A Message Written in Ice and Blood

[AC 68]

 

 

A bad choice of music for your listening pleasure:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She stands, biting wind whipping through her snow white hair atop a cliff constructed solely of ice. She stands, skin tinged with the blue tint of Wyvurn’s magic. She stands, two icy blue eyes peering out over the crashing waves, almost like beacons of glowing light. She is Fjarriauga: one of Winter’s Maidens. She is called Sif, but that isn’t her real name. No one like her used a true name anymore after so many years.

 

Atop her vista of ice, Sif watched the waves tirelessly. Word had been brought to her, by a stranger coincidentally, Analiana had been kidnapped. She was in the clutches of the Brotherhood of the Golden Lion: The Paladins. Sif’s hands were balled in tight fists, trembling with rage. Her daughter-- her firstborn child was whisked away without her even knowing. The motherly instincts of a Witch Mother were second to none, but that only amplified the pain of losing family. Sif stood idly for hours. It wasn’t until the gentle grasp upon her shoulder made her jump back into the present that she took in her surroundings once more. Two witches had come to assist in Ana’s retrieval. Their word promised Sif others were on their way. The Witch Mother’s helplessness finally melted away. She was not given Ana’s location, but there was only one place she could think of where her daughter may have been held. Sif rallied her witches. If an assault was what they wanted, she’d give it to them.

 

Or so she’d intended, but as she emerged from her cavern of ice, fully equipped for war, a silhouette was faintly visible through the thick blizzard. Analiana approached the other witches. She came unharmed, but not without a message. The Paladins wanted something. They wanted Sif. Her past crimes did not go unnoticed. She was requested to atone for these crimes, particularly the murder of one particular holy man going only by ‘John’. His execution was a fond memory in the Witch Mother’s mind. Atone for her crimes, she would not. For through some twisted visions deep within Sif’s mind. She was right, and she would not let this aggressive act of the Paladins go unpunished. The Fjarriauga had been reborn with her, and they were not to be tread upon so easily. No full assault was needed. Sif didn’t wish to take unnecessary risks if her children were no longer in danger. The Fjarriauga would take something of equal value. Any Paladin would do really.

 

When Ana offered such an easy target, her mother could not object. His name was Nurion, a fledgling of their order in exchange for their harassment of Sif’s fledgling witch. The Witch Mother always took pride in Ana’s great knack for hunting. So quickly she had picked up the process forced upon her, and so quickly she had mastered its skills. This, of course, made Ana’s lure very simple. She promised a date to one of the men the Fjarriauga so despised, and he accepted. The Witch Mother’s process couldn’t have gotten any easier.

 

Baited away from civilization, Nurion was accompanied by Ana into the forests of Tahn. It was unknown, though, what beast lurked at a distance. Sif was in no mood for games. When it came to her daughters, no man harmed them and lived to tell their tale in Sif’s presence. This encounter was not one for trickery. The Witch Mother didn’t need the aid of convoluted tactics and ambushes. She walked straight through the woods towards the pair. The chill of the Deep Cold air only seemed to amplify as she moved. She neared and neared, chunks of ice seeming to explode into existence around her. Her magic, amplified by winter’s grasp, started to form a maelstrom of twisting shards encircling the witch. Sif knew she needn’t forge a single snowball to fell Nurion, but it wasn’t about winning. She already had victory guaranteed. This was all about power, and the Witch Mother’s exertion of control over others. Nothing brought more of a rush surging through her icy blood.

 

The fated glow of the Fjarriauga’s gaze met the eyes of Nurion. He was calm. The old Elf had come to accept his fate, and as much as Sif loved the thrill of the hunt, she was content to evoke death to anything she could get her hands on.

 

“Just do what you do. I’m at the end of my life anyway…” It was a statement from the Elf, not a plea, which was all too uncommon for a Fjarriauga’s prey. Facing death with majesty, he was. This was something that only confused the Witch Mother.

 

“Why is it you so verily accept death, boy?” Sif had nothing to lose in questioning her target. Nurion was forced to his knees all the while Sif’s egotism couldn’t be contained. If she had one flaw, it would be her pride. Her boasting took over. She was all too confident in her abilities to slaughter the man no matter what convoluted strategy he may come up with in his extended final minutes.
“You are going to get caught. I’ll be smiling down at you when it happens.” Sif paused, pondering his response for the briefest moment. For a second, she felt anger. How dare he say that, but just as quickly her anger once more gave way to pride.

 

“They may catch me, Nurion… But they may never kill an immortal.” Sif forced both of her hands forth with great flair in her movements. Two sheets of ice shot forth from her maelstrom of ice, moving with such velocity that they delimbed Nurion’s arms, sending him falling onto his back in the grass. Nurion’s vision began to fade, calmly his eyes drew back to the maiden standing just at his side: Analiana. The betrayer, the silver-tongue, the Witch.

 

---

 

 

It is upon the doorstep of the Paladin’s Keep that the corpse of Nurion is arranged carefully with no excess wounds on his body. Sif wanted to make sure that those within knew that he wasn’t another meal. She wanted them to know that she was retaliating. Lying upon his back, the poor Elf is surrounded in a number of shards of ice embedded into the ground around him. It was as if the corpse was ritually arranged by the witches. Just upon the man’s breast lies a note. Sif couldn’t help herself. What is victory without taunting?

 

I came to apologize for slaying John, but I couldn’t find anyone to accept my apology gift, so I left it here.

 

---

 

Sif’s daughter drew her eyes away from the corpse to her mother. There was a long pause before the Witch Mother returned her child’s deep gaze.

 

“Many covens have come before us, dear Ana. I’ve lived through them myself, but nothing stops the never ending vortex of time, always waiting to swallow them when they are weak.” Sif stepped closer to her daughter as she spoke with perhaps the most sincere tone Ana had ever heard from the old Witch Mother.

“I hold no remorse, if that’s what you are thinking. I am not weak.” Sif shakes her head at her daughter’s response.

 

“No Ana, on the contrary. You are amazingly skilled in our art. I take pride in accepting you as my own. What I speak of is the past covens of Fjarriauga. Each has risen and fallen like some mortal human emperor. I wish for you to accept this passage of time with me. I wish to welcome you to a new age-- a new coven, and with it, a Fimbulwinter…”

And so Sif’s tale carries on.

[Kvasir 1121]

"Sif, more like Yiff" Rasmodius muttered.

[ThatWeirdGirl 432]

Analiana's blue eyes glowed softly as she stood before the blank canvas, brush poised above the glaringly blank seas of white spread out before her. They had beat him, though the aged high elf didn’t go down with a fight. She could still feel his gaze burning on her, the hatred in his pale, barely there lavender eyes as she betrayed the man who had done so much to help her. After he had been so kind to her when she needed his help.

 

She had taken his kindness and thrown it in his face, lured him to his death. After centuries she had been what killed him, despite living in a world where very few lived long lives. She wouldn’t die young, she wouldn’t die at all. The former wood elf was as long lived as the ice that surrounded her, immortal. Infinite.

The still young frost witch dipped her paintbrush into the mounds of color on her pallete. She could already see the soft lavender eyes staring back at her, the strawberry blond hair still untouched by age. But a question nagged at her mind, nibbled on her thoughts like a pesky mouse. Of all the things he had learned in such a long life, how had he, especially as a paladin forgotten? Mothers had warned their sons as children ever since her sisters had appeared and spread in the icy north. Never trust the Fjarriauga.

[Nekkore 641]

Seyer sets eyes upon the body as he kneels down and says a prayer before fixing his eyes around the keep. The Adherent rests his eager hand on the pommel of his Aurum sword. 

 

"After today's event... It's time to cast away the facade and time to get the Order in gear... "

 

Pacing himself inside the keep as he narrows his eyes. 

 

"We shall seize the light and strike down the dark." 

[Cooliomafia 399]

The darker skinned elfess would be seen trailing down the paths, a hint of frost emanating from her form, signifying the end of Malin's Welcome, and the beginning of the Hunt. She came upon a small cliff, her lavender gaze falling over the city of Linandria with a gentle huff, her ears flickering as she pondered upon the news that had befallen her previously. Her ardent orbs carefully scanned the city, latching onto a certain elfess that roamed the forsaken structures, her blonde locks reflecting the scorching sun above, her skin an odd, pale hue, a woman who went by Adrasteia. She offered a mere sneer as she plopped down upon the steep edge, her legs dangling over the edge as the 'ker placed her hands within her lap, her unpigmented, ghastly hair peacefully lay over her shoulders, the Fjarriauga sat unmoving, as if frozen within time. The guardian angel watched from above, waiting... waiting... awaiting trouble to ensue, this time, she'd be at her sister's side. 

[Kaelan 1918]

11 hours ago, Nekkore said:

Seyer sets eyes upon the body as he kneels down and says a prayer before fixing his eyes around the keep. The Adherent rests his eager hand on the pommel of his Aurum sword. 

 

"After today's event... It's time to cast away the facade and time to get the Order in gear... "

 

Pacing himself inside the keep as he narrows his eyes. 

 

"We shall seize the light and strike down the dark." 

 

 

 

A young halfbreed bobs her head at that. She stands next to Seyer in her new, shiny Adherent armour. The newly connected cleric's eyes blaze with passion as she peers down at the corpse.

 

"Tahariae willz it." She announces. "Thall zeize the light and ztrike down the dark!" She finishes, lisping.

[meg 1994]

17 hours ago, GrimReaper98 said:

"Guess they gotta stay frosty." The armored figure remarks to his companion across the bar, letting out a hearty chuckle before continuing.

 

An ages old Witch (Named Lumia), weathered but unbroken by the passage of time, hefts a box of bottles onto the bartop, stretching her arms out and rolling her shoulders. Her lumious gaze flicks between the pair, musing with a pointed grin, "Shouldn't be surprised to see them getting into trouble, now, eh?"

[Guest]

17 minutes ago, Ciaran said:

 

An ages old Witch, weathered but unbroken by the passage of time, hefts a box of bottles onto the bartop, stretching her arms out and rolling her shoulders. Her lumious gaze flicks between the pair, musing with a pointed grin, "Shouldn't be surprised to see them getting into trouble, now, eh?"

 

A desolate set of armor turns its visorless gaze towards both the Witch and the Darkstalker, deftly uttering. "How magnificent." 

[Abyssus 487]

A figure in his lab let out a chuckle as he'd throw up his hands 

 

"By God, she's actually doing it."

 

He'd bring a finger up to his chin in a moderate pause as he'd murmur 

 

"I do hope my suggestions don't come to bite me in the ass, literally." 

 

The man made a sudden spin as he'd stare towards the clump of ice in front of him before giving a slow shrug

 

"Bah, whatever."

[GDPR 014 48]

Siegwald grumbles, looking to a crate. Although his posture shifted, he remained where he was; he was conflicted. 

[molly molly molly 1329]

Sir Greiret Finnigan liberated a singular, sharp lament of relief upon hearing the story of his sibling's safety. Even more so, Greiret was often times seen sauntering in the vicinity of Linandria, cracking a wild smirk oft times, the reasoning utterly unknown to the rest of the green and brown populace.

[OzYmandi 647]

Draeron of Mor'ton, the Graven, chuckles

"Well, I guess Frosties are kinda cute, but damn aren't them hard to talk with? I wish I could talk to one.. I wish I had a body.. I mean, I don' wanna be eaten by those, but hey... A man's gotta have some pleasure now and then."

 

The Graven crackles, wandering off.

[dm420 186]

A rather peculiar Smoeni, one who resembles a fit 'ame woman would mutter out while walking down the paths of the deep forest of the wood elves, ears flickering at each rock she stepped on with her bare feet, "I very much hope to meet one someday.." she sighs, continuing on, "Mother would be pleased of a group of women..so would the tribe." she finishes as she spoke to seemingly no one in the dark empty spots of the forest.

[_Owen 47]

Cadderly Looks down towards his book with a deep sigh his head pounding from his tumble he had the previous day "Looks like the land is plagued with murder poor man" he sighs closing his huge leather bound book and resting it back under his armpit with a whistle he moves away from the area shaking his sandy locks away from his face

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A man clocked in a forest green cloak sits himself up on a tree and listens with his eyes close with a deep hum he picks up in a slight hum's his hands clutching around his staff. He issues a deep growl and springs up onto the next branch his cloak flapping wildly in the wind his gaze fixed on the top of the tree. a small smile spring onto the man's face his green hood flying back  as he makes it half way up 

[Anonymous_Potato 27]

Long live the WITCH.