Encounterlogs
Victorias Odd Encounter Sr Elias 250106
In a serene snow-covered Haven Forest, a man desperately flees from his pursuers, members of The Destined Host, marking a tense beginning as he is labeled a traitor for seeking freedom from the malevolent demons they served. His frantic escape through the forest attracts the attention of Victoria, witnessing the struggle from her bedroom window as the conflict escalates outside her home. Deciding she cannot allow the violence on her doorstep, Victoria intervenes with swift and decisive action, using her daggers with practiced ease to protect the outnumbered man, effectively halting the attackers and commanding their retreat with a mixture of defiance and authority. Her intervention turns the tides, showcasing her skills and determination to protect her home from bloodshed, ultimately saving the traitor from his imminent demise.
Victoria then focuses on the injured man, intrigued by his predicament and seeing an opportunity in his urgent need for help. She discovers the demonic sigil marking him, understanding it as a beacon for his hunters. Without hesitation, she performs a bold and painful removal of the sigil, demonstrating her determination and resourcefulness. This act of removal not only physically liberates the man from his immediate danger but also signifies a deeper, yet uncertain, form of salvation from the powers that sought to control him. Following this intense exchange, Victoria seeks to leverage the man's knowledge against his former allies, indicating a larger, more complex involvement with the supernatural elements at play. Her actions reveal a character of complexity and capability, hinting at her own mysteries and her role within a broader conflict involving dark forces and hidden agendas.
(Victoria's odd encounter(SRElias):SRElias)
[Sun Jan 5 2025]
In a serene master bedroom
This room combines rustic decor, warm lighting, and a welcoming atmosphere that invites relaxation, making the space the perfect blend of nature and warmth. Walls are created of rich wood, and the main feature within is the bed.
A large bed with a frame made of oak dominates the space and is covered in several plush blankets, making it the ideal place to curl up and unwind. A fur throw has been laid at the foot of the bed, and several fluffy pillows rest against the headboard that is made from the same oak, featuring a black velvet backdrop.
It is night, about 31F(0C) degrees, There is a waxing crescent moon.
(Your target is contacted by a desperate member of The Destined Host, who has realized the true malevolence of the demons they serve. This individual seeks to break their pact and escape the clutches of the Host. However, they've been marked with a demonic sigil that not only reveals their location to the Host at all times, but also prevents them from leaving the town of Haven. The target and their allies must find a way to remove or mask the sigil, all while evading the relentless pursuit of the Host.)
The snow fell in a serene, unbroken rhythm, blanketing the Haven Forests in a soft, white silence. Each flake drifted lazily through the air, glinting faintly in the dim, overcast light that filtered through the dense canopy of ancient pine and oak trees. The forest floor, usually a chaotic sprawl of roots, fallen leaves, and moss, was now a pristine, untouched expanse of powdery white, muffling every sound like a heavy, comforting quilt. The branches above were laden with snow, their dark, gnarled forms contrasting sharply against the pure whiteness that coated them. Occasionally, a clump would fall, dislodged by the movement of a bird or the faintest breeze, cascading to the ground in a shower of powder. The air was cold and crisp, every breath a visible puff of steam that hung momentarily before dissipating into the stillness. The scent of the snow was clean and faintly metallic, mingling with the earthy aroma of the forest and the distant tang of frozen sap. In the quiet, the forest seemed alive in subtle ways. The faint creak of branches under the weight of snow echoed gently, accompanied by the occasional rustle of unseen creatures moving beneath the snowy blanket. Somewhere far off, a lone bird called, its song sharp and clear, piercing the stillness like a bell. The snowfall blurred the edges of the world, softening the harsh lines of reality and transforming the forest into a realm of ethereal beauty. It was as if the entire world had paused, holding its breath, waiting for something anything to stir the quiet majesty of the scene.
The stillness shattered as a figure stumbled through the snow, breaking the pristine silence of the Haven Forests. His breath came in ragged gasps, visible in the icy air, and his boots crunched against the frosted ground, leaving deep, erratic tracks that marked his flight. Snow clung to his cloak and tangled in his dark hair as he fought to keep moving, his body half frozen and trembling. His eyes darted to the shadows between the trees, searching desperately for signs of pursuit. Every faint rustle of wind through the branches or creak of the ice laden boughs sent jolts of panic through him. Behind him, the faint sounds of the hunt grew louder. The sharp crack of a branch snapping underfoot and the faint murmur of voices reached his ears, sending a surge of adrenaline through his exhausted body. He pushed himself harder, plunging deeper into the forests frozen embrace. Then, from the darkness, the figures emerged black silhouettes cloaked in snow, their glowing eyes fixed on him. The predators have found their prey. "Traitor," one of them hissed, their voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.
Being alerted to the sounds of movement outside, Victoria stood at the frost covered window of her bedroom, gazing out into the snowbound expanse of the Southern Haven Forest. Whatever is going on outside, it seems like it is going to get rather bloody, rather soon.
Victoria's eyes narrow as she gazes out of the window, her forehead gently resting against one arm that hangs lazily on the frame. She watches intently, her focus fixed on the scene unfolding outside. At first, it seems as if she's merely observing, as though she wants to see how the man's fate plays out on its own. But then, as the situation shifts, her attention sharpens. The conflict transforms into a brutal three-on-one, and the weight of it is clear in the tension that suddenly tightens her expression. She exhales a soft, frustrated sigh, the sound barely audible above the chaos below. Without hesitation, her hand moves to the side, where her daggers rest, and she pulls them free with practiced ease. The moment she grips the blades, a sense of purpose seems to fill her, and in a fluid motion, she is already out the door, her arms crossing firmly over her chest as she steps into view.
Victoria stood in the doorway, her breath escaping in soft clouds that mingled with the swirling snow. Her fingers twitched as she watched the scene unfold below, her eyes narrowing at the traitors struggle. The cold didnt bother her much. The chill of the air was nothing compared to the urgency of the moment. She didnt need armor to know when a fight needed to be stopped. This man, out numbered three to one, it was obvious that he is losing.
The 'traitor' was backed against a tree now, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. His breath came in short, frantic bursts as he tried to assess his attackers, three figures, each armed with long, curved, razor-sharp blades. They moved with lethal precision, circling him like vultures. His heart hammered in his chest, every inch of him screaming to flee, but he was trapped, cornered by the his hunters that he had presumably had betrayed. With a swift motion, one of the attackers lunged forward, his blade slashing through the air in a vicious arc. The traitor barely managed to dodge, the sharp edge of the blade grazing his side as he stumbled back, pain flaring through his body. His blood mixed with the snow beneath him, his own warmth turning the white ground crimson. Another attacker moved in, the glint of his long blade catching the pale moonlight as he aimed for the traitors throat. The strike was quick and precise, but the traitor, panic setting in, managed to twist his body, narrowly avoiding the fatal blow. Still, the blade cut deep into his shoulder, and he staggered back with a pained grunt, his vision swimming. The third attacker, slower but no less deadly, advanced from the side, his blade raised high. It was a simple, brutal movean overhead strike meant to cleave through him. The traitors eyes widened, and for a brief, fleeting moment, he thought it was the end.
But then, as the blade descended toward him, there was a sudden flash, a figure darting through the snow, moving with the fluid grace of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Victoria. Her daggers gleamed in the pale light as she intercepted the attack, her blade clashing with the assailants in a ringing burst of steel. She was quick, almost too fast for the eye to follow. The first attacker swung again, but she dodged, her movements precise and calculated, each motion one step ahead of her opponent. Without missing a beat, Victoria closed in on the second attacker, her dagger slashing upward. The sound of metal meeting metal rang out in the night air. The attacker recoiled, the momentum of the blow throwing him off balance. In the next instant, she was upon him, her blade flashing across his midsection in a swift, decisive strike. He fell back with a roar, clutching at his wound before crumpling to the ground. The third assailant lunged at her with renewed fury, his blade aimed for her heart, but she was already moving. With a twist and a quick step to the side, she avoided the strike, then retaliated with a precise slash across his forearm, forcing him to release his grip on the weapon. He staggered, his arm bleeding freely as she pressed the attack, delivering another swift strike to incapacitate him. With two of the attackers neutralized, only the leader remained. His eyes burned with fury as he stared at Victoria, his long blade still dripping with the cold airs condensation.
"Who are you?" Victoria's question is asked easily enough, and she places herself firmly between the man labeled a traitor, and his final assailant. She glances quickly over her shoulder, daggers firmly held in each palm to the man with a frown, before turning back. "Whatever this is you're doing, you won't be doing it on my lawn, or in front of my home." She lifts her chin to return the attacker's stare back to him with open defiance, followed by a softly spoken demand. "Leave."
The presumed leader of the attackers stood frozen for a moment, his dark eyes narrowed, glaring at Victoria as if weighing his options. His long blade gleamed in the snow, the cold air clinging to it, and his knuckles were white as they gripped the hilt. His chest rose and fell in steady, controlled breaths, though his fury was clear in the tension of his posture. He could feel his mens blood staining the earth beneath his feet, their defeat weighing on him like a crushing burden. For a long, suspended second, the leader didnt move. Doubt flickered across his expression, uncertainty and the raw sting of failure. His gaze flicked briefly to the traitor, then to Victoria, his gaze calculating, a silent debate raging behind his steely exterior. He clenched his jaw, the sound of his teeth gritting barely audible over the howling wind. His pride had been wounded, but there was something more pressing now, survival, and retreat was his only option. He turned his head away, the motion slow, deliberate. Then, with one last glance cast over his shoulder, the leader lowered his blade. He exhaled sharply, the decision made. With a final glance at the clearing, his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, and in a fluid motion, he turned and began to retreat, each step purposeful and full of silent rage. The snow crunched beneath his boots, but his form quickly disappeared into the forest's shadowy depths.
The hunted now looks upon Victoria with awe in his eyes, but there is doubt himself. Is he going to go from one group of monsters to another? He decides upon his next action with hesitation, "Tha...tha... thank you..."
Turning on her heel, Victoria gives a brief nod, though the wariness in her expression is impossible to hide. "I dislike bloodstains near my home," she says, her voice cool, with an edge of dry humor. "Plummets the resale value." Her lips curve into a smile, but it's one that doesn't quite reach her eyes, leaving her intentions unclear. She eyes the man before her, sizing him up. "You feel like telling me who you are, and what they wanted?" she asks, her voice steady, but there's a sharpness behind the words. "Or will you decide to flee as well?" The daggers in her hands spin with effortless precision, no longer aimed at him but instead held relaxed at her sides.
The traitor stood in the yard of Victorias home, his breath coming in shallow gasps as the wind swept through the snow-covered landscape. The soft crunch of his boots against the fresh snow seemed to echo in the silence around them, the snow falling thickly now, coating the world in a blanket of white. The faint, eerie glow of the sigil on his skin was barely visible beneath the fabric of his shirt, but the weight of it, the dark power that it represented, hung heavily between them. The traitors eyes flicked nervously toward the trees lining the edge of her property, as if he expected the Destined Host to emerge from the shadows at any moment. He wasnt wrong to be paranoid. the sigil marked him as a target, a beacon to the very people who had once been his allies and who now hunted him like prey. He sighs and starts to explain, "I once served the Destined Host, until I learned who exactly they served. I was supposed to be saving the world, but I was wrong." With a trembling hand, he touched the sigil again, the glow faint but undeniable. "This, this is what they did to me," he said quietly, his voice thick with shame and fear. "This mark ties me to them. I can feel it. Every time I try to move, it pulls me back. And now that Ive run, theyll know. Theyll be hunting me and they wont stop until they have me again."
Victoria listens intently to the man's plight, her eyes narrowing slightly as she runs her tongue along the edge of an incisor that appears far too sharp for any ordinary human. She weighs his words carefully, as if deciding whether or not it's worth her time to care. Her head tilts first one way, then the other, a subtle sign of her deliberation, before a flicker of curiosity sparks in her eyes. "I imagine you know a lot about them then," she muses, her voice smooth, almost too casual. "Their methods, their plans..." Her words trail off as she lets the silence linger, but her gaze remains steady, the implication clearshe sees the man as a potential treasure trove of information.
Her eyes fall to the sigil etched into his flesh, and she shrugs one shoulder, a casual gesture that contrasts with the tension in the air. "Easy enough to take care of," she mutters under her breath, as if dismissing the idea with a flick of her wrist. Her fingers tighten around the hilts of her daggers, the blades glinting under the dim light. "I could make it so they can't find you."
Victoria's eyes narrowed as she turned toward the traitor, her gaze unwavering. She had been quiet for a moment, the urgency of their situation sinking in, and the more she thought about it, the clearer the solution became. The sigil that marked him, the symbol burned into his flesh, was their greatest threat. It was the reason he couldnt escape the Destined Host, the reason he couldnt run far enough. They would always find him. The traitors eyes widened, confusion and fear creeping into his features.
"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice a mix of hope and hesitation.
He flinched, his face paling as he took a step back, instinctively cradling his arm closer to his chest. "W-what?" He shook his head, fear building in his chest. "You cant You cant just"
"I'm going to take care of your problem," Victoria states lightly, her voice almost nonchalant as she reaches out with one hand, snatching the man's arm with the tips of her fingers. In a single fluid motion, she yanks it in front of him, holding it firmly in place. "And then, you're going to give me information." Her tone leaves no room for negotiation; this deal is already set in her mind.
Before he can react, her other hand flicks swiftly, and the sharp edge of her dagger slices cleanly through the flesh bearing the sigil. The cut is precise, deliberate, and leaves the sigil within Victoria's palm, without regard for the blood that may be running down the man's arm.
Victoria stepped forward, her gaze fixed on his arm, where the demonic sigil glowed faintly beneath his shirt. Without any more words, she lifted the blade and, in one swift motion, sliced through the flesh where the sigil had been branded. The traitor gasped, the pain sharp and immediate as she severed the skin. The sigil, now exposed, still pulsed faintly, but the magic that bound him to the Host seemed to waver, flickering like a dying ember. Victoria's expression was steady, her movements deliberate as she continued the cut. Presumably, she wasn't aiming to sever the whole arm, just the flesh that had been marked. The sigil had to be removed, the connection severed, and this was the only way to do it or at least that is how it was presented to the traitor. Blood welled up from the wound, staining his skin, but it was clean, just the flesh surrounding the sigil. As the final slice was made, the glowing mark seemed to fade slightly, as though it had been torn from its source. The traitor stumbled back, his face pale, eyes wide with shock and pain. He gripped the area where the sigil had been, his breath ragged as he stared at the bloodied mess of flesh. The pain was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the constant pull of the sigils magic. For a moment, there was only silence, broken by the soft howling wind that echoed through the snow. "I.... I can't believe you did it," he whispered, his voice hoarse, his body shaking from the trauma. He glanced down at his arm, where the sigil had once been, now nothing but a raw, bloody wound. "What.... What did you want to know?" he whispered, almost too softly for her to hear. He looked at her, and though his body was battered, and his face still contorted in pain, there was something in his eyes now, a sliver of hope.
@victoria stepped forward, her gaze fixed on his arm, where the demonic sigil glowed faintly beneath his shirt. Without any more words, she lifted the blade and, in one swift motion, sliced through the flesh where the sigil had been branded. The traitor gasped, the pain sharp and immediate as she severed the skin. The sigil, now exposed, still pulsed faintly, but the magic that bound him to the Host seemed to waver, flickering like a dying ember. Victoria's expression was steady, her movements deliberate as she continued the cut. Presumably, she wasn't aiming to sever the whole arm, just the flesh that had been marked. The sigil had to be removed, the connection severed, and this was the only way to do it or at least that is how it was presented to the traitor. Blood welled up from the wound, staining his skin, but it was clean, just the flesh surrounding the sigil. As the final slice was made, the glowing mark seemed to fade slightly, as though it had been torn from its source. The traitor stumbled back, his face pale, eyes wide with shock and pain. He gripped the area where the sigil had been, his breath ragged as he stared at the bloodied mess of flesh. The pain was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the constant pull of the sigils magic. For a moment, there was only silence, broken by the soft howling wind that echoed through the snow. "I.... I can't believe you did it," he whispered, his voice hoarse, his body shaking from the trauma. He glanced down at his arm, where the sigil had once been, now nothing but a raw, bloody wound. "What.... What did you want to know?" he whispered, almost too softly for her to hear. He looked at her, and though his body was battered, and his face still contorted in pain, there was something in his eyes now, a sliver of hope. (fixed)
Victoria stepped forward, her gaze fixed on his arm, where the demonic sigil glowed faintly beneath his shirt. Without any more words, she lifted the blade and, in one swift motion, sliced through the flesh where the sigil had been branded. The traitor gasped, the pain sharp and immediate as she severed the skin. The sigil, now exposed, still pulsed faintly, but the magic that bound him to the Host seemed to waver, flickering like a dying ember. Victoria's expression was steady, her movements deliberate as she continued the cut. Presumably, she wasn't aiming to sever the whole arm, just the flesh that had been marked. The sigil had to be removed, the connection severed, and this was the only way to do it or at least that is how it was presented to the traitor. Blood welled up from the wound, staining his skin, but it was clean, just the flesh surrounding the sigil. As the final slice was made, the glowing mark seemed to fade slightly, as though it had been torn from its source. The traitor stumbled back, his face pale, eyes wide with shock and pain. He gripped the area where the sigil had been, his breath ragged as he stared at the bloodied mess of flesh. The pain was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the constant pull of the sigils magic. For a moment, there was only silence, broken by the soft howling wind that echoed through the snow. "I.... I can't believe you did it," he whispered, his voice hoarse, his body shaking from the trauma. He glanced down at his arm, where the sigil had once been, now nothing but a raw, bloody wound. "What.... What did you want to know?" he whispered, almost too softly for her to hear. He looked at her, and though his body was battered, and his face still contorted in pain, there was something in his eyes now, a sliver of hope. (fixed this time?)
"Patience," Victoria smiles to the man, gesturing with her dagger for him to walk along with her. As they begin to move, she tells him, "I have someone you should meet. They'll have questions." Then, with the clap of her hand to his shoulder, nails pressing sharply into the skin, she's guiding him along toward a house across the bay.
Victoria's grip tightened on the traitors shoulder as she guided him through the snow, her nails pressing into his flesh with a force that conveyed both urgency and control. The blood from his wounded arm had started to stain the sleeve of his shirt, but the focus in her eyes was not on the mess, no, her attention was fixed ahead, leading him through the snow-dusted yard with determination. His eyes were wide, the uncertainty of his fate written across his face. Every so often, he would glance back over his shoulder, fear creeping into his gaze as if expecting the shadow of the Host to appear at any moment, like the wolves closing in on a lone deer. The traitor hesitated for a moment, but the fear in his chest was mounting, and he knew that if he didnt move fast, they wouldnt have a chance. He nodded weakly and followed her, stumbling slightly as he reached the door.
With nothing more than a smirk offered to the man, Victoria opens the door, shoving him ahead of her into the home and whoever may be within, before glancing behind herself one last time and stepping through the doorway after him.
And with that, the traitor is gone without Victoria even learning his name, but she will always have a small piece of him as a remainder, a piece of flesh.
Victoria then focuses on the injured man, intrigued by his predicament and seeing an opportunity in his urgent need for help. She discovers the demonic sigil marking him, understanding it as a beacon for his hunters. Without hesitation, she performs a bold and painful removal of the sigil, demonstrating her determination and resourcefulness. This act of removal not only physically liberates the man from his immediate danger but also signifies a deeper, yet uncertain, form of salvation from the powers that sought to control him. Following this intense exchange, Victoria seeks to leverage the man's knowledge against his former allies, indicating a larger, more complex involvement with the supernatural elements at play. Her actions reveal a character of complexity and capability, hinting at her own mysteries and her role within a broader conflict involving dark forces and hidden agendas.
(Victoria's odd encounter(SRElias):SRElias)
[Sun Jan 5 2025]
In a serene master bedroom
This room combines rustic decor, warm lighting, and a welcoming atmosphere that invites relaxation, making the space the perfect blend of nature and warmth. Walls are created of rich wood, and the main feature within is the bed.
A large bed with a frame made of oak dominates the space and is covered in several plush blankets, making it the ideal place to curl up and unwind. A fur throw has been laid at the foot of the bed, and several fluffy pillows rest against the headboard that is made from the same oak, featuring a black velvet backdrop.
It is night, about 31F(0C) degrees, There is a waxing crescent moon.
(Your target is contacted by a desperate member of The Destined Host, who has realized the true malevolence of the demons they serve. This individual seeks to break their pact and escape the clutches of the Host. However, they've been marked with a demonic sigil that not only reveals their location to the Host at all times, but also prevents them from leaving the town of Haven. The target and their allies must find a way to remove or mask the sigil, all while evading the relentless pursuit of the Host.)
The snow fell in a serene, unbroken rhythm, blanketing the Haven Forests in a soft, white silence. Each flake drifted lazily through the air, glinting faintly in the dim, overcast light that filtered through the dense canopy of ancient pine and oak trees. The forest floor, usually a chaotic sprawl of roots, fallen leaves, and moss, was now a pristine, untouched expanse of powdery white, muffling every sound like a heavy, comforting quilt. The branches above were laden with snow, their dark, gnarled forms contrasting sharply against the pure whiteness that coated them. Occasionally, a clump would fall, dislodged by the movement of a bird or the faintest breeze, cascading to the ground in a shower of powder. The air was cold and crisp, every breath a visible puff of steam that hung momentarily before dissipating into the stillness. The scent of the snow was clean and faintly metallic, mingling with the earthy aroma of the forest and the distant tang of frozen sap. In the quiet, the forest seemed alive in subtle ways. The faint creak of branches under the weight of snow echoed gently, accompanied by the occasional rustle of unseen creatures moving beneath the snowy blanket. Somewhere far off, a lone bird called, its song sharp and clear, piercing the stillness like a bell. The snowfall blurred the edges of the world, softening the harsh lines of reality and transforming the forest into a realm of ethereal beauty. It was as if the entire world had paused, holding its breath, waiting for something anything to stir the quiet majesty of the scene.
The stillness shattered as a figure stumbled through the snow, breaking the pristine silence of the Haven Forests. His breath came in ragged gasps, visible in the icy air, and his boots crunched against the frosted ground, leaving deep, erratic tracks that marked his flight. Snow clung to his cloak and tangled in his dark hair as he fought to keep moving, his body half frozen and trembling. His eyes darted to the shadows between the trees, searching desperately for signs of pursuit. Every faint rustle of wind through the branches or creak of the ice laden boughs sent jolts of panic through him. Behind him, the faint sounds of the hunt grew louder. The sharp crack of a branch snapping underfoot and the faint murmur of voices reached his ears, sending a surge of adrenaline through his exhausted body. He pushed himself harder, plunging deeper into the forests frozen embrace. Then, from the darkness, the figures emerged black silhouettes cloaked in snow, their glowing eyes fixed on him. The predators have found their prey. "Traitor," one of them hissed, their voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.
Being alerted to the sounds of movement outside, Victoria stood at the frost covered window of her bedroom, gazing out into the snowbound expanse of the Southern Haven Forest. Whatever is going on outside, it seems like it is going to get rather bloody, rather soon.
Victoria's eyes narrow as she gazes out of the window, her forehead gently resting against one arm that hangs lazily on the frame. She watches intently, her focus fixed on the scene unfolding outside. At first, it seems as if she's merely observing, as though she wants to see how the man's fate plays out on its own. But then, as the situation shifts, her attention sharpens. The conflict transforms into a brutal three-on-one, and the weight of it is clear in the tension that suddenly tightens her expression. She exhales a soft, frustrated sigh, the sound barely audible above the chaos below. Without hesitation, her hand moves to the side, where her daggers rest, and she pulls them free with practiced ease. The moment she grips the blades, a sense of purpose seems to fill her, and in a fluid motion, she is already out the door, her arms crossing firmly over her chest as she steps into view.
Victoria stood in the doorway, her breath escaping in soft clouds that mingled with the swirling snow. Her fingers twitched as she watched the scene unfold below, her eyes narrowing at the traitors struggle. The cold didnt bother her much. The chill of the air was nothing compared to the urgency of the moment. She didnt need armor to know when a fight needed to be stopped. This man, out numbered three to one, it was obvious that he is losing.
The 'traitor' was backed against a tree now, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. His breath came in short, frantic bursts as he tried to assess his attackers, three figures, each armed with long, curved, razor-sharp blades. They moved with lethal precision, circling him like vultures. His heart hammered in his chest, every inch of him screaming to flee, but he was trapped, cornered by the his hunters that he had presumably had betrayed. With a swift motion, one of the attackers lunged forward, his blade slashing through the air in a vicious arc. The traitor barely managed to dodge, the sharp edge of the blade grazing his side as he stumbled back, pain flaring through his body. His blood mixed with the snow beneath him, his own warmth turning the white ground crimson. Another attacker moved in, the glint of his long blade catching the pale moonlight as he aimed for the traitors throat. The strike was quick and precise, but the traitor, panic setting in, managed to twist his body, narrowly avoiding the fatal blow. Still, the blade cut deep into his shoulder, and he staggered back with a pained grunt, his vision swimming. The third attacker, slower but no less deadly, advanced from the side, his blade raised high. It was a simple, brutal movean overhead strike meant to cleave through him. The traitors eyes widened, and for a brief, fleeting moment, he thought it was the end.
But then, as the blade descended toward him, there was a sudden flash, a figure darting through the snow, moving with the fluid grace of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Victoria. Her daggers gleamed in the pale light as she intercepted the attack, her blade clashing with the assailants in a ringing burst of steel. She was quick, almost too fast for the eye to follow. The first attacker swung again, but she dodged, her movements precise and calculated, each motion one step ahead of her opponent. Without missing a beat, Victoria closed in on the second attacker, her dagger slashing upward. The sound of metal meeting metal rang out in the night air. The attacker recoiled, the momentum of the blow throwing him off balance. In the next instant, she was upon him, her blade flashing across his midsection in a swift, decisive strike. He fell back with a roar, clutching at his wound before crumpling to the ground. The third assailant lunged at her with renewed fury, his blade aimed for her heart, but she was already moving. With a twist and a quick step to the side, she avoided the strike, then retaliated with a precise slash across his forearm, forcing him to release his grip on the weapon. He staggered, his arm bleeding freely as she pressed the attack, delivering another swift strike to incapacitate him. With two of the attackers neutralized, only the leader remained. His eyes burned with fury as he stared at Victoria, his long blade still dripping with the cold airs condensation.
"Who are you?" Victoria's question is asked easily enough, and she places herself firmly between the man labeled a traitor, and his final assailant. She glances quickly over her shoulder, daggers firmly held in each palm to the man with a frown, before turning back. "Whatever this is you're doing, you won't be doing it on my lawn, or in front of my home." She lifts her chin to return the attacker's stare back to him with open defiance, followed by a softly spoken demand. "Leave."
The presumed leader of the attackers stood frozen for a moment, his dark eyes narrowed, glaring at Victoria as if weighing his options. His long blade gleamed in the snow, the cold air clinging to it, and his knuckles were white as they gripped the hilt. His chest rose and fell in steady, controlled breaths, though his fury was clear in the tension of his posture. He could feel his mens blood staining the earth beneath his feet, their defeat weighing on him like a crushing burden. For a long, suspended second, the leader didnt move. Doubt flickered across his expression, uncertainty and the raw sting of failure. His gaze flicked briefly to the traitor, then to Victoria, his gaze calculating, a silent debate raging behind his steely exterior. He clenched his jaw, the sound of his teeth gritting barely audible over the howling wind. His pride had been wounded, but there was something more pressing now, survival, and retreat was his only option. He turned his head away, the motion slow, deliberate. Then, with one last glance cast over his shoulder, the leader lowered his blade. He exhaled sharply, the decision made. With a final glance at the clearing, his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, and in a fluid motion, he turned and began to retreat, each step purposeful and full of silent rage. The snow crunched beneath his boots, but his form quickly disappeared into the forest's shadowy depths.
The hunted now looks upon Victoria with awe in his eyes, but there is doubt himself. Is he going to go from one group of monsters to another? He decides upon his next action with hesitation, "Tha...tha... thank you..."
Turning on her heel, Victoria gives a brief nod, though the wariness in her expression is impossible to hide. "I dislike bloodstains near my home," she says, her voice cool, with an edge of dry humor. "Plummets the resale value." Her lips curve into a smile, but it's one that doesn't quite reach her eyes, leaving her intentions unclear. She eyes the man before her, sizing him up. "You feel like telling me who you are, and what they wanted?" she asks, her voice steady, but there's a sharpness behind the words. "Or will you decide to flee as well?" The daggers in her hands spin with effortless precision, no longer aimed at him but instead held relaxed at her sides.
The traitor stood in the yard of Victorias home, his breath coming in shallow gasps as the wind swept through the snow-covered landscape. The soft crunch of his boots against the fresh snow seemed to echo in the silence around them, the snow falling thickly now, coating the world in a blanket of white. The faint, eerie glow of the sigil on his skin was barely visible beneath the fabric of his shirt, but the weight of it, the dark power that it represented, hung heavily between them. The traitors eyes flicked nervously toward the trees lining the edge of her property, as if he expected the Destined Host to emerge from the shadows at any moment. He wasnt wrong to be paranoid. the sigil marked him as a target, a beacon to the very people who had once been his allies and who now hunted him like prey. He sighs and starts to explain, "I once served the Destined Host, until I learned who exactly they served. I was supposed to be saving the world, but I was wrong." With a trembling hand, he touched the sigil again, the glow faint but undeniable. "This, this is what they did to me," he said quietly, his voice thick with shame and fear. "This mark ties me to them. I can feel it. Every time I try to move, it pulls me back. And now that Ive run, theyll know. Theyll be hunting me and they wont stop until they have me again."
Victoria listens intently to the man's plight, her eyes narrowing slightly as she runs her tongue along the edge of an incisor that appears far too sharp for any ordinary human. She weighs his words carefully, as if deciding whether or not it's worth her time to care. Her head tilts first one way, then the other, a subtle sign of her deliberation, before a flicker of curiosity sparks in her eyes. "I imagine you know a lot about them then," she muses, her voice smooth, almost too casual. "Their methods, their plans..." Her words trail off as she lets the silence linger, but her gaze remains steady, the implication clearshe sees the man as a potential treasure trove of information.
Her eyes fall to the sigil etched into his flesh, and she shrugs one shoulder, a casual gesture that contrasts with the tension in the air. "Easy enough to take care of," she mutters under her breath, as if dismissing the idea with a flick of her wrist. Her fingers tighten around the hilts of her daggers, the blades glinting under the dim light. "I could make it so they can't find you."
Victoria's eyes narrowed as she turned toward the traitor, her gaze unwavering. She had been quiet for a moment, the urgency of their situation sinking in, and the more she thought about it, the clearer the solution became. The sigil that marked him, the symbol burned into his flesh, was their greatest threat. It was the reason he couldnt escape the Destined Host, the reason he couldnt run far enough. They would always find him. The traitors eyes widened, confusion and fear creeping into his features.
"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice a mix of hope and hesitation.
He flinched, his face paling as he took a step back, instinctively cradling his arm closer to his chest. "W-what?" He shook his head, fear building in his chest. "You cant You cant just"
"I'm going to take care of your problem," Victoria states lightly, her voice almost nonchalant as she reaches out with one hand, snatching the man's arm with the tips of her fingers. In a single fluid motion, she yanks it in front of him, holding it firmly in place. "And then, you're going to give me information." Her tone leaves no room for negotiation; this deal is already set in her mind.
Before he can react, her other hand flicks swiftly, and the sharp edge of her dagger slices cleanly through the flesh bearing the sigil. The cut is precise, deliberate, and leaves the sigil within Victoria's palm, without regard for the blood that may be running down the man's arm.
Victoria stepped forward, her gaze fixed on his arm, where the demonic sigil glowed faintly beneath his shirt. Without any more words, she lifted the blade and, in one swift motion, sliced through the flesh where the sigil had been branded. The traitor gasped, the pain sharp and immediate as she severed the skin. The sigil, now exposed, still pulsed faintly, but the magic that bound him to the Host seemed to waver, flickering like a dying ember. Victoria's expression was steady, her movements deliberate as she continued the cut. Presumably, she wasn't aiming to sever the whole arm, just the flesh that had been marked. The sigil had to be removed, the connection severed, and this was the only way to do it or at least that is how it was presented to the traitor. Blood welled up from the wound, staining his skin, but it was clean, just the flesh surrounding the sigil. As the final slice was made, the glowing mark seemed to fade slightly, as though it had been torn from its source. The traitor stumbled back, his face pale, eyes wide with shock and pain. He gripped the area where the sigil had been, his breath ragged as he stared at the bloodied mess of flesh. The pain was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the constant pull of the sigils magic. For a moment, there was only silence, broken by the soft howling wind that echoed through the snow. "I.... I can't believe you did it," he whispered, his voice hoarse, his body shaking from the trauma. He glanced down at his arm, where the sigil had once been, now nothing but a raw, bloody wound. "What.... What did you want to know?" he whispered, almost too softly for her to hear. He looked at her, and though his body was battered, and his face still contorted in pain, there was something in his eyes now, a sliver of hope.
@victoria stepped forward, her gaze fixed on his arm, where the demonic sigil glowed faintly beneath his shirt. Without any more words, she lifted the blade and, in one swift motion, sliced through the flesh where the sigil had been branded. The traitor gasped, the pain sharp and immediate as she severed the skin. The sigil, now exposed, still pulsed faintly, but the magic that bound him to the Host seemed to waver, flickering like a dying ember. Victoria's expression was steady, her movements deliberate as she continued the cut. Presumably, she wasn't aiming to sever the whole arm, just the flesh that had been marked. The sigil had to be removed, the connection severed, and this was the only way to do it or at least that is how it was presented to the traitor. Blood welled up from the wound, staining his skin, but it was clean, just the flesh surrounding the sigil. As the final slice was made, the glowing mark seemed to fade slightly, as though it had been torn from its source. The traitor stumbled back, his face pale, eyes wide with shock and pain. He gripped the area where the sigil had been, his breath ragged as he stared at the bloodied mess of flesh. The pain was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the constant pull of the sigils magic. For a moment, there was only silence, broken by the soft howling wind that echoed through the snow. "I.... I can't believe you did it," he whispered, his voice hoarse, his body shaking from the trauma. He glanced down at his arm, where the sigil had once been, now nothing but a raw, bloody wound. "What.... What did you want to know?" he whispered, almost too softly for her to hear. He looked at her, and though his body was battered, and his face still contorted in pain, there was something in his eyes now, a sliver of hope. (fixed)
Victoria stepped forward, her gaze fixed on his arm, where the demonic sigil glowed faintly beneath his shirt. Without any more words, she lifted the blade and, in one swift motion, sliced through the flesh where the sigil had been branded. The traitor gasped, the pain sharp and immediate as she severed the skin. The sigil, now exposed, still pulsed faintly, but the magic that bound him to the Host seemed to waver, flickering like a dying ember. Victoria's expression was steady, her movements deliberate as she continued the cut. Presumably, she wasn't aiming to sever the whole arm, just the flesh that had been marked. The sigil had to be removed, the connection severed, and this was the only way to do it or at least that is how it was presented to the traitor. Blood welled up from the wound, staining his skin, but it was clean, just the flesh surrounding the sigil. As the final slice was made, the glowing mark seemed to fade slightly, as though it had been torn from its source. The traitor stumbled back, his face pale, eyes wide with shock and pain. He gripped the area where the sigil had been, his breath ragged as he stared at the bloodied mess of flesh. The pain was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the constant pull of the sigils magic. For a moment, there was only silence, broken by the soft howling wind that echoed through the snow. "I.... I can't believe you did it," he whispered, his voice hoarse, his body shaking from the trauma. He glanced down at his arm, where the sigil had once been, now nothing but a raw, bloody wound. "What.... What did you want to know?" he whispered, almost too softly for her to hear. He looked at her, and though his body was battered, and his face still contorted in pain, there was something in his eyes now, a sliver of hope. (fixed this time?)
"Patience," Victoria smiles to the man, gesturing with her dagger for him to walk along with her. As they begin to move, she tells him, "I have someone you should meet. They'll have questions." Then, with the clap of her hand to his shoulder, nails pressing sharply into the skin, she's guiding him along toward a house across the bay.
Victoria's grip tightened on the traitors shoulder as she guided him through the snow, her nails pressing into his flesh with a force that conveyed both urgency and control. The blood from his wounded arm had started to stain the sleeve of his shirt, but the focus in her eyes was not on the mess, no, her attention was fixed ahead, leading him through the snow-dusted yard with determination. His eyes were wide, the uncertainty of his fate written across his face. Every so often, he would glance back over his shoulder, fear creeping into his gaze as if expecting the shadow of the Host to appear at any moment, like the wolves closing in on a lone deer. The traitor hesitated for a moment, but the fear in his chest was mounting, and he knew that if he didnt move fast, they wouldnt have a chance. He nodded weakly and followed her, stumbling slightly as he reached the door.
With nothing more than a smirk offered to the man, Victoria opens the door, shoving him ahead of her into the home and whoever may be within, before glancing behind herself one last time and stepping through the doorway after him.
And with that, the traitor is gone without Victoria even learning his name, but she will always have a small piece of him as a remainder, a piece of flesh.