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Sorana last won the day on September 4 2019

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1,545 Midnight Essence

About Sorana

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    Ever Dream
  • Birthday June 27

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    Roleplaying (Pen and Paper, LARP), Reading, Writing, Sewing

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  1. Sagitta dreamt. They were training and she had watched Price handle his sword, muscles straining when he tried so imitate what she showed him. She made sure to add some general exercises as well, to build up his stamina and strength, but they still had a long way to go. She knew that he wanted to, but years of soft and easy work had left their traces. She felt sorry for him, incredibly sorry, but either they did this right, or not at all. It was strange, she felt nearly awful for pushing him along, and she saw it in his face, in the way he slowly stopped talking to her. After training her was grumpy, simply turned around and left her standing there. She wished she could tell him to wait, that they could stop, that he would make it, that it was worth the price. But then she remembered the blood staining her hands red and she silently picked up her own weapon. It wasn't worth the price. They should look for another way, no do it like this. There was always a better way than war. She watched him walk away, leave her behind, tried to reign her own anger at his anger in. He had wanted to train. It wasn't her fault, that it was hard, that he would have to sweat. She couldn't go easy on him, or he would die. But to speak up and to explain this to him. She couldn't. He would think that she thought him weak, that she didn't believe that he could make it. And so she stayed quiet, wished she had never agreed to help him. She had wanted to help, nut hurt him. When she walked back inside she was greeted by the familiar sounds of soldiers brawling, shouting and laughing, but she simply walked past them all and finally stepped into her room at home. She didn't question why she was home, was simply glad that she finally had arrived at a place where she was save, where she was far away from the killing and the fighting. Someone was waiting for her and she found herself smiling at their face, glad to see that she wasn't alone, that she hadn't pushed away and lost everybody who she cared for. "Of course." she said smiling and sat down in a stool next to theirs. @AonEne
  2. @Voidus =================== A dull pain at the back of his neck, a throbbing feeling, his hands raw and open, an iron taste in his mouth. Mike sighed when the world moved around him, when it felt as if he was on a boat. Obviously he had fought Norn again. The other boy was a lot taller than he was. Taller and by far stronger. His tutors tended to pair the two of them, mostly to ensure to stay on Lord Ark's good side. Nobody wanted to be caught helping Mike and in the end he had ended in an endless cirlce of pain and more pain. And assignments that were designed to get you killed. With a groan he lifted a hand, touched his face to see if he had broken some bones, and when everything felt alright opened an eye. A grey void stared back and he froze, his body going rigid at the sight. He would never forget that grey void. His eyes darted to the windows and the shadows behind them and while he had probably caught a blow to his head, it hadn't been about training. He had been kidnapped, carried into an alley again. By an old one, so old that he'd claimed nobody would stop him. Fear seized his throat and a lump formed in his stomach when he tried to breathe, tried to form the thoughts tumbling around his head into something coherent enough to be helpful. Instead there was nothing apart from one single thing, occupying everything he was, everything he thought about, only one thought and nothing else. Run. Run. Run. Run. RUN. RUN. RUN. I can't. He was trapped again, chained again, unable to flee, unable to get away. RUN. But his body wouldn't move. @18th Shard
  3. Attayl nodded wordlessly, watched Nerin stride off to talk to Lance. Based on their earlier interaction, she knew that it should be Nerin talking, it was her parlor and there was something else that might work in their favor. Still it felt wrong to stay back. She wanted to help, and as hard as it was. Maybe helping included staying back for once. With a sigh she picked up the bloody box and carried in out into the back yard, unwilling to leave it here for the time being. Walking up into Nerin's room she fetched the bloody sheets and then returned downwards, wrapped the bloody head and carefully placed it in another, clean box. It was easy to leave a little sign on the wall, and she remembered it vivdly, had used it too often before. She added two more signs and then placed a few coins as payment. The head would be gone in the morning, swallowed by the city and those keeping it clean. When she walked back inside she made a stop in the kitchen and set some water to boil after thoroughly cleaning her hands. Then she filled two glasses for Nerin and Brillin, sticking to the alcohol both had drunk the previous day and poured herself some tea. Sitting down at one of the tables she looked at the wall, lost herself in her thoughts. It was a mess, and she could leave now. With Willet gone, there were no ties holding her back anymore, nothing. She could leave, vanish and be never seen again. Staring at the wall and taking a sip of tea now and then Attayl waited, her thoughts whirling around leaving and staying and the quiet wish, that this was over soon.
  4. Wita smiled happily at the pebble and took it in her hand. It was beautiful, swirls of colour covering it and while it was small, it seemed to be heavy for its size. The door was closed and the Van drove away, while she was still looking at it, her attention completely captured by the colours, the beautiful swirls covering it. She rolled it in her hand and lifted it up against a street light. It was solid and she couldn't look through it. Kneeling down she carefully rolled it around smiling again when she found that it was rolling along on the uneven ground just fine. Smiling she picked it up again and looked at Marcel, slowly registering his words. Standing up she nodded and pocketed the marble. "Okay." She replied cheerfully and looked at the looming tower ahead. "Maybe there is a back entrance we can use?" @Eluvianii
  5. "That is an interesting point you bring up." You straighten again, lean against the class of the cage you were inspecting. He is looking at the next door, realized that your true masterpiece isn't waiting in this room. "Does the fact that I use fairytales and myths as inspiration, negate the fact, that they have a kernel of truth hidden in them?" you answer his question with one of your own and make a small outward gesture with your left hand, indicating that you don't think so. "The kernel of truth and what I create can be the same, but there is no need to. Many fairytales are about teaching a lesson, a moral and not about depicting details that can be verified for a hunded percent." Deliberatedly you push yourself off the huge window and slowly walk over to him. It's an interesting question, but at the same time it forces a connection, where none exists. In fact you doubt that any of the creatures existed natively in the regions where the story was heard off first. "But it leads to another question, that is maybe even more interesting. Imagine one of them would return to the place their tale originated from." You stop in front of him, turn slightly back to the cage and smile. "I would need to ensure that they can reproduce and survive without external interference for longer periods of time. But if these parameters are met, I could be the one who adds to the truth of each tale." A fascinating thought, although you know, that it's unlikely. These creatures are your training subjects. To ensure reproduction alone would take you years. You take another step towards him, a thrill running through your body when you stand close again, as close as you stood on the street. But this time he is here, deep down in your lair. He isn't afraid anymore, staring at your creatures in fascination, although his attention is drawn by the next door shortly. You know he suspects that something even greater is waiting behind there and you lift a hand, attempt to run a finger along his scar. Crude work, that one. You would have done better. "What do you know about my name?" your words are quiet, nearly too quiet to be heard, but you suspect that he will understand them anyway. It's a last hint, the last clue before you will turn around and open the last door.
  6. When the bus neared their stop, Shana felt her mobile vibrate and pulled it out, checked it for new messages. Ben. He would be coming along. Relieved she started to type a quick answer, still typing while the bus slowed down and she got up, without really looking at the way out. I'm glad you're coming. She nearly walked into a handhold, when she checked some other chats as well, but then she stood outside. It wasn't far from here. The house should be a few blocks down the road. @Ookla the Maybe-Existent @Lunamor @Eluvianii @Wyndlerunner
  7. You incline your head at his words, follow his eyes to the next door. An interesting man. Coming from Sloane it sounds like a compliment. Spreading your arms as if standing on a stage you turn around, wordlessly thank him for the compliment and walk over to the door. "Let's talk about fairytales." You open the door and step through. On the other side is a hallway. To your left a huge glass wall separates several cages from you, to your right is your desk and shelves full of your notes and details of what you've done. At the end of the hallway is another door, heavier than the two you passed through so far. In the first one, a beast that at first glance resembles a lion has rested it's head on it's paws and looks at yout two through the glass, follows your every moment. A scorpion tail rests on the ground behind him, twitching a little, as if readying itself to struck at you. You walk over to the wall separating it from you and reach out for a folder waiting for you on a shelf fixed to the glass. Up close you can see the aons glowing softly, strengthening the cages to prevent any of your creations from breaking out. You pretend to give Sloane some room and see for himself. But still observe him out of the corner of you eye. Each of the cages contains a different creature, all modeled after a being you first saw in a fairytale or discovered in other myths. None of them are human, and when you return the folder after checking on Taron's notes on the lion you walk along the row, take a look at each of them. A little salamander you combined with a bat to resemble a dragon looks more of less good, but sadly the snake with its two heads doesn't even move when you stop in front of its cage. You supress a sigh and don't even bother to check what Taron wrote down this morning when he checked them over. You will have to start anew, maybe change the species until you figured out how to combine everything correctly. The moment another head is involved things end up complicated. Your attention slips away from Sloane when you squat down in front of the cage and take a closer look. Your stiches look fine, there is no outer sign of an infection, and you know that even if Taron had missed it, you wouldn't. So maybe it's simply the issue with the additional head. Maybe you should try to add another pair of legs first.
  8. Lena nodded. "And that plasma reactor - " She grinned at Alask. "They have to have something we can steal and sell for some money. Maybe they even have tools we could use." Excitement made her grin and took out another box of pancakes held it out to the others while bitting into one herself. "We should follow them. We are supposed to head to the entrance anyway, so it won't be that obvious."
  9. Attayl nodded in agreement and but her knive away. She looked at the blood for another moment and then reached out for the box, pulled it over. It was heavy, and the blood covered her fingers and hands, coloring them a bright red. She had seen these packages before, different sizes, different locations, but usually they all contained something of they same category. "I doubt this will a pleasing sight." She warned the other two and then turned it around, searched for a way to open it. It wasn't a pleasant sight. Glassy eyes stared up at her, hair coated in blood and plastered to the scalp, too pale skin. She knew the man, knew him better than she would have prefered. "Willet." She announced and closed the lid again. The carton was soaked, threatened to rip apart beneath her fingers, but for now it would hold everything together. More violence. As if violence would solve it, as if violence would stop it. Maybe it would. If they were all gone, if nobody was left to fight anymore, then maybe, maybe they had a chance. She looked at the box for a while, unsure what to feel, how to deal with that. Willet. Sorrow crossed her face, followed by relief that he was gone, that this tie had been cut as well. "Maybe we should talk to him again." She suggested. "See if we come up with a plan to turn their attention away from the parlor. If they stop using it as a battlefield, you could simply continue paying the one who wins the conflict." @ZincAboutIt @Ookla the Maybe-Existent
  10. Shana grimaced. "I'm not sure if that is true for fifteen-year-olds as well." She forced a smile on her face. "I agree that he will understand. Everything else-" with a vague gesture she shook her head. "I doubt he will be too happy. Especially given the fact that I already ended up on the list for 'problem-students'." The bus started to move and she looked outside at the landscape passing by. She was silent for a while, before turning her head back to the task at hand. "We could ring ther bell together. Ask if we could use their phone maybe?" It was a weak excuse, and she frowned tried to come up with something else. They were supposed to be in school, so they needed an excuse that fit that part as well. "Or maybe not." She sighed and looked to them, hoped, that they had a better idea. @Ookla the Maybe-Existent @Eluvianii
  11. Your eyes rest on his scar in the brief moment its visible and then you turn towards your own stack of cloths and unbotton your shirt. The movements are familiar, but today there is something else swinging along with them. For once you aren't alone going through this routine, you have a guest. You can see that Sloane is uncomfortable when he crosses his arms and stacks his clothing in a corner, leaving his weapons behind. You didn't ask him to, but it's nice to see he thinks along. Somehow his uneasyness transfers to you and you focus on changing, hand each piece of clothing to Taron to take it away. You make a mental note that he is most likely burning tin, or at least that he did until he stepped into this room. It's interesting to know and you reach for the reserve still resting in your chest. You didn't use it, there has been no conflict between the two of you so far and while he most certainly is a threat, you hope that you won't need to use it later. Looking over at his weapons you know, that if it comes to a fight, there is no guarantee you will win. Not even with Taron backing you up. Strangly you find, that you care anymore. Sometime between the second glass of wine and inviting him here, you accepted that risk, simply enjoy the thrill and the excitement it brings along. Walking to the basin you clean your hands with alcohol while Taron opens the next door. You gesture to Sloane to wash his hands as well, not commenting on the scar or his allomantic power. Both are interesting facts, but right here and now, they are close to irrelevant. This is about something else entirely. Stepping through the door you end up in a larger room with a large operation table in the middle, more bright lights and racks full off tools, saws, scalpels and bandages. On a second, smaller table next to the wall, you have set several jars full of medicine and anaesthetics as well as syringes and other means to apply them/ get them into the being you're working upon. Just like the room before it is clean, and obviously ready to be used at one point in the future. "This is where I work." You offer in terms of explanation, although it should be easy to guess. "But the nextroom is by far more interesting to you." You gesture towards another door, leading out of this one your eyes never quite leaving his face. He knew you are a doctore, he guessed you are a surgeon. There should be not much surprise here.
  12. Two or three Denizens who are older than him. Squirrel froze, eyes darting up on the wall of the building. He was old, she had known, but to hear him state it out loud, to listen to his words, how he claimed that nobody would stop him, if he didn't want to be stopped. She shifted her weight and - Mike shivvered in the darkness. An old denizen. He had listened had hidden somewhere admist the dark, the black, tried to ignore the stench of blood all around. The arguments were lost on him, his fear shaken brain doing nothing but screaming alarm, alarm, alarm. The man was here. He was here to take him back into the alley. Medallion or no medallion, he was going to take him back to that place, to the strange sky whirling above and the pain and the smell. He huddled down, pressed his head against his knees and wished he could vanish, he could leave She moved again, shaken by Mike's fear. It left her nearly unable to move and she slowly moved her weight to his foot, looked up again, judged how far the next handhold was away. "I'm not fox." She insisted, her voice strong, coloured with a hint of desperation when he compared her to fox, to the murdering, sly being waiting for her to make a mistake. Permission from him. There was no reason for permission, he would harm them by himself. Everything else was just a lie. They had made a mistake and now they would pay the price. He was here, because Snake had run away from the tavern, had stopped looking for the traitor. She readied herself and jumped, used the windowsill to propell herself up and reached out for the next one. She would flee. Staying here would mean dying. @18th Shard
  13. Temeria gagged when her stomach lurched and she pressed a hand to her mouth in an instinctive gesture. She felt slightly dizzy as if she had been hit on the head, or lost too much blood after a battle. All around her murmurs rose and she straightened, her hand reaching out for the handle of her swords. The program was there, talking about her feeling better soon, oblivious to the people standing around them. Uneasily Temeria looked around, heard some move away at her gesture and others shift their weight. Hastily she removed her hand again, lifted her arms in a gestured that hopefully wasn't threatening at all. They were being watched, stared at and she stared back defiantly, tried to get them to walk away. Instead, while some left, more stopped and took a look, while others hastened by. She forced herself to take a breath, shoved the quenching feeling in her stomach aside and concentrated. The spren was still here. It appeared to be surprised but unharmed, perched on it's flame and looking around it what appeared to be curiosity. "Can you bring us to the boarding House?" She asked the program, naming the first place she could think of apart from the tomb. And you didn't train in a tomb. It was respectless. Despite the uneasy feeling of her stomach held out her hand again. Standing around here would lead them to nothing. They would only be stared at, and observed and she wasn't planning to play sole entertainer for everybody here. Who knew, in the end someone decided that she was a threat. "Or maybe somewhere else in the city where it is quieter than here?"