Lady Rivienne

Random photo dump of edits done a few weeks ago.

[align=center] Happy Starlight and Merry Christmas to everyone from Lady Rivienne.[/align]

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The air grows thinner and he desperately tries to take a breath while loosening his hold on her. When straightening out his frame, widened eyes nearly bulge from his eyes as he chokes. A hand brushes at his throat, rubbing at his pale flesh before he croaked words at her. “W-what.. have you done! What have you done, whore!” It comes out pained as he struggled to draw strength. Rivienne no longer sheds tears, the touch of desolation dissipated completely from her wet eyes, they were steeled, sharp and aware of what was happening. With her lashes, resting at half mast, the maiden watched in anticipation to what was to happen next. She made no effort to move, and saw his body language as it spoke volumes of what was to take place. Rivienne closed her eyes then. The back of his hand collided with enough force against her cheek and lip to cause blood to break free from her skin. She jerked her head to the side, receiving the impact. The blow caused her skin to burn, the ache would make its mark upon bronze flesh momentarily. With a fluid, languid motion The Viper turned her head back to him and brushed her fingers along her bruised, broken lip. The blood is smeared twixt her fingers; those same lips spread into a serpentine smile. His eyes stared bewildered as the venom began to swim into his system. The numbness began on the source of where it started, his lips. His skin felt aflame at first, then nothingness spreads and ensnares him. Senses are lost, and she watches it unfold before her. “Liberated thee from these bonds of servitude, denied thee a chance at seeing thy loved one. To feel their arms around thee, to feel their loving kiss, to see the enamored look in their eyes. Dost thou feel it yet? The fear encompassing thee?” Soft lips, the same ones he yearned to taste, whispered haunting verses to grace his elongated ear as she moved now against him. Her hand sweeps across his hardened jawline as he gasps for air and tries to gain control of his thoughts. Fingers lost feeling as they sought the blade’s hilt, but they found her touch instead. Taking his wrist, she pulls his hand away and holds it at eye-level between them. Using the adjacent hand, she curls her fingers around his own and bends his digits back, causing a crack to resonate into the air. She leaned to his visage and took in the sound, the bitter melody, of his pain. He cried in agony, his legs threatened to give away underneath him completely; it was nothing compared to the warfare she set in motion within his body. “Knoweth well in these moments,” she watched his saliva dribble from the corner of his lips, traveling down his cheeks. Red lined his eyes and she could not hear a breath escape him; Ciceroix was suffocating, but the rancor was well lit in his gaze, he had not lost his mind to dismay, nor was he accepting his fate, now. released his broken fingers and took a hold of the blade’s handle as he fell to a knee, clutching at his chest. It was released from its secured home and tossed aside carelessly, with little regard to where the blade would land. “This face shall haunt thee beyond the realm of death, and by the will of the Commander, thou has’t fallen,” her eyes closed, and in that very second, when her words sank into the ravine of his mind, she spun on her heel to face the desk. The nightgown parts around her legs as she completed the turn and swipes one of her exposed daggers. When she finally faced him, his eyes widened at the glint of metal that candlelight kissed, but it soon vanishes from his sight. Rivienne’s hand struck out to take ownership of his chin, forcing him to look at her. She softened her features then and quietly spoke. “Do not blink –” The last words to reach his ears before the blade rips through flesh and bone; the aroma of blood mingled with that of flora and death becomes a delightful perfume. With a push, the blade is forced to turn clockwise, until she is satisfied that his eyes are permanently embedded with her reflection. His face is released, limbs become lifeless, and he is slowly laid to his side on the floor. The blood spills, flowing in rivulets into his hair. He was to die regardless, for the poison Marbella concocted would do well to insure that. But it is Rivienne herself who wished to deliver his death, by her hand. Kneeling down, the fabric rips along her naked thigh as she pats over his attire, finding the compartment of his uniform where he would keep notes, anything informative to his mission. In a pocket, of his jacket, she didn’t find anything written in parchment, but a pearl. A pearl she plucked away and examined in silence. Whilst that hand is busy, the other pulls at her dagger, freeing it from its buried state within the man’s skull.

His shadow remained idle. Unmoving was he for a few heartbeats; the space between was separated by one object. The door. And he made sure to force it ajar with his shoulder with little regard to those who found themselves deep in slumber. Wood cracked and splinters were made, and for a moment, the inn-keeper swore that the storm unleashed a clap of thunder instead. The door did not fly from its hinges, nay, though it swung wide and made sure light would break in, melting away what shadows rested within. She was against the table with her head dipped low; her golden gaze set downcast to her feet. Ciceroix had his blade drawn from its scabbard the moment his eyes adjusted to the image that stood before him. He had expected a woman viciously ready to strike, what he found was a broken, sad image. The nightgown hung from her naked shoulders, threatening to spill its straps along her forearms. Her legs were desperately trying to remain hidden behind the fabric, though the rip in the raiment exposed the length and muscle she had. He said not a word at first and was satisfied with just watching her for a moment; a woman who claimed the title of Viper took the shape of any ordinary elezen. Unimpressive she was in this light. Nothing significantly was astounding about her, except the fact that under the candle’s touch, he noticed the streaks that ran down her cheeks. “Rivienne Navarre,” the steel is pointed to the ground as he cautiously approached her. His eyes scanned the vicinity for her arsenal, and he took notice that she had a few blades within her reach, but made little effort to move. Rumors, however, did well to remind him that the serpent was quick to draw steel, and such was noted. Thus his eyes settled on her hands, which were folded before the swell of her rounded hips. Rivienne Navarre. The name sounds foreign even now. The breath filled her lungs as she took it in, though it was shaky and weak in doing so. Wet lashes fluttered open as if awakened by a dream, a most somber dream. Her name rang in her ears; but it was not his voice she heard. Lifting her head, the tears which filled the basin of her eyes, finally found freedom at the heat of her cheeks. She was weeping in silence. “By the Order of the Adder,” he started. Rivienne pushed away from the desk and took a meek step forward. “And by the Command of Ser Heulioux,” the blade rose slowly and he began to part his legs, getting to stance. Calloused fingertips danced lightly along her bare clavicle; a feather’s touch trailed its length, barely brushing the curve of her chest. Her hands fall upon her breast, over the drumming of her weary heart. Ciceroix watched and took in her posture; vulnerable and weak she appeared. This was not a woman who was going to fight her fate. “I knoweth well what mine punishment involves, for all serpents, who hide in the grass, art made aware of such. Silence wilt fall upon me soon, and I shall no longer feel the woe of sorrows,” Rivienne whispered into the air and met his gaze. Glassy eyes reflect the light that spills within the room, and Ciceroix reaches behind him, with a free hand, to close the door. “Then you will come with me,” his voice grew softer as they both shared this room alone. Her perfume was evident now, since the door sealed it in. He took it in, the aroma of the forest, the leaves, the flowers and earth. It was her scent. “If I am to go with thee,” she breathes the words and takes a grip of the fabric that embraces her curvature, “..then allow me a night to thinketh not of the penance I shall pay. Mine husband now rests in the embrace of the Fury, whilst I am damned to the hells below. The bed groweth cold, along with the heart faintly beating within me.” The offer was laced in her words, Ciceroix was no fool. He knew well that Heulioux was to rid her of breath; why not make her dying wish take bloom, and let him have the final taste of the Viper’s nectar. Duty and pleasure were meant not to blur, but in her state, she accepted already what was to come. There was no turning away, he caught her. She watched in silence as the blade rose and was pointed back to its sheath. Steel brushed the leather within; the hilt tapped the edge. Ciceroix took a gaze of pity, but a delightful sensation ran through his form when distance shortened between their bodies. A gloved hand sought the curve of her cheek and, with a spark of avarice, he pulled her face close to his own. He smelled the saline of her tears, the sweet perfume of flora that clung to her hair. This Viper was no snake at all, a pathetic, mewling kitten she was. Malleable under his touch, Rivienne felt her body become his possession. He took the small of her waist and tugged her close to his body. A pointed nose brushed her own and warm breath spills across her parted lips, lips that called forth to his own, beckoning them to join. But her eyes, her eyes were of glass, shimmering, beautifully wet and filled with despair. He looked into them before closing his own and stealing away the breath from her. Rivienne’s hands rested along her sides; no movement was made toward any of her weapons; she stood still as he took in the inviting warmth from her lips. Her eyes were set on his face, never obscuring her sight as his grip tightened and he threatens to crush her into his frame. When his teeth graze her lower lip, and he pulls back and peppers his wet lips along her stained cheek, down the length of her jaw, until finding the slope of her neck. Quietly he murmurs, sounds that she cares not for, until he begins to breathe heavily. Each breath becomes a struggle. And he begins to realize that this was not the excitement taking its hold.

[align=center] She had lied.[/align] To Solenne, she spoke of the lack of disguises made available to her, she wove the lie, as she did many times afore. Rivienne was not a woman who would simply present herself to the world without thinking two steps ahead of her. At Costa del Sol, she played the part of a new dancer learning the trade; from them she took light garments to fight back the heat of the sun, though they were all too small for a woman of her build, she knew well how to make something become adjustable. Lace and silk, cotton and linen, tunics and skirts. From clotheslines she pulled these free to claim her own. Some were taken from the bags belonging to the dancers present, evening attire that would certainly not be too useful – or so she believes. Her personal garments were substituted with something lighter for the evenings here, now that she was away from the prying eyes of others. The inn she occupied provided her with stable space for Avenger to rest in and this last minute room for just one evening; that was enough time for her. The innkeeper was given a false name to call her, though it was not completely a farce. “Juliette,” is what she used, a middle name that was seldom mentioned or known to many. Across the sea, far from her Black Shroud, safety was not always granted. Rivienne knew this, and such thoughts kept her awake at the late hour. In this room she was only accompanied by the small bottle of wine that Nai left her, a token from their meeting in Wineport, and some of the bread and cheeses she managed to take before leaving the gentle embrace of her forest. The candlelight danced across the room, splashing it with shadows that stretched high to the ceilings. Her silhouette performed a dance against the walls, flickering about as she sat in silence. It was the first time she was given a moment to allow everything to truly sink into her skin. The haunting sounds did not end, nor did the crackling of the flame alleviate her from hearing the laughter and whispers of his voice. Closing her eyes only caused her to see his face. Loathing began to sink into the crevices of her heart. Despair was not but a breadth away from pursuing the hatred. Naked hands ran through her cropped hair whilst her gaze settled on the wood grain of the table; she concentrated on the world around her instead, piecing together the sounds of the inn, the pelting rain that began to hit the ceiling. Among such sounds, the buzzing of conversation filtered through the air and Rivienne, who would not make it a habit to listen in, had little choice. The voices rose, agitation grew heavy in the air, something was amiss for certain. And her paranoia did well to inform her that this was no mere traveler seeking shelter. By the tone used, and the command it carried, it was someone in search of something. Or someone. “She is long of hair, eyes made to match,” the baritone was gravelly, rough to the ears. He was taller than most; dark hair that fell upon broad shoulders, concealing the hard green that made up his gaze. Adorned in leathers, he was a stark contrast to what several individuals wore here in Noscea. He was obviously not a native of the land. The inn-keeper raised his bushy, salt and pepper brows, and gave the man a look over. The last thing he desired was to cause the inquiring fellow to raise his voice any louder than he was, lest he wished for angered patrons in the morn. “I have several people stayin’ th’ night here, I can’t be bothered to remember all of ‘em.” He chewed at the end of his pipe, thoughtfully looking the man over, but his gaze settled on the pommel of the blade at his hip. “But –” “But what,” impatience was heavily noticed in his voice as the serpent leaned over the wooden desk; his shadow spreads long across the surface and falls upon the midlander, who looked awfully small before the wildwood. Rivienne’s frame pressed to the door, hands flat against the grain as she attempted to listen. There came a twitch to her lips at the words shared; seems he was alone, though she wouldn’t place her trust on that thought. Immediately, troublesome thoughts, were of Avenger. He would not allow another to take him, and at the moment, she heard no sound of struggle beyond these walls. He came after her directly, good, he didn’t think to rid of her of the chocobo. Such would be cruel. But, she wouldn’t put it past Heulioux. The inn-keeper informed the officer of a particular patron who fits his description, though no longer did she have the length of hair he spoke of. This woman was the one backing away from the door now once his footfalls announced his approach with each creaking plank underneath his heel. Rivienne looked around the room. Her armaments were on the table along with a few documents she had been writing up. A lute rests flat on the bed, a bow leaning against the night-stand with its quiver. Weaponry was of little issue, and the idea of immediately taking the offensive against him was appealing. Long strides took her to the satchel hanging off the arm of her chair and she pulled the ties apart. Quickly, and blindly, she rummaged within the darkness until her fingers took a hold of a few vials. With her back to the door, she busied herself with them, whispering whilst the corks were opened. Her silhouette shows her head tilting back, holding the position there for a moment before her hand falls to her features, brushing at her skin. The shadow soon turns to face the door, for the sound of footfall grows louder as it approaches near the door of her chamber. His shadow peered from underneath it. She swallowed and pressed her lips together firmly, twisting them into a frown.

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Ivaan swung the spear to clear paths to the docks, tripping over slick rock and saturated moss. He was tired, overwhelmed with emotion, and felt his voice give out when he saw the surface of the water and the figure standing alone at the dock. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t her. He felt the cool of the breeze welcome him and lure him closer, and thus he did, with Moss following behind his now tedious steps. Bewilderment crossed his features for a moment as he sought the dark; the clouds slowly assisted him in seeking and soon parted to allow light to trickle down. Marbella stood quietly, listening to his approach, as her eyes stared at the nothingness ahead. Virgil whimpered and broke into a howl that pierced the silence, the winds carried the woeful song to the river. “You’re late,” Marbella finally said and turned to Ivaan, who dropped the spear as he walked to the edge of the dock. He did not give voice to his concern, his mind was filled with far too many inquiries, and little answers. He wanted to call out, in hopes that the same winds of her beloved forest would reach her. That it would grant him this one wish. But he couldn’t speak her name, simply watch as the boat drifted further, and further away. Rivienne felt the same breeze he did and closed her eyes as the faint sound of Virgil’s cry melted into the ambient. Trembling lips pressed together firmly, but pieces of herself began to come apart within, and whatever held her together, began to unwind. Behind closed eyes, the reel of her memory played. Oh beloved husband, his unshaven face, how it tickled her when he drew near for a kiss. The love in his eyes when he gazed down at her when they rested for the evening. The smile that graced his lips when they formed their bonds under the touch of moonlight. Her lips part and she opens her eyes, eyes that now allowed tears to finally escape their basins. Under the moonbeams, they glittered like diamonds, before rounding her cheek and spilling from her jawline. His face was gone, and what she had left was blurred images of love. Turning to the back of the boat, she faced the docks and greeted the gentle wind of autumn. Glassy depths sought to see Marbella, but she could not make her out. Fog began to veil her, the world she knew offered her the safe passage she needed. Rivienne pulled back the lace of her hood and felt her hair whip back past her shoulders. The smell of flowers. Gathering her locks in one hand, the other sought the handle of her blade as she expose her thigh and the weaponry on her person. Oh how she will miss their perfume. “I am afraid –” She whispered to the gentle caress of the winds and extended out her hand, reaching out to the dark, and letting the locks of her golden hair dance as they are whimsically caught in the currents. The steel had cut away the the luster of her tresses, sending blooms, and silk strands, airborne. “– that we shall not meet again, in this lifetime.” Marbella whispered to the very winds with a melancholy smile touching her lips and she too reached out, as if sending her message to the currents. For a short while, she remained there, listening to the whispers.. the farewells.. ..to the maiden of the Shroud. [align=center]fin--[/align]

Marbella felt it, the sudden anxiety in the air, commotion was taking place afar, and the winds whispered what ill fate would surround them if they were to linger. She turned to Rivienne, who falls to a knee at her approach. “It is time,” Marbella whispered as she too kneels, but her hand reaches to the side of the dock closest to her, and dips her hand into the cooling waters. It trickles from her hand as she gathers some and reaches for Rivienne’s visage, which is contorted with a sorrow far too embedded within. “Where there is shadow,” The Duskwight began to trace a finger upon the bronze flesh of the Wildwood, right on her forehead. With the water, she slowly begins to draw while speaking. Rivienne fell silent, listening, as her eyes were fixated on the floorboards before her and the white of her dress around her knees. “There must be light as well, remember, child of the realm, spirit of the wind. Your wandering shall come to an end, and you will seek the freedom you desire,” Marbella smiled and pulled her hand away; what she drew was the symbol of Oschon. They held this position for a moment, finding silence was beneficial for the both of them; they let the significance of this farewell sink into their core. Her hands cup Rivienne’s cheek and she helps her up to stand with her. Sylviel looks away, giving them some semblance of privacy; though he cared not for the Viper, the emotion in Marbella’s silver eyes held strong. She was shedding tears, and her pain was all too true. “Virgil,” Rivienne turned to her companion since youth and smiled to him as she leaned down and brushed the top of his head, “Guide her, watch over her, until I return.” The wolf tilts his head with confusion, for goodbye was not something he knew of. From a pup, he was at her side, been there when her world fell apart at the news of her brother’s demise, and when it collided once more when her mother’s blood stained her hands. Now, as her world crashed, she would part ways with him. “Pah! As if I need a companion,” the Duskwight smiled and felt Virgil brush against her leg; he too felt her sorrow. Rivienne stepped back and slipped her hands over his face until she no longer graced him. Looking to Marbella, she bows her head and holds her position. “May the wind be at thy back, then, forever more.” She spoke quietly, straightened her frame, and languidly gave her back. Sylviel turned and sought her hand. The rain finally ceased. [ Final, Part III ]

The heavens wept above, clouds hid away the silver moonbeams, and the world offered a cloak for them. Here, at this crudely made dock, Marbella’s hands found Rivienne’s shoulders as she helped her off Avenger, the courser made a soft sound as the elder chuckled and brushed his beak soon after. “A good companion, your father did well. He will serve you well beyond these lands,” she softly spoke, the sorrow was not clear, for Rivienne felt a touch of it when her hand reached for her. “For the rest of my days,” the maiden concludes and leads her along the suspicious structure, fearing that their weight would easily send them splashing to the water. Avenger and Virgil were in tow, following the trio making their way in the dark, unable to see where the dock would end, and where the waters would swallow them. It was the Duskwight, Sylviel, that memorized the steps needed to take him closest to one of the tied boats. It wasn’t his, of course, but who was going to miss a boat out of the three posted here. Certainly someone. But, such was not his concern, at the moment. “Hurry, this storm will not cover us long, seems someone is on your side,” he quickly lowered himself and looked around in this encompassing darkness, seeking the oars, making sure they were both in place. A glance is given toward the direction of Marbella, who takes the reins of Avenger and languidly guides him. Her stride is slow, though purposeful, as she reached for Sylviel and nods. “..and the blasted chocobo, of course.” She ignored his mumbling and smiled as he carefully lead the large steed, who struggled slightly before surrendering to his lead. Rivienne stood silently, clutching at the fabrics that adorned her hips. Golden depths lost their luster and grew dull as rain kissed her sun-touched cheeks. The realization began to sink in, as Avenger boarded the boat, that she was leaving her home. Auburn hair became sodden by the rain as ran across the riverbed, the feet of his chocobo tearing away grass and moss. They reported movement. The bastards had found her before he had, and his time was slipping twixt his fingers like Thanalan sand. With his heart at his throat, and a fear clutching at his senses, he pushed his companion to make haste underneath the low hanging boughs, over the uprooted trees, through the silk of webs and decay of thirsty vines. The spear is pulled free from its trappings with a sudden snap; he held it firmly and tugged the reins with a free hand, forcing Moss to kick forward as his heart desperately tried to catch up and become steady. He saw Duchesnel there, a few yalms before him, hidden in the brush. He could hear the water as the river highlighted his location. It was by luck that he found movement taking place here, near the river bed, this secluded location. The wildwood turned to see Ivaan coming with spear extended to his side; seems the man was going to take his kill, no. He wanted this trophy. He wanted the title as the Viper killer. After what she did to Jehantel, the man deserved to be the one to end this. Moss, however, had a different idea. The officer did not see the chocobo coming, distracted by Ivaan’s presence, he missed the moment the two had split from his vision. As he took possession of the bow, and sought his quiver of his arrow, the wild bird came charging forward and kept his head low. It rammed at full force with the man, and with one jerk of his head, sent his body twisting backwards, bouncing off his saddle, only to thud into the ground. Ivaan was swift and animated in his attack, for he did not move in to kill him, but came to hit the elezen’s skull with the butt end of the spear. Panting breaths escaped his lips as he stared at the form; he was not dead, but this would render him useless for the time being. His hands shook slightly, sweat had dribbled down his temples and forehead, stinging his eyes. The rain started to come to an end. And time had run out. [ Final, Part II ]

“The house is a death-trap, we can’t touch anything! Proceed with the hunt?” Duchesnel’s voice is received clearly, and he patiently waits for a reply. Heuliox was running out of time, and excuses would soon have to pour from his lips to grace the ears of his superior. With a deep breath, and a jaw set and hardened, he replied quietly into the linkshell. “Proceed. Someone will come to aid you. Make sure she is down, keep her this way.” He placed only a limited amount of trust in Ivaan, hoping that the stern demeanor of the youth would not falter. But one could only place so much hope in one individual, look what happened to the young woman who softened his heart. She lived longest among operatives. He long ago placed a gamble on her, that she would shine the brightest, that her perseverance would carry her further still, but in the end.. .. she was meant to die. In his office, enveloped in silence, the Commander seeks the comfort of a bottle from his collection of spirits and looks for a lonely glass on the bottom of the drawer. “Rivienne Navarre, ah, but that name will soon fade, won’t it,” mumbled words were interrupted by the sound of him opening the bottle. Ivaan lead Moss through the heavy terrain, listening to the commands given in his ear. Amber eyes stared forth, penetrating the darkness that came upon him quickly. Lightning flashed, thunder rolled in soon after. The storm was coming. Rain had already threatened to weep down upon the lands. Mud was not ideal to travel on, but Moss was accustomed to dealing with complicated terrain. The wind was against him this night, it’s howl carried a burden upon it. It slapped his visage, razor stings when his hair whipped about in his vision. He was not going to be deterred. With the elements working against his favor, the youth seemed more determined to meet with the others. “Go, go!” He growls, snapping the reins of his companion, who desperately rushed blindly into the unknown. Will I find her? Or shall I be met with corpses leading me to her? Plagued by his thoughts, such fuel served to push him onward. The other men were ahead, two steps ahead. But this was also his home, he grew underneath the same boughs she had. With knowledge of the paths hidden from the usual denizens that only followed the main road, he cuts his distance from them in half within moments, and hopes that the Twelve are on his side this day. Under shadow they walked with haste, Marbella upon the saddle of Avenger, the Duskwight before them leading them to freedom, or demise. The road was unkind, and the path was not meant for those without a strong heart. There were things in the forest that would wish to take one’s life without thought; these were savage and rabid, tainted creatures. They reminded him of the woman who was walking behind him, for once Marbella introduced her for who she was, what she was, the rumors were brought to light. He had to perform his task, not only because he promised Marbella, but because he too feared the wrath of her disappointment. Thus he took them to the only place he could, where smugglers brought those who feared persecution, where a supposed Lady Winter guided those who fled from the land Rivienne was now heading to. He believed her crazy. And far too bold for her own good. Much like his passenger this day. [ Final, Part I ]

The uniform was discarded; the emblem, each patch, was torn away. Her flesh was cleaned from mud and grass, any perfume that lingered on her flesh was scrubbed away. Now she stood here, not as a serpent. The mirror reflected the woman stripped of rank, stripped of responsibility. Naked she was and in shame of the painful reminder of what she had become. Scars kissed her flesh and spoke volumes of her past endeavors. Rivienne stared at a reflection that was no longer her own. Gingerly, did her hands come up and brush along sculpted arms, feeling the warmth of her skin. An embrace is given to herself, and for a vulnerable moment, she felt the pieces of her heart begin to peel away. A shudder of breath parts her lips of cherry-hue and she turns away, wishing not to let her gaze linger further still. Marbella, perhaps sensing her dismay, or by sheer coincidence, stepped out from the bedroom with garments held in her hands. Her smile is brittle, a delicate thing that doesn’t remain ever long upon her epicurean features. The Duskwight didn’t need her vision to understand that Rivienne was grateful, though the pain was starting to take its toll. She masked it well, but the elder was no fool. In silence she dressed herself, with soft fabrics befitting that of a noblewoman. It was made for a day in the spring, instead of a night in autumn, with how it was cut. It exposed her shoulders and slipped down its curvature. The front allowed passage for her legs, though kept her appearance modest, for it stopped before her knees. Billowy enough to move, and conceal her weapons, Marbella chose a dress that was personal for Rivienne, even if she were never to know, that this once belonged to Lady Gabrielle de Marcellus. Her mother’s garments, from a time before Rivienne drew breath. Spectres wrapped in cloaks they were, tattered at their hems, with flowers clinging to the ripped fibers. Ghosts among the trees the two of them, venturing down this path seldom traveled, where moonlight dares not to pierce through the canopies. Avenger’s wide stride makes only the sound of decaying leaves being crushed underneath his steps. This winding path soon broke away from the darkness, and autumn was seen on full display with gold and yellow peppering the trees. There were camps here, mostly men that ran from the law, men that Rivienne stood up against. Marbella knew this well, but this was the only choice presented to them, and prayed would be a fruitful gamble. In the distance they could hear the birds let out their calls of warning; the Earth gave vibrations of hurried movements. Their time was dwindling, and soon night would no longer offer the shelter of darkness. Marbella, along with Virgil, Avenger and Rivienne, wandered further still to where the Wood Wailers neglected their patrol. The smell of burning wood greets their senses and flickers of light splash against the wide trunks of the trees, amber and red colors push back the darkness. “I had a feeling I would find you here,” Marbella felt the warmth of the flames and, without need for guidance, made her way down the mossy hill to greet a fellow Duskwight, one who stood up suddenly at the sight of the elderly woman and sought her hands. She brushed them away and chuckled; Rivienne did not step into the light and simply waited. While they walked, she spoke of the many children of Twelveswood, those that she helped birth, those who grew up and remember, some have forgotten in time.. .. and there were some that did not make it due to Calamity. “Marbella, this better be worth rousing me at such late hour, I don’t feel like having to dodge the hateful glares of Wailers thinking I am up to no good,” fingers ran through his silver locks, pushing them away from his face as dark eyes settled upon her features. Crow’s feet formed at the corner of her eyes, a smile spreads, and he soon sees the reason for her beckoning. Rivienne stepped from the shadows, adorned in her cloak of lace textured like spider’s web. An appreciative smile trailed his lips as light fell upon her features. Golden eyes stared at him, though no hint of emotion touched them. Her red lips were all too inviting and he found himself staring at them as they parted. She was lovely against the warmth of the fire, her skin was aglow, and for a moment.. he thought Marbella had gifted him. He soon turned to Marbella and chuckled. “My bed is rather cold as of late, what is the reason for such a beautiful pres--” He heard the unsheathing of a weapon, and before he can finish, she was upon him. A blade was produced into the space shared; one hand kept its grip on the handle and the other open against the pommel, ready to slam the blade forward. Steel pressed firmly to his jugular without a moment’s notice and he could smell the sweetness in her breathe as she leaned to him, threatening to prick his flesh. Their eyes met and he halted his breathing for a heartbeat. His reaction is initially shock, and before it could boil to anger, Marbella’s hand rises gently and takes Rivienne’s wrist. “She needs your help,” the Duskwight softly whispers, hoping to gain control of the situation before the maiden decides to use force. At times, solution is best not found at the end of a blade. “What sort of help,” he reached for his neck, checking to see if she had pierced skin or not. His eyes looked her over, seeing her in a different light. “Freedom is sought by river, mine passage shall be paid,” Rivienne whispered as the blade is secured upon her thigh once more, only hidden by a thin layer of fabric. He knits his brows, but would bite his tongue. Ignorance, in some situations, was indeed bliss. The way the woman dressed, the deadly precision and swiftness of her would-be-attack, hinted that she was more trouble than it was worth already. “Pray tell, why should I help you?” He gave a glare to Marbella, who could not see his expression, but knew he was not all too pleased. In return she smiled, the elderly woman reached to cup his cheek gently. “I helped birth you, but she will be the one to end you. Give her passage, and all your debts shall be paid to me.” He took her hands and moved them away before groaning. Tilting his head back, he shook it and chuckled, “..For you, midwife. Just for you.”

He was always prompt, Heulioux never expected anything less of the midlander. He knew his role well in this structure and knew who to report to. Without addressing the staff to let him venture through these halls, the youth rounds a few corners until reaching the office of his superior. He left the door ajar for him to enter. The young man knew not the reason of this summoning, nor did he feel that wrong-doing was done or that he erred in some way. However, he still felt the uneasiness set in the moment he walked past the door-frame and entered the room. The air was heavier here, even with the mild relief that the ceiling fan gave him, it was too thick for him to breathe properly. He found his Commander seated there, hands folded over paperwork that seemed to have been smeared with ink. Amber eyes scanned the entirety of the room; he concluded that no fight took place here, but tension came from another source. The commander’s features were grave, though a sense of calm enveloped him. When Ivaan finally sat down, and looked forward, he saw him produce a folder that was sealed. “Sergeant Arkwright, I am glad you came so immediately.” A hand came to land upon the folder, pushing it forward. He extends out his hand, palm facing the ceiling. “Let us not waste any time, this is your assignment, go ahead, open it.” He settles in his chair, watching Ivaan’s reactions, reading every detail upon his scarred visage. The man never failed to assist when it was needed. He would not fail him this day. “Sir?” Ivaan took the envelope and broke the seal casually and opened it, only to take pause. His throat constricts and air is not allowed passage. He forces himself to swallow and pull his composure together immediately. The image he saw first was the woman who he was partnered with in the past, a mentor of sorts, one who trained him, showed him the life of one who was truly cloak and dagger. She took him beyond his rank into a world of darkness, molded by the orders of the Adder. He saw her face as she was now, with waves of golden hair framing her features. Another photo showed her at an early stage of her career, for she was smiling, she was young, and the sketch truly captured the light in her eyes. And now she was his target. The Commander gave him but a moment to let this sink in. There was loose papers within, giving Ivaan every intricate detail they could muster about her before she was forced to become a serpent. Her failures, her victories, her conditioning. Rivienne was forged in the heat of battle, and Ivaan was privy to the details she kept hidden from him. He was violating something and knew it. A smile touched his features. Barely. Heulioux stood up and took a deep breath as Ivaan looked away from the work; amber depths were sharp, narrowed and focused at his superior. “The crime on her head? If I may ask, she was my partner, after all.” He inquired calmly, keeping his hands over the folder. He saw his Commander’s eyes shift to their corners, a flash of something was found in them, something searing, it was anger. Ivaan didn’t regret this question. But, the answer was not one he expected. “She is a threat to your countrymen. Her mental stability is beyond repair, for already she has attacked her fellow men, and perhaps killed one. Due to the information she holds, we can not allow her to continue under our banner. Your assignment is her, bring her, or cut the head of the snake. This forest is her playground, this land is her home. Who better than you, her husband is gone. He is useless to this task, and love would blind him.” Ivaan’s frame soon rose and he bows his head, “Very well,” he responds without another word and takes the folder in his arms. The task would be completed, Heulioux knew this well. For who better to destroy someone, than one who cared for her, one who knew their obligation came above such trifling emotions, bothersome as they were. He could get close enough to her, to talk to her. Either his words would reach her ears, or she would find herself with the fading image of the world she loved far from her grasp. Guilt was something he had to push aside, thoughts of her would remain memories at best. “You have your orders then. I will expect nothing less of you, Ivaan Arkwright.” He finally spoke as his eyes settled on the youth’s face, who wore determination clearly across his visage. “Find her.” The last words he spoke to him were heavy with the implication that this was something that could not wait another day. There was little exchange, except when his eyes met that of Heuliox and he could almost sense something there, hidden underneath the sternness in his glare. But he wouldn’t know what it was, nor would he question it. With silence shrouding him, the youth, adorned in customary uniform, simply made his way to the door, opened it, and stepped out. In the hall, he stood where she had, staring at the folder held in his hands. No clear expression touched his features, but the shadows produced sharp shapes across his profile. Rivienne Juliette Navarre, he never knew her middle name, and for a long while, Rivienne is all that he was graced with. There was another world beyond the facets she allowed him to see, and now he had such a world in his possession, and he was the one that was to crush it. A familiar face to ruin her, instead of strangers in the dark. He would confront her in the light, and rid her of life, for the sake of Gridania.. [align=center] For the Order of the Twin Adder. [/align]