Lark: Origins "Do not talk about romance to me," Jaz growled back menacingly. "I know your intentions aren't for that, but don't talk about it. No one speak of it." Lark came about like an avenging fury, Jaz's harsh words dispelling her own desperate panic. Stepping out of the shadows, boot heels clicking she covered the distance between them with surreal grace. A butterfly crossing a battlefield. "To silence love, is to silence life. And by damn, I will die by fire and ice, before I surrender the frailty of my heart for the bitterness and hatred you cling to so desperately. Life isn't fair, I know, more than most in fact. But love is the one thing that has kept me going. So no I will not be silent about it." Emotion had darkened her eyes, ebony border by a slim band of copper. Lark knew that words would not be enough and lifted a small hand. Her gift, heaven and hell, just like love. She struck with predatory grace, her fingers connecting with Jaz's face again. Emotion was rampant, the songs dense, coiled weaves of the rarest kind. Due to the very nature of her gift, Lark could draw upon the memories, the stories of fallen Lores and with them the emotions entailed, therein. But Lark knew there was only one she needed to make her point. The legend of the Seer, the first Starchaser. With the her forces overwhelmed and divided, the Shade moved against the Seer herself, circling round and approaching her untouchable palace from behind on the wings of a song she never thought to hear again. The mimicked song of her dead truemate, shocked the Seer’s senses, sending her mind and heart reeling. In the briefest of moments, her soul clouded with indescribable pain and confusion, she made a fatal slip. She began to sing, her rent spirit spinning a weave so rich and complex it should have brought the world to its knees. Earth, Air, Water, Fire, Spirit, Echo all together in a symphony the likes of which the realm had never heard before or since, for she was the only one of her kind, a master of all the songs, each in equal measure, a Qvaeshava. The Echo Stone replied, reflecting her songs and soul back upon her, unmasking the true glory of the power she still held and the greatness she once had. As her heart began to beat anew, the Shade chased the voices of the Stone to its hiding place deep in the molten core of the Seer’s mountain, far beneath her palace on the icy summit. The Shade found the treasure that possessed the power to destroy not only her, but her people as well. She, now completely blind with age, flew from the silent halls of her palace into the depths of the mountain. Finally she faced the Shade as it moved to seize the Stone. The Seer knew what would happen should the Shade even touch the Echo Stone, while the gem remained whole. The Void would be reflected in its entirety upon the world, destroying every living thing. With her symphony wheeling about her in chaotic glory, she did the only thing she could. Taking advantage of the Shade’s mere moment of hesitation, she wrested the Echo Stone from its hiding place in the heart of the mountain and ran. The Shade, its wrath unleashed, pressed upon her heels as she raced for the highest tower. The Stone felt the burning penetration of the Shade’s violation of her heart and soul, the pain the gem itself was responsible for. The Stone began to sing to her, the song it had silenced so abruptly, ten generations before. His blood still coated the core of the Echo Stone, forging a connection between the long parted pair the princess never knew existed. The Seer skidded to a halt at the edge of the tower’s roof as the first authentic notes of her mate’s song flickered from the Stone. Her blind eyes began to weep as she looked out across the heaving flood of darkness, bloodstained bedrock, and fractured songs that had once been a rich and thriving kingdom. The Shade was nearly upon her. She could run no further. She held the Echo Stone, and began to sing as she had never sung before, forcing every ounce of her remaining strength into the stone. The single shining thread in her soul began to glow brighter, gathering strength as her passionate, frantic symphony welled, swelled. Weeping with a need that could no longer be denied, she let her dragon spirit take flight across the now brilliant paths of timeless bond shared with him, crying into the furthest recesses of the spirit realms, blindly waiting for a reply. In her hands the Echo Stone, pulsing with power, pain, love, and manic hope began to quiver as fissures appeared in its surface. The Seer felt the fracture lines as they snaked their way across the facets of the jewel and raised her angelic face to the stars and the crimson moon as it cleared the mountain peaks. The Shade had found her. With a half-mad laugh, she turned to face the demon that sought to destroy her people and knew the time had come to repay her debt. She took a single step back and plunged over the precipitous of the tower, the rocky scree of the ravine floor rushing to kiss her. In her hands the Echo Stone, quaking with the intensity of her symphonies, shattered itself; sending pieces soaring in all directions. A single shard repeated a journey it had taken more than a hundred winters before. The bloody core of the Echo Stone pierced the frail, heaving chest of the Seer as she fell. As the Seer’s shard sank into her heart, her soul began to boil with the raw power of the bond connecting her to her dead mate. Out of the darkness she heard a refrain, spun by neither the Shade nor the Stone, but the true source of melody that completed her own, Klasingio. Her Bloodsworn answered the call. Her brittle human body reached the end of its endurance; she dissolved in a cloud of stardust as a massive shape cleaved the night sky in two, casting a shadow across the war darkened sky. The shard of the Echo Stone that had ruptured her heart clattered to the bottom of the ravine as the night began to sob, sending a torrent of shooting stars, spinning outward in a swirl of virga and mist. High above a furious scream of rage and frustration rent the heavens. Klasingio needed no urging as he took up his physical incarnation, bracing for his final battle. He had seen the fey child leap from the plinth, knew she was the source of the call. He didn’t know the human form, but he knew the song, the soul, the spirit. Her heart. He knew the scent of her blood as it gushed forth, knew the freezing touch of the shard as it drank deeply of the ancient power. Knew the pain she had fought so long to deny; knew the veil of stardust she became when she could no longer withstand the driving agony of the stone. He dove after her as she rushed to greet the spiked granite and shale of the ravine floor. His wings set a soul maddened pace to save her before she fractured completely. With a savage burst of speed he looped beneath her, forcing her reeling mind to focus. Her form stabilized as he passed underneath her, bearing her skyward. Ebony velvet and bloody sunset, tinged with indigo and amethyst spliced through the night as she spread her wings wide once more; her talons plucked at the star splattered glory of the arctic heights. That night, she revealed her true face and name to her people; sang it to the stars, until the heavens echoed with it from pinnacle to rift valley, from alpine slope, to glacier, to rolling plain. Naikirst Xki; in the tongues of man, Darkest Sky. The greatest legend of mankind was indeed real, no mere figment of imagination or childish longing. There was no denying the truth. The pair rose from the bowels of the chasm, moving as a single fluid entity four wings, two hearts, one song, one soul. Bloodsong symphony rang out into the night lifting its ethereal voice to the coppery moon as the stars wept with joy. The Shade heard the name threatening to sunder the sky at the seams as the Seer leapt to her doom. It heard the resounding thunder of the Echo Stone as its facets cracked. It felt the pulse of pain and power that ripped through the little figure as she fell, smelled the heavy, metallic scent of her blood as it coursed through her veins. It waited with bated breath for the telltale thud that signaled her destruction upon the rocks; it waited in vain. It was straining to hear the dying breath of its tiny nemesis, when the familiar strains of a song it had spun only moments before impinged upon its senses. The bestial Shade threw back its head, shrieking in rage and bloodlust as it watched the Seer’s people rally and attack as the songs of the winged guardians cracked the shield of quiet created by the Void weave. Its coveted gem was now a fragmented mess; the pieces strewn hither and yon, many in the hands of the Halfling angels, while his nemesis, the tiny Seer, was no longer a fragile mortal, awaiting her fate atop her icy mountain. She was now the incarnation of power and glory the Shade had sought to become; she was no longer alone, crippled by the pain of her unhealed wounds. Suddenly, the Seer and her kindred were winning the war. The Shade couldn’t let such a travesty come to pass; victory was too close. The Shade voiced its wrath to the heavens and renewed its attempts to twist the songs of the Seer and her mate as they abandoned the heights and swept down the slopes to aid those below. This time the Shade’s spells hit the dragons fast and hard, striking deep and true in a medium they understood. Their souls responded to music like flowers to a spring rain, they drink it in and let it rush to all corners of their minds and bodies. The Shade began to poison the songs, plunging a stake deep into the most vulnerable part of their beings, their hearts. Xki was hit hard, heaving as the blow struck home, sending her reeling. Her song quivered and faded as she collided with Klasingio, her wings tangling with his, brushing against the trunks of evergreens as she fought to remain aloft. Across the fire-bright connection fusing their souls, Klasingio felt the malignant darkness as it bit into her spirit, felt her stagger from the strike. He felt the acid gnawing, pressing beyond the bounds of pain and human endurance as she fought to maintain control of her heart, mind, and soul. Her weaves reflected the struggle within her, flaring and fading with equal intensity. The Shade had the Seer at its mercy as it began its campaign to destroy her from the inside-out. Her songs faded until they were little more than a whisper as the malignancy spread throughout her system. The war for Xki’s soul reached critical mass and the final, fragile filaments of Klasingio’s control snapped. The entire northern plinth of Xki’s crescent of mountains exploded in a fiery, glassy glory of wild and uncontrolled weaves of Fire and Earth as Klasingio unleashed his power, holding nothing back. Symphony and refrain cracked the heavens as ash, stone, and fire rained down on the unwary minions of the Dark Tide. Great plumes of smoke rose miles into the sky, tickling the tips of Klasingio’s wings as he bore Xki aloft. With every breath he drew, every massive push of his gigantic wings, he forced his song across the bridge fusing his soul with hers. Each note he sang reflected like a candle to the sun as the emptiness of the Shade’s twisted weave continued to works its will within her. Her breath became harsh and shallow as the Shade took root, seeking to sever the final tie connecting her mind, body, and soul to the physical world. The threads of Spirit and Echo binding her to Klasingio began to flicker alarmingly as her mate reached the limits of his upward flight. She fought to lift her head and meet his eye, but the effort was too great. Her song faded into the bleak nothingness of the Shades’s overwhelming weave, ending on a perfect Spirit aria, a clarion call that breached the shield of the stars and rent the very fabric of the realms at the seams. Xki’s talons sunk deep into Klasingio’s back as she struggled to hold on to her dying grasp of reality. Silver blood gushed forth from the torn flesh as Klasingio felt the last shushing of her warm breath across his hide. Still bound to his back with his unbreakable weaves of earth and spirit, she shuddered once and went completely lax, her aura as black as night without a star. The mighty dragon prince threw back his head and trumpeted, cracking the sky and shaking the stars as his weaves and uncontrollable symphonies broke across the lower reaches. His voice carried home as he found the words of his kind, lost since the sundering of the Stone of Songs. He let his symphonies roar, savage and unchecked. Crying out from the very pit of despair and absolute need, he hefted the weave he had never before laid claim to. Echo. Blind terror and maddening pain lent impetuous to his song as it carried across the rift between his world and the one the Shade was attempting to bring crashing down. With the new, unfamiliar magic in his grasp, Klasingio seized hold of the power with frenzied need and opened his soul to Xki, all barriers down, all senses open, running hot as the blackened waves of the Shade spilled across their bond and into the depths of his own soul. Fire, Earth, and Spirit rallied in his chest, pushing against the welling tide. The power of the silence was overwhelming as the fingers oblivion trailed across his pulsing heart, sinking its icy tips into the heaving organ. But the mighty creature was primed and ready, waiting for the blackness to strike deep and hard. Weaves rose around the pair of dragons, shining down the moon with the intensity of the symphonies that began to manifest themselves. Spirit, Fire, and Earth, poured across the deadened connection between the pair as they hovered upon the brink of creation. The Shade staggered slightly beneath the sheer weight of the weaves cast by Klasingio as he endeavored to save his truemate, but it wasn’t the end. Echo rose, a great wave aria and shadow, reflecting and refracting the power of the struggling dragon’s deadly songs. The triple weave he was spinning across the connection into Xki’s empty soul suddenly grew in strength ten times. Xki’s heart, which until now had stilled as Klasingio bore her skyward, quivered and heaved again as her truemate’s massive arias forced life back into her. His songs were horror and glory to behold. Beauty, longing, anguish, love; it was all there. She was powerless to withstand the lure out of the Shade’s hold. Her heart began to hum with life and vengeance. The graceful, dark head that had lain lax across Klasingio’s neck swiveled, peering about; she began to fight against the weaves that kept her bound. Four of her six songs flooded through her forcing most of the Shades’s twisted song out. Klasingio dared not break the symphony he was savagely and gleefully shaping as he released Xki from her bonds. Her wings flared wide, carrying her into the rarified atmosphere. Painfully brilliant and lovely, her wings and underside shone like the ever changing hues of the dying sun in the ebony velvet of the night. Her partially restored songs rippled across the nothingness of space and added their voices to the call her mate had let fly only moments before. Dragon song echoed through the stars, deep and rich, as a reply came to Klasingio’s plea. Water and Air were the first to respond, spinning about Xki, sensing the wounds their sister still carried. Gossamer waves of blue and white light enveloped her, infusing her bleeding soul, magnified to nearly limitless proportions because of Klasingio’s Echo weaves. With her repertoire of skills and melodies once more whole, Xki forced the last vestiges of the Shade from her soul as her symphonies rose from the roots of the earth once more. The Torrent of Weeping Stars began in earnest as Seer’s kin came to her aid, forcing the Shade back, rending it to shreds with ferocious glee. The Qvaishini bond connecting the pair now glowed brighter than the sun at its zenith, allowing no hint of shadow to remain. The boundless arias of dragon song cleaved the air never gave the Shade a chance to flee. The music forced its way into the deadened silence of the Shade’s Void weave and began to dismember it strand by silent strand, forcing the voice of the Shade to reveal itself. The Shade, so close to victory, staggered and lurched, broadsided by the wild strength of the symphonies of the Fire Song male dragon composed. He sang to the Seer like a creature possessed. Across the fragile bridge the pair shared the male’s songs came, cindering the icy hold the Shade had on the Seer’s soul. The Shade’s own voice rose in the silence, as for the first time in its timeless existence emotion seeped across its consciousness. A power was hidden within the music of these creatures that possessed the potential to destroy it completely. It was the Shade’s first, fierce taste. Blind terror. The Shade’s hold on its captive collapsed as it was spewed back out into the freezing atmosphere of the world. All round it, dragons emerged from the deep blue expanse of the sky. One and all, they sang heart and soul, piercing the massive bubble of stillness it struggled to maintain. It was out of options; it could flee or it could face total annihilation. The transfer of the memories, emotions was the work of a moment. But the legend was one that had spanned countless generations. Love was what saved her world, had given rise to her Tribe. She would not let it die. "Love is pain, but it is power, as well." Drawing her hand back, Lark gathered her skirts and headed for the door when she heard footsteps on the staircase in the corner. "Why the rush little butterfly?" Lark froze at the sound of icy smooth tone. He had found her.
"Wise doesn't fit what I am," Jaz said. "I drink the same because that's all I crave. I'm not human. I'm a...a..." "You not human?" asked Tulbuk in incredulity, balking. She so small, pale, and ugly like a human, he thought, and look all the same as the others. She not human? Regardless of her species, it was a relief to Tulbuk. "Goodness," started tulbuk, relaxing in his seat, "too many humans. They boring, all same. Good to finally meet a non-human on something other than Troll Tuesday." Tulbuk looked over to her companion, the food-man, as he spoke again, something about romance. What a useless thing. "So," continued Tulbuk, "what are you, non-human?"
Jaz "Love is pain, but it is power, as well." Jaz stumbled backwards, clutching her head as she came back to reality. Confusion set in, quickly followed by her inner fury. That girl...had touched her. Again! The scenes, still crisp in her mind, had stirred her. The burning passion between the two creatures held such overwhelming intensity, she almost had to catch her breath. What love they felt, Jaz knew, she'd experienced the feeling. But that's all it had been, a blind feeling. The male in the vision hadn't betrayed his lover, he had been there when she needed him most. Jaz shook her head in disgust at what the little girl didn't understand. How she could love the unlovable? Just wasn't possible in her case. The One she had loved was a liar, a murderer, a thief. He had stole her humanity; used her and tossed her away like trash. He had killed her and for that she would find Him. Jaz turned on her heel to face the girl, but she had already fled. "She's smarter than I thought," Jaz said under her breath. Her words lingered on her tongue, ready to backfire at what the girl had done. That girl won't touch me again, she thought, bringing her right hand into fist. I won't allow it. "You not human?" the throaty, rumbling voice again pried through her mind. "Goodness," Tulbuk said, "too many humans. They boring, all same. Good to finally meet a non-human on something other than Troll Tuesday." Ah, so that's what he is...a troll. Jaz thought as she studied the smelly creature. Living in Chicago, she'd never had the chance to meet a troll outside of a book. Not even under the Michigan Avenue Bridge. "So," continued Tulbuk, "what are you, non-human?" A scowl appeared, wrinkling her fair brow. "Well, two years ago I used to be human," Jaz said, "Now, most humans call me, Dark One, Walker of the Night, Parasite, Bloodsucker. Cliche stuff." Jaz sighed, sitting back in her seat next to Pickles. "And I refuse to be called Vampire. I prefer to be called Jaz." As she looked into the eyes of the creature, her still heart pulled. If only she could reverse the past...
"Well, two years ago I used to be human," Jaz said, "Now, most humans call me, Dark One, Walker of the Night, Parasite, Bloodsucker. Cliche stuff. And I refuse to be called Vampire. I prefer to be called Jaz." Ah, thought Tulbuk, Like an elf, but without the pointy ears and with more...teeth. "In my land you known as 'the Pale Bloods', your complexion and appetite summed in one. I wrestled a 'Pale Blood' troll, Interesting troll. Bite me through match, but me thinks your...condition...is spread other way through trolls." Tulbuk said this, remembering that before he had arrived, the Pale Blood was the biggest, baddest troll. Many a female troll were also Pale Bloods...recent converts. Now that I think of it, went through the trolls mind before Tulbuk shook his head, chuckling. Tulbuk glanced over his shoulder, seeing the humans and their garbs. Many a magic and wizard, many a human, many talkin', though not that I'm much better. Tulbuk paused, then looked around again. None from the sparkly new worlds, ones that like...science fiction? No...scientific...something...hooliganism? Yeah, I think that's it, Scientific Hoolaginism worlds. All midway of evil...mid-evil...something... Tulbuk struggled, trying to find the words as he turned back to his table, but not before calling out to the Bartender, "Two mugs of stout Dwarf Blood please!"
Dexter who had left after his snark comment to Jaz came rushing back in. But he a sly smile on his face and his blonde hair was covered by a Santa Claus hat. He was also carrying a massive red sack over his bag. "Merry Christmas you druken slobs!" He yelled cheerfully. Dexter then did something that wasn't rude, mean or just down right nasty. He did something out of the very little kindness in his heart. He started passing out gifts to............everyone. Some people got clothes, some got weapons and various other items were passed out.
It was supposed to be a quick job. There wasn't supposed to be a Scholastic Mage in here. Vanderthin, the leader of the mercenary outfit, had been paid to infiltrate some old ruins. It was a Liesannic outpost, really, although what Liesanne was doing meddling so far south was a complete mystery. The City-State of Aumniar wanted the Liesannics out, but the Gods forbid anyone take direct action against each other. That might cause a war. So an anonymous general of the City-State Aumniar made a generous donation to a church of Siniuth, which was robbed by bandits due to one of the posted guards falling asleep at just the opportune time. The said bandits just happened to be waylaid on their way out the city by a mercenary group, which later that week, decided quite coincidentally, that clearing out the IIut ruins would be a possibly profitable place to raid. Everyone ends up happy. Except there wasn't supposed to be a Scholastic Mage in here. They'd been sneaking about, slitting sleeping men's throats for a good hour, before the first bone-chilling screams echoed across the weary stone halls. It woke everyone up quite nicely. The night run turned into a pitched battle, while the Liesannic soldiers desperately tried to survive and figure out what was going on and the mercenaries desperately tried to kill the enemies and make sure they didn't find out anything. In the distance, the unholy phosphoric glow of battle-magic flickered. Vanderthin grabbed Mordekale and a young lad named Inhimium to help find the mage. They found him pretty quickly; all they had to do was follow the mutilated and disfigured bodies. The mage turned out to be in a broad, circular room with tired, protective pillars guarding the walls. He was middle-aged, short, and a bit portly, and was garbed in the traditional wizardly robes. He held a book in one hand, and stood in front of a pillar on the other side of the room. From behind that pillar, a brief glimpse was caught of a young woman with dirty white hair and a scarlet vest peeking out from the edge. "Ethereal Ritual of Irregularity. Imnum vatis isialdi shogroth..." The mage continued the bizarre chanting, and then the three mercenaries noticed something odd about Inhimium. He seemed a bit too blocky in some places and a bit too curved in others. It started to rapidly get worse as all symmetry and then all semblance of humanity were twisted and pulled and rent away. Inhimium didn't make a noise until he was naught but a twisted pile of flesh on the ground, and then it was the most hideous, obscene, throaty groan to ever grind its nails across the chalkboard of the earth. Vanderthin and Mordekale looked at Inhimium's contorted flesh in horror. Vanderthin snapped out of his shock first. "Get him!" he gasped in a choked whisper. The two mercenaries turned to the mage and made a futile charge. "Hellish Evocation of the Tinsel Spirit. Hathum dori sonun as..." he said, his tone version on bored. Something bright and sparkly sprung out of an infernal portal and tackled Vanderthin, who went down screaming and kicking. Mordekale never wavered. "Great and Mighty Arcane Hex of Ultimate Inconvenience. Ipsum lorem dolor sit amet..." Mordekale's pendant flashed white, but he never slowed. Unfortunately, running on full plate armor is more of a hefty walk. The mage frowned, then waved his hand. "Dimensional dismissal." Everything faded to white around Mordekale just as he reached the mage, bellowing incomprehensible rage and about to swing his blade. The white drained and Mordekale was sitting on a bar stool. A jaunty tune played in the background. He looked around, panicked and still packed full of adrenaline.
Lark: Dealings "Why the rush little butterfly?" Lark froze at the sound of icy smooth tone. He had found her. "What? Out and about without your brothers, Indrid?" She shot back, her tone ripe with false bravado. Indrid's serpent like face twisted with rage. "Enough, you half bred witch! Obviously, those bumbling fools can't even manage to capture a helpless female." His mockery of a smile returned. "And now I'm here to rectify this appalling situation." Lark took a huge step back. "You have no power over me here." Indrid continued to smile. "Oh, I think you will find that I have other methods of persuasion." The fledgling's blood went cold as he spoke. "What have you done?" "Nothing, as of yet..." He replied. "But I did run across someone you happen to know quiet well, I believe."
Billiam Billiam looked around at everything going on. That was what he liked about this place, there was always things happening. But it was time he got going, there were still an infinite number of universes to search in their entirety, section at a time... So he rose, looked around at everyone again, smiled sadly and walked out the door. It had been nice to stop by, share some snarky commentary and polite conversation. Watch the other people and their problems, it distacted him from his own... But, now it was time to go. Back out into the Multiverse, back into the void of everything that Billiam called home.
Orphine Orphine was still sitting, her spine rail-straight, her glimmering eyes stuck on the doors. Billiam walked out and she kept looking--and in walked Death. Death was one of her names, the others were Mab, Macha, and Morrigan. She was worshipped as the Crow Goddess by pagans, a vengeful goddess to be feared and above all: avoided. She wore a flowing cape of stitched together crow feathers over her topless torso and a scrap of black silk wrapped around her shapely hips; her inky-black hair was tied in a thick braid. Her eyes and lips were stained black and she didn't so much walk as glide. Her black taloned nails were as sharp and wicked looking as Orphine's jeweled claws. "Eep!" Orphine yelped. The Evil Queen moved in a flurry of green and black light and appeared by Lark--the loopy girl who talked to butterflies. "Uh, hey Lark," Orphine jabbered. "Sorry to interupt your scintillating conversation with, uh, this viper looking guy, but I'm in a spot of trouble..." She pointed at Morrigan, who was gazing around the Bar with a regal and terrifyin gaze. "So, Lark," the Evil Queen continued, "how bout you hide me and I'll help you deal with this weirdo"--she pointed at the viperish guy--"eh?" Orphine gazed into Lark's eyes with her big, gleaming ones and waited.
Mikey "Idiot!" XL64 banged out of the repair room and, no surprise, shocked everyone. His body had been completely reshaped and now resembled a human with jutting blades instead of hands, and he was glancing around curiously with Mikey desperately trying to pull him back inside with no avail. "Jeez -how fast can your energy cell grow?" she snapped. 2.1519738 millicells per hour. it responded, blinking with metallic lids at its creator as if it was puzzled, and Mikey flushed with embarrassment. "I didn't mean literally! Oh god i didn't think about what might happen if you evolved that much -what am i going to do now?" she said frantically, obviously close to having a panic attack. Let me protect you and the Source? it asked, and Mikey stopped short, her blush deepening. The robot blinked again and its blades slid into its "hands" with a swoosh of metal over rubber. Several clicking and bleeping noises came from it, then its eyes glowed as numbers and letters zoomed across its vision. Danger: Seven Scrappers within thirty meters. "Oh . . . my . . . fricking word . . ." Mikey groaned and slapped a hand to her forehead. It was a good moment for a face palm. Yes,s he was a technological genius but that wasn't the point, Now she had no control over the Android whatsoever as it had somehow evolved a personality and will of its own.
Lark: Splinter "So, Lark," the Evil Queen continued, "how bout you hide me and I'll help you deal with this weirdo"--she pointed at the viperish guy--"eh?" Orphine gazed into Lark's eyes with her big, gleaming ones and waited. Fury traced across Lark's pretty face, her eyes shifting to coppery brightness as her emotions heaved. "Do not take me for a fool, hag!" She snapped. Songs coiled and whirled about her defensively as her latent power gathered. Lark's eyes were huge in her small, pale face but there was no mistaking her wrath as she studied Orphine and the new arrival. "You think I do not know death when I see it? I might be young, but my history is not unmarred by its touch. It has been both, enemy and allie. Run where you will, hide if you can, but it will always find you. Your fight is not mine, nor mine yours." Tapping into the seething confluence of emotion, Lark let the petals of her symphonies unfurl as she returned her attention to Indrid, who had watched the exchange with a cryptic look. He shivered violently as the song threads of the fledgling girl surrounded him. She had gained in power since their last meeting just a few days prior. Voice rough with emotion, Lark asked, "What have you done, Indrid?" Indrid's travesty of a smile returned. "Wrong question, poppet. It is not what I have I done, but who did I find in the woods on my way here?" "All right, we will play your game," Lark said. "Who did you find?" "Good girl. I knew you would see reason." He replied as he turned toward the shadows, reaching for a darker, solid mass about Lark's own size. Black velvet, silver frogs, and silver wings painstakingly embroidered around the edge of what appeared to be a hood. With rising horror Lark stared at the garment bundled round a small form. She recognized the cloak. The silver embroidery had been of her own design, a Christmas gift. The songs swelled smashing down against the senses of the unwary. "Let her go, Indrid." Lark hissed, her voice laced with anguish. Indrid laughed. "Who?" "Angel, my sister." She snarled, taking a menacing step toward Indrid. Her songs flayed across his wide open senses like a whip, forcing him back a step. That slight giving was all the encouragement Lark's predatory heart needed. She sprang, fingers splayed wide, straight into Indrid's face. Overheated flesh met, fingers to cheeks. The desperate young darkkin unleashed her gift, her songs echoing like a summer storm. Indrid howled at the agony of her mere touch as she forced a splintered memory deep into his brain. The true meaning of fear, that sudden sickening surge that comes when disaster is imminent. As Indrid bellowed, trying to shake Lark off, Ares surged to the fore, grabbing hold of the cloak wrapped bundle, dragging it out of harm's way. A muffled voice rose from the folds. "...ark is at ou?" Was all that could be discerned above the melee.
Orphine Orphine misjudged Lark--she thought she was some kind of loony golden heroine-type, but she seemed to have a jaded side, too. Plus, she seemed to be going through her own life crisis. "Fine, you wench...," Orphine grumbled. "And I don't know who you're calling a hag, anyway." As Lark turned away from her to deal with her own dilemmas, the Witch flicked her fingers and cast a aging spell on Lark, strengthening the spell with her own pent-up frustration and fear. Not waiting to see the outcome, Orphine spun around and dived under Mary's table. "Snow Wh--I mean, Mary!", Orphine hissed. "Death's after me, can you cover for me? Thanks gurl, I owe you big time!" The Witch gave Mary two thumbs-up and a big grin under the table. Meanwhile, Morrigan stalked through the bar in her lizard-like, flowing gait. The feather-cloaked woman stopped next to Lark, who was having some kind of tussle with a menacing snake-man. The Crow Goddess said, "Tsk!", and a piercing whistle shattered every glass at the bar and every bottle behind the stand. Then she announced, "I am looking for a dirty little witch that is on the run. She's is probably attired in the most outlandish, whorish clothes you can imagine. Do you know of her?" Her last question was directed at Lark. Her feather cloak shifted and one of her full breasts was exposed but she showed no embarrassment, or shame.
Lark: But Not Today... Orphine's spell sluiced off Lark like water off a duck, as the young darkkin continued to drive Indrid back in a desperate bid to save Angel. Running on instinct and her songs, she continued to weave intricate webs of violet spirit and silvery echo. Each note soaring out, clear, bright and true. But she went deeper into the planes as the blood of the Seer echoed in her veins. Water, its vivid blue heart, billowed out twining about her. Fire, molten and vibrant, rose to circle in an endless dance. Air, shimmering and white, a living veil, set her dark hair dancing. Earth, dense and heady green, shivered and waved about her like leaves. Indrid, meanwhile, writhed beneath her touch and the flood of ancient emotions. This was fear on a primal level and Lark wielded it like a hammer. This was a side of the injured fledgling he hadn't seen when he led the mob into the heart of Braemoore. What he had seen then was an exhausted child, wise far beyond her years, who managed to talk sense into a pack of seemingly senseless brutes. Her life had been lived on the run, the hunted and hated of both sides. Each time the family settled all it took was a word placed in the right ear and a bit of gold across a palm to set the wheels in motion. Yet still she faced him at great personal risk with little reward. She had controlled the fear and tapped into the song planes. There had been no one to teach her how to weave, how to summon the songs, or how to wield them, but she somehow she had figured it out. A true virtuoso. Indrid knew he had seriously underestimated this mere slip of a girl. With a concentrated effort he managed to grind out. "Enough...I'm done." Lark heard the pained whisper and withdrew her hands. Overt maliciousness was not in her nature, never before had she taken a life and she was not about to start with Indrid. She would fight to defend her own, but now was not Indrid's time to go. Slowly, concisely she took a step back. Indrid slumped to the floor, cradling his aching head in his hands. "What the hell did you do to me?" Lark's eyes were nearly black, rimmed in copper, as her songs soften slightly. "Merely gave you a reminder of what happens when you tangle with my family." Grudging respect crept into Indrid's voice. "Well played little butterfly...And I am a man of my word. The field is yours for now. Never doubt that I will be back." "Oh, I know you will, Indrid." She replied. "It isn't in your nature to accept defeat. Momentary surrender, but never defeat." "One of us will die by the hand of the other." He said. "You know this, for it is written in that infernal Book of Everything your precious Braemoore possesses." "Braemoore isn't anymore mine than he is yours. He's an Alpha of the Tribe." Lark retorted, her cheeks going pink. "He might be an Alpha, but he'll have his hands full with a manipulative terror like you to deal with..." Indrid growled as he shoved to his feet and made his way to the door. It closed behind him with a resounding thud. With Indrid dealt with Lark turned her attention to crow queen as she announced, "I am looking for a dirty little witch that is on the run. She's is probably attired in the most outlandish, whorish clothes you can imagine. Do you know of her?" Lark pointed toward the cowering figure under Mary's table and returned to Ares, who stood guard over the cloak bound Angel.
Matthew Went up to the bar and ordered his usual drink Johnny Walker Red label with 2 ice cubes once his drink was in his hand he went to his regular table and sat down.
