Juno.

yes I did!

The familiar message that the trees bring washed over the sullen woman. She knew not who had passed, but she felt the pang of grief all the same. How many more...When will I join them?

She thought she had felt it all, especially the grief of a loved one's death. Friends, parents, husbands... But it was all nothing compared to this. There is no greater pain than losing a child, Sonna had always known this. She had known, having been blessed with so many children, that one dying before her was a strong possibility. But there is no preparing for that day; there is no relief from the breaking it brings. Typically, mothers will have support as they go through this. Other mothers will flock to them, consoling them and helping them heal. But not Sonna. Alone, she received the letter. Alone, she clutched it to her chest. Alone, she collapsed into a heap of tears and blood. And alone, she begins to decay.

Terrified and traumatized was she, the sweet Isabel, clinging tightly to her sickly lamb. Taken from her life and dressed anew, her face anew; she didn’t know if she was even herself anymore. Her now chocolate gaze remained stuck to sandy dunes beyond, red and dry with no tears left to cry.

-=- -=- She had been cleaning her shoes when her mother entered, a thick veil covering the features of her face. Isabel paid no mind, abandoning her task to give her mother a proper welcome back to their home off the Orenian canal. Kisses were peppered across her face through such lacy fabric, giggles echoing off the walls of the entrance hall. “Amaranta, would you like to go to a party? It will be at your Zia’s house, but first we must make a short stop.” The young girl was excited, as most would be at the prospect of their first party. She rushed her goodbyes to her father who had come to inspect the commotion, waving him off hurriedly as he too kissed her cheek. If she had known this would be the last, she would have attempted to savor it, clung to her father’s affection, but even if she wanted to, she would have been unable; her mother was already rushing her out the door. She should have known something was wrong when they turned right instead of left, and entered the creepy warehouse that neighbored their own home. She should have run as soon as her mother released her hand to speak with the pale, elven man, and her eyes witnessed the oddities stowed on shelves and hanging off walls. She should have screamed at the initial prick, as her blood was drawn by the strange man and a trickle of such ichor leaked down her arm. “Mama please…I’m scared.” “Hush, Amaranta. You are not weak.” The girl was guided to sit on a table, her anxiety only increasing as the man questioned her mother, who gave hasty replies. She should have resisted as her soft skin was injected once more, and the pain hit her like a wave of the plague. Her soft cries and sobs echoed off the high ceiling, but were not loud enough to invoke some sort of aid from outside. And so she curled up into a ball as her skin prickled and face itched, her back to the two adults as she was changed into someone new. “Come Amaranta.” Her mother called for her, and yet she was ignored; Isabel could not move, could not think, could not feel, for what sort of reaction was she to have at this odd sensation? Her arm was grabbed and pulled towards the two waiting figures, a red hot iron now held in the man’s hand. “MAMA NO! PLEASE!” Isabel fought and cried as her mother held her still and shoved a fist in her mouth, skin that was soon bitten down on as the metal met her tanned hand. Agony like no other over took her senses, leaving her a puddle of warm tears, muffled cries, and trembling limbs. As soon as it came, it was over, and she was pulled once more, taken towards somewhere new. — Paved roads and mild weather turned to hot sand and a blaring sun when they finally stopped, her mother ripping off her veil to reveal a face entirely new. Isabel gasped as she looked at the woman, her features now entirely unrecognizable. “Amaranta, look!” The mother urged her to look into the mirror she had brought out, and to the young girl’s horror, she did. Gone were the sea-green eyes and bronze skin of her mother’s original appearance, gone were her father’s raven black hair, high cheekbones, and effortless smile. She supposed she still looked like her mother, both donning their new appearances, but nothing was left of her father’s, as if he bore no part in her creation. The revelation made her feel as if a part of her was missing, something so key to her life and being. She found herself unable to keep down the fresh fruit she had just eaten earlier, spilling herself onto the sparkling sands. Her dress which had only ever been stained with the juice of clementines and dirt from the Imperial gardens was now tainted with dried blood and bile. “Mama…what about Papej! We must go back for him.” “He will not miss you, he is a busy man.” “No! Papej loves us! He will miss us!” Her arm was harshly grabbed once more, though this grip now promised pain. She could not handle any more agony, any more pricks and brands and trickles of blood. “He will not. UNDERSTOOD?” Her mother’s voice was stern and final, her eyes glazed over in some sort of emotion Isabel did not recognize; she did not recognize any of her mother at all. She cried out her agreement, if just to save her own flesh, and they were off once more. They continued to walk until they came to a settlement, walls high and tents full of color. It all went by in a blur, the concerned faces of it’s dwellers, the bitter drink and sweet fish, the reassuring smiles and waves from strangers. She tried to wave back, to show some gratitude for their kindness, but how could she do that with hands and lips that were not her own. They were given a house rather quickly, about the same size as their one back in Oren, except this time Isabel had her own room. It was not a welcome change. The child could not sleep, for every time she closed her eyes she experienced it all over again; the white-hot agony, the goat on her hand, her father’s last kiss. She sat up screaming and with fresh tears, holding her hand to her mouth to not wake her mother slumbering nearby. The blankets were thrown off her small body as Isabel darted outside, the sands now cool against her bare feet. She would escape now, run through the dunes until she found someone, someone to take her to her father. She didn’t make it far until she heard the cries of some sort of animal, and rounded the corner to see a pitiful lamb. It was tiny, smaller than it should be, and sick, calling out for some sort of help, some food and warmth. It couldn’t have been more than a few days old, clearly the runt, and it was sick. It was dying. Isabel knew young animals could not survive without their mothers, doomed to fail without their milk and nurture. How was an eight year old girl any different? Her father had warned her of the dangers of this world, both human and not. If she were to leave the protection of these walls, she would be killed in minutes, her fate the same as the lamb’s. It took all her effort to lift and carry the weakened lamb, for she was in a pathetic state herself. With the last of her strength, she ran all across the settlement in search of some cattle, the moon acting as her only light source. When she finally came across a mother camel, Isabel did her best to mimic the farmers she saw working out in the countryside, filling a nearby bucket with the fresh milk. With both the bucket and lamb, she made her way back home, bringing both into her room where she fed the lamb. Stars began to twinkle out as midnight turned to dawn, and the bucket was finally empty. The lamb had made it through the night, so Isabel supposed she could too. If for nothing else, she would live to see her father once more. -=-

Hidden amongst the leaves of the tallest tree did she uncover the words; a ritual done sometimes even three times a day. Hours would she sit there, pouring over the words and meanings until her eyes ran dry, until there was no more daylight left for her to enjoy. No matter how many times the pages became smudged, shaky handwriting doing its best to fill in the blanks, no matter that she had memorized and now knew the words by heart, the ritual continued daily, and a new set of stains on parchment always followed.

I’ll miss you buddy, take it easy

Spooky tree time

The fate of the final church would plague the warlock’s mind for some time as it gazed at the insignia imbedded in it’s skin. It wondered what it’s fate would be.

A daughter reads over the letter with a curling smile, wiping her eyes with a stained sleeve as puss leaked from their waterlines. “Voidal mages and druids? Feels funny to hunt both…oh well. Enemies of father are enemies of mine.” The woman called for her sweet creature of a daughter then.. @Cally

“No..” Tears fell down the cheeks behind a similarly painted mask, then followed my a wild, angered scream. Her body shook in agony and rage, barely able to contain the emotion she felt at what she heard. “****…I’m so sorry, my dearest friend…I-I..I’m so sorry Elmer..” The exile then ran off to find the body. She’d be sure her friend, last of the wonks, would receive a proper burial.

Deep within the leaves of an oak tree, the sound of crinkling parchment could be heard. An exile’s gaze caught on every word, some spark of hope igniting in such pale eyes but a deep frown still remained on her features. The missive was folded up and placed within a small burrow in the tree, perhaps to be revisited or perhaps to be forgotten.

A vile woman smiles, waiting for her turn to make a deal

R

I fixed it, I swear!!

IGN: Junoix CHARACTER NAME: Nesta Arianna DISCORD: Junoix#6201 This is not experimental or avant-garde but my favorite 2000s pop/r&b song is Promiscuous by Nelly Furtado Merry Christmas!!

“Zift-ag’ruta. Ur-Za’Randrok, Kuul Aaa Rohn’Amol.” “Dav’Uzgha..” The woman slammed a fist to her head as the voice continued to assault her, never listening to her commands to be silent. She continued her journey on the back of her beast; blackened skin sticking to bone, yellowed teeth sticking out of unhinged jaw, and eyes burning with cerulean flame. Suddenly, the demonic direwolf came to a halt, snarling and snapping as it looked out over tainted land. The princeling looked up from her stead and over the voidal hollow, eyes narrowing at the creatures who wandered it. “Tramdalktar..” Her brows furrowed as she looked out over the landscape, her stomach churning as her beast grew restless. “E’Khanvit..” Bile rose in her throat as her vision began to cloud, those voidal creatures turning to sickening crows and flocking around her. No matter how hard she tried to swat them away, the birds continued to swarm, attacking her with sharp beaks and talons. “Dav’Huvnataer!” “Vuhd Ra’Algzoklu-za.” Those voidal crows continued to attack, now shoving themselves down her throat and peeking out her eyes. The beast cackled as it watched it’s master succumb to madness, relishing in the warlock’s screams. “Mokn’Algzok, Rohn’Gartok-Mar. Vuhd Ra’Algzoklu-za.” Images then flood her head; her son being threatened by two whose eyes glowed of voidal aura, her father crippled before the taint, her master’s death at the hands of the coalition. The birds continued to eat her alive, the voidal taint spreading through her veins. She screamed and thrashed and begged, but it wouldn’t stop, it would never stop. “Zd’Vuhd Ur-Mokn! Mokn’Rhavor Unmatar!” At suddenly, it all stopped. The crows turned to ash and fell to her feet, and the images she saw began to disappear. Her vision slowly returned, and her beast ceased it’s cackling, sulking as it’s master regained consciousness. Her body trembled as she struggled with her sanity, unable to tell if what just happened was real or not. “You’ve sat with your power for too long, Daz’rukrai. You cannot stay idle while this mockery of our greatness continues to plague this land. These mages weakened your father, and have threatened to kill your son. You know what you must do.” “I must kill them all..” The princeling gripped onto the scruff of the demon’s neck, pulling it off as the beast began to run back towards whence they came. A violent cough assaulted the woman’s lungs, followed by a maddening cackle as her eyes glazed over. “I will kill them all.” -=-=-=-=-=- [!] A message has been burned onto the wall of The Guild of Knowledge, the words looking as if they were still aflame. “Your mockery of the Five Princes has not gone unnoticed. You will pay for your arrogance and tainting of this land that is not yours to conquer. Your judgment awaits. Give up your disgraceful craft and you will be spared. Mok’mhat Unmatar.” [!] The last few words are written in strange characters that are warm to the touch. Upon looking at these characters, one’s eyes would begin to burn and head pound, discomfort spreading throughout your veins.

IGN: Junoix BOTA or COTC: BOTA Category: Skinning Artwork:

Discord: Junoix#6201 Bid: 200 Skin Name: Evergreen

Discord: Junoix#6201 Bid: 100 Skin Name: Evergreen

“Glad to see some things never change.” A jaded tone remarks from the trees, watching white walls; waiting.

How are you so old

Accompanying Music [!] Pinned to every road sign across the realm is a charcoal sketch on frayed parchment, delusional ramblings neatly written below in a deep, tenebrous ink that seems to catch no light. Crows are not to play with snakes, no matter how shiny their scales and luminescent their eyes. Crows are not to play with snakes, no matter how sweetly they hiss or how enchantingly they move. Crows are not to play with snakes no matter how small they may seem, no matter how weak they appear. For even the tiniest serpent can carry the most deadly venom. I flew too close to the nest, was too entranced by reptilian ways. I leaned in too closely as forked tongue whispered promises to me, ignored natural instinct to turn and flee. Oh how quickly did such body wrap around my small frame, how expertly did fangs sink into my flesh, how agonizingly slow does the poison course throughout my veins. For years I have been constricted, and for many more will I continue to be, I suspect until the end of time. I know the venom will never kill me, and I’ll never have the strength to break free from the body coiled tightly around my own. But perhaps I have been ungrateful; perhaps I can’t truly complain. For even though I will never fly free again, the snake has kept every vow it ever made. What a small price to pay.

Throughout their trial, a red fox would watch and follow from the tropical trees, gold eyes scanning the terrain and how they reacted to such in their state. As Boreal reached the gate, the fox ran off, a small vulpine smile on it's furry face. "And so it is finished, well done."

[!] A flyer is seen posted in every nation and settlement, pinned to the walls of Taverns and road signs: Hope to see you soon!!