Mymyk: Ava's Birth

The wet cloth touched her sweating brow once again. The angelic figure blurred as her eyes filled with tears from the pain that swept through her in waves that came closer and closer together now. Her breath became rhythmic and forced, almost shuddering. This, in turn, caused her body to tremble each time she gasped to take in a lungful of air before forcing it out powerfully again. Groans started in her throat and trailed over chapped lips that were licked over with an even drier tongue again and again. Mymyk closed her eyes trying her best to concentrate on the task at hand. The man who finally came to her side, her angel, picked the cloth up off of her forehead in order to refresh it with a cooler water. Wringing it neatly so it was damp and not drenched, he replaced the cloth upon her forehead as fingertips lingered after the release to continue brushing over her skin dotted with sweat.

“You came...” she managed between her contractions, eyes finally fluttering closed after she well enough decided he was tangible and not a dream. He was here with her.

“I wouldn't miss this for anything in the world,” came the tender retort, a hint of a coy smile playing at the side of his lips. The straying fingers finally came to stroke over her cheek before tracing her parted lips and then away completely to rest upon her shoulder instead. “Would you be more comfortable on the bed, dear one?”

The only response to this question was a weak smile and a pat on the hand. She opened her eyes once again in order to look where she lay upon the floor before the hearth. Certainly, it wasn't the most comfortable of positions and the heat wasn't helping the warmth she felt throughout her body already. A steady glance managed to capture the rest of her picturesque cottage, a weak smile given to how dainty and well loved it looked in the soft glow of the moon that scattered its beams haphazardly across the floor. A sweet cool breeze tried to penetrate the stagnation in the room, though, shifting the curtains tenderly like a lover before dancing across her flesh with a kiss of the juniper and lavender that grew around the house. Another contraction began to tremble in her belly, threatening to cause her to scream so she grit her teeth and instead a whimper came sprawling over her lips as she squeezed the man's hand tightly.

“She will have your eyes,” she managed to push through clenched teeth and squeezed eyes.

“And your most beautiful complexion,” he returned in kind, brushing back ebony tresses from her forehead where they were plastered underneath the cool cloth which was beginning to sop with sweat. It wouldn't be long now, though, until their child came to join them in the world. His wings seemed over excited about the idea and so they shifted with anticipation before settling down and latching about his shoulders once more.

Bearing down, she screamed this time. “She's coming,” Mymyk managed in a grunt while trying to catch her breath. It was those words that had him release her shoulder and move into the proper position. Legs up, knees bent, spreading the legs and there, right there between her legs he could see the crown of the child that would soon be coming out. A miracle so beautiful that a smile came to dance upon his lips for a few moments, awestruck by what he saw.

It was then that the game began, all games began. At that precise moment, the newest pawn was about to be placed on the board. This was a well planned, a check mate, the perfect roll of the dice. He held all the trumps right now as he stood there in such a vulnerable position, the smile slowly forming into a grin before churning into his normal Cheshire smile.

“Is she beautiful?” came a forced few words as it became obvious that she was watching this transformation upon his lips. She will be, he thought to himself as he merely continued to smile. Another wave spasmed through her causing her to push again and the crown became a little more apparent. Slowly he knelt down in order to place his hands upon the head of the child, offering a small turn here and there in order to help the child be free of their warm womb. Another push caused the head to come out in a rush. He began to work the mucous out of the nose and mouth while Mymyk prepared for one last push to evacuate what was still left. She has to hear it cry. She has to hear the little miracle's voice or all would be for naught.

The silence seemed to shudder in anticipation when, suddenly, the sound of a small child's terrified and cold scream came to wail through the cottage. The small squirming likeness of Mymyk was finally lifted and placed upon her chest where arms were wrapped about the child and suddenly tears flowed freely as the cries of the mother and child mingled. He, himself, set to work on moving the afterbirth away from them both and finding a proper place to deposit it where the woodland creatures would not invade before returning to see mother feeding child using her natural gift of a breast. It was a most serene and beautiful picture, really, and he couldn't help but stand for a moment in order to watch it.

“Little Ava. My little Ava. Our little girl.” Mymyk could only speak in small and simple sentences, cooing over the suckling little child that hiccuped and whimpered now and then during her feeding.

“Ava. What a beautiful name,” he said in a voice so soft that it threatened to become a whisper. Approaching the bed, he held out his hands, his arms, readying himself for the little girl and Mymyk, seeing a father who wanted to hold his little one, complied. And she watched as he wrapped the child in a warm blanket and nuzzled his nose to hers. Then she continued to watch as he then walked to the cottage door, opened it, and disappeared into the night with her child. After that, all she could do was stare at the open door, first in quizzical wonder, but as the minutes passed and became hours, the wonder became concern and the concern became out right terror. She tried to move but the pain of child bearing came over her and she, instead, lay back down as tears of a new kind began to streak down her face.

“Ava. My little Ava.” The wailing that filled the cottage at that point did not belong to a child.

Mymyk: The Grotto

“Ah, dear brother,” came that growingly familiar voice before that Cheshire like smile came into view with its row of pearly whites that gleamed in the dimness. “You do not even begin to understand the power of love. It is no wonder you sit here unable to breathe. Even I admit that even I find the power of love...spell-binding.”

Unable to answer, all Phimires could do was sit there on the grotto's floor, watching as The Investigator finally came into full view as he stepped into the delicate light of the moon. A light so delicate that it managed to soften his features all the more. The angelic man on the floor pawed weakly at his throat, tears bubbling to life at the corners of his eyes, head shaking back and forth in disbelief. The grin of The Investigator slowly turned into a sad sort of smile as he continued to stride forward only to kneel at his brother's side.

“Speechless? I would be, too. She is a beautiful woman, brother, and you are expecting your first. Such an incredible miracle. The power of love is overwhelming, though, isn't it?” Piercing gaze watched the angel intently for an answer. When none came, like a rattlesnake strike, The Investigator's hand shot out and replaced both of the weak pawing ones. Shaking the man by his throat, golden eyes flamed to life as they opened wide. “Isn't it?!” he repeated with such force that small dust and debris dislodged from the grotto's ceiling only to drift slowly downwards.

The grotto held a pregnant silence as everything seemed to hold its breath so as not to disturb the resettling of the dust. Finally, the strong hand relaxed and moved away as if there was something it just remembered it had to do. Slowly, The Investigator brought himself to stand once again, methodically brushing the dust off his shoulder and knees, keeping his attire impeccable. Casting a gaze towards Phimires, he caught the trembling of lips dotted in a bead work of sweat as a simple word was trying to escape with a lack-luster of breath: Please.

“Oh, my brother,” The Investigator began before taking in a lungful of air, allowing it to escape slowly with the vaguest of purrs pushing it forward. “Brother, nothing would please me more than to listen to you beg. I haven't the time, though, for you see, the child can not possibly wait forever. It is coming, so I must be going. I must allow you some mercy in the process.” As if answering the pleading look in the man's eyes, the Cheshire smile returned once again. “Don't worry, dear brother. I will take care of them.”

Eyes bulged in Phimires's head as if someone were trying to squeeze them right out of their sockets. “The power of love,” The Investigator muttered in thought as his fingers searched the rock wall before him. “No. Not the power of love. But you will still be a delightful addition.” Fingers plucked at something that hid in the shadows before a ringing of metal ricocheted off the walls. A thin blade was soon released from its rocky sheath and rested between the two. A swift thrust, and itt wasn't long before all that remained was a slumped form in the corner of the grotto as the night continued to darken and steal away the moon.

Mymyk: Her Love

She was a girl. She was a girl who appeared more as a woman than a girl. She sat there in her little cottage home, outlined by the fire, singing quietly to herself as her shadow danced in a glorious ballet among the rafters. Her raven locks fell about her, a blanket of night shining due to the flickering flames, as her fingers were nimbly working with two long needles and a ball of yarn. The song she sang was full of sorrow, yet so sweet and serene and full of a hope that it seemed much brighter than the tune would let on. A sound behind her caused her to start, the needles clacking together as they fell into her lap and she turned towards another form that had managed to sneak into the room only to stand behind her.

"My love! You startled me. Whatever is wrong this evening?" The softest and sweetest of smiles came to her lips as she pushed the knitting off of her lap, gaze drifting up into the golden sunset of his eyes.

"I'm not certain. Something feels off this evening. How are you feeling?" The woman that once sat upon the ground at once rose and moved to rest within his arms. Mymyk. The name swept through his skull as lashes drew his eyes closed, lips coming to rest upon the top of her head as his nose buried into her hair. She was the gentlest soul he had ever met, and yet she was so very powerful. A sorceress, many would say, a woman of nature that could take the very earth and air and create anything she so desired. They would make her out to be some form of witch that created terrible monstrosities to terrify cities and towns. That wasn't Mymyk, though. Not his Mymyk. She was a sweet and kind woman, soft in step and gentle in words. He could barely imagine her even using such magics, at least in that way. Truly, honestly, she was a healer and spent her life living deep in the woods secluded from many, communing only with nature. She studied under two of the greatest talents known in the span of their countries history. In fact, that was how he came to know her.

It was near four years ago, minus a season or two, that she came in search of of a place where her skills may be allowed to grow through learning. It was by chance, really, that Mymyk had come across the duo Juniper and Greenstar. The purest of chance. Only in those days they were no longer a duo, but still two of the most gifted in the land. The elders had parted ways and began separate lives elsewhere. It was actually Greenstar that Mymyk had come across first and he had taken her under his wing, teaching her the druidic ways of what he knew. She appeared to be apt in the skills more situated to nature. Things ended abruptly with them when he had to take off for home after hearing about the murder of his youngest daughter which was soon followed by the eldest. No one had heard from the man since. Mymyk took on a journey to find Juniper at that point and this is where he himself came into the picture. There was always something a little off, a little not right with the situation and Juniper had hired him to help protect the young woman as they continued their studies. Juniper disappeared not long after and hadn't been heard from since. As many stories tend to end, he fell in love with Mymyk and has since been living his days with her in the quaint cottage in the woods as she continued to practice what she was taught. And extraordinary woman, really.

But today, just like the day when he was hired, there was something that wasn't sitting well with him in the very core of his being. Perhaps it was just a mild fear due to the fact that they were expecting their first child in a few months, but it could also be an intuition that raised the hackles and stiffened the hairs on the back of his neck. Whichever it was, he took her into his arms and they held each other tight. His wings slowly began to wrap about them to ward off a cool breeze that tried to intrude from outside. Picking her up in both of his arms, they moved towards the bed with slow and purposeful footsteps. He placed a soft kiss upon her forehead which caused that sweetly serene smile of hers to slowly dissipate into a look of wonder upon her lips and caused her eyes to sparkle.

“I am fine, dear Phimires. You shouldn't worry so much.” He couldn't shake that smile from his mind as he placed her upon the bed. Clasping his wings behind him, he crawled into the comfort of the bed beside her to rest his head.

“I do apologize, my darling, but something just doesn't feel right. I would like you to stay inside for a little while until I can place my finger on where this feeling is coming from.” His arms wrapped about her gently while one hand began to lightly circle about her protruding belly.

“I think you are being silly, but I will do as you ask.” The cool breeze from the dusk of spring once again tried to seep in through the windows, but instead of creating cold it only brought that gentle scent of life drifting through the room. The flames in the small hearth licked at the darkness causing the shadows to dance in their own passionate reform. Growing closer together in the dimming of day, their lips met in a delicate telling of their lives together. It wasn't long before their blessings for meeting each other were spoken and the awe of night falling hit them with a trembling beauty. The moonlight soon invaded through the windows, illuminating the sleeping couple as a second pair of unnoticed golden eyes blinked back out of existence and disappeared in the dark.

Mymyk: The Meeting

"Is it finished yet?" The Investigator stood nonchalantly in the home of his comrade, Jakaal Zephyrcate. More specifically, he stood in the library where, browsing the books, he kept his back to the man lounging in an over stuffed chair behind him sipping tea.

"The design is complete," came Jakaal's hauntingly dark voice, well paced, well versed, and well educated. "You know as much as I that it is up to you to breathe the life into it." A quiet sip of tea caused a tangible pause before the soft sound of the delicate porcelain cup resettling on the saucer joined the crackle and hiss in the hearth. "You also know, I'm certain, that it is not something that I approve of." Once more the tea was taken up to the man's pale lips before his icy azure gaze like the sky before a winter storm lofted upwards, watching as The Investigator fingered his literature. Jakaal had always been an avid reader, and by the looks of his home he did more than just dabble in culture.

The library was well suited to the man's taste, a large open room with a hearth in one corner surrounded by posh chairs of various comfort levels. Each wall from floor to cathedral ceiling had finely shaped stone alcoves with hand carved shelves fitted perfectly inside. The spaces between the alcoves held either large windows with thick brocade curtains drawn closed or a myriad of tapestries and ornamental weaponry. Pillars stood strategically placed about the room, large enough that they, too, had shelves of books built in them. There were various other libraries in Jakaal's estate, but this one, by far, was the favorite of all visitors, so it doubled as a sitting room. The other rooms that housed his books were cluttered, dusty rooms; the epitome of chaos and disorganization. They really existed to be more of a study than a library. He always kept this particular room nice and tidy, though, knowing it was his favorite place to sit with company.

The man, himself, was a quiet recluse, boarding himself up in his estate surrounded by desolate miles of deadening woods. It was as if his home was eternally set in autumn, and the man liked that just fine. He sat, looking quite calm and serene, in his favorite over stuffed chair in the library, seeming to hold little worry or concern about The Investigator's presence there. Long fingers held his cup of tea as if it were a fragile butterfly that he wished not to harm. Jakaal, much like The Investigator, liked to dress in fineries, but he was not near as exact about his looks as The Investigator. Inside his own home he would never dare wear his staple wide-brimmed hat, so it was much easier to see his pale golden-spun tresses, only a shade or two darker than the pale of his complimentary flesh. His attire, though, was always a dark selection giving him the feel of the inky night sky with a wave of washed out moonbeams for his hair. Barely did emotion ever show on the man's face as, even now The Investigator turned to him with one of his precious tomes open in his arms.

"This is science, Jakaal. Science and art and the delectable taste of game play." The Investigator watched as Jakaal calmly took another sip of tea while pages of the book were fingered and turned.

"Science is not my field, Sir. You hired me to do a job and that is finished. I plan to wash my hands of this and hear no more of your tales." Jakaal stirred for the first time in the meeting as he placed the cup and saucer upon the side table next to his chair and slowly rose to standing. "Come and we will make sure this is what you want before I ask you to leave me be."

"Come now, my friend. What I am doing, what -we- are doing, is creating," but he was interrupted by a sharp clap to the wall next to him which startled neither of them.

"What you are doing I do not know nor do I wish to know. I only know you hired me to create and mold, which I did."

"As will I, given some time. We will see who's art is more useful in the near future."
The book was placed back on its shelf and The Investigator followed along through dark halls barely lit by candelabras welded to the stone walls. No, Jakaal would never be able to wash his hands of his work with The Investigator. One touch and he was marked for life. The Investigator quickly was able to cause a stain that grew and deepened over time, much to the chagrin of any cleansing waters. Jakaal, though, didn't get away with just a touch, no. He dug his arms in up to the elbows and, just like quick sand, he was stuck and would only be sucked in deeper. He wasn't just a pawn; he was The Investigator's wild card. Or, perhaps, Jakaal would help in a different way, perhaps through apprenticeship. But just who would learn what from whom was the question.

They walked in silence through a labyrinthine maze from the north wing to the west wing and down two levels before Jakaal opened the door to one of his workshops and offered for The Investigator to join him inside. Once inside the door was closed and both stood for some time in admiration of what surrounded them. Even though Jakaal had been in here many times before, even he still caught himself holding his breath each time he entered.

The lights were dim but still managed to illuminate the inner struggle of the room with the perfect amount of detail. The floor was uneven, perhaps because of the fact that they were two levels underground. It could, though, also be due to the fact that the floor was ornately carved so that it appeared as if they were standing on top of various small stone creatures. Wave after wave of mice and rats which were small enough that they felt like cobbles beneath their feet, but resembled a rodent menagerie none the less. The stone animals began to climb the walls using the marbled vines for leverage, though few managed to reach higher than a foot off the ground. That was where the room began to churn and twist with images of joy, agony, sorrow, and anger. Small detailed pictorials littered the walls and were able to be made out only by squinting beyond the blanket of vines. It was as if the thickening of the handicraft could easily be viewed, layer upon layer, looking more like each piece was placed a top the next instead of the notion that they were all carved out of the same solid block of stone. The Investigator held his breath as he approached the wall of agony where an unclothed woman appeared to wail in her cage of vines and he gently traced his fingers over her cold stony cheek.

“You continue to amaze me, Lord Zephyrcate. Behind each door you unlock, I manage to glimpse a little more of what drives you.” And a little more of what can be used to continue driving him for that matter. And, perhaps the things that drive him can be used to lock him away as well.

Jakaal didn't seem to be listening, though. Nor was he able to ascertain what The Investigator was thinking. Not that he was wondering or even cared. He was pushing his way into the room in order to take up an item of more importance than what may or may not be on The Investigator's mind; an item that had been swaddled in the finest of cloth to protect it from the dust and dampness that the room seemed to accrue. He held it for some time, just seeming to test the weight of the object under his hands, his fingers twitching now and then, obviously just making certain the item truly was still there, locked in its soft confines.

“One of my best, if you ask me. The material was so grand that the runes seemed to place themselves. Without specific size proportions, though, I...”

“Don't you worry yourself about the size,” The Investigator snapped in a rumbling voice. As cliché as it sounded, size didn't matter in this case. He had been studying for some time and he was certain that he could size it appropriately after some practice. Calmly he reached to his throat in order to straighten out his ascot, brushing off the fabric of his vest carefully before offering Jakaal a smooth and certain smile that he didn't need to force in the least. “As long as the item is whole and complete, I wouldn't worry too much about one size or the other. I am learning every day and growing stronger,” but then he paused, perhaps deciding that sharing too much information was not appropriate at this moment in time. If ever he needed to share, a scant amount would do. “You have your coin. Whether it is useful or not to me should not matter in the least to you.”

“Fine, sir.” With that he offered the package towards The Investigator who drew it close to him, as if hoarding the item. Slowly, layer by layer, he began to unfold the cloth from around the new playing piece until a twinkling of metal could be spied. It was a ringlet set into a gold toned metal with runes carved deep into the flesh at varying intervals on both the inside and outside of the thin metal ring. A finger traced around the perfect circle as his eyes closed and a slow but certain grin came available on his lips. The runes near appeared to glow at the simple touch of the man, seeming to seek his purpose for them without asking a question, reaching tentacles of need into his mind in wonder.

“Yes. Delightful. Thank you. This. This is perfect.” A mutual probing from one mind to the other, but for sure that metallic ring was not alive! No, but he did manage to read each rune silently using only his fingertips running over each line in careful observation. “I will contact you if there is anything else I need.”

“Don't.” But The Investigator had already turned upon his heels and was taking long and determined strides towards the other wing of the house where he was to show himself out.

Mymyk

It takes words to sway a woman, to persuade her.
It takes violence and physical anger to break her.
And then
It takes but mere moments to craft her and shape her
Into the image and visage one so chooses.

Krimsin: Father

“You.” Eyes narrowed on the man as lips twitched in annoyance and anger, nostrils flaring under the hood of a robe. “Why would you do all of this? What would possess you?”

“Ah, my dear friend, I gave you ample opportunity. You know that I don't like when people walk away while the game is still in progress.” His tongue slowly rolled over his upper lip as he paced in front of Greenstar, enjoying the moment. The fear was almost tangible on the man's face, even if he did try to hide it well with unbridled fury. He could almost smell the anger mingling so beautifully with the pain and suffering. Agony. “I am giving you one last opportunity, of course. I've always played fair.”

“This isn't fair!” the druid barked in return.

“Life isn't fair!” The Investigator growled as his body snapped into a rigid stance staring down the druid who appeared to hold his ground where he stood. So far neither have drawn a weapon or even lunged at the other. They continued to circle each other like two boxers in a ring. Each step caused the other to follow in turn, keeping them always at equal distance. The clearing held them in a perfectly rotund arena: walls of trees and other various flora and the only spectators being that of the animals of the forest. “I wont be sorry if I need to kill you, Greenstar. You have shown yourself to be a worthy adversary and I've been supping knowledge for a few years now. Yours will be sweet and well enjoyed, that I promise.”

“Just,” a breath, a pause, and finally resignation. The druid slumped visibly, his hands falling to his sides where he held them, palm up. “Just release her, please.” His head fell as the feeling washed over him. It was finished and his surrender wouldn't even guarantee him his final goal. For some reason, he just knew that.

“Love.” The Investigator spoke the word with such poison that he near spat. “You are the second I have seen to fall asunder because of such a disease. You truly are weak, Greenstar.” That caused an anger to rage deep in the other. An anger so strong that everything finally was set into motion, exactly as expected. He needed that anger, needed that strength. Love always caused something so strong to churn inside others that it could easily be seen and equal to a sword and even sharper in its double edges. But Greenstar didn't draw love from a scabbard hidden in his robes, and neither did he.

It became pure bloody chaotic hell within moments of the weapons being drawn. The power of love was perhaps what made him so unpredictable, but either way the battle did not begin as The Investigator had expected. It was either the power of love or the knowledge that Greenstar's life depended on his actions. The Investigator managed to dodge just in time, barely missing a blade that was being swung haphazardly in his direction. The silence of battle, at that point, was broken as the druid clenched his one sole possession closer to his form and, with a great heaving of his chest, let out a whooping war cry of anger and anguish in his foreign tongue. The Investigator knew not what the words meant, nor did he terribly care. He only knew that blood will be spilled on this day in this arena they had chosen for their meeting.

“You beast!” the druid cried, this time in a language The Investigator could understand. “You slaughtered my daughters!” Another cry came as the blade came down fast and hard to the right before a shattering sound of metal hitting metal grated through both of them, trickling from their blades and up to their arms demanding them to release the hold. Each took a step back and began to circle each other in a dance that The Investigator delighted in. It was a game he knew well and a game that he has yet to lose.

“Krimsin made me a lovely pair of boots,” he mentioned off-handedly with a trickling of a laugh sputtering past his lips. He watched the change on the druid's face. “I really was quite smitten with her. A beautiful creature, really. And I am proud to still keep her forever close to me even now.” If he weren't fighting for his life the druid would have fallen to his knees and allowed himself to collapse into a pitiful mound of weeping right then and there. It caused a delightful shiver to tremble through The Investigator to see such misery and torment running through the eyes of the druid. The feeling was pure euphoria for him as he seemed not only to enjoy watching the emotional pain, but he seemed to dine on it and the flavor was immense. His palette was perfectly matched for such refined tastes. Eyes closing, his head tilting back as a purr seemed to slip down his throat as the druid anguished over what was just revealed to him.

They circled each other again, both with a heaving chest but for two different reasons. The game would be over soon enough, but it was the playing of the game that gave The Investigator the most joy. Rushing at him in a blind fury, the druid raced forward and managed only a light scratch across the upper arm before The Investigator stepped to the side, his eyes rolling back in his head as he sucked in air through his teeth. The feeling was heavenly, the metal slicing so cleanly through his flesh just enough to cause a wet warmth to begin to slip over his bicep soaking into his beautifully impeccable clothing.

“Yes. That's right. Let the rage take you. You were an innocent victim in all of this. An innocent. Let the chaos take you, oh sinless one. Let the rage consume you.” The dark of the inner forest was starting to try and seep in around them, pulsating as if alive. Taking a single step back, he slowly drew his sword over his upper arm not once, but twice, coating the blade in his own life fluid as well as deepening the wound. Finally their eyes locked and they both knew that this was the end. This dance has gone on long enough, and although the ballet was beautiful, it was time to come to grips with mortality.

Bending his head downward, The Investigator started a low moan that could easily be mistaken for a war cry of his own. Astounded, all Greenstar could do was watch as bulges slowly appeared on the other man's back. Bulges that began to quiver and quake and cause the moan to grow deeper in his throat, his breathing becoming ragged. Impetuously the jacket he wore tore at the seams as the sword clattered from his hands and the moan became and all out scream. There was no pain in the scream, though, but more a scream in that caused a stabbing icy fear to penetrate deep into the druid's heart. Wings exploded through The Investigator's back as his hands reached into his hair, gripping fistfuls at a time as chunks of flesh flew through the air only to find their mark upon the trees or to disappear into the mulch on the ground. Strings of blood seemed to whip through the air before they calmed and only trickled down what flesh remained, the exposed muscle underneath quivering as a shudder of pleasure poured through the man as he rose. Shreds of what remained of the perfectly kept attire fell off his shoulders, pooling about his waist and wrists as his arms dropped away from his head, an insane look deep in the golden eyes; So insane it was calming. He released the rags from his wrists and let what could fall from his form while the rest dangled about his hips. The wings, sticky with gleaming crimson, flexed slowly before a deep breath was taken in, filling his lungs, expanding his chest and being released with a lust filled purring moan.

The look of fear on the druid was, in itself, terrifying. Not to The Investigator, of course, but any average man would have been terrified to see the fear that crept into play over the face of Greenstar behind the hood that tried to keep his face shadowed from the light. He stood there, rooted to the ground, rigid and unable to move as a Cheshire smile slowly formed upon The Investigator's face. Slowly, dangerously slow like a magician daring someone to find the flaw in their trick, he reached upwards and with merely a finger and thumb, he drew his hand back downwards creating a beam of light in the singular line he drew. The light at first was so bright it hurt the druid's eyes before it grew dimmer and dimmer. Soon, it was obvious that the light was nothing more than a metal forged into a needle thin sword of some type, so light that he could hold it in such a manner. Even though he had never seen it before, he knew it instantly and the fear vanished.

“You, you used that on my daughters.” A simple nod was all he received as an answer before both rushed equally at each other. Metal pierced through flesh on both counts, but only one was fatal. Dropping to the ground with the blade buried up to the hilt in the throat, blood gurgled like a small bubbling brook from the jugular vein and frothed upon the quivering lips as the body finished its last few death throes. Placing a foot upon the druid's head, The Investigator freed his blade before twirling it lightly in the air causing it to dissipate before his very eyes. The rush of new spread through him, giving him the strength to free the blade that had been left penetrating through his viscera, threatening to disembowel him. But no, tonight was not the night. He laid his hands upon the wound of his abdomen and closed his eyes. A gentle warmth came from his fingertips and, although not healed, at least the wound was closed.

“I always play fair, druid.” With a snap of his fingers, he allowed his eyes to close. Somewhere a connection was lost and he was blind to the happenings of that area. But another connection was created, this one much more permanent. “You failed to play the game my way, but I allow you a small victory, even so.” Balance. It was all about balance. If you give, you take. If you take, you give. He believed in balance more than anyone could ever understand. He also desired to disrupt that balance in a way no one could ever comprehend.

Krimsin: Death

She was an innocent. She -was- an innocent. In fact, she was quite a many thing. So very many things. And yet, she was nothing to anyone. At least nothing important. To anyone important. At least, not anymore. She was an innocent, 'was' being the operative word here. She was no longer much of anything now. She was a cold slab, lifeless and quiet, and oddly serene in the tranquil moment of death and dying. She was nothing to anyone, and now, it was certain, she never would be. Not anything any more than a corpse, and, eventually, a rotting one. Perhaps she would make some nice carrion. Either way, to be more frank about it all, she was dead.

Dead and beautiful. So beautiful. That blissful look, the ivory lick of color that came to her flesh before the bluer tones would take over, eyes peacefully having been closed, perhaps to hide the look of horror at seeing her own death, but they were closed. Even her lips were pressed together, perhaps not into a smile, but into a relaxed state, which in itself, was odd, for the rigormortis that had set in. But she was beautiful. Beautiful, innocent, and dead.