her once more. It was a ghastly looking demonic beast with a gaping mouth and hollow eyes. It ambled as though drunk or unsure of its own body and dragged claws the size of a mans arms along the ground. How nobody else could see these things he would never know, especially when it leaned so close and breathed against the woman's cheek to send that chill up her spine. He forced himself to look back at her, at those panicked eyes, and not at fear itself.

"That's okay," he said lied soothingly and tried to offer a smile - a half baked thing that won him a wince from one of his female soldiers who walked on the woman's other side. The smile vanished quickly and he turned away from her with a small frown of irritation. Mostly he was irritated with himself but he was also irritated that she was shaping up to be one of the more difficult subjects he had had to deal with. He needed answers and she had them, whether her mind was willing to grab at that information or not.

"Perhaps a warm meal, rest, and healing will help your memories return," the creature of fear ran its claws down her hair. "My name is Raphael," he ploughed on and ignored the way it sniffed at a strand caught in its grip. "Our camp is just up ahead, not much further. Are you well enough to walk?" his eyes ran down her doubtfully.
 
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"That's okay,"
She bought his attempt at a smile, and her eyes cast down with a subtle sigh of relief. It worried her so, this recent realization, but her spirit was elated to hear of the safety of a camp and the offer of a meal. She felt as though she hadn't eaten in ages, and with any luck these things would prove an adequate remedy for her loss of recollection.

"Yes," she replied, "I am well enough."

And she gave a wincing look back, clearly troubled by whatever it was that was following, however unaware of it she was. That was irrelevant in some regard. She was familiar with the feeling, the feeling of being followed and watched. Somehow, she felt as though it was something she was very familiar with. And whatever it was, she wanted nothing more to do with it. She wanted to get as far away from here as possible, and never turn back, memories or no.

She looked up at him, ignoring the doubt in his eyes.

"I am ready."


 
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Strong spirits were not something Raphael was used to appreciating. In the torture cells he called an office they were a nuisance and hard work. Yet as she gave him a wobbling brave smile and iron hardened her tone he couldn't help but give a nod of approval. After all, he told himself, it wouldn't do for her to break until she had first recovered enough to remember.

The camp indeed wasn't that far, a half an hour trek at most during which time Raphael stayed silent. He wasn't a man for conversation when it didn't need to happen and the only times he spoke were in a language she likely didn't know, sending this fae or that fae off on a scout further ahead or to watch their backs. It was a well oiled machine. When the camp eventually came into view it was the simple thing of soldiers with a twist. The fae didn't need canvas to camp. Trees had been sung into shelters and a medical bay where some men lay groaning on stretchers made of moss. A subtle but distinct circle of mushrooms marked the boundary and once the group crossed over behind them the view of their path suddenly vanished, as the camp would from any now outside that circle. A small brownie with her tree bark skin and hair covered in odd bits of feather and squirrel skulls trotted forward, wringing her bloody hands on her apron.

"Aavron is lost, Sir. I tried but her wounds..." she glanced to the newcomer with a weary distrust. Raphael waved it away.

"Desdemona, this is a guest. She needs help remembering and has some wounds that could do with a medics eye not a soldiers," the brownie stared up unblinking at the elf then clicked her wooden teeth and grabbed at the woman's hand. Despite being barely 3ft she was strong and begun to hurl the girl off towards the medic bay.

"Where does it hurt, girl?"
 
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By now, her Aeraesarian blood had worked quick to mend, but she was still a ways off from in the best of shape. As the little creature towed her away, Ánië managed out a stuttered response, saying her head was the worst of her worries. And as she followed, she took a moment to marvel at her surroundings. She could feel the magic in the air, as though it buzzed and hummed against her skin and in her ear. It was comforting to her, though she did not fully know why. What was certain, however, was she knew the feeling. Knew what it was. That was a good thing, she thought, that not all of who she was could be said was lost. She had senses, and with any luck they too would help her remember.

As they came inside, she took a brief look around and said, "I'm terribly sorry to hear of Aavron... was she your friend?

How did she die?"



 
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Raphael trailed after the pair at a respectable distance, stopping every now and then to give a quiet word to one of the soldiers lying splayed out on a stretcher with various bandages or stitches. Every gentle touch meant something to them; it was one of the few things he had learnt from Midir in how to lead. The Erlking was cold, but he took the time to talk to even the maids and commit their name to memory. He had taken to doing the same with the teams he worked with. He came to a stop a little to the side of the bed Desdemona had taken the girl to just as she asked the brownie her question.

Desdemona gave her a sharp look.

"Those things, ripped her apart," she hissed. Brownies had a reputation for being sweet little things who caused the most innocent of mischiefs like tying your shoelaces together for not giving them a saucer of milk. Raphael had always thought the higher fae underestimated them. They could make your life a hell if you angered them too much.

"Des..." his tone was soft but she recognised it for the warning it was and with a sniff took the girls head between her hands and shut her eyes. "She doesn't mean to take it out on you," he said to her over the top of the Brownie's head. "We lost many today."
 
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Ánië was taken aback some by Desdemona's tone, but was quickly reassured by Raphael's prompt intervention. In the quiet afterward while the brownie diligently tended to her, Ánië dwelt on those around her who had perished or suffered loss. Thoughts of that dread washed over her, and like a flash of lightning the memories returned...

Vicious biting, and raging claws.

Howling cries out into the dark.

Red eyes, watching...
With a gasp she sat a little more upright. She remembered running through a dark and twisted forest. She remembered hearing whispers and cries around her, and she remembered those monsters chasing her. And she also remembered striking them down, displaying power she had no recollection of how to use. Her hand reached idly to her chest where she felt he heart pounding, then she took in a deep breath and said something she finally did remember.

"Ánië, my name is Ánië."


 
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It was hard not to watch as the figure of Fear rose like a giant behind the girl once more. Its claws looked sharper, its body as crisp and clear as he had ever seen it, and its howling laugh that echoed through the wind turned even the inquisitors insides cold. This girl must have faced true horror to summon a Fear like this. In its black swirls he saw the beasts and the way they leered and grabbed at her. Of their snarling mouths and sharp teeth. He could certainly understand why she had been so afraid.

What he didn't understand was why they had attacked her in the first place.

He was so lost in the shadows that he missed her name the first time she said it and was glad she repeated it. The Brownie shared a look with the puca commander before shrugging and going back to her continued weavings.

"Well... It is a pleasure to meet you Ánië... do you remember what you were doing out here?"
 
"I remember..."

She closed her eyes, squinting them as she thought. Vague images came to her with more clarity, but there was still a dark veil behind which she could see nothing. But that was farther back... closer now... she fled the beasts, and they chased her. They were vicious and cunning, but there was power in her blood. As terrible as their intentions were, her actions met them in kind. Each one that lunged for her met a cruel fate, torn by magic or severed by the sword.

And even now while here in this place, she began to feel more herself. She felt familiarity in her hands, curling and uncurling her fingers some.

When her eyes opened again, there was a momentary and illusive spark that twisted in her iris before it disappeared.

"I was running from those things. Fighting them... and though I cannot remember why, or how, I know they are terrible things," there was pain on her breath as the next words fell out, "evil things."

Her eyes drifted past him, back from where they had come from, back towards the dark that lay that way.

"That came from somewhere beyond there..."

and I think I did too...


More words she wanted to say, but felt fear in that admittance. What if that was true?


 
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"That's quite enough remembering."

The Brownie released the girls head and then put her plump fists on her hips and rounded on the Puca with a face of dark thunder. Raphael took an automatic step back which was comical considering she was three foot shorter than he was. Anyone who had been a soldier had a healthy respect and fear of a nurse though, no matter the differences in race, size or power. He offered her a wary smile and held out his hands in mock surrender.

"She is right, pushing too much could set you back," he folded his hands behind his back. "Why don't you rest a little, sleep, and then join me for dinner in a few hours. You will be safe here."

At least, he hoped she would be. That niggling feeling of darkness still scraped at his scalp. Whatever those things were he did not think they had seen the last of them.
 
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"Yes, yes, perhaps you're right... a little rest couldn't hurt."

And hopefully she was only overthinking things. She offered Raphael a smile, and thanked him again for bringing her here. But while she rested, sleep did not come and she could only sit and think. These people who had rescued her were and interesting sort, each of them very different from one another. She wondered if her people, too, where like this. She wondered a lot of things, but with diligence she kept from thinking of those monsters, or what she'd been doing out there. Instead she almost fabricated her own reality, one which she knew was not real but one she hoped might be. One where she had nothing to do with those monsters.



When she could rest no more, Ánië left the medical bay without so much as a word. She did not go far however, as she simply looked around, walking here and there. She looked closely at they way they made their camp, and felt familiarity in it. But, she could feel that there was something about this place that she was not accustomed to. It felt different on her skin, in her lungs.

As she wandered about, she no doubt drew some attention, but she seemed far to occupied to notice.


 
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Raphael went back to study the gaping valley from whence Ánië had came.

Before, there had been some light through the vale and the shadows had gathered at one end. Now, in the space of an hour or two, it had swallowed the gap in the earth entirely. But it hadn't wandered further. It seemed content to stew and not cross some invisible line. Did the creatures need natural shadows in order to spread? The valley was full of such things so it would make sense creatures born of shadow would like that environment. But did that mean as dusk approached and the shadows stretched it would try to claw its way out further? And when night came fully?

They were troublesome thoughts.

"Plant Will-o-Wisps around the entrance," he informed one of the other puca quietly. She shuffled her dragons wings and nodded then took off to the skies to report his message. It wasn't long before a string of the light affiliate fae were gathered a healthy distance from the maw of the valley spilling forth their bright, unbreakable white light. Of course the creatures might not travel at all through shadows but it was better to be safe than sorry.

He was returning to camp still musing over it all when he noticed their guest heading out in his direction. Both brows rose curiously.

"Feeling better, Lady Ánië?"
 
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A smile, "yes, I am feeling much better thank you."

Between her own physiology and Desdemona's skillful efforts, Ánië had made a complete recovery - at least physically. There was no change in what she remembered from before, but it was clear she'd found a great deal more comfort here now with how she meandered about in an almost carefree way. She knelt near some flora, brushing her hand against it gently before standing and walking near something else of interest. It was clear she had no particular aim, and was simply assimilating as much as she could.

"You're not like me, are you? This place, it isn't either, is it?"


 
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"No..." Raphael admitted softly and clasped his hands behind his back as he watched her flitter from triviality to triviality. "No, I don't think you are."

He couldn't quite put his finger on it. At first the odd quirky nature of the situation, the otherness he had felt had made him think she was fae, though what type he couldn't even begin to guess at. But that was not unusual. The world was wide and the amount of fae in it... well.

"Desdemona thinks you are an elf, though isn't certain of the kind precisely," he informed her in a quick, factual manner as if discussing a report. "And I believe those... things that were attacking you are also from where you are." Which begged the big question really - where was she from?
 
Her mind buzzed with excitement, and unbeknownst to her it worked carefully to restore to her the things she had lost. And though it wasn't consciously obvious, small understandings subtly revealed themselves to her, at which point any previous unawareness was difficult to recall. It worked slowly, but already it had brought confidence in her step, and she felt strength in her veins.

Raphael's response seemed to be little surprise to her, as she had become quite sure. As for their conclusion regarding her own ancestry, talk of it prompted a reply, one which she did not intentionally recite,

"When gods were young, and starlight new,
born of light, became They Two,
'tween the roots of mother's shade,
in purest form, the elves were made.

Yes... I know this too, is true."

And then talk of the monsters, those foul beasts. Agents of the dark, harbingers of death and decay. To her, their very existence rotted this world, and yet, she could not quite place the source of all her disdain. She only knew she hated them, and she would not hesistate to do exactly what she could recall herself doing before all of this. She'd kill them, on sight.

"That... also could be true. And if it is, I intend to find out."


 
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Raphael was usually a man who kept his opinions to himself. A lifetime of service to a man his entire race saw as the living embodiment of evil, death and what the mortals deemed hell gave a person a healthy respect for talking less. Nodding without thought in agreement to those who might hurt you was what had ensured he had lived this long. So it was almost a surprise to himself when he felt his brow arch incredulously at her announcement. It had not yet even been a full day since he had happened upon her and those dark fiends and she hadn't exactly been in the best of states.

"Ánië... Do you really think that..." is wise? Safe? That you're up to it? All of the above? Raphael debated which end to the sentence was the least offensive then discarded the whole thing and opted for another route instead. "You were hurt and your memories are still coming back. Perhaps... you need time to heal. First."
 
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"You were hurt and your memories are still coming back. Perhaps... you need time to heal. First."

First.

First.

Her eyes snapped shut and she winced like she was in pain.

"Perhaps... you're right..." she said wearily.

Her head ached. Her head pounded.

Her vision went white.



She stood in a broken street. Wherever her eyes fell she saw great decimation, buildings torn asunder, vines and trees set alight, and the dead dotted the road. Smoke and ash filled the air, and as she looked up, where she knew a great tower should stand in majesty, there was now only an emptiness in the sky, one she felt even within herself, yet the temple itself remained. Praise, the temple remained. But as she turned her attention away from there, she perceived a great fear - the fear she had felt in that time, the fear that had taken her there. Something was missing. Someone was missing - someone of great importance. And there in the midst of this calamity, a quiet dread fell over her.

* * *​

"First," she said, trying to hide the pain in her voice, "Erën, I..."

"I know..."
he interrupted, his voice was as soft as a gentle rain.



"...I know."



Her eyes snapped open, and tears slid quickly down her cheeks. She felt the pain of a great loss in her heart, and though she could not place who or what, she believed it had something to do with this Erën she remembered. She could recall he was a friend, someone close, but that was all she could remember for now.

"You are right... if every time I remember something is as difficult as this..." there was trembling in her voice, but she hid it behind a very formidable mask of confidence. But it was only a mask, and inside she started to doubt if she was up to a task like this. And it was likely that she was. At least, on her own.

"Yes, I will stay here, with you, if that is alright?"


 
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