Capheira

Hi there, hello! I'm the Leader of the LS Kilieit mentioned, but I've been on break from the game for a little bit. Just returned, and looking to set things up again and take things back to basics to rebuild. Shoot me a tell in game if you're interested. The Hands of Edelweiss

This. But I also disagree with Nebbs' comment "IC is not the place to resolve things." I would deal with the IC, IC. Maybe it was something that should have been discussed between your characters before getting hitched. If your character decides they've met their soul mate after two weeks, then, like real-life, you're going to have some issues. Hell even if they got hitched after a year you'd still have issues. You have to just roll with what your character would do in those situations. Explain yourself OOC if you have a need beyond, "This is an in-character reaction". My character has turned down IC proposals because it wasn't the right time or place, and because she didn't feel like she was known enough to make a commitment.

-Pats the emotionally cynical Odette-

[align=center]Written and performed by Odette Saoirse at the Shanty Showdown!, hosted by Erimmont Chevalier and the Dread Wyrms of Dalamund's End. First place winner.[/align] [align=center] [align=center]A Ship Named Calvary[/align] The seas were rough and stormy, The night had just begun... And so-o we sailed, we sailed on through. The ship had lost it's rudder, My life defied the sun, And so-o we sailed, we sailed on through. The mist and fog misguided me, The shore could nae be seen, And so-o we sailed, we sailed on through. The birds had left the skies above, The mast began to lean. And so-o we sailed, we sailed on through. The wind began to whisper terror, The lightning started to flash, And so-o we sailed, we sailed on through. The claps of thunder quickly hastened, The waves continued to thrash, And so-o we sailed, we sailed on through. The ship it rocked to and fro, It moved with no direction. And so-o we sailed, we sailed on through. My thoughts swayed indecisively, T'sails sheeted ghostly projection, And so-o we sailed, we sailed on through. Then on my knees I hit the deck, Viciously the salt had stung, And so-o we sailed, we sailed on through. I cried out with a small still voice, The miracle was sung. And so-o we sailed, we sailed on through. And through the darkness I light I saw It lit up all the sea, And so-o we sailed, we sailed on through. Soon I found myself aboard, A ship named Calvary. And so-o we sailed, we sailed on through. [/align]

Replaced my tablet pen - two new pictures [Tajih & Abe], still refining my technique and practicing. I think it's kind of cool to see the change in style even over a month or two.

It is. Will shoot you an invite.

[align=center] Trailing the Red -Part Three-[/align] [align=justify]From sewn seed to raging tide, all things have their time to flourish before inevitable downfall. Ebonbrand, for all her hard work, was simply a means to an end. Odette had learned what she needed to of it’s garlean leader several moons ago. So why had she stayed? Was it further proof she had wished for? Was it being able to use her power as Septimus’ advisory right hand to turn the outcome of events to her favor? Prevent harm to the undeserving, or Eorzea as a whole? It mattered little at this point in time. The anonymous tip the Brass Blades would be receiving was a card already in play, timed with the need to put an end to their enemy, Redwall. By the time she returned, Ebonbrand would be no more. Two birds, one stone… achieved with the flick of fox’s tail. Anonymous. With the passing of time, each step placed upon the snowscape drove the highlander further into the chilled grasp of blizzard’s claw. Each whipped sheet of hail; a rake of frozen nails that tore at her person, bundled as she was. The howl of wind was her melody now, a haunted orchestra that accompanied forced trail through sleet, past the remains of encampment and bloodied bandages where wolf’s prints beckoned ever onward. There had been little to find in such a place beyond the curiosity of discarded dressings and scattered nuts and bolts, strange in it’s own merit. Yet it was the booted tracks that returned anew, three sets of humanoid tread joining the clawed pads for a time; only to break and separate at undefined crossroad that held her focus. It was the trail of three she chose to follow up through the rocky crags of the north, the sharp words of violet-haired duskwrite’s nagging akin to a buried splinter at the back of her mind with the clench of jaw. Frost had always been the smartest of those she worked with, despite his sadistic nature and highly questionable ethics. He thought her foolish, of course. Acting in disobedience of ‘orders’ she’d not once heard, unknowing of just what it was that drove her to action and the steps she’d gone to for success. Perhaps she was, in her own way. There was no denying the risk that came with confrontation, silent as it may be. But whilst Odette was not one to throw herself carelessly into situations, there remained binds to the Code at the core of her being that demanded she hunt down the man who broke it. The hiss of wind grew stronger; a banshee’s wail that enveloped the landscape in blanketed haze of pelted snow and obstructed vision that chilled to the bone. Each step become a struggle and with each and every one, so too was the trail she followed stolen away with the breath of her lungs for weather’s vengeful turn. It was not the harsh bite of storm’s chill alone that rose the hairs of neck’s nape, however. For within the icy veil, there came a feeling of being watched; the bottomless churn of one’s stomach and the dart of keen-ocean hues into the darkness of unknown space. Gloved fingers uncurled from half-frozen state to flit about frozen cloth wherein blade rested, yet there remained only she and the howl of blizzard’s wrath. So it was that the highlander, in her wisdom, forced abandon for the trail snowed over in the dark of night; retreating to the craggy outlay of mountain’s stone corroded to inlet by the sculpt of time. Beneath the shallow cliff, no more than ten fulm from the ground she walked, Odette took what little shelter it offered with the firm press of swaddled, shapely form to rocky surface. The trail was lost to the storm that raged around and beyond, a present failure that drew jaw to clench in frustration. And yet… there remained that which the snow did not, or could not, swallow. A sensation; a presence. The undeniable feeling of being watched and the eyes that drank in the vision; manifested to stare through frosted curtain with the gleam of predatory yellow irises. Gloved fingers, stiff from the chill of the highlands, slowly moved to draw sharpened blade from it’s sheath upon shapely hip, clenched at the hilt in preparation to defend. No sound betrayed the impending attack, creature’s snarl lost to the howl of wind with sudden visitation of four-pawed lunge through sleet and snow. The flurry of grey and white was met with blade and realization, the savagery of a startlingly large direwolf all but attempting to crush the woman beneath the bestial form that dwarfed her person. There was little time to note the curiosities that marked the attack - the hound’s unnatural size, it’s lacking inclusion of pack and ignorance of shrieking blizzard. There was only survival and the flick of wrist for bared blade that found little more than grizzled fur with the shove from stone wall to roll. The thud of paws at Odette’s side were deafening, all too loud for the storm that raged, and amplified for the pulse of blood in rounded ears as the canine gave chase. It was fast, too fast, the melody of snapping teeth a requiem sung all too quickly. Jaws that spanned from neck to waist found their mark to sink and tear through flesh and muscle, snapping bone with sickening clarity that drew hitched scream of agony stolen by the wind. The black spots that formed to dance in the vision of ocean hues was instantaneous; twisting, melding, splitting in wild waltz for the lift and viscous shake of prey, claimed by jagged vice. The flame of firey spirit flickered, casting shadows upon the walls of the woman’s soul in flashed memorium of twenty six cycles. Though it wavered and threatened to snuff, there remained the roar of Highlander blood that seeped in pulse from ancestrally barbarous veins. Amidst the pain, through the terror of being torn limb from limb, chilled steel plunged from fingertips that hung loosely in lofted state to find mark in fiendish flesh beyond fur’s embrace. Flung. Floating. Falling. Odette hit the wall of the rocky outcrop with a sickening thud, brutally thrown from the strength of hound’s jaws in snarled release. Crimson bloomed to mark the pale fur mantle of the wolf’s throat, a brilliant sash of red awarded in vengeance. Dressed to match in cloak that flourished vermilion, the pool of blood that stained the snow beneath the blonde’s crumpled form rose to steam in contrasting heat. Darkness was quick to place it’s chilled fingers in the the bloodied punctures of flesh rendered torn, seeping through the paint of bruises with each and every ragged breath that struggled through gasping lips. With the slow lift of snow-licked features from frozen foundation, hazed ocean hues sought to meet the gaze of her killer in expectation of inevitable attack. In those moments, Odette could have sworn there was a near humanoid smirk in the curled lips that flashed a row of yellowed teeth as it watched. Waited. The turn of tail was the last she saw between the blackened spots of vision, the deep biting cold of the mountain claiming each ragged breath that slipped from crimson-tainted maw. Failure. Acceptance. Apology. Broken and alone, with the last of her strength the seafarer’s gloved fingers curled into the snow; greeting the back of her closing eyelids with but one, ancient Ala Mhian term. Það er kominn tími fyrir mig.[/align] [align=center][/align]

[align=center] Trailing the Red -Part Two-[/align] [align=justify]Coerthas. The well known saying ‘the path to hell is paved with good intentions’ certainly rung true in a less than metaphorical sense for the crunch of heeled boots in the snow. Days had passed, ripped from the calendar. From the deserts of Thanalan, through the Shroud and into frozen wasteland the Fox had trailed it’s prey with little sleep and a survivalist’s menu - enough to keep her at her near-best, yet lacking luxuries that would only slow her down. Amidst the charred remains of a cluster of pine trees, it was there the highlander’s knee soaked upon frosted ground for but a beat; leather-clad fingers brushing over the blood spattered over the snow. On the latter end of fresh and chilled to harden by the elements, the heat had long since left the smear of ichor and placed it’s occurrence several hours ahead of her. A billowed breath forced it’s way through the woman’s freckled nose, effectively huffing a small cloud of foggy mist through the scarf that wrapper her lower face. She was getting closer; yet so too was the threat of blizzard. Through the sting of blown, snowy assault the flicker of red fabric was visible even then; contrasting sharply against the brilliant white of the crystallized wonderland in it’s sporadic flap at wind’s behest. It was with a brisk push that the rogue found her feet with a cat-like grace, the ocean hues of a keen-eyed gaze tracking the footprints that marked the ground en route - humanoid and bestial both. The lone garment was retrieved with a lean and snatching roll of the wrist, inspection yielding it to be stained in similar hues of injury. Thumbing the jagged trim of a punctured hole with a slender digit, golden brows proceeded to crease in a frown to match the narrow of long russet lashes. The destruction upon location was evident, the smoldering charcoal of trees that was clearly magical in nature - discernible even to one whom wasn’t aetherically minded. Signs of a struggle. The spill of blood and the scrape of prints that were already being filled with snowfall. Yet there remained something… off. Slinging the red leather over her shoulder, fingers delving into the folds of her own attire to dance upon the hilt of her blade, the highlander moved to carefully scour the environ; casting aside piled snow and blackened branch in search that would only turn up empty handed. Two combatants, no body, and only one set of clawed tracks departing… A rogue. A scout. A thief. The Vixen’s talents were those better suited to the shaded alleys of townships and rooftops of civilization than the wilds beyond the ocean’s call. Yet it was flexibility that remained her greatest asset, and the blood of her more barbaric ancestors flowed in her veins even still. The coat, she kept, her eventual trophy folded and hidden from view within the confines of worn satchel slung over shoulder. One trail, bestial or otherwise, was better than nothing.[/align] [align=center][/align]

[align=center] Trailing the Red -Part One-[/align] [align=justify]The front door to the company building slammed shut with the mutter made into linkpearl’s channel. “I’m takin’ off fer a few weeks.” the highlander stated in a solemn tone, words as clipped as the steps that took her from the building. Tugging the fabric of her tunic down over hidden blades, the worn leather satchel at her side rustled in the background for the draw of leather strap over slender shoulder. “I’ll send you Redwall’s head.” “You’ll get yourself killed Odet–” the pearl clicked off before the garlean could finish his words. Long russet lashes drew shut for several long beats as the siren stood her ground upon the front porch and exhaled a slow lungful of breath that billowed outward in the coolness of eve. “You will replace me.” came the unheard utterance from the woman’s lips as her hand pulled away from the pearl and dragged down the contours of her freckled features. Simple truth. With ocean hues peeking out from parting lids anew, scarred digits tugged the leather gloves from belt’s hugged embrace of a taut, tapered waist to wriggle them over the threaded maps of her slender knuckles. Footsteps marking the woman’s departure from the premises one cobblestone at a time, there remained only one thing that mattered: the task at hand. This would be her last hurrah for Ebonbrand, lest the company’s Spymistress live through the ordeal and go through with intended resignation. Course set and final thoughts on the matter pertaining the absence of their excitable trademaster, the highlander set off for Thanalan. [align=center][/align] Target Identified as: Redwall. Midlander Hyur. Male. Void-Touched(?). Hair: Mid-length, Raven. Complexion: Pale. Eye Colour: Green. Build: Stocky. Last Known Location: The Outer Ruins of Qarn, Thanalan. [align=center][/align] An abomination of speed and strength enhanced by energies of the void would not be an easy target to track, despite the man’s flair for the poetic and tendency for the elaborate. As an instigator within the realms of child-trafficking, the slaver’s fate had been sealed from first moments regardless of whatever anonymous ‘tip’ had brought it about. Yet Redwall’s abilities had been underestimated countless times before, the madman breaking from capture to infect several she knew with a sickness. Regardless, for all his power - retained or not with the Ahriman’s expiration, he was still a man and men left their mark on the work around them as reliably as any other mammal. An imprint on parchment, a loose thread upon linen’s edge; eating, sleeping, defecating, sweating, even breathing… each one the tangible strand of a larger web. Those whom knew what they sought, looked hard enough and managed combination of knowledge and training, found their efforts rewarded more often than not. So it was that the careful track of information, the scraps of pinpointed disturbances and the sightings of a man fitting description given drew the vixen away from the ruins where the midlander had last been sighted and onto dirt trail, leaving behind the red dust of Thanalan’s deserts for the transition into the groaning, living depths of Gridania’s forests. It would only be a matter of time until she had found her mark.[/align] [align=center][/align]

[align=center] The Vulture and the Vixen[/align] [align=justify]"Khyran," greeted the woman quietly anew, slowly making her way toward the chair only to stop as he lifted himself from it’s wooden foundation. The man looked a mess; blood splattered over his thin, corpse-like frame, noticeable even upon the darker fabric that hung from his gaunt frame as he moved to embrace her. "...B-been meaning to c-catch up with you... s-sorry you always catch me on a bad day... I... kind of want to hug you, but... I've got blood on me... " he apologized, even with the shake of her head and the draw of his person to her. Odette’s lips curled into a faint smile, chin resting briefly on the scrawny shoulder of her raven-haired friend. "Since when has that e'er mattered in the past...?" The embrace was short, yet spoke volumes for the time that had passed them by, as time was want to do. Unavoidable down to the last second at the behest of commitments and lifestyle choices. It had been a long time. Too long. "Y-yeah, I guess ... it hasn't." He admitted, wrapping his arms around her back and squeezing for a small, measured beat before the inevitable withdrawal; stepping back to stand once more at arm's length to offer the sincerity of a forlorn smile. "...I miss you." He spoke, honestly. "J-just ... been thinking about how we killed Hunter together, and now we're in two different worlds." There was a sigh that chased the Vulture’s words, penetrating the silence alongside the quiet whir of magitek limb as he lifted a spindly hand to the back of his neck. In a similar manner, Odette’s own scarred thumb brushed against the freckled point of her nose, a mirthless chuckle leaving her lips in quiet accompaniment. "Aye." "A lot has changed, an' even more has continued on as it always does. Yet, it's been on my mind too. There's so much..." the words trailed off to silence with the slow huff of an exhaled breath, marking the truth of just how long it had been since the exchange of private words in the past. "I've missed you too." With the click of the man’s magitek leg accompanied by the double-step of her own heeled boots, vixen followed vulture toward the table and chairs that cast eerie shadows upon stone wall and floor with the flickering light of the waning candle atop the table. First and foremost the inquiry to the greasy-haired midlander’s current state found itself the topic of discussion, turning then to recent matters and the follow up to prior conversation - one marked by the blonde’s retrieval of flask from shapely hip and the quiet screech of metal on metal thread for cap’s removal. "I don't know. . ." Odette admitted quietly with opened canister sat before her, scarred thumb brushed over equally scarred knuckle in idle sweep back and forth. "There's just a lot goin' on, or not enough. I'm nae sure which, t'be perfectly honest." Lifting her eyes from their ocean-hued dance upon wooden surface, the highlander unthreaded the lace of her fingers to habitually reach for the flask, lifting it to hover against her lower lip in paused consideration. Oh how she despised that feeling of vulnerability, enough to back away from it entirely. "I didnae come here t'burden you more than y'already are, however. I know things have been busy, hells. . . th'place is thrivin' on walk up." Khyran Oisin knew better than that, however, and the vulture gave a small nod in response to her words. When he spoke, it was with an exhausted but undeniably honest tone for the ties they shared. "Well... if you ever need a break from things, or just to talk... I'm almost always here." He gave her a weak smile, lips parting just a sliver to expose the gaps of a toothy maw. Hardly the most aesthetically pleasing of men, with too boney features and a long nose that hooked downward like a beak, he cut an intimidating figure for most. Most, but not she - strange as their friendship seemed to be. "Or I could come to you, for a change. I know you don't like aether travel. I hate doing that to you." He said. He trailed for a moment, then, he too, found a great interest in the wood grains on the table; single brown eye weaving about the various nicks and scratches that carved their own stories. "In all honesty, Khy, I've been tryin' t'catch a break fer weeks an' just. . . I dunnae. You ever get that feeling that somethin's just. . . missing? Feeling like y'want t'run. Just run an' nae look back. Nae knowin' where yer goin'. Just th'need t'be an' do somethin'... to fix somethin', or break it." Atop the table’s surface, Odette’s slender fingers slowly curled into a tight, but passive fist; knuckles threaded with the tracking scars of an undisclosed past and a far more curious present. “Just that desire t'feel a little more. . . alive?" the soft words spilled from her lips like the rushed current of a broken dam that eased to trickle and then, stillness. A shortly huffed note left her maw as she leaned back against the chair's rest and partook of the flask’s contents, the familiar burn that warmed her throat a comfort. "I need somethin’ t’sink my teeth into, rather than make do with scraps thrown from th’table. Th'travel is inconvenient, but fine. . . I can manage." Listening to the bardess in silence, Khyran’s claw-like fingers idly traced along the wood-grain of the table, tacking each sporadic line that was, in itself, unique. "...It... sounds to me like..." he spoke quietly, offered words trailing off almost as quickly as they’d began; dying on thin lips before picking up anew. "...You want a family. M-maybe I'm wrong, though." He sighed, boney fingers falling still atop the table where a dark eye stared for but a single moment before weaving upward to the freckled countenance of the familiar blonde. "...You're alone in a crowd... a sea of faces... a world of two faces and backstabbing. At least, that's... how I felt, back when I was... there." He trailed a little, meeting the depths of ocean pools that was the aquamarine hue of the highlander’s keen gaze. "...But maybe.. maybe I'm wrong. C-correct me if I"m wrong, anyway." He drew in a deep breath, adding quietly. "I just... think you're really lonely, Ode. I guess that's why I wanted to learn more about you. Back then, I asked... if you've ever loved someone before." "I dunnae what I want... or if I want anythin’ at all." Odette mused honestly, a dry chuckle sounding from her lips to echo within the rim of the flask. A pause followed as she partook of the contents, feeling the comfort of the burn at the back of her throat. "Lonely..." she murmured, tasting the whiskey-tainted word on her lips with a slow shake of her head. "We all make sacrifices, Khyran." was the only reply given, perhaps the only reply she had at such a time; brows creased in a small frown. "We all do what we must."[/align] [align=center][/align]

[align=center] Hands[/align] [align=justify]The depths of ocean hues that were the highlander’s aquamarine gaze weaved in a downward fashion to her hands, turning them over in the waning light of the flickering candle. It was a common occurrence that her attention would linger thereupon, and more so on eve’s like this when it was simply she and the bottle that kept her company by hearth’s warmth. Perhaps it was that her hands has always given her answers, for better or worse. Bronzed digits bore the brunt of her necessary sin, the faint threading of blade-thin tracks weaving their way upward toward her knuckles where deeper gashes marked their territory. Most of them were resultant of fighting for one’s life with never before seen duelists blade, and the painful repercussions of lessons learnt. Scarred fingers still curled around the bottle in hand lifted from their perch to trace over the diagonal cut that tracked across her palm before setting the beverage aside altogether. A similar scar claimed opposite palm, each of them speaking a tale of recent months. One; a consequential blood bond she’d accepted despite suspicions, the cut itself drawn over an older mark long since scarred and near-lost. The second; a reminder of the life she’d attempted to save by parting with her own aether and shaving a few years off her life in the process. A golden pad of the highlander’s slender index finger traced them both upward, one after the other, toward her delicate wrists. Here, the faint traces of rope burn imprinted more savagely than the faded traces of a seafarer’s lifestyle upon the remainder of her hands. These were the marks of imprisonment. Yet, even still, none of these marks, be them from lute, or blade or fate’s taunt, bothered her. When she looked at her hands, all Odette saw was the weight of her decisions; past, present and future.[/align] [align=center][/align]

[align=center] Thunderstorms[/align] [align=justify]Throughout the embrace of dark clouds that clung to the gray belt of sky overheard, a crackle of thunder sounded it’s reverberating dance into the distance whereupon it resounded into echoed boom. Rain patted down heavily, claiming everything within it’s grasp from turbulent ocean to cliff side and beyond. Heavy droplets collected upon and ran down the wide brim of hat worn by the figure whom stood at that precipice in her lonesome; welcoming the approaching storm rather than shying away from it. Lightning flashed as though it were the punctuation mark to her private thoughts - there were few things more powerful than the sea. A fickle mistress in her own right. Power. It was a thought that came and went with the same consideration one might give the wax and wane of the moon. It meant everything and nothing to Odette. Even as the turquoise gems of her gaze turned outward to rest upon the horizon in habitual tendency, it was a thought she toyed with as so many times before. Lifting a handful of scarred digits upward, the highlander grasped at the head-wear that adorned her golden crown and removed it thus, placing the worn hat upon the nearby wooden post. The outpouring of heavens above was quick to lay claim upon blonde locks that cascaded freely, tugging sunny strands into gentle waltz on the wind. Allowing her long russet lashes to draw shut, the shapely siren lifted her rounded chin and freckled cheeks toward the rain as though it were the warmth of a lover’s breath. Here, things were simple. Odette loathed tyranny, despised greed, and implored freedom. She had no need for power, nor had she ever sought it. There was no desire to be given it, at least not in a traditional sense of lording over another. Yet there were certain ironies that were not lost on her - success, protection, defense - none of these were possible without it. The highlander had worked hard, strived to grow into the woman she’d become and taken control of her own destiny to reach it. It stirred the same thoughts it always had. What of those who had not the power to stand for themselves? Or those she desired to protect? What of the child who lay their head upon pillow at night, oblivious to the horrors that, if Odette had her way, would never be seen? Already she toyed with morality to stand by her beliefs, but how far was she willing to go? The thunder growled above as though in response to her thoughts, uncaring and unrestrained in it’s onward roll, much like time itself. Power, strength, came in all shapes and sizes. Perhaps it was motivation and intent that dictated the difference between selfishness and selflessness. Or, perhaps, she was attempting to find some justification for the deeds done in goodly context. [/align] [align=center][/align]

[align=center] [/align] This thread will be used for numerous narrative ramblings relating to Odette's character. For the most part, they will be in chronological order unless listed otherwise (flashbacks, stories of the past, etc). In addition, I've created a list to link back to IC input based on other people's threads. If you're interested in forum RP, please do not hesitate in contacting me! Correlative Master Post: Odette's Songbook - Original Works. Bronco Grease... Music for Little Ala Mhigo. Justice & Vigilantes - [Thread One] [Thread Two] [Thread Three] Operation Redwall [Part-Summary]. [align=center][/align]

Coerthas. The well known saying ‘the path to hell is paved with good intentions’ certainly rung true in a less than metaphorical sense for the crunch of heeled boots in the snow. Days had passed, ripped from the calendar. From the deserts of Thanalan, through the Shroud and into frozen wasteland the Fox had trailed it’s prey with little sleep and a survivalist’s menu - enough to keep her at her near-best, yet lacking luxuries that would only slow her down. Amidst the charred remains of a cluster of pine trees, it was there the highlander’s knee soaked upon frosted ground for but a beat; leather-clad fingers brushing over the blood spattered over the snow. On the latter end of fresh and chilled to harden by the elements, the heat had long since left the smear of ichor and placed it’s occurrence several hours ahead of her. A billowed breath forced it’s way through the woman’s freckled nose, effectively huffing a small cloud of foggy mist through the scarf that wrapper her lower face. She was getting closer; yet so too was the threat of blizzard. Through the sting of blown, snowy assault the flicker of red fabric was visible even then; contrasting sharply against the brilliant white of the crystallized wonderland in it’s sporadic flap at wind’s behest. It was with a brisk push that the rogue found her feet with a cat-like grace, the ocean hues of a keen-eyed gaze tracking the footprints that marked the ground en route - humanoid and bestial both. The lone garment was retrieved with a lean and snatching roll of the wrist, inspection yielding it to be stained in similar hues of injury. Thumbing the jagged trim of a punctured hole with a slender digit, golden brows proceeded to crease in a frown to match the narrow of long russet lashes. The destruction upon location was evident, the smoldering charcoal of trees that was clearly magical in nature - discernible even to one whom wasn’t aetherically minded. Signs of a struggle. The spill of blood and the scrape of prints that were already being filled with snowfall. Yet there remained something… off. Slinging the red leather over her shoulder, fingers delving into the folds of her own attire to dance upon the hilt of her blade, the highlander moved to carefully scour the environ; casting aside piled snow and blackened branch in search that would only turn up empty handed. Two combatants, no body, and only one set of clawed tracks departing… A rogue. A scout. A thief. The Vixen’s talents were those better suited to the shaded alleys of townships and rooftops of civilization than the wilds beyond the ocean’s call. Yet it was flexibility that remained her greatest asset, and the blood of her more barbaric ancestors flowed in her veins even still. The coat, she kept, her eventual trophy folded and hidden from view within the confines of worn satchel slung over shoulder. One trail, bestial or otherwise, was better than nothing.

Depending on RP, Ode should be there. (She has a nasty case of near-death, presently). Please add her to the roster, darling Telluride! ♥ I can also help transport people by birb.