Patrollogs
(An arcane battle)
[Mon Feb 26 2024]
On Sandy Point Drive
This seaside road winds along the point just northeast of Haven. A little more rural than the town proper, it still gives access to the sometimes grander houses of those who choose to live just outside of town.
It is afternoon, about 25F(-3C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
Unexpected, through her closed eyes she can see Sienna, a chant still left on her parted lips. By an expression left with raised brows once her eyes open, it would seem she did not truly intend to -curse- any one, much less someone she considers a friendly face, but as it goes, there is a power creeping within her, and she seeks to eek out the others through the finalization of whatever prose she'd chose to call out to her wiccan Goddesses.
The sudden pressure behind her temples catches Sienna off guard, teeth tucking into the corner of her bottom lip to smother back a low keening of pain. She turns her head, shoving out of her desk to crawl across her dorm toward a small altar built within her closet. The doors are flung open, a cermonial dagger brandished in preparation of a blood offer, tainting the white swan feathers in her life blood before laying it carefully at the altar, her head bowed in reverent prayer.
Tabitha kneels down onto her porch, rifling through her tote for a specific item of wiccan properties. She does, in fact, murmur, something. "Sorry," it is whispered onto the wind though likely not to be heard by Sienna, but to nothing more than the wind. "It is for a greater good.." At least that is what she is trying to tell herself? "Forgive me, but I need to rid the world of a nastiness that it does not deserve." She pulls out a knife, and that blade crosses along a lifeline that with every single attempt to slice through it, shortens it.
"Forgive me for what I'm about to do, but there's no way I'll fall prey to this. You people can't just do what you want to do, and think there aren't any consequences for it," the Swann utters as she fights against the oppressive blanket creeping upon her, raising her eyes up toward the dark effigies before her. She reaches forward to collect a misshapen doll, collecting a red string to begin slowly winding around the body of the doll, not unlike lacerations of blood, or perhaps hair, as she utters a quiet incantation under her breath.
Blood is spilled, and it drips across her porch in bright crimson. With it, @me begins to draw sigils of her chosen Goddess from the blood that she'd spilled in her own palm. A cresent moon, and possible sun. The wind blows -- like a call to arms in the war she'd not expected to have started, answering her plea with a sorrowful howl that threatens to escalate. The blood is soaked up by the wood, disappearing into the old driftwood, as if the sacrifice has been accepted. "You people? It is not for Legion. It is against him." It is then that she pulls out a woven doll of her own, made of what seems to be burlap, tiny black pins making up its eyes, strands of human hair poking out from the openings. This is set down atop of the rune drawn, and the tip of her knife is plunged into the belly of the burlap beast.
"I cannot in good conscious see that being exist. I will not allow it, if I am able." Tabitha says to the wind, in hopes that her words are carried to Sienna, the knife tip pulled from the doll, with a speckle of blood now upon the broadcloth. Hers? Did the doll bleed?
Sienna suddenly siezes up, her back going completly rigid and arching painfully as a stream of faintly glowing red energy flows out of her mouth and disappears into the air.
All the nearby lights flicker and die for a second before a stream of faintly glowing red energy coalesces out of the air and flows into a small gem in Tabitha's hand.
An Arcane Battle 240301
(An arcane battle)
[Mon Feb 26 2024]
On Sandy Point Drive
This seaside road winds along the point just northeast of Haven. A little more rural than the town proper, it still gives access to the sometimes grander houses of those who choose to live just outside of town.
It is afternoon, about 25F(-3C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
Unexpected, through her closed eyes she can see Sienna, a chant still left on her parted lips. By an expression left with raised brows once her eyes open, it would seem she did not truly intend to -curse- any one, much less someone she considers a friendly face, but as it goes, there is a power creeping within her, and she seeks to eek out the others through the finalization of whatever prose she'd chose to call out to her wiccan Goddesses.
The sudden pressure behind her temples catches Sienna off guard, teeth tucking into the corner of her bottom lip to smother back a low keening of pain. She turns her head, shoving out of her desk to crawl across her dorm toward a small altar built within her closet. The doors are flung open, a cermonial dagger brandished in preparation of a blood offer, tainting the white swan feathers in her life blood before laying it carefully at the altar, her head bowed in reverent prayer.
Tabitha kneels down onto her porch, rifling through her tote for a specific item of wiccan properties. She does, in fact, murmur, something. "Sorry," it is whispered onto the wind though likely not to be heard by Sienna, but to nothing more than the wind. "It is for a greater good.." At least that is what she is trying to tell herself? "Forgive me, but I need to rid the world of a nastiness that it does not deserve." She pulls out a knife, and that blade crosses along a lifeline that with every single attempt to slice through it, shortens it.
"Forgive me for what I'm about to do, but there's no way I'll fall prey to this. You people can't just do what you want to do, and think there aren't any consequences for it," the Swann utters as she fights against the oppressive blanket creeping upon her, raising her eyes up toward the dark effigies before her. She reaches forward to collect a misshapen doll, collecting a red string to begin slowly winding around the body of the doll, not unlike lacerations of blood, or perhaps hair, as she utters a quiet incantation under her breath.
Blood is spilled, and it drips across her porch in bright crimson. With it, @me begins to draw sigils of her chosen Goddess from the blood that she'd spilled in her own palm. A cresent moon, and possible sun. The wind blows -- like a call to arms in the war she'd not expected to have started, answering her plea with a sorrowful howl that threatens to escalate. The blood is soaked up by the wood, disappearing into the old driftwood, as if the sacrifice has been accepted. "You people? It is not for Legion. It is against him." It is then that she pulls out a woven doll of her own, made of what seems to be burlap, tiny black pins making up its eyes, strands of human hair poking out from the openings. This is set down atop of the rune drawn, and the tip of her knife is plunged into the belly of the burlap beast.
"I cannot in good conscious see that being exist. I will not allow it, if I am able." Tabitha says to the wind, in hopes that her words are carried to Sienna, the knife tip pulled from the doll, with a speckle of blood now upon the broadcloth. Hers? Did the doll bleed?
Sienna suddenly siezes up, her back going completly rigid and arching painfully as a stream of faintly glowing red energy flows out of her mouth and disappears into the air.
All the nearby lights flicker and die for a second before a stream of faintly glowing red energy coalesces out of the air and flows into a small gem in Tabitha's hand.