Juno.

Siss'sira Elverhilin possesses a serpentine smile.

The ‘Isabel of Haense’ could hardly contain her bewilderment as she read this account of the event. The Illatian would not soon forgot how she, and her young cousin, were threatened to be cut down by these “honorable men,” claiming to be saving their lives. A vein popped out of her forehead as she sat within the Falcone Manor, penning a letter to the Inquisitor-General.

Isabel read over the missive with an incredulous expression, though she couldn't help but chuckle. The Illatian handed the paper over to Annette, taking a sip of her whiskey. "Well, what do you think? The Barclays make excellent weapons, and he seems funny at the least.."

@TaytoTot

MC Name:

         Junoix

Character's Name:

         Sonna Vuln'miruel

Character's Age:

         160+

What feat(s) will you be learning?

         Singing Trees

Teacher's MC Name:

         Oriaros

Teacher's RP Name:

         Vernal

Do you agree to keep Story updated on the status of your feat app?:

         Yes

Have you applied for this feat on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

         N/A

Are you aware that if this feat is undergoing an activity trial and fails said trial, that you will lose the feat? And that if it is apart of the Lore Games, it might drastically change soon?:

         Yes

The letter came to The Fox has she sat within a hollowed tree; a sanctuary she fled to after the departing of Lioness. At first, she had ignored the letter, the woman not being of sound mind or body to meet or speak with anyone at the moment. However, the anxiety of it possibly being from her children gnawed at her, and with a huff she read it. 

Birds abruptly scattered from the leaves within the tree, foxes sprinted away with their tail between their legs. Nature cried out in agony and grief, pleading for refugee from it's killer. It was sometime before The Fox walked out of that hollowed tree, leaving nothing but ruin behind her.

Hands tightened around the very mug that Lioness had held just days ago, eyes wide as she gazed into it. She was just here...She was just here! How...Why!

That mug was flung across the room, shattering against the wall opposite. The animals within the burrow dispersed at the noise, and the feeling that radiated from their mother following. So much grief in such a short amount of time. How long until that grief turns into rage.

"I think I know that guy!" A number of women say pertaining to a number of the creatures.

Sonna slowly begins to come to from within the Haense clinic, her eyes squinting against the bright lights. With her body too beat up to move, she lays in silent reflection, trying to recall how she got here in the first place.

Meow

Word eventually got to the departed Nesta, her head bowed in silent prayer as she thought about her first and only friend in Oren. She sniffled softly on her journey, blurry eyes watching the road ahead.

The once Imperial Governess packed her bags, looking back over her shoulder only once more at the Palace before continuing out the city's gates.

Amazing

Sonna cleans the same self for the 5th time as she waits for her grandfather's return, doing her best to make the Tavern spotless!

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/200560-naztherak-ma-junoix/

5/5 <3

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/200560-naztherak-ma-junoix/

4/5 :D

3/3 baby

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/forums/topic/200560-naztherak-ma-junoix/

49 minutes ago, Drylow said:

I found this post and site by accident but i'm intrigued, did you write this?

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.

-=-

Another Lady of alchemy marvels at such a breakthrough in science! She looks forward to its display.

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.