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An Interesting Place For Target Practice...; Raneweeeen!
Topic Started: Wed Nov 29, 2006 12:56 am (592 Views)
Amaranth Oleander
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Amaranth's nostrils flared as she took deep, heavy breaths. The air was thin here, and it was becoming harder for her to absorb more oxygen into her lungs; luckily, she was half Air Genasi, and that bloodline helped her considerably. The atmosphere smelt of cold snow, and dragon, filling her nose; it was a scent reminiscent of adventure. She was gaining quickly on the summit of The Dragon Spine Mountain's second smallest peak; leaning against a thick pine branch she'd stripped of bark, twig and needle before embarking on her endevour. She'd woken up long before the sun had risen to prepare for the trip, and now, finally, a half an hour before noon, she was reaching the summit. Dragons had been watching her intently for some time now, but sensing no malevolence or ill intent against them, they let her be. She had been surprised that they had made no move to keep her well out of their territory, as they are greedy beings, and do not prefer to share. But, she didn't think on it, for fear of her circumstances taking a turn for the worse, and superstition. No, she kept on walking, trekking ever further into the deep, cold mountains.

She wasn't entirely sure what had brought her to the mountainside, nor what had driven her to bring her bow with her. Curiosity, being her curse, was the most likely culprit. The mountains held an air of dark romance, a hidden poetry that she longed to unravel. She was feeling particularly lonely and restless, as well. Her insides were tumultuous, and she'd been finding it incredibly hard to sit still. Ever since she and Ethstar had parted, she had felt unmade, cloven in two. She pined for the time when they would be together again, and, though she knew it to be sooner rather than later, it seemed like an eternity until she would be graced by his presence. Her eyes flickered to the sky on many occasions, imagining his eyes made of day; the memory was pristine in detail, but it couldn't hold a candle to the joy she felt when actually looking into his eyes. A deep, throbbing melancholy had been boiling in her stomach for some time since their parting. Perhaps, the mountain would help her to find some sense of solace.

Amaranth's thick, fur-lined boots plodded through the thick snow, as she swiftly ascended. Her petite figure was wrapped in a heavy leather tunic that was lined with fur, and hooded, its hem reaching a point just above her knees. Beneath that layer was a second tunic, this one made out of silvery linen. Her legs were concealed beneath form fitting; deer skin leggings, which were strung tight against her skin by sinew strings that laced up just below her knees. The hood of her cozy tunic was pulled up over her straw colored hair (of which was held back in a single plait), shading her face that was doubly concealed by a scarf that covered her mouth and nose. Her spidery hands were gloved; over all, she was particularly comfortable, if a little stuffy. Once she'd reached the summit, she'd probably remove some of her heavier clothing.

A bow was slung across her back, a quiver of arrows beside it. It was her only companion on her journey, and a quiet one at that. The wood of which it was crafted was unlike any other; it was silvery-blue in color, with deep sapphire swirls, and a grain that was so thin and unnoticeable, that it hardly looked like wood at all. The bowstring was black, and thin, but strong, and along the inside of the bow was curious writing. In an old, elvish script read the name "Aulis", and beside it more script that Amaranth had been unable to decipher. Aulis held about it an aura of age and wisdom if bows could, in fact, hold wisdom. But, something lurked beneath the wood; something writhed in its core that aided those who chose to use it, though Aulis was finicky. The bow had chosen her, quite frankly, as opposed to the other way around. She'd picked it up in her father's armory at the ripe age of nine whilst merely snooping around, and had been entranced ever since. It was then that she noticed a curious thing happening when she knocked an arrow; instantly, the bolt became encased in ice, and whatever target she hit was equally frozen. Aulis was her dearest material possession.

The summit was not but a yard or two ahead of her. A satisfied smile crossed her lips, hidden beneath shadow and scarf. Her deep, black eyes glinted contentedly as she set foot, finally at the mountain's top. It was approximately three hundred yards in diameter, and it sunk deeply in the middle; the mountain was merely a sleeping volcano, quiet in it's respite. How long the said respite would last was known only to the volcano, and perhaps, the dragons that thrived there. Water pooled in the core of the crater, forming a large lake. Small, scraggly plant life sprouted up here and there, and the strong scent of sulfur signaled that the mountain was still very much alive. Boulders varying in size and shape were scattered around the edge of the depression. She stood now on the lip of the gargantuan crater, eyes alight with the brightness of so many stars, glinting with curiosity. Pulling back her hood, she removed the scarf that hid her features, allowing her blonde plait to cascade to the small of her back, like a rope made of gold. Grinning eagerly, she removed Aulis and her quiver from her back, and stripped herself of her heavy, leather tunic, revealing the thinner, linen one below. She placed it on a boulder along with her woolen scarf, and peeled off her gloves, tossing them beside her other unneeded articles of clothing.

Twenty minutes later, she had hiked a quarter of the way around the crater to the giant corpse of a once old, and mighty pine. It was perfect for target practice. Now, a good fifty yards away from the target, she pulled an arrow from the quiver slung across her back, knocking it. Her breath condensed, forming a white mist as she aimed, squinting one of her big, black eyes. She pulled back, holding the string taught, and- a sudden sound interrupted her thoughts. Wide eyed, she spun around, pointed ears twitching.

She could sense someone approaching, someone powerful and dark. Incredibly dark. Strangely unabashed, she stood her ground, arrow now aimed at the sky. Breathing heavily, she swiveled around, checking all sides. No one. Not a dragon breathed, not a soul tread that she could hear. But, all the same, she knew someone or something approached, encroaching on a territory that, though it was not hers, she'd prefer to stay alone in. Gritting her teeth, muscles tense, she looked around, and slowly lowered her bow, though she held it firmly in her hand, ready to draw at any moment. Magic danced on the back of her tongue, warm and battle ready. It was a reflex her body had picked up when she'd discovered the fact that she had the aptitude to deliver a powerful tornado-esque spell. Loudly, her voice piercing the mountain's silence, she cried out," Be you friend or foe, concealed one?"

Her voice echoed through the mountains, strong and steady, though her heart raced with adrenaline. A name popped up in her head as she felt the presence grow ever stronger. Ranewen.
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Ranewen
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She had finally left the temple that was considered her prison—she was locked there for days, in her studies, recording things that simple rolled off the quill that she had constantly dipped in ink. She couldn’t count the amount of bottles of ink now lay empty and dry on the wooden floor in her private chambers; some of the wooden floor was stained black, but she cared not since she detested sleeping there. She had been up ever since she arrived at the temple a few months before, needing no sleep while within her own domain, but she had slept the night before, deeply and peacefully, so deep that she had been undisturbed by any dreams. She had even eaten the morning after—a decent meal that consisted of venison, a side of some sort of stew that her priestesses had made for her, and corn as well. She might be evil, but that did not mean she ate raw rats for breakfast, bats for lunch, and souls for dinner. She often scoffed at those child stories when she heard them and when her guests were amazed to see that she did not drink blood, but wine or ale instead—and not dirty, disgusting ales that might relate to Dwarf Spirits, but some of the finest quality that were ordered from elsewhere on Imythess to supply the Goddess and her followers, as well as her visitors and, yes, her prisoners. Her prisoners, however, were treated with respect and were not shoved into a caged room, stuck behind iron bars that could be broken by no weapon and could be cursed by no spell, but simply escorted with constant eyes on them by some of her most powerful priests and priestesses.

She left upon the back of her dark steed, the horse that stood at a large seventeen hands high and was as silent as the shadows when he wanted to be. She did not ride sidesaddle as some would expect of someone of her status in Imythess—in fact, she did not ride with a saddle at all; and no bridle imprisoned the face of the black steed. She relied on her thoughts and the horse’s trust to guide them everywhere, and the horse did everything flawlessly, although at some points he got spooked from some unseen force or being that Ranewen cared not for. He was trustworthy, she knew, and would trust him above all other beings in Imythess, even some of her closest Chosen, with the exception of her twin Lánilmathién.

The stallion moved flawlessly and as if he were made of liquid, and Ranewen barely felt the muscled being beneath him take his soft steps on the ground that led to the summit of one of the mountains in the Dragonspine. One would expect the Goddess to be wrapped in the finest of furs from somewhere up north, but she was wearing nothing of the sort. In fact, she looked as if she should be freezing, but she did not feel the chilling wind that tried to push the pair back down the path of the mountain; she did not feel it digging its invisible daggers into her skin; for she could barely feel any pain at all. That was the one thing she hated about being a Goddess—she wasn’t comfortably numb, she hated it…she wanted to just feel pain once more. If someone stabbed her in the back, she probably wouldn’t even notice until she saw her own blood or someone told her she had a knife sticking out of her back. She merely wished to feel again, but doubted that it would ever come. Maybe it was not her immortality that made her numb, but it was simply her own body? She knew not, and went seeking no answers.

She moved with the stallion beneath her, looking about her lazily; she could sense someone was there, but to her the aura was but a gnat flying in her ear, slightly bothersome, but nothing deadly. Ranewen stood out amongst the light colors and the snow that was apparently occupying more of the land as she continued her journey to the summit; for she wore all black—black pants that were made especially for her, and she wore a plain black shirt, covered by a breastplate of dark armor, which was connected to the black cloak she wore. The hem of the black cloak was ripped and frayed because of the fact that it was not fit for her when she had first gotten it years and years ago. She never even bothered to get it fixed, not because of the memories it held but because she did not like things to be renewed that were hers. An odd thing to some, perhaps, but it seemed completely normal to her. Not until it did not block some of the wind from her would she get it fixed, and even then she would probably fix it herself. She would not let herself trust someone else with her clothing. She’d find something not to like about it. Some small error that would make her hate the job, even if it was the best of quality.

Golden eyes traveled the edge of the summit that she could now see, and she heard that voice ask who was approaching and a grin swept across her pale face, her lips appearing to be blood red, her skin appearing as if it were made of porcelain. Her cheeks probably should have been very red from the travel to the summit, but there was no difference between the skin that covered her cheekbones than that of her forehead or nose. Her black hair looked as if it were made of the Abyss itself, and her eyes appeared as if they were the gold that Dwarves were always searching for. She must have been a sight, sitting atop that horse—perhaps intimidating, perhaps not, but that was not the effect she was trying to achieve by sitting straight on an unbridled, unsaddled horse that looked as if it were ready to buck her off. She was simply trying to show who she was; maybe if she was some knight in shining armor arriving on the battle scene at the most crucial moment bringing the reinforcements to win the day; a joyous silhouette against the horizon and its sunset. She probably looked quite the opposite than the scene previously described, but that depended upon the alignment of whoever was watching.

I am not concealed; and if you think I am, you are merely blind—I am neither friend nor foe and I look to be no friend or a foe to you unless you prove yourself worthy of my trust or my hate. I am sure you know who I am by now, and if you do not then you are but a blinded fool who is deafened and blinded by those who say they love you. But love is just an illusion, and it lies to all. Now, answer me this, who are you and what position do you hold to ask me who I am?” she asked in a tone as cold as the air surrounding her. She held her head high as if she were striking some sort of arrogant pose, but that was not what she was trying to achieve. Instead, she swung her right leg over the left side of her horse and she slid off, the horse following her the three strides forward that she took.

The Goddess was equipped with a double-bladed sword, the elements being fire and ice, as well as two throwing knifes that where strapped to her back (the front straps under the breastplate) with the holsters sticking out for her to easily grab if necessary, and strapped at her other hip was a Sword of Chaos, which was her most preferred weapon. She did not reach for any of these, though; for she was not here looking for a fight—she did not truly know why she was there, in fact. She also had her deity abilities at hand, but she doubted she’d need them; this woman did not look like she wanted a fight, but if she wanted one, she would have one in a heartbeat.
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Amaranth Oleander
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((This is extroidinarily late; I know. Unfortunately, certain circumstances and events have arisen, and I haven't been able to post until now. My health has been...declining at a steady rate, but I'll be fine. It's just been a little prohibiting. My following posts will be prompt and ontime, I promise. Should it turn out otherwise, feel free to send me as much hate mail as you'd like. ^^))

Amaranth's heart beat rapidly, thumping with a tremulous, unsteady rythmn, that was not so much out of fear as excited curiosity. Yes, by the tone it was, indeed Ranewen. And, though Amaranth was of a truly neutral alignment, she was still elated and exhilerated by the Goddess' presence. Amranth's eyes settled on her figure, which was perched atop a steed, dark, yet far less dark than the aura the Goddess exuded herself. Black eyes glittering, heart thudding now with mixed nervousness, and exuberance, she replied," I am but a humble Genasi, my Goddess, unfit for your presence. I am called Amaranth of the House of Oleander."

With her feet together, she gracefully bowed, not in greeting, but submission. Her heartbeat drummed at a steady, normal rate now, and as she stood up, she was delighted to see the Goddess dismount the dark stallion, and approach her perch atop the mountain. She felt incredibly inadequate before the Goddess. She couldn't take her eyes off Ranewen's form which, surprisingly, was smaller than her own, though she felt so miniscule under the gaze of her yellow eyes. They glinted dangerously, and shown brilliantly, though their light was cold and lethal. Pale, porcelin skin covered the diety's figure, disrupted by the crimson lips that parted to reveal glittering, white teeth. Her cheeks were untouched by the cold that seemed warm in comparison to her aura; Amaranth could feel its strength saturating the landscape with a deep sense of darkness and power. Her black locks stood out in stark contrast to the white, snowy scenery; they were dark and absolute, carved from night and Abyss. Amaranth felt that her eyes would seem hardly black at all beside that hair, though often she was told her eyes were as black as starless space.

Realising that she still held Aulis firmly in her hand, she jolted slightly, and placed it against on of the large boulders that dotted the area, replacing the arrow in the quiver slung across her back. Aulis seemed to look on, interested, though it was merely a bow. The writing across it's belly seemed to glow, and Amaranth's gaze lingered on it, questioningly for a moment. As she had so many times before, she wondered what lived on in that wood. However, the reverie was short and ended abruptly, as she turned her attention back to the Goddess.

Her voice melodic, and loud, but not uncomfortably so above the breeze that had suddenly began to rise, she continued out of curiosity," If I may ask, my Goddess, what brings you to the mountain?"

Part of her writhed inside, scolding herself for every move she made. Your curiosity will truly be your downfall, she told herself. What was she to do in the presence of a diety, anyhow? Amaranth was untrained in such matters, though she had dealt with nobles and monarchs before. But, this meeting on the mountain side was hardly similiar to the years spent in the halls of her ancestral home, where a great many parties were often held. She could chat casually with noble women, use a fan properly, dance splendidly in a dress she was hardly able to breathe in, and hold silverware properly, but she felt like a humble fool in Ranewen's presence. Before, her rare lineage had given her an amount of importance in society; the amount of Air Genasi still on Imythess was waning, and Avariel Elves were nothing but a myth. But, before the Goddess she felt like she was nothing. A speck, a gnat trapped on a spider's web. It was futile to fight the feeling.

And, yet, the feeling was wonderful. Part of her didn't want to fight it. Though she knew she was of a neutral alignment, she felt a strange loyalty to the Goddess. It did not wax or wane, but sustained itself within her soul, as though it had always been there, though she was positive it had not. No diety had ever been worshipped by her family, though, on occasion they would give praise the diety of Air, as was tradition. But, Ranewen and the other dieties had hardly been mentioned. She learned of them only through her travels. And, she'd never heard anything but nightmares about Ranewen. Yet, the Goddess seemed contrary to the tales of a giant, maned montsrous woman who smelled of souls and blood. She was evil, yes, but...Amaranth felt she was just and dignified at the same time. She was strangely admirable.

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted, as a low, loud grumbling emitted from behind her. She glanced at Ranewen, and reached for her bow. A sound similar to that of stone grating against stone filled her ears, and her fingers curled tightly around Aulis, whose enscription grew brighter with every passing moment. Pulling an arrow from her quiver, she knocked it, and gave the Goddess a look of mixed trust, fear, and loyalty. Slowly, she turned, and found herself gazing into a pair deep set, icy eyes. Fear squirmed inside of her, but she overcame it, realising that she was face to face with a dragon of the icy variety. From it's nostrils came a thick, heavy fog; it's exhale swept straw colored hair from Amaranth's face. A look of terror and panic passed over her face for a moment, but passed as it was replaced with bravery. In a voice that was baratone, and resonate, it grumbled in steady, broken common-speak," Immortals- Why are you here? One a Genasi, one a Goddess, on my mountain. Why?"

((*blusheh* I hope you don't mind Mr. Dragonman, by the way...I feel it strangely necessary to add talking dragons whenever possible...*crawls under rock*))
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Ranewen
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((It's quite understandable. I don't mind waiting. ^^ Take your time, dear! And I like dragons a lot, so it bothers me not.))

Listening to the woman’s name, she made a mental note to remember her name for a little while longer than she remembered most others’ names. She usually cast them away; for most of them proved unworthy in her eyes—just another face in the crowd that would mean nothing to someone with her power. Indeed, most people seemed worthless to Ranewen, even some who claimed to follow her through their own fear and nightmares. She wanted only the brave to revere her; only the brave to follow her to war when she needed to go; she wanted only the brave to have the opportunities to walk within the protection of her shadow, to feel at home under her golden gaze, and to feel at home within her temple walls; only the brave deserved her respect, and only the brave would receive it. Her Floh’l Del Oloth, she had decided many evenings ago, must have been the bravest warriors in the land to follow someone who even the Spider Queen would tremble whilst hearing the name; only her Floh’l Del Oloth would never tremble or quiver under the Goddess’s hard gaze. They would be the ones to follow her to whatever end she decided for them, believing her every word and taking everything she said to heart, and to base their lives around furthering any causes she might have ever had.

Looking down at what seemed to be a mortal in her eyes (even Elves seemed to be mortal to her; they could die by the hand of another living being, and also be killed by the hands of the Gods), and held her jaw firmly. She didn’t need to test this woman’s name; she knew how to pronounce it well enough for herself, and names meant nothing to her in these times. You were not revered simply because of your name, but because of your abilities, so why put a name above those? She’d probably just refer to Amaranth, until she got the name down, as Archer, or something of that sort; since she had a bow with her. Then, the girl asked a question that she didn’t think anyone in Imythess would dare ask her something, and her eyebrows rose slightly and a smirk danced across her lips before she thought of something to say. It did not take her long, of course, but she wasn’t going to answer her question because she didn’t even know what she was doing upon the mountain. And ‘Just getting some fresh air’ wouldn’t cut it.

What position, Archer, do you think you have as to question a deity such as me such a question you should ask upon Commoners? My business is no business of yours, and you can lay to that; but since you have enough of a gut as to ask a question such as that to the only being the Spider Queen quivers upon hearing the name, I shall tell you that I, myself, do not know what I am doing here. Perhaps taking a break from my own Temple—it gets too annoying, locked up there for months doing various tasks and training your Followers. And that is all that shall be said on such a matter; and now that I have justly answered your question, I expect you to answer the one I, in return, shall ask you. What is your business upon this summit, Archer? A simply practice session or are you hunting someone—or something, perhaps?” the Goddess finished her speech with that question and inclined her head slightly so as to prove that she expected an answer, whether or not the girl wanted to talk.

At that point, however, an ice dragon had come upon them and Ranewen crossed her arms in front of her—what was this, some sort of meeting with every single race she despised? Of course, she didn’t despise their races in particular; it was just that she was considered anti-social, if you will; for she did not get along with many people. Her patience was for only her Floh’l Del Oloth, and the priests and priestesses she had to deal with in her temples. It was enough to annoy her every day; and she preferred to lock herself in her own private chambers into which only her twin, Lánilmathién, could enter.

Her golden eyes looked at the ice dragon in front of her, and her eyes had an angered glint in it. She could kill him with the single wish, but she decided not to, and drew her own Sword of Chaos and looked at the dragon. “Have you no respect for those above you, dragon? Do you wish for death today, as its giver is within striking distance.” A smirk danced upon her lips as the dragon seemed to scoff at her, an icy mist coming out of his nostrils and the Goddess couldn’t help but laugh aloud as she looked at the sword of which she now wielded and suddenly it became surrounded by a cloud of shadows, the blade’s silver gleam turning black. “Did you know that Death was on sale today, dragon? Is it a fight that you pick with the immortals, greater and lesser? Do you wish for it to be long and painful, torture to even those who have to hear the stories told about it forevermore, or quick and swift like a coward? Watch your tongue, you hideous being, and I might let you have a fair battle with her—and maybe one of you will earn respect in my eyes,” she said and muttered a magical word in which caused the same black cloud as was on her sword appear as the pupils of her golden eyes, swirling hauntingly, enchantingly, tauntingly. A smirk was upon her face as she waited for the beast’s choice—to die instantly, to die painfully, or to put up a fight.
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Amaranth Oleander
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Amaranth didn't move, even as the Goddess spoke. Unwavering, she realised what was going to unfold. A duel was to be had, between her and the dragon. And, she was not sure if she would win. Yet, she was eager to battle. Bloodlust was not in her nature, yet, beneath the gaze of the Goddess, she felt it boil in her center. She wanted to do this; she desired it. In her mind was glory, the image of respect in the eyes of a diety. How proud she would be; how proud Ethstar would be! Or, would he? Doubt swelled in her chest. Blinking, she shook it off.

The great beast grumbled, considering its options. Amaranth watched intently, staring sharply into its eyes, watching the the calculations and weighing of paths commence in its mind. It seemed hours, though she knew it to be seconds, before the dragon growled," I duel with the Genasi." The dragon thought, too, of the glory and respect that it would gain in devouring the whip-thin Genasi before it. The small female would be nothing to defeat; he could smell in her blood that of the Elven kind. Elemental blood tainted by mortals. Hah! He would have his way with this tiny thing, yes, yes. It would be simple. Her neck would snap like a twig. With what seemed to be a cackle, he continued," I devour the Genasi."

A shiver ran up Amaranth's spine; she could feel the warm, golden heat of magic on the back of her tongue. Her body was preparing for the battle ahead of her. The dragon lowered it's massive head, it's shoulderblades making an alternating up and down motion as it readied itself. There was a moment of silence; the scenery seemed to look on in awe. Amaranth brought Aulis up, pulling the bowstring tight. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the script glowing brightly with a brilliant silver shine. However, her attention returned abruptly to the goliath ahead of her as it let out an ear shattering, bellowing roar that made the very mountains shiver. Jaw clenched, Amaranth loosed the arrow, which was now encased in ice. Unfortunately, the dragon had moved out of aim. One of it's giant claws crashed down in front of Amaranth, causing her to jump back quickly. It snorted, annoyed, as it too had missed.

Her fingers trembled, as she fumbled around in her quiver, drawing three arrows. Holding them between her knuckles, she knocked them all at the same time, and swiftly loosed them. The dragon howled furiously, an icy arrow had made contact with it's eye. It swung around, crazed, wings flapping madly. The great wind delivered from it's wings was enough to send the flimsy Genasi rocketing towards a giant boulder. She cried out in pain, as her slender body was caught by a hard rock. Sanity, regained, the angry beast approached, baring down on her beaten frame. Pain branched through her body, attacking her limbs. It was enough to paralyze her for a few moments; a few moments that the dragon was going to take advantage of. It's jaw unhinged with a clicking noise, and from it's mouth, it realeased upon her small frame a torrent of blue flames. Cackling, it closed its mouthed, and turned triumphantly towards the Goddess. Arrow still jutting out of it's eye, it roared," I devour the Genasi!"

Amaranth moaned, and lowered her arms. The protective shield she had cast receded, golden magic ebbing away. Wrath glittering in her eyes, she peeled herself from the face of the boulder, and withdrew an arrow. Blood dripped from her mouth, trailing down her chin; swiftly, she wiped it away with the back of her hand, and knocked the arrow. Smiling, she aimed for the a patch of the dragon's underbelly which it was leaving carelessly ungaurded. She loosed the ice encased bolt, and watched on with satisfaction as it pierced the dragon's belly. Thouroughly confused, the dragon tumbled to its side, screaming and howling in pain. She fired three more arrows in quick procession, making sure the beast was entirely taken care of.

Bloody, bruised, and thouroughly beaten, she turned to the Goddess as the dragon's heavy carcass slid down the side of the summit's crater, and into the large lake in it's center. Breathing heavily, Amaranth said in a hoarse, raspy tone," Well, uh...I recieved the target practice I desired."

Her lids were becoming heavier; she could feel that several of her ribs were cracked, and warm blood trickled down one of her shoulders, and a spot at the base of her neck. More of the crimson liquid trickled from her left nostril, and left a red stream over her lips. Her vision was becoming steadily blurry, and she pleaded to stay awake. She coughed, holding her hand over her mouth. Pulling it away, she found that she had spat up more sticky, warm blood. In more or less a whisper, she said," I fear that I require medical assisstance, my Goddess."
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Ranewen
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Ranewen watched the fight as what would be considered the neutral onlooker—she did not care who came out on top, though she thought it might be a loss for the Genasi to lose one more of their population, but it would make no difference to her. Maybe an opportunity for a follower to have fallen victim to the plague that was considered death; but there were plenty of others that could fulfill her spot. She didn’t even know if the girl would be worthy enough to be allowed into the Floh’l Del Oloth, seeing as how she was neutral as it was in the first place. She’d only just met the girl; she’d have to bring her back to the temple for a while to watch her, if that would be the Archer’s wish. Of course, she’d understand if the neutral Genasi would rather stick to being neutral, and it would be no matter to Ranewen, but the Elf would probably lose respect in Ranewen’s eyes, if she even earned it at all. She had her odds placed against the Genasi at first, but after seeing the shield that was able to parry even the dragon’s mighty blow, it rose her eyebrows slightly as she had before, and she switched around the odds, even though it seemed that the Archer was inches away from death, but slowly being seduced into its sweet embrace.

Hearing the words from the injured Genasi, Ranewen could have simply left her there without a second though—people died in Imythess everyday. What was this one Genasi to her that she didn’t even have as her own personal follower? To her, it was nothing, just another mortal (once again, even Elves were mortals in her eyes) who went to visit whatever realms they believed in, depending the God of which they pledged their allegiance. Maybe the beliefs of their race differed from that of Humans’? She didn’t know, and she dismissed the thought with a roll of her golden eyes as she sheathed her sword for the time being, stepping forward and kneeling down amongst the blood of the Archer as well as the blood and ice from the dragon, ignoring it as it seeped into the clothing that she wore. She ignored that as well, for with a simple thought it could vanish and leave her clothes unstained, but then again, no colors showed up on the deep black clothing that she wore.

Letting her golden eyes observe the wounds of the Archer beneath her, she closed her eyelids for a moment and whispered a few words that were lost upon the strong breeze that tossed her hair over her face and into the air about her, playing and dancing with the wind, as cold as it was. From her finger tips, what appeared to be black blood seeped out, falling beneath her onto the wounds of the Archer who lay wounded after a victorious battle, beating the odds of a Goddess and earning the respect of someone like Ranewen. A fair achievement indeed, especially since she rarely showed any respect—and if she did not truly respect Amaranth, she would have simple left her for dead; a feast for the dragons who rarely saw freshly killed meet on another dragon’s mountain, but the king of this mountain now lay dead at the bottom. She smirked at the thought of the blue dragon laying sprawled out, bleeding until it was dry, much like it did to its victims, be them human or animal. Serves him right anyhow… she thought to herself and chuckled lightly as she looked back to the Genasi.

Placing her hands upon the temples of the Archer, she bowed her head for a moment with closed eyes, unspoken words traveling to her fingertips and that same black liquid seemed to seep into her, but it was no poison like it might have appeared to be. It would heal her injured organs, though not the bones, and at that same time, Ranewen took out one of her fighting knives, cutting the girl’s shirt so that she could see the bruised part of her midsection where her ribs were cracked, and she waved her hand over it, and watched the bruises turn black before disappearing altogether as if they evaporated. She placed her hands upon Amaranth’s ribcage and muttered a few indecipherable words, and that would heal the cracked ribs over the course of a few moments, though it would be slightly painful, but she had obviously gone through worse. Ranewen then stood over the Genasi and then turned, looking over the skies and to the numerous dragons taking flight, heading for the mountain that they were on, but not to its summit; they were wondering what dinner was upon the base of the mountain. Surely they would be up there for them soon, wanting to claim this mountain as their own, but finding people there already that would need to die so they would be King of another summit.

She laughed aloud at that thought, her back turned to the Archer, and she walked to the edge so she could look down to the ground where the dragons all gathered, feasting upon the ice King that had died. “Do you all search for death?!” she asked, her voice louder than thunder and attracting their attention. She smirked, and lifted one hand into the air and a bolt of lightning came down, striking near the dragons, which caused them to scatter and stare up at that puny figure at the summit, bloodlust in their eyes. She laughed aloud again, rolling down the sides of the mountain so that the dragons could easily hear her. “Come and get us if you wish!

Did they heed her words?
Yes, yes they did.
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