Author Topic: Ilinca: Urban Witch  (Read 6720 times)

Ehver

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Ilinca: Urban Witch
« on: December 17, 2014, 11:41:42 AM »
Ilinca Cristescu




Race: Human
Gender: Female
Age: Young

Alignment: ?
Class(es): Sorcerer
Origin: Barovia

Eyes: Gray
Hair: Blonde, Shoulder Length
Complexion: Pale, Lightly Freckled



- - - Physical Description - - -

One would hardly expect this blond-haired, gray-eyed girl to be of Barovian descent - at least not until they heard the clear accent with which she speaks. She is of average height, her pale skin lightly freckled. Her teeth are a little too large for her mouth, giving her a perpetually puzzled look, lips parted. She appears to be quite young - perhaps 16 years of age - but carries herself with knowing confidence.



- - - Background - - -

Her mother was a Barovian witch driven from her home by superstitious villagers. She fell in love with a poor, Dementilieuse scholar/artist without the talent to make a living for himself. The relationship was a long one, but ended abruptly when her pregnancy became apparent.

Ilinca Cristescu was born to a broken-hearted, angry woman who despised both the homeland that had driven her away and the man that had used and abandoned her. She grew to both love and hate her mother - love her as a child will always love their parents, yet hate her for her weakness. She vowed to carve out a life for herself - to live by her own rules and never be used as the tool of another.



- - - Bonus - - -


Dorin (Familiar)

« Last Edit: March 07, 2016, 02:49:42 PM by Ehver »
Ilinca Cristescu - Urban Witch
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #1 on: December 17, 2014, 02:40:46 PM »
Two Years Past…

The nights were deathly cold. Her bare fingers were already red and raw, the stiff digits practically creaking as she struggled to arrange a few dry logs in the large, iron brazier. The smell of various herbs – fragrant basil chief among them – and a number of other less pleasant ingredients mixed in the still air as she sprinkled them over the brittle wood. Her breath misted as it passed between her parted lips, and as she leaned back to survey her work, she hastily rubbed her freezing hands together.

It was a struggle to strike the flint with her clumsy fingers, sending dim sparks flying in every direction. She cursed under her breath, shaking beneath the heavy folds of her cloak as she hovered over the brazier. A few more strikes and the first spark reached its target – a warm red glow, fast fading. She curled her hands over her mouth, blowing steadily, steadily, steadily, until the red grew and stretched, birthing a small, fragile flame.

She stumbled back, scrubbing her hands over her face. Her eyes lifted to the fat moon, hanging heavy in the sky and casting a sickly, yellowish glow across the land. She had planned to wait another few months to perform the ceremony, but something about that moon had caught her attention. There was power in this night, a certain spark of energy that she could feel coursing in her veins. Though she did not understand it, instinctually she knew this was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

She returned her attention to the brazier as the flames grew, licking up the sides of the logs. The scent of herbs and stranger, muskier things intensified, a blackish smog rising from the warm, glowing light. She nodded her head in a brief show of self-satisfaction, stretching her arms out to either side, her fingers extending.

She spoke the words she had learned from that strange, dusty old tome. Words she had spent weeks memorizing, bit by bit – complex sounds that meant little to her, but stirred a strength from within her bones that made her feel impossibly powerful, mystical. She could feel the air crackle around her, could see the flames flare white-hot. For a moment, as the words slipped from her mouth, clear and ominous, she felt invincible. As if the entire world had turned around her, bending to her will.

And then the flames went out.

With an abruptness that was startling, the magic snapped shut. She was mortal again, and the world no longer noticed her small, plain figure. All that remained was a cold, sickly scent – the last bits of burned components crumbling to ash. For a long moment she remained perfectly still, refusing to breathe, her eyes searching the darkness.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Her heart dropped, a heavy weight settling into the pit of her stomach. Had she made some mistake? Had she missed a word? Flubbed an intonation? That couldn’t be – she had been practicing for weeks. She had even spent every last coin buying the best ingredients she could find in this ugly pit of a town. It should have worked – she was certain of it.

Her arms dropped to her sides as she released a hissing breath between clenched teeth, cursing. She stormed forward, swinging her leg outwards to kick the brazier over. The heavy iron stood strong; the infuriating thing didn’t even budge.

Her bones, on the other hand, were less sturdy. She released a sharp cry, dropping to one knee and reaching out to clutch her aching foot.

“IADUL! Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

She could feel tears stinging at her eyes. Pain, frustration, disappointment.

She bit down on her bottom lip stubbornly. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry.

“Ohoho, I do so love watching the struggle of fledgling little witches.” She froze, her chin jerking up, her gaze flicking wildly around her surroundings, searching the heavy shadows that hung thick from the crowded grove. Fear sent a jolt through her heart – a sharp pain in her chest and a thudding between her ears. If she had been caught, she would be dead for sure – strung up like all the other charlatans swinging from the trees.

Something inky black formed from the shadows. Wide, luminescent orbs – sickly, yellow eyes. Eyes like the moon, glowing with their own ominous, inner light. It was a… a…

Cat?

Silky black fur rustled as the creature padded quietly forward, its lips pulled back in a wicked, sharp-toothed grin, its breath misting in the air much as hers did. It came to a stop but a few feet from her, settling back on its haunches as its thick tail swished lightly across the sparse tufts of grass. Its strange eyes observed her, cold and cunning.

“Tonight is your lucky night. Rejoice: you kneel in the presence of Dorin. Your call has been heard. Now, lift your head and state your name.” The creature’s voice was as deep and smooth as that of any man, though its lips did not move with the utterance.

Entranced and pinned in place beneath those moon-like orbs, she took a slow, deep breath. Her name passed between her lips as a thoughtless whisper, unbidden: “Ilinca Cristescu.”

She could feel something change – something subtle but concrete and powerful. It was as if something had been snapped into place, the last piece of a puzzle pushed back where it belonged. The ‘cat’ licked its maw, gleaming claws flexing.

“…The contract is complete.”
Ilinca Cristescu - Urban Witch
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #2 on: December 19, 2014, 09:41:36 AM »
Present Day...

It reeks of magic here.

She could feel an electric tingle in the tips of her fingers. The sun was starting to dip lower, making its steady way towards the horizon, and the shadows were stretching long and wide. She sat up, scratching her arm distractedly as the wagon bounced across the uneven road beneath her, catching on every rut as if such were its life’s purpose. The pile of hay on which she lay was fresh and sweet but prickled her skin incessantly.

She reached out to gently flick the ear of the slender black cat that lay curled near her. The creature stirred, its tail flicking from one side to the other as its round head lifted. Lazy eyes blinked open – luminescent yellow and eerily lacking pupils. He released a low, irritated hiss.

“Domn,” she called forward. The old, wrinkle-faced farmer turned his head over his shoulder to squint back at them. “Where are we now?”

“Hum.” An ugly scowl accompanied the pensive sound. “Near abouts Vallaki, I’d say. We’re takin’ the long way ‘round though. There’s always trouble up that way. Best be avoided, domna.”

Her gray-eyed gaze flicked to the side, watching the cat rise in a languid stretch before padding to the end of the wagon and hopping delicately off. She scratched another itch, this time at her hip, smiling wryly.

“Looks like it’s time to go,” she murmured, a soft whisper of a breath.

“What’s that, domna?”
« Last Edit: December 20, 2014, 04:34:53 AM by Ehver »
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #3 on: December 20, 2014, 06:34:25 AM »
Present Day...

Her finger slid across the rough parchment, her gaze following the movement as she read line for line from the old grimoire. Her lips had turned down into a scowl – a bad habit of hers, frowning when she was thinking – her foot tapping lightly against the floorboards. She blinked groggily as the ink began to blur together into swirling, nonsensical patterns.

“Stubborn girl, how many times must I tell you?” She leaned back, her scowl deepening as the cat hopped lightly up onto the desk, padding overtop the book with his head tilted arrogantly up. She made a sharp shooing motion with her hand, edging the creature away from the dusty tome.

“You are no hackneyed wizard,” the sleek, black-haired animal scoffed. He settled down next to the grimoire, his thick tail curling around his paws. “You learn by doing, not reading.”

With a sigh, she tiredly rubbed her hands over her cheeks. “That’s all well and good, but it isn’t that simple when doing will get me hung. I already revealed my hand to…” She trailed off with a shudder, scowling again.

“Don’t be so sensitive. You remember why we’re here, don’t you?”

“Of course I do! But what do you expect? I can’t practice openly…”

The cat purred – a deep, rumbling sound – his strange, pupiless eyes drooping half shut as he considered her languidly.

“You are wrong. This is the perfect place to practice openly. Outlanders are swarming the city – caliban and pitic and half of them witches. You’ve got an advantage just speaking the language. You hide within their ranks and no one will ever pay you any mind. They’ll be too busy chasing their more obvious enemies.” The end of his tail twitched, his maw pulling back in a wicked, toothy grin.

She lowered her hands from her cheeks, nervously rubbing them over her knees instead. Her gray-eyed gaze wandered back over the tome, the thin lines scrunched close together, interspersed with strange diagrams and wild drawings. Truthfully, she hardly understood half of what was written, and what little she did manage to grasp wasn’t exactly helpful.

“What do you suggest…?” she questioned, though in reality she had already found the answer for herself. Her fidgeting hands stilled, her lips pulling down into another scowl.
Ilinca Cristescu - Urban Witch
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #4 on: December 22, 2014, 05:44:00 AM »
Four Years Past...

“Listen to me, Ilinca.” The woman’s fingers dug painfully into her shoulders. She whimpered as she was shook, squeezing her eyes shuts and struggling to form a thought in the chaos of her mind.

“Listen to me, listen! This is important – if anything happens – I need you to do something, alright?” The woman’s words were rushed and choppy. She shook her again, her voice rising in a shrill hiss. “Look at me!”

“Mother – mother, what’s going on?” she sobbed, her eyes pushing reluctantly open as tears formed within them, blurring her vision. A hand lifted to briefly stroke her cheek before returning to its iron grip on her shoulder.

“That’s not important right now. Ilinca, I need you to pay close attention – if anything should happen, I need you to go back to that old building we stayed in when we first came here. You remember the one?” When she didn’t respond immediately, the woman shook her again. “Remember?”

“I – I remember!” How could she forget? Those terrifying, cold nights nestled amongst the cobwebs in that creaking, abandoned place. The woman paid her sobs no mind, continuing her instructions in a rapid, fervid manner.

“Good. Go there – count the floorboards from the door – seven forward, two left, two forward. Understand? Repeat it.”

“Wh-wha--?”

“Seven forward, two left, two forward! The floorboards! Repeat it!”

She was sobbing more violently now, the tears flowing down her dirty cheeks. She choked out the repetition regardless, shivering beneath her mother’s painful grasp.

“I need you to take a piece of chalk – draw a circle around the floorboard and say ilusum salem. Yes?”

“Y-Yes… ch-chalk, floorb-board… ilusum salem.” Through the blurry sheen of her tears, she could see the woman nod. The grip on her shoulders loosened, hands lifting to her face, rubbing the moisture away from her eyes. As her vision cleared, she stared fearfully up at the familiar visage. Those eyes – those eyes that she had inherited. Steely gray.

“It’s very important. Do that, then leave. Leave quickly and as quietly as you can,” she whispered, stroking the young girl’s cheeks.

“B-but… But what about you, mother?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Repeat it again.”

“S-Seven forward… two left… two forward. Chalk. Ilusum salem…”

“Yes. Then get out as fast as you can.” The woman’s arms came around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. She could hear her mother’s heart beating – beating so fast it seemed likely to burst. Her arms were trembling too.

She knew.

She knew.

This was perhaps the last time she would see her mother alive.
Ilinca Cristescu - Urban Witch
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #5 on: December 23, 2014, 03:33:08 AM »
Present Day...

The small, sleek creature hopped quietly up onto the open windowsill, settling down on his haunches, tail curling around his paws. His round head turned, ears flicking forward, then settling back against his skull as his maw opened in a silent hiss. Pupilless eyes shifted to the figure nestled in the corner, her cheek slumped against her shoulder as she snored softly. A number of bottles and sorted piles of herbs lay scattered around her, as well as a few pieces of parchment crammed with notes.

He had been wondering what was bringing her out this way so regularly. Wondering why she stunk of boiled and burned greenery. Wondering what had kept her so occupied, away from those idiotic old books she so stubbornly poured over.

He rose, dropping down from the windowsill and padding silently across the floorboards. His luminescent eyes narrowed as he approached her, tail swaying lightly from left to right with each step. He could feel the electric thrum of inherent magic. She was getting stronger.

Good. Stay focused, little witch. I would hate to have to lay a second curse.

He grinned, sharp-toothed and wicked.
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #6 on: December 30, 2014, 06:13:05 PM »
Present Day...

She shivered, her fingers massaging her shoulders as her chin dipped towards her chest. Her brows knit together in the center of her forehead, her lips pursed down in their accustomed scowl. She could feel her skin crawling – a strange, ill sensation that always overcame her at such times. She wasn’t certain why. She only knew to avoid the touch of others, however innocently meant.

Hells… I hope she won’t hate me for that…

Her scowl deepened, her shoulders hunching upwards.

In the back of her mind, she could hear the ominous creaking of swaying rope.
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #7 on: January 11, 2015, 03:44:47 AM »
Dear Mother,

It’s been a while since I last wrote.

In the past few months, so much has happened. So many people I’ve met, so much I’ve done, so much I’ve learned.

I’ve earned so much fang, spent so much fang, earned it again, in an endless cycle of growing experiences and investments. Your notes have done me well. One of the few things you left behind I’ve been able to make good use of.

It took me years. But I’ve finally begun. Dorin hates it. The smell of it. Everything. He claims it to be a waste of my time and energy. Tells me my focus is wrong.

I don’t listen. I know it isn’t true. My practice may be meager at best right now, but with the recipes you’ve left me, one day I will brew powerful concoctions. Potions to keep those I care for safe.

Perhaps even a shop. Perhaps I will excel where you never did.

But mother… There are a lot of people who know my secret. Our shared secret.

Dorin tells me not to worry. Here, in this place I have come, ‘outlanders’ abound. Fey. Caliban. Witches. Horned men called ‘tieflings’. He tells me I can blend in here. Even if the garda come looking, they would never think to single me out amongst the cacophony of this… circus.

So far, he has been right. My talents have gone unnoticed by those who would seek to harm me for them.

The outlanders here do not care.

But I worry that one day that will change.

I don’t want to be caught, as you were.

Dorin tells me to keep going. Work harder. Grow stronger.

He says I have the potential to be great. And then, even if I am found, no one can do me harm.

I don’t believe him. I try to lay low.

But I feel so sore. Like every muscle in my body is held taut. Like I might explode soon, if I don’t do something.

Was this how you felt?

~ Ilinca Cristescu
« Last Edit: January 13, 2015, 03:50:47 PM by Ehver »
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #8 on: January 13, 2015, 03:07:54 AM »
Two Years Past…

It was a faintly musty smelling powder. It reminded her of moth wings and dust, though it was made from a certain flower found in open fields near water. She had ground it carefully in a stone bowl, a cloth wrapped around her mouth and nose to keep from breathing it in.

Now she stood over the sleeping figure of a young girl – perhaps a year or two younger than she herself. She was plain. A Barovian like any other, with dark hair and dark eyes. Her nose was a bit crooked and her skin was profusely freckled, but she wasn’t ugly. One day, she might make a good wife for some plain Barovian boy. One day…

With gloved hands, she gently took a small fistful of powder, gently pouring it over the resting figure. She was already deep in sleep, doing little more than crinkling her nose as the dust settled over her. The powder was only an assurance, to make certain she stayed that way. It would be trouble for them all should she awake.

“Dorin,” she murmured softly, taking a half-step back and flicking her gray-eyed gaze about. The only thing she could see of the cat, hidden amongst the heavy shadows of night, were his luminescent eyes, pupilless and sickly yellow. “It’s done.”

There was a pleased purring sound as the eyes drew closer. Only once he was within a few feet of her could she make out his sleek, inky black form. He tread past her, and with a delicate hop, settled himself upon the sleeping girl’s chest. She showed no signs of marking the disturbance – they could set the entire room on fire and she wouldn’t have noticed, so strong was the powder, enhanced and infused with a spark of magic.

Ilinca turned, but only partially. Her gaze remained locked, reluctantly, on the two figures. She could see mist forming in the air with each silent breath the cat took. Could see fangs gleaming in the darkness as his maw opened. Then, the first sliver of – of something – a translucent, glimmering substance slipping between the sleeping girl’s parted lips, snaking its way towards the cat.

She looked away then, her hands clenching.
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #9 on: January 13, 2015, 03:43:11 PM »
Spoiler: show

A charcoal sketch of what appears to be an arcane circle drawn at the top of the page.


Dear Mother,

It was an interesting day today. I wish you were here. You always had a talent for finding grimoires and all the most useful books. I fear I might spend days looking for anything that might be even remotely of use.

We explored an old monastery deep within the woods. "We" - I and a group of what I suppose I might call friends, though even now I am uncertain. The path was long and clouded in shadow, and the place we came upon...

Perhaps you could have made sense of what we found. A building in ruins, freckled with blood and cast into ominous silence. What remained of the furniture - what wasn't already broken, was rotting away from within. Yet the candle sconces still stood, lining the way like signs pointing to the inner depths. All that remained was bones.

Bones and the spirits that haunted them.

I was able to piece together some of the story from old records remaining within, but the pages were rotting, and they crumbled with the slightest touch. I was too afraid to move them, for fear of destroying them altogether. Most of the words were faded with the passage of time, but there were words and sentences here and there that painted an interesting, if incomplete, picture.

Plague. A monastery cursed. A paladin dead. Spirits roamed the halls like rabid dogs, falling upon us from every corner.

We defeated them, but they will not remain at rest for long. The curse there is powerful. Very powerful.

I found this circle, much of which I cannot decipher. I copied it as best I could, though there were intricate details that were hard to decipher.

Parts I can understand - the opening stroke, the closing stroke. Classic. Standard. But the rest?

I cannot even tell if the circle is part of the curse, or something the monks used in an attempt to free themselves...

I am considering traveling to Dementilieu, but doing so would take at least a week of my time - a week away from my work in the high season.

I can't expect to find any good reference material here. What little there might be is likely carefully hidden away, and the rest has been burned.

I am uncertain.

But the circle intrigues me.

~ Ilinca Cristescu
« Last Edit: January 13, 2015, 03:52:08 PM by Ehver »
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #10 on: January 20, 2015, 06:45:10 AM »
Dear Mother,

There have been some interesting developments in the last few days. As of yet, I have been unable to locate any useful information regarding the circle found within the cursed monastery… but there are a few other matters that have taken up my time.

I seek to obtain a book. I had hoped to buy it from its original owner, but was outbid by another. As far as I know, it is still within her possession. Getting it for myself is a more difficult matter.

A book on the Mists. Rare information. Secret information. Perhaps even forbidden. I am uncertain, without seeing the contents for myself. But I feel that it is undeniably valuable, and that there is much to be learned within its bindings.

I have made a friend. One of the few here I believe I can consider a friend. His name is Waylon. An outlander. A very curious man, but wise, and strong.

It is his desire, and mine, to learn more of these Mists, and why outlanders are being taken from other worlds and brought here. And also, perhaps, to discover some truth behind the Ezra church.

You would be surprised to hear this. Neither you nor I have ever been religious. But I feel that there is something important hidden in these shared stories. Something about this world we live in. The existence of Outlanders here is a startling thing, though I think most take it for granted. I wish to discover the meaning behind their presence, and the truth veiled within the Mists.

A difficult task. Impossible, maybe. But knowledge is a worthwhile endeavor. I will not give up easily.

~ Ilinca Cristescu
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #11 on: January 22, 2015, 10:53:19 AM »
Present Day...

She settled her weight against the back of the chair, her usually straight posture slumping as she lifted a hand to delicately rub her right eye. A sigh escaped between parted lips, her chin tilting back as her gray-eyed gaze swung tiredly up towards the ceiling. Her muscles ached, but it was a pleasant ache. A dull, gentle throbbing.

In the past few days she had expended more arcane energy than she was accustomed. It had left her weak and exhausted – an exhaustion that claimed her mind even now – yet she felt as if she had expelled something electric from her limbs, leaving her warm and relaxed. Even her more recent troubles, which had plagued her thoughts and kept sleep far from hand, were not enough to quench that pleasant sensation.

Her fingers trailed idly over the rough borders of parchment paper piled upon the crowded desk. They were worn, and the ink that stained them was entirely illegible in more than a few places. Documents collected from dark places, carried from secret coves and crumbling ruins. The ravings of madmen. The desperate ramblings of lost souls face-to-face with death, chasing the trails of their last jumbled thoughts.  

She had been attempting to transpose those scripts to new paper. To refresh the ink and bring life back to these scrapped records. But even that consuming work was not enough to draw her mind away from her worries.

Far away, in the city in which she was raised, a revolution brewed.
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #12 on: January 23, 2015, 02:46:45 AM »
Present Day...

She awoke to a sharp pain in her shoulder and neck, grimacing as she slowly lifted her head from where it had slumped sideways against the wall. She reached up to massage the side of her skull with a soft grunt, rolling her shoulder tenderly. She must have been even more tired than she had realized, to fall asleep in such a position.

The room was quiet now, and empty. She couldn’t say when they had departed, but she was grateful for the solitude. Enough had happened in the past few weeks to keep her mind occupied, and now yet more had come overtop. She wasn’t certain where to begin – how to puzzle through the bits and pieces she had gathered here and there.

She heaved a sigh, grunting as she pushed herself up from the bed. She had fallen asleep sitting on its edge, her shoulder and head propped against the wall. Rolling her shoulder back and forth in small circles, she allowed her gaze to travel the small room she had made her home. A few books lay scattered about, stacked in corners or thrown open and left that way. Loose parchment lay everywhere, spread out across the floor and piled atop the desk. Pages of notes. Scraps of old journals. Sketches and small blurbs. It was a mess, but her eyes saw the order in it as they swept over them.

A soft purr drew her back from distraction. She jerked and twisted on her heel, coming to face the bed. A familiar figure rested upon her pillow, his tail curled about his haunches in usual fashion. Wisps of cold air drifted up from his maw, luminous eyes focusing on her face.

“I can smell it all over you. I see you’ve met another… of my illustrious kind.”

“Dorin… Hells, you scared me.” She rubbed a hand over her throbbing temple before gently shaking her head.

“To whom is my fellow attached?” the cat continued, ignoring her complaints. The tip of his tail twitched, swaying lightly back and forth.

“A woman named Ingrid.”

“How intriguing…” The cat rose from his repose, lightly padding down the length of the bed towards her. His head was raised high, regal, but his luminous eyes were narrowed. “For once, you have perhaps made ‘friends’ of which I can approve.”

She released a quiet breath, reaching out to gently scratch the cat behind his ears. His fur was soft, silky, and his head turned slightly into the touch.

“You are getting stronger. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Perhaps you are doing something right after all.”

She smiled faintly, despite the condescending nature of his words. It faded fast, a shadow falling across her face as her brows furrowed.

“Dorin… if you were to talk to others… about me. About my secrets. Would you lie to them? Just to stir up trouble, I mean?”

The cat pulled his head away from her absent-minded scratching, turning slightly to lick a raised paw. When next he spoke, his words echoed not in her ears, but in her mind.

Why? If you wish to stir up trouble… Telling the truth is so much more fun.
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #13 on: February 02, 2016, 06:35:18 AM »
Dear Mother,

It has been over a year since I last wrote you, and the time between has been both eventful and eye-opening, though I would not claim it pleasant. In the passing months I have made and lost more friends than I care to count. Brought together by the stirrings of civil war, we have been scattered in its wake, and I have seen neither hide nor hair of any of them in quite some time. Some, I know, are dead. Others, I could not say.

Civil war, I said. In truth, "war" is a term I hesitate to attribute to those tumultuous times. It was a ruse cloaked in the colors of righteousness - a smokescreen for the greed and ambition of the manipulative: men and women who sought to abuse the hopes and the dreams of the masses, to use those wishes as stepping stones on the path to their own ascencion. Though I do not believe any would claim war to be a beautiful thing, I can understand that it is sometimes a necessary one. Even knowing this, I cannot see that this conflict has wrought any more good than ill.

The poor are still poor. The rich are still rich - though they go by different names and wear different faces. The veneer has changed, but the contents are all the same. One mask was exchanged for another.

I have spent the last seven months in a small hostel located in one of the poorer districts. My time has been employed helping the destitute - mostly orphans, whose parents were lost in the conflict, but also the homeless who have not yet grown so bitter as to resort to violence to meet their needs. The Gods know, there are enough of those. It is neither safe nor enjoyable work, but I devoted myself to it hoping that I could make some impact on the squallor of this city - hoping that I might, in some lowly fashion, prove myself a positive presence amongst those I sought to help.

Dorin warned me. If you had been here, you might have warned me as well.

In the end, I fear these last seven months have been wasted. If I have made even the smallest of dents in the misery of my small corner of the city, I cannot see it. If I have saved even one soul, I have not noticed it. I am nearly as poor as those I seek to help, though I've the benefit of both an education and trade to keep me afloat, and they are far too great in number and far too despondant. I have managed nothing.

It pains my heart to know that I have not made even a ripple through the stagnate pool that is this city. What, then, would be enough? What must be done to bring those illustrious promises, left unfulfilled, to light?

They have given up. They tried, and they lost so many and gained so little. They are hopeless and bitter, with nothing one hand extended to help can do to assuage their pain. Not in any meaningful way, at least.

I have decided, however cowardly it may seem, to depart. I know not what I can do, what lies within my power, but remaining here will get me nowhere. Besides, there are a number of matters that are growing increasingly pressing.

I plan to return to Barovia within the coming days - to the region of Vallaki, to be precise, if only because that was the city where I made so many of my dear friends, now lost. With luck, I will be in time to gather supplies to continue my work. I fear my studies have been left horribly neglected, and there is much to do if I have any hope of catching up.

Even more importantly, my body is beginning to feel the strain of repression. It has grown increasingly more noticeable and equally uncomfortable, and I fear what might happen if I do not attend to this matter soon. It feels as if an electric current thrums just beneath my skin. My limbs are conflictingly both heavy and light, and my head throbs continuously. My fingertips are either tingling or numb, and I often have difficulty swallowing, as if a large lump filled my throat. This seems to both amuse and frustrate Dorin, who has advised all manner of devious or malicious ways I could alleviate the pressure. Despite the cruelty of his intentions, he has a point - there is no telling what will happen if I do not find a release soon.

Unfortunately there are few suitable places to do so within the confines of the city, and the surrounding environs are no more helpful: but peaceful settlements and scattered farms. At least Barovia, though particularly vehement towards our kind, offers numerous opportunities to employ my talents. There is certainly no shortage of creatures to be thwarted and dangers to be explored.

I cannot guess how long my stay will be, though I imagine it will last at least until the end of the season. A vacation of sorts - an opportunity to sort out my matters and perhaps find a more meaningful employment of my time and talent. When I feel ready, I will return - not to this hostel, I think, but to this city, at least. I have heard much news, recently, of a company of mercenaries that operates here. Much of the stories are glorious in nature, but reality is rarely so clear-cut and shiny as that. I would like to learn more of their business and their goals. Perhaps there will be a place there to do some good.

~Ilinca Cristescu
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #14 on: February 08, 2016, 04:46:17 AM »
Present Day...

Dirt smudged her cheek as she lifted a hand to push her hair back from where it had fallen over her face. She drew a deep breath, holding it within her expanding lungs, and tipped forward to peer into the small cauldron, squinting against the gray smudges of smoke rising from the mixture. After a moment's inspection, she leaned back again, releasing her breath in a long puff.

"A failure," she murmured. Rubbing her nose - and thus smearing it, too, with traces of dirt - she turned towards her notebook. Quill in hand, she crossed out a few lines of hastily scrawled notes and wrote in new words beside them. She set the quill aside, wrapping her hand in a thick cloth before carefully removing the cauldron from the flames, setting it aside to cool.

"I'm exhausted..." Wiping her hands off on the towel, she tilted herself backwards until her shoulders hit the grass, allowing her tired eyes to drift shut. She had set up a makeshift workshop in the corner of the tent, commandeering a smaller cauldron for her more delicate work. Discovering the properties of unfamiliar fauna was, more than anything, a process of trial and error. Her failures today would, with luck, lead to successes tomorrow.

A tingling in her spine alerted her to the presence of the cat long before his rumbling purr sounded in her ears. She lifted an arm over her forehead, cloudy gray eyes reluctantly opening. Sleek black fur slipped past her, padding on delicate and eeriely silent feet, tipped with dark claws. Globe-like eyes turned her way. Yellow. Pupilless.

"Dorin." She greeted her familiar with a wane smile, slowly pushing herself up into a more dignified sitting position and attempting to brush dirt and dead leaves from her shirt and pants. Not that the creature hadn't seen her far worse off than this - that day years ago, in the woods where she had first summoned him, and many other days besides.

"You smell of new magic." The cat's lips pulled back in a fang-toothed grin, that purr rumbling up from deep within its throat. Those eyes seemed to catch even the faintest of light, reflecting it back ten-fold. Even after so many years, it was startling how easily his direct gaze could unnerve her.

"I've been busy." She averted her gaze, settling them on her lap as she slowly flexed her dirt-stained fingers. The uncomfortable pressure that had been building up over the last weeks had since dissipitated, leaving only a pleasurable tingle in her digits. She could feel it, unsettling as it was - a deep pool of magic yet untapped, resting somewhere deep within the confines of her body, her soul, just out of reach. How far did it go? How much could she grasp, if she reached for it? How much could she do, with that power?

The pleased purring of the cat drew her back from her thoughts, his tail flicking languidly from side to side as his gleaming gaze pierced to her core. She clenched her fingers into fists, a shiver running down her spine. Magic was a fierce thing, and those who carried it carried also the heavy burden of responsibility. Such power was far too easy to abuse. She wasn't certain she wished to delve to the depths of that pool. She wasn't certain what kind of person she would be, if she did.

The cat rose to its feet, padding in circles around her, its head held high with cattish dignity, maw curled up into a smug smile, tail trailing gracefully behind. Those moon-like eyes betrayed its true nature, marking it for what it was. He didn't have to speak. She knew what he was thinking, could feel it as easily as she felt her own emotions. It was disconcerting, at times, sorting and separating the two from one another. Where did she end and he begin? Were some of those dark-shaded emotions actually her own...?

"I've decided I'll apply to the Society of the Erudite," she stated abruptly, if only to change the flow of conversation and distract both herself and the cat from their silent communion. The creature paused its pacing, its eyes narrowing to slits as it flashed gleaming teeth in displeasure.

"Why?"

She hesitated. Why indeed? There were numerous reasons, some better than others, but they were hard to pin down into the solid black and white of words. Her fingers twined together in her lap, palms rubbing out of anxious habit.

"I want... to do something. I want to be something."

Because of Juste. Because of all he had accomplished in so short a period of time. Because she wished to be like Henri - so strong and so proud, so dedicated and fearless. Because she wanted to rise above herself. Because she wanted to say her name with pride and satisfaction. Because she wanted the power to help those who needed it. Because she wanted to have the strength to change something. Because she wanted to protect and aid those she held dear. Because she didn't want to die having accomplished nothing.

The cat was scowling still, its claws slowly kneeding the ground, leaving small furrows in the dirt. Its tail slid over the grass from left to right in slow, malicious rhythm.

"And what do you hope to accomplish there, of all places?" The cat had made no secret of his disdain of book-learning, and had tried to draw her from it at every turn. She was no scholar - not in truth. As a peasant in Barovia it was hard to be anything but hungry and miserable. Yet she had a love of learning and a thirst for knowledge that had not managed to be stamped out in those years of poverty, and had only flourished as she pulled herself out of the slums coin by coin.

"I don't know," she whispered softly. "I don't know, Dorin. But it would give me a place in the city - a respectable position. And a chance to learn. A chance to listen." The only other option was giving herself over to the care of Juste, but that was something she was reluctant to do. She would forge her own path, if at all possible. She wouldn't be a burden - not this time.

The cat's maw twitched, his narrowed eyes widening again. He had followed the winding trail of her thoughts to its inevitable conclusion.

"...this again."

She buried her face in her dirty hands, drawing a slow, deep breath. She remembered. She remembered still, the aftermath of those horrid battles. She remembered the blood, the smoking rubble, the crushed bodies. And she knew, from her last months in the city, the bitterness of the impoverished. The hatred and hopelessness in their hearts.

Silence settled over them, broken long moments later by purred words.

"Very well. Do as you wish. But you won't neglect your powers." It was a statement, not a command, not a question. He was grinning his fanged grin again, though she could not see it past her hands.

"I have to do something, Dorin..."

But when she lifted her head from her hands, the cat was gone, leaving her alone with her troubled thoughts and the strange, ever-present tingling in her fingertips. A constant reminder of the magic available to her, lying just beneath her skin, waiting to be called.
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #15 on: February 09, 2016, 02:38:15 AM »
Three And A Half Years Ago...

She had squirreled the pouch away beneath a stand of stones tucked near a bramble bush, praying the spikey thorns would keep any accidental discoveries at bay. If she could have, she would have stored it in the decrepit old building where she stayed most nights, close at hand, but there were too many watching eyes to do so safely. Small and threadbare as it was, it contained the entirety of her meager fortune - a few copper fangs and one precious, precious silver - and she was not foolish enough to believe she would be allowed to keep it if it were ever found by another.

At times, when the gloom was thick and she was feeling brave and foolish enough to do so, she would sneak out to the twisted bramble and creep a battered hand beneath to retrieve the pouch. Not to open it. Not to pour the coins into the palm of her hand and feel their uneven edges. Just to feel the weight of them, and dream of all the things she might do. Dream of all the food she could buy to fill her empty stomach. Wonder what she would look like in a new dress made of soft wool and dyed a pretty color. Imagine the feel of a warm bath followed by a soft bed, in a room all her own...

Then, her rumbling stomach and sore limbs briefly satisfied by the sustenance of her imaginings, she would tuck it away again, hidden, and slip back through the dark alleys to another corner of the city.

Those things were not be, however much she drew pleasure and hope from such fanciful thoughts. No, her coin would be applied to another purpose - a special purpose.

She had found and deciphered the passage nearly a year ago, and had been working towards its fulfillment ever since. It was the only remaining legacy left to her by her mother - that old, battered book crammed full with notes, sketches, diagrams, and pictogram instructions. One passage in particular had been put in ink with meticulous care, the orderly lines sharp against the parchment, the pictures drawn with an attention to clarity and form. It had drawn her attention immediately, if only because it stood out against the chaos of all the pages around it, but it had taken some time to puzzle out its meaning.

"Familiar."

She was certain her mother had never had such a thing, though she must have thought about it in great detail, to have spent so much time putting the ritual to paper. For that reason alone, she felt the drive to use it - to complete what her mother had never been able to. Though she would have much preferred a warm bed and a hot meal, the idea had stuck in her head like a fishhook, and she had not been able to shake it loose.

She had managed to gather some of the more common ingredients rooting through the woodlands just outside the fringes of the city, but she had never dared to go much further than that. The rest, she would have to buy. She had spent a month just locating the right people who might carry such an unusual stock, and it had taken her the rest of the year to gather the few coins she had now, while feeding herself just enough to remain strong enough to carry on her business. She had faced setbacks along the way - the reason she had found the brambles beneath which to hide her treasure trove. There was no recourse against thievery. She could only thank the indifferent gods that she had not been raped, or worse.

Soon.

Soon she would have enough. And then, on the night of a full moon, she would perform the ritual, and summon some creature she could not quite imagine to do her bidding. She had not thought any further than that. She had not considered what she would do once the deed was done - had not wondered what sort of responsibilities went with the ownership of such a thing, nor how its presence would effect her daily life. She had not even thought so far as to consider what a waste it would be if it did not work. These things were for afterwards.

For now, it was only struggle. Only survival.

She would worry about the rest later.
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #16 on: February 10, 2016, 02:31:09 AM »
Three Months Ago...

The shock of being hit, so abruptly and with such force, sent her tumbling back against the hard stone of the crumbling wall behind her. Stars sparked in her vision as the world spun around her, and the sharp, coppery taste of blood met her tongue. Gasping, she slumped back, her mind reeling in an attempt to make sense of what had just happened.

"Come here, woman. I know you've got Solars. I've seen you. Give 'em up."

The voice sounded muffled beneath the ringing in her ears. She blinked rapidly, swirls of colors and misformed shapes slowly piecing back together before her eyes. A figure hovered over her. She could make out dark hair and startling blue eyes set in a ragged looking face with its crooked nose and heavy jaw. He wasn't big, though he was better off than many of the pour souls that dwelled in the Ouvrier, but it didn't take much to send her sprawling, especially if caught by surprise.

"Who--?"

Rough hands grappled her, pulling her forward as easily as a child tossing a ragdoll. She felt her heart hammering against her chest, breath searing her throat as the sound of ripped cloth consumed her. Panic set fire to her nerves, not much assuaged by the fact that he had only torn her belt off and, in the process, snagged the hem of her shirt.

He threw her back against the wall, her head jerking with the force of it, new embers of multi-colored light flickering beneath her lids. Breaking one of the many clasps attached to the belt, he pulled a pouch free, tearing it open and pouring a small handful of coins into his palm. He stared at it for a long moment, eyes narrowed, before turning back to her with a furious snarl.

"Where's the rest of it, wench? I know you've got more."

All of it must have happened in no more than a second or two. She was still struggling for breath. Still trying to process the situation and steady her surroundings. She stared at him blankly, her chest burning hot, electricity searing her fingertips. Distantly, in some disconnected part of her mind, she wondered what would happen if she released the pressure fast building beneath her skin.

His hand cuffed her against the other cheek, with less force this time, but enough to illicit a startled yelp and a new burst of pain.

"Don't toy with me, bitch. I can make you regret it in ways you've never dreamed. Hand over the rest."

"I don't--" She struggled to transform thoughts into words. If it was Solars he was looking for, she didn't walk the streets with more than a few coins on her specifically for reasons such as this. The rest was tucked away elsewhere, relatively safe.

She saw his arm rise again, cringing back, the crackling in her blood boilingly uncomfortable - nearly as painful as the ache of her battered jaw.

And then, he froze.

It took her longer than she would have liked to admit to realize why. Beneath the pounding in her head, she could sense the weight of magic, malicious and threatening. It wasn't her magic, which remained even now tightly bound to her flesh, but it was just as familiar.

Perhaps he sensed it too. Or perhaps he only saw the flicker of orb-like eyes amidst the darkness. Perhaps he had heard something that she had not - a whisper of words, the beginnings of the curse. Or perhaps it was simply instinct - a man sensing the gaze of something hard and hungry with undeniably ill intentions.

Whatever the case, his eyes went wide and his jaw set. He tossed her torn belt at her as he jerked back, tucking the coins into his trouser pocket. Then he was gone, leaping down the street and turning the corner into darkness.

She slumped back against the rough material of the slow-crumbling wall, her body shivering as it absorbed not only the shock, but the surge of magic that had come so very close to the surface. She lifted a hand to touch what would undeniably be a blackly bruised jaw, her gaze tilting dizzily towards the nearby shadows.

"Dorin." The name sounded like a croak coming from her lips, which was odd.

"This was bound to happen eventually." The creature that took the form of a cat strolled forward, his impossibly black fur gleaming in the lamplight, his tail trailing after him in a long line. Those luminous eyes regarded her without concern, without sympathy or pity. "Who would have thought you would have let it, though." His lips twitched back in a fanged sneer as he settled on his haunches nearby, tail curling about his feet.

"What else was I supposed to do?" she mumbled, relieved to hear the relative normalcy of her voice. Not a croak, though not entirely steady, either. She wiped blood from her lip before inserting a tentative finger into her mouth, testing her teeth for any weakness. Her jaw would be sore for a few days to come, certainly, and if she didn't apply a salve soon, she'd have a nasty bruise to go with it, but she was surprisingly intact regardless.

Releasing a ragged, relieved breath, she sunk further against the wall, folding her arms around her legs and letting her eyes flutter shut. She didn't cry. She didn't have the presence of mind for that. She only filled her lungs, slowly but surely, in and out.

The cat snorted its displeasure and glowered its disdain, but its head turned to survey the alleys, keeping silent watch over his recovering master.
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #17 on: February 16, 2016, 04:34:42 AM »
Present Day...

He could sense her distress, thrumming in his veins in the same annoying fashion as a fly buzzing through the air, just out of reach. With an indignant hiss, he squeezed his way through the partially open window, landing with a soft thud on the paper-strewn desk beneath. The room was sparsely decorated and dimly lit, the majority of furniture piled with books, scrolls, and stray scraps of parchment. The bed pressed into the corner was a thin, rickety thing, and the girl curled atop it looked just as ragged as the box of a room she had rented.

"What in the world happened to you, witchling? You reek of magic."

The girl released a muffled moan, her face buried in a threadbare pillow, stray strands of hair floating in wisps around her cheeks. He could sense the tension in her limbs, pulled as taut as a fully drawn bowstring. His lips twitched back in a rumbling hiss as he settled on his haunches, the length of his tail curling around his feet, twitching in agitation.

"How many times must I warn you - your body can't absorb the stress of drawing all that magic back once its so close to release. You'll rip your muscles to shreds and burst your own heart." To his frustration, she offered no response, though he could see the muscles twitching beneath her skin. His claws extended, flexing, shredding the scraps of paper beneath him, but the silence only extended.

Finally, with a spitting hiss, he rose back to his paws and hopped from the besk to the bed, pacing to her side.

"How much?" he asked, settling beside her, lamplike eyes surveying the room disinterestedly.

"Too much." The whispered response was muffled against the pillow.

"How much?"

"...Almost all of it." The way her voice cracked betrayed the amount of pain she was in. She probably had shred a muscle or two, and perhaps even done a number on her heart in the process.

His maw pulled back, revealing his fangs in a silent snarl, but the expression of disdain was lost on the girl, who remained with her face buried in the pillow and her limbs tense and twitching.

"You are no wizard, playing games with whatever magic he can manage to scrounge or steal. Your power runs in your blood, in the marrow of your bones. You aren't meant to absorb that much power so close to release - you'll kill yourself if you don't loosen your grip."

"I might kill someone else if I do."

They were words he expected. Words he had heard numerous times before. With another low hiss, he stretched his body out, settling on his stomach next to her, head resting atop folded paws and tail flicking through the air, back and forth, back and forth.

"What happened? Something must have startled you, to cause this. Badly."

She was silent, her head turned away from him. With a puff of breath, snorted through his nose, he settled in comfortably.
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #18 on: February 22, 2016, 06:24:57 AM »
Present Day...

For a long time she remained utterly silent, kneeling beside his peacefully slumbering form with her head bent, cloudy-gray gaze focused on her hands. The soft pads of her fingers explored the contours of smooth glass, tracing the embossing that marked the bottle for what it was - "Nova Vaasa", the letters forming rounded bumps on the surface. She had seen the like before, and knew with immediate dread what it contained and the damage it could do. How he had managed to get his hands on it was beyond her, and how he was still able to operate after taking such large doses was equally startling.

Then again, he isn't entirely human, is he...?

Her gaze strayed from the bottle to the man. He was huge, his broad shoulders spanning nearly thrice the size of her own, pound after pound of hard muscle shifting beneath his red-tinted skin. His flesh was marred by countless scars - ugly, mottled tissue that formed a web of remembered pain across his limbs. There were other things, too - like the still soft bones of newly forming appendages straining against the leathery armor of his skin, and the plates of gradually hardening scales that marked his heritage as one of the dragonblooded.

Perhaps he could handle it. Perhaps he was correct, and he could drink the sedative like any other man drank weak beer, with little more to say for it than a buzzing between the ears and a night of dreamless sleep. Perhaps maddening addiction wouldn't hook its relentless claws into him, as it had so many others, twisting him out of shape and drawing the worst of the worst from a man that was likely already bad enough to begin with. Perhaps...

But she found herself unsettled nonetheless, watching the brutal features of his flat face, slack now in the innocence of sleep.

"You make curious friends, witchling."

"Friends?" She smiled faintly, unsurprised by the appearance of the inky-black figure with its piercing, luminous eyes. The creature padded silently across the grass to settle opposite her and the slumbering figure, its maw pulled back in a fang-toothed grin. "I'm afraid neither he nor I would describe our relationship so."

"Perhaps not," the cat acquiesced with a purred laugh, claws extending as those lamp-like eyes turned on the monster that was the man. "But you worry for him nonetheless."

She turned the bottle over in her hands for a moment longer before quietly setting it aside, her eyes briefly squeezing shut as a crease formed in her brow. There was no denying that - she could feel cold anxiety seeping into her bones, mixed with the confliction of self-chiding. Who was she, afterall, to worry over such a creature as he?

"Careful, witchling. This one might not mean you ill, but neither does he mean you well." The words were a purred rumble, pupilless eyes narrowed to slits of sickly, glowing yellow. A shiver ran down her spine, extending over the thin network of her nerves to the very tips of her fingers and toes.

"I know," she whispered. She wasn't fool enough to think a beast such as he had a heart of gold hidden beneath all those scars. He was a warrior, hardened by battle and callous with ambition. She wasn't certain what he was capable of, but she sensed that it was wiser not to linger long enough to find out. "I know. I'll just leave him this, that's all."

She tucked the rounded clay jar near the mass of his huge hand before carefully and quietly pushing herself to her feet. Her legs tingled numbly, her knees sore from the strain as constricted blood flowed back into her veins. Her troubled gaze drew away from his figure as her lungs filled with the sweet-bitter scent of ginseng. She prayed he was right. Prayed her worries would prove foolish in the end.

"Let's go then, witchling. We've things to discuss."

She clasped her hands, pale fingers twining together as she made to follow the slinking figure of the cat that was no cat. A solemn smile touched her lips, her thoughts winding down shadowed paths, but she did not look back.
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #19 on: February 23, 2016, 06:02:51 AM »
Nine Years Ago...

The moment the woman stormed through the creaking, one-hinged door, she knew what sort of night it was going to be. One of those nights, when the hours seemed to strech on impossibly long and the winter air felt sharp as knives against her skin. Pressed into a cobwebbed corner with a threadbare blanket thrown over her knees, she kept her head bowed and her eyes on her pale hands, quiet as a mouse. If she could have, she would have made herself entirely invisible. She would have melted into the cracked wood of the floorboards. She would have turned herself to dust, floated away into oblivion, and been happy for it.

"Men!" The woman's voice had risen to a shriek as she flew into the room like a whirlwind, arms thrown wide. The air shivered and shimmered around her, excited by an undercurrent of static electricity that made the girl's hair stand on edge and sent a wash of ice-cold fear spiking down her spine. She pushed herself deeper into the corner, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her thin arms around them.

"Men are the root of all the world's evil!" The woman's face was contorted in rage, the words spat from her lips like venomous bile. She was a haggard creature, dressed in worn, frayed clothing of fading color, her painted skin made dull by malnutrition and her hair hanging lanky and thin around her boney shoulders. Her eyes were the only part of her that remained alive and vibrant - a brilliant swirl of glimmering gray flecked with spots of light and darkness and gleaming with the power of her tumultuous spirit. They sparked now, alight with emotion as they twitched from left to right, surveying the dirty hovel they had made their home before finally pinning upon the wretched form of her only daughter.

"Only one thing," she hissed with dangerous chill, crossing the short distance between one end of the room and the other and reaching down to grasp the child by her brittle arm. With surprising strength, she jerked her up to her feet, blind to the nervous fear reflected in her eyes and the trembling shivers running down her limbs. She leaned in close, grasping her by her chin, nails digging carelessly into her skin.

"Only one thing, darling, and they'll lie and they'll cheat to get it. They'll hurt and they'll brutalize, they'll manipulate and betray." The child cringed back beneath the weight of her words, but was trapped by the cruel iron of her grip. Where flesh met flesh, she could feel her skin pulling taut, and the scent of burning hair filled her nose and sent her mind spiralling with terror.

"Beauty is a curse." The woman stated with a sudden calm that was somehow a thousand times more terrifying that her anger. Power coursed in her veins, burning hot, channeled into the tips of her fingers where they met the child's face. Gray eyes met gray eyes, one pair cloudy and dim, the other struck through by shining silver and mesmerizing pulses of magic. "It only draws them to you. A burden that will you bring you naught but pain."

The child's skin stretched tight, tiny lances of pain spreading outwards, sparking flashes of panic in the recesses of her mind as she uttered a whining, wordless whimper.

"You'll be pretty, darling. Like I once was. And you see where it got me...?" Her free hand swung outwards in a detatched display, indicating the decrepit hovel they occupied. "You'd be better off without."

The child released a sudden, sharp-toned cry, watery tears blurring her vision as she felt her skin boil beneath the heat of her mother's grip - felt the pain radiating outwards in the wake of her merciless power.

A moment longer, and she might have been scarred for life. A moment longer, and her skin might have twisted black, exposing the raw flesh beneath. A moment longer, and a great many things - none of them pleasant - might have happened, but the woman did relent, finally, jerking her hand back and releasing the child in the throes of her pitiful, sobbing cries, casting her to the ground in a limp heap.

She stood over the trembling child - already struggling desperately to silence her sobs, though her tears now flowed freely, leaving smudged tracks across her dirt-stained cheeks. Her fingers twitched convulsively as she herself struggled to calm the thudding beat of her heart, pulling her mind back from the brink and leashing her magic with visible effort.

She knelt, reaching to gather the child in her arms, fingers curling in the stringy locks of her dirty hair, nestling her close. The child did not come willingly, though her mother seemed not to notice, wrapping her in an embrace and rocking her back and forth, side to side.

"Shhh, don't cry darling. You know mother would never hurt you," she crooned, soft and sweet as honey. The child shivered in her grip, eyes wide and blank, her cheek pressed to the woman's boney shoulder at an uncomfortable angle. She was silent, and utterly still but for the twitches that still ran up and down her limbs.

"But you know mother's right," she continued, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. "You've got to be careful, darling. Men are no better than wolves, and they'll eat you up just the same. Crack open your bones and chew out your marrow. Only fools want to be beautiful."

The child drew inward, her spirit retreating, her body as empty and hollow as a doll's. She was too young to understand. She could only wonder, distantly, what evils men had committed to twist her mother so.
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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #20 on: March 03, 2016, 07:55:02 AM »
Present Day...

His heart is not anywhere near the right place...

Liars, liars, they're all liars.

Be careful, little lamb.

They burn bright, and are gone before you know it.

Sometimes, to do good, we must first do evil.

There are two sides to every coin...

What do you think?


Voices skittered through her mind, scattering her thoughts and dragging her into the swampy mire of old memories and even older fears. She found herself feeling anxious and uncertain and unable to focus, the tips of her fingers twitching with the surge of magic hidden just beneath the surface of her pale skin. Each and every one of them said the same things, twisting their words into incomprehensible shapes until something like 'the truth' became little more than an abstract concept rather than something concrete to be discovered and grasped. Only one prevailing theme bridged them all.

Don't trust. Don't trust. Don't trust.

Her gaze fell upon crisp words scrawled in familiar handwriting across an old and slightly crumpled piece of parchment. She reached her unsteady fingers to smooth out the folded corners, leaning her weight forward against the desk.

Quote
Juice of Dapplewort Seed

Dapplewort commonly found on sandy banks; Dementlieu.

Seeds grind into scentless, tasteless juice. Small quanties injested: subject more susceptible to influence. Larger quantities: minor poison.

Effect weak. Strengthening? Opium?

She pushed her hair back from her face, a crease forming in her brow as she scanned the curt set of notes.

Liars, liars, they're all liars.

The words echoed, over and over.

Don't trust. Don't trust. Don't trust.

Pulling a fresh sheet of parchment infront of her, she reached for her frayed quill, dipping it into a shallow pot of fresh-ground ink. She considered for a moment, watching black dots drip from the tip before finally shaking the last excess free and applying it to paper.

Quote
Truth Serum
Theories and Tests
« Last Edit: March 03, 2016, 01:22:52 PM by Ehver »
Ilinca Cristescu - Urban Witch
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Ehver

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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #21 on: March 06, 2016, 01:56:38 AM »
Present Day...

Quote
Protection from Negative Energies
Strengthening

Blackwort – A particularly hardy plant commonly found on mountainsides. The blue-black leaves can be ground into a thin, dark paste. Mixed correctly and imbibed, it offers notable resistance against negative energies.

Ghost Cap – A small, thin-stalked mushroom with a curious blue glow. It only seems to grow in the presence of undead. The flat head of the mushroom can be sliced thin, then dried into a powder. The powder itself is enough to apply some very minor effects, but mixing into a liquid greatly increases the potency.

Giorgio's Omen – A beautiful, blood-red flower that only grows within the Mists. I had never heard of it before, but to the Vistani it seemed familiar, and they immediately offered a name for this particular plant. Initial testing proves that it has similar effects to Blackwort. Thusfar, the best method of preparation appears to be dicing the petals and steeping them in water as a tea.


Setting the quill aside, she tipped back in her seat, tilting her head up and resting a hand over exhausted eyes. Her breathing came slow and shallow, gradually filling her lungs and just as gradually abandoning them. She was tired – very tired – but her mind was whirring with a storm of new information and intriguing possibilities. And questions. So many questions.

With a soft, wistful sigh, she lowered her hand to push the piece of parchment which she had been working with aside. Beneath it, she regarded a larger page crammed with neatly organized notes – line after line of possibilities, of ingredients, thoughts and theories.

With this, I should be able to begin soon... She had already secured her first test subject – though part of her quivered at the idea, and wondered if she had made a mistake in her selection. The rest was only a matter of time, and work, and more time.
Ilinca Cristescu - Urban Witch
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Ehver

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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #22 on: May 16, 2016, 08:11:54 AM »
OOC: WARNING! Graphic content.


Present Day…

Her fingers passed over the smooth grain of finely polished wood, bare feet whispering across cool tiles. The silken skirts of a borrowed dress made her progress slow and laborious, the fabric bunching in her path, catching at her toes and dragging across the floor. This suited her just fine, however – she was in no hurry. The cool sheen of her gray eyes surveyed her surroundings in methodic ticks, absorbing the vast expanse of the room, swallowing the myriad details of luxurious furnishings, drinking in the gentle play of warm light against marbled walls.   

She felt cold. It was not the sort of cold she was accustomed to – the bite of ice and snow carried on a frosted wind from high in the mountains. It was not the cold of a crisp winter morning, waking to wane light stubbornly pushing through piney branches. It was not even the cold of a spring-water bath, plunging beneath the bubbling waters and feeling the course of one’s blood go sluggish with the lapping of fresh, crystalline water.

It was a more pervasive cold. A colder cold than she had ever known, lancing deep into her bones and deeper still.

She welcomed it.

She welcomed the numbness that accompanied it. She welcomed the way her thoughts had ground to a halt. She welcomed the distraction of new items piled up in neat silence. Her fingers explored the contours of her surroundings, touching everything they could find without having to put effort into reaching. They brushed tabletops and drawers, wax candles and gleaming, glass baubles. They reached for delicate quill-pens and caressed the corners of fresh parchment. They smoothed plush cushions and finely sewn sheets.

She let her mind take these things, organizing them into tiny compartments and placing them away, filling up her thoughts with the meaningless and the mundane. The seconds flowed by, on and on, punctuated by the soft flush of her measured breathing, the swish of too-long skirts and the press of her heels against stone.

Distantly, in some carefully protected portion of her mind, she knew that her world was made up of many more things than just the contents of this room. She knew that, when that door opened – from which she carefully averted her eyes – those things would come crashing back, taking stark focus in the forefront of her thoughts.

She would have liked to deny it.

She would have liked to pretend nothing had ever happened, nothing had ever changed – but she could see the truth reflected in their eyes: a vision of a girl, weak and battered, bloody and bruised, pitiful and helpless.

Her fingers paused, stilling as they brushed over the gold-embossed handle of a sharp-edged letter opener. The cloudy gray of her eyes found their hook there, admiring the way the light played over the metal, the way the gold and silver wound artistically together. As she wondered at its craftsmanship, both delicate and sturdy, she felt something go tight in her chest – a squeezing pain that brought her breath to a shuddering halt.

Her fingers pressed deep into hot sand, curling around a handful of grains as she flung the last of her strength into the arc of her arm, releasing the spray upwards into an ugly, twisted face made a thousand times more monstrous by the dizzy, panicked pulsing of her blood and the violent spiral of her thoughts. A grunt met her efforts – a snarl of rage – and she felt a weight slam against the exposed expanse of her chest, knocking the wind from her lungs and pushing her full weight hard into the shifting sand.

She twitched, staring down at her white knuckles in mild surprise. She wasn’t certain when she had grasped the opener so tightly – when she had lifted it from the shelf to wield heavily in a hand. The muscles in her arms twitched with strain, and she felt the slow, electric arc of magic surging beneath her skin.

A rasping scream gurgled in her throat, restrained by bulky fingers mercilessly clamped around it, pinning her in place.

Her breathing grew rapid, her chest expanding as she stared wordlessly at the item weighted against her palm.

Terror lanced through every nerve of her body as she felt the weight of his knee pushing her legs apart—

She slammed the rounded point of the letter-opener into the shelf, the wood splintering with its force as she gagged, bending forward and choking on a sudden rise of acid bile, tears stinging her eyes and sending her vision skittering down blurry, twisted alleys. She swallowed both the contents of her stomach and the strangled cry that threatened to escape between her lips, squeezing her eyes shut.

Slowly, finger by finger, she released the letter-opener, and retreated.
Ilinca Cristescu - Urban Witch
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Ehver

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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #23 on: June 03, 2016, 04:19:27 AM »
Present Day...

“Perfect.”

The cat’s maw was pulled up into a sharp-toothed grin as he padded silently over the floorboards from one end of the room to the other, then back again. His pupilless eyes gleamed with a malicious sort of delight, his tail sticking straight up in the air, swaying languidly with his movement. Sitting at the small desk pressed into a corner of the room, she watched the feline pace. A crease had formed in her brow, her lips tugged slightly downwards, and she picked at the splintered wood where her hand rested.

“I’m not so certain,” she responded warily. “This can mean a lot of things – a lot of good things, certainly, but just as many bad ones.”

The cat snorted his derision, pausing only for a moment to sweep his luminous eyes up over her.

“The same can be said of every decision, and this one could bring far more ‘good’—“ He sneered the word. “—than most. What are you on about now?”

“The man has more enemies than I know.” The answer came quickly to her lips, though it was voiced in soft tones. “His enemies would become my enemies, and I’m not entirely certain I could trust him not to sacrifice me for some kind of political gain in the process.”

“Then he shouldn’t trust you not to do the same.” The creature purred, his fur bristling across his back before settling flat again.

A sigh stirred a stray lock of her hair as she slumped her weight forward, pillowing her head against the fold of her arm atop the desk. The gray of her eyes searched the dim corners of the room, studying the faded wood, the dusty furniture, the threadbare sheets.

“…I’m not certain I would have it in me not to trust my husband… however much of a lie it would be.” The words passed between her lips as a whisper, gentle and weary. “I can’t imagine the sorrow it would be, to tie oneself to another and make them your adversary.”

Purring, the cat drew closer, settling on his haunches near her feet, tail flicking over the dirt-strewn floor.

“Then make him your ally.” The response came in short terms, as if it were as simple as that.

And perhaps it was.
Ilinca Cristescu - Urban Witch
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Ehver

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Re: Ilinca: Urban Witch
« Reply #24 on: June 13, 2016, 03:19:46 AM »
Present Day...

Slipping.

She tapped with the wet tip of her quill, watching disorderly blobs of black ink spread across what had otherwise been a perfectly pristine square of parchment. She had meant to write a letter, or at the very least to pour her thoughts upon something physical and concrete, but she found them passing by too quickly to be captured by the movement of slender fingers across a page. She had given the endeavor up, the gray of her eyes cloudy as they glazed over the ruined paper, tap-tap-tapping in her distraction.

Slipping.

She couldn't think of a better word for it than that, but found it strange to be conscious of the fact and yet unwilling to throw out her arms in an attempt to break her fall and regain her balance. She had started to see things she had never taken notice of before. Like the threads of unvoiced thoughts carried on the underside of words. Like the double-meanings, the sly smiles, the subtle glances, even the charged silences. All of these tiny infractions, these small manipulations that made up daily interaction and formed a second world within the first.

Her thoughts carried her back to bloodstained cobblestones washed clean by spring rains. She heard, muffled by memory, the angry wave of voices raised in shouts and screams. The resounding crack of gunfire that cut through it all like a knife. The whir of air displaced by a catapulted stone. The ragged, begging sobs drowned beneath wet squelches.

Motion made a blur of shapes and colors on the peripheral of her vision. Only one thing stood out in sharp, dizzying focus against the murky backdrop: a face. A careful face. She saw the turning of gears as it puppeted common emotion. She saw the shadow of thoughts in glassy, serpentine eyes.

She was seeing those eyes everywhere now, though they were ensconced in different faces.

A breath passed between parted lips as she drew herself back to the present, setting her quill aside and refocusing her gaze on the now ruined page. Folding her arm atop the desk, she pillowed her cheek against it, fiddling with the corner of the page as her eyes drifted shut.

Morbidly curious...

The corners of her lips pulled slightly upwards as she released the thread of thought, relaxing as flickering candlelight played across her eyelids and the patter of rain against the window lulled her into comfortable sleep.
Ilinca Cristescu - Urban Witch
Player Faction: The Mistraiders