Bio
Be it hubris or curiosity, no one knows what inspired her creation, nor does it truly matter in the end. The aberration to nature was birthed within the secret laboratories buried beneath the bronze clockwork city, its ticking gears the first fleeting memory as the physical form took shape. The Syndicate, a secret society that prowls the umbra, being funded for edification by the coin of Myrriah, the lioness of the sands. An Arch Djinn was governing from obfuscation, overseeing the modern age forward for the "good of the realm" as she describes it. Birthed alongside her sister V'essa, though, that term liberally applies given their unnatural creation. Mazana was supposed to be the brother in this wicked pursuance; however, the creation did not go as plan, inevitably resulting in a hybrid of the genders. Initially, the minds involved wanted to forsake and recycle the genetic rubbish, the expanding organism cognizant of their ploy as her heart drummed vehemently with internalized dread.
But rather than cut the study short, the merchant of opulence proceeded with the financing as she had a personal invested interest in the outcomes. Taking her makeup and that of an old friend long since expired, extracting it through the marrow of the bones, as she attempted to reforge a fragmented legacy. Much to the researcher's dismay, the arcane scientist pressed onward, charting the tissues' accelerated expansion as they expedited the development process. V'essa was gifted with synthetic memories; such a nefarious process failed to adhere toward this enigma within a glass jar Mazana. Myrriah, now fascinated, dictated careful observations as her uncanny resilience seemed to be an enthralling concept. The tantalizing nature of the unknown beckoning the inquisitive spirit, sparing the vulnerable lifeform from torment and anguish via the employment of an untimely demise. At the end of their venture, both siblings were released from their canisters, separated as each had different purposes in mind.
V'essa was taken to live a delusion, a fabricated cruel reality while dreary, provided repose as ignorance can often be bliss. Mazana was trained to utilize her magical prowess to master the schools of ice and wind, becoming dubbed the "Frigid rose" and was meant to be deployed as an enforcer for the ambiguous organization. Due to her heritage, the lady of coin took a fondness to the rapidly aged child, beguiled as they shared a stark resemblance. Respecting the abomination, going as far as to grant her the title of a daughter, though such a nomenclature failed to suffice given the repugnancy she felt toward her duality of genders. The unholy offspring immediately began her training, sharpening her craft and being thrown into the fray of combat with no semblance of delay. Rather than being pulverized, Mazana transcended the chaos that was her upbringing, rising to each provocation and succeeding, notwithstanding various flounderings. Jumping from master to master, before being taught how to make use of the newfangled APV deployment weapons system effectively.
The foreign contraption required thirteen years to master. Melding equilibrium with the extension of her Chi as it necessitated a comprehensive equivalence with oneself and awareness. There within the bowels of heartless sheened metal, she toiled away, navigating, attacking, learning to use both the flesh and the magic-based technology in absolute harmony. The cerulean streaked beauty immediately being pitted against numerous mentors and combatants from various styles and schools of magic. It was one thing to utilize this crystal weapon against a dummy was a wholly new affair to do so while being pressured. Time and time again, she failed, being beaten, mocked, belittled by her opponents with contempt. Each night Myrriah visited if within the city, encouraging, supporting, educating this wretched creature. At first, Marana thought it to be some insidious manipulation tactic, but as time passed and her mentors changed, her perception gradually proved relatively malleable.
What was once approached with caution waned, giving way to a motherly bond formulating between the two abnormalities within the empire of White Sands. Mazana may have had her identity, past, future, and cultural relevance stripped, but within the melancholy abyss of her unrelenting reality, the entity blossomed. Growing, evolving, and rebounding from each challenge presented finding purpose within the furnace as her mettle solidified and was fashioned. Two years later, the woman was deemed ready, as Myrriah offered her a room within each of her estates, a hug, and unconditional and unmerited love within Mazana's eyes. Her first few "contracts" were against monsters as they were testing her ability in the field. But it didn't take long for things to transpire a dismal route, being poised to stand against sentient foes. One may think murder to be a foul idea, but the individuals she hunted were despicable creatures fueling ruination for egotistical objectives.
The unsung heroine, the downtrodden matron, never to have her tales uttered in melodious song by a bard. The life of an enforcer was never documented, a selfless existence where she roamed across the sprawling dunes of blanched grains, like a shadow those deeds were never genuinely distinguishable. The approval and validation of the common folk held little value; instead, the mage took solace in knowing stability had been achieved. Her unique physiology made it arduous to form bonds, being of both spectrums, the solitude dwelling horror found it nearly impossible to tether herself with others. A lone wolf, a disregarded hero, predetermined to meander this world in sheer isolation until the end of her days. A lesser woman would be crushed by such a fate, exasperated by the weight bestowed on those repulsive shoulders. In time, the artificial intelligence of sorts uncovered that her creator endured a likened fate, albeit far more grandiose and soul-crushing.
Mazana relished the scantiest glimmerings of merriment from the populace resounding, jubilant clamor. Maybe this ruse of ice wasn't meant for such frivolous, yet vital bonds. A simple query meeting that quandary, a dilemma profound with vast implications. Is it better to tarry alone so that others may bask in mirth? Or to gait in venerating gaze, while foregoing your fellow man? Balance, a fickle concept, though whimsical if achieved given the aberrations lonesome road. The rustling wind, idle whispers, and the comfort of the twilight of eventide providing no epiphany. But a question remained, was Mazana even alive, did she truly possess a soul?
Arrival
It commenced like any other mission; the inquisitor dispatched to locate the source of a reported disturbance. The gelid rose had been debriefed, reading over the papyrus parchment within the halls of the syndicate. Ash town, a hamlet tucked within the vast expanse of dunes; it's standing officer proclaiming troubling abductions. A ghastly fog, beings of shadows, and the vanishing of both noble and commoner without prejudice. These tales seemed improbable, the retrospections of a man stricken with delirium. But notwithstanding her internalized deductions, the truth of such frightening stories warranted her deployment. Mazana was destined to interrogate and reach the core of it all. For the virtue of the realm, and the one thing unsullied in her life...family.
For despite all her wretchedness, all the turbulence birthed from her unholy conception and mutation, Mazana still had the unconditional love of Myrriah and her siblings. Bowing before the Lady of the coin, the mistress of frost gathered her things and sauntered far from the security of those bronze walls.
The seclusion brought with it repose, as the lonesome road often proved agreeable enough company. The sprawling expanse of blanched dunes, the arid air, and blistering binary suns. All signs of this callous realm nature, devoid of compassion, as every day was a struggle to survive. Those who sought safety, groveled behind erected barricades, foolishly presuming themselves secure. Ignorance was a lovely thing; the fabrication varnishing the blood-soaked granules radiating fleeting succor. The denizens blissfully oblivious of the affliction prowling out of sight, the nefarious will often conspired to usher in unbridled demise. An enforcer's life was seldom a pretty one; working within obscurity usually meant severing many forms of attachment.
The need to be tethered, beyond palpable, serving as a distraction from this honorable line of work. Tarrying onward in solitude left with nothing but idle thoughts and romanticized what-ifs rallying within the vexed mind. Such exasperation germinating as the ruse that is self-despair always seemed to be encroaching just beyond the horizon. Mazana was an artist, a practitioner of a timeless craft, that being war. Using her mastery over ice to repel off aberrations, sealing their ravenous jaws of oblivion so that this forgetful kingdom could persist another day. That stride robust carrying her forward, as the fleshly vessel was adorned in black leather, clinging tightly to lithe figure, as the suns rested overhead. Most may sweat under its blistering influence, but her unholy heritage gifted the homunculus with a few bizarre and serviceable traits.
The blood that coursed through veins rather frosty, warding off the want for precipitation, as broad hips swayed faultlessly with gait. The feminine vestige housing a cryptic secret, the source of many banes that offtimes plagued the contemplative mind. A mutation forced on her, as the syndicate that had given her a semblance of purpose. Also initially stripped the ingrate from frivolous concepts of identity. Those succulent lips widening, curving slightly into a smirk as the gap between herself and the mission dwindled with each expiring moment. The bleached grains beneath feet being carried by a warm zephyr, pelting the skin as fingerless gloved hands were obstructing their route. Shielding the picturesque features from their abrasive qualities, as the circling and distant cry of a vulture resounded, fragmenting the lack of ambiance. The bosom swelling, expanding outward as the lungs took in a deep breath before deflating from inner frustration.
The small stone structures, the escorting of cattle, and the bustling bazaar serve as a trade hub within an otherwise barren and often disregarded section of the empire. The armed guards were patrolling the walls, clasping their bronze caster rifles, warding off any attempts from the various bandit's gangs' aspirations to raid. Those digits were running through silky strands of the raven and cerulean hair, flicking it back as it twirled effortlessly in the gale. The distant murmurs of the sandworms, the subtle vibrations of their courting ritual, a stark reminder of how truly insignificant she was by contrast. Giants slithering beneath their feet, rising only to venture above in search of love, thankfully keeping themselves far from the settlements strewn across the desert. Those honeyed eyes were peering up as the armed sentries took note. They were evaluating the garb that was flattering toned form. The syndicate enforcers often served as detectives, killers, and keepers of the peace.
The men needn't vocalize their anxieties, for wherever one of her kind traveled, trouble wasn't too far behind. The head of the guard within this town dispatched a letter, expressing concerns over recent nettlesome happenings, though the imbecile seemed quite keen on remaining vague on the specifics. Such an obtuse approach did little to win the moron any favor, as it only implied more time would be wasted. The silent artist was slipping within the gaped gullet, hands gliding across the worn wooden barrier that kept the wolves out at night. The prying gaze of others making Mazana's skin crawl, as, despite her fearless demeanor, it was all a farce. A carefully crafted deception disguising the internal anguish, lack of self-worth, and continuous barrage of doubt. This artificial lifeform endeavoring to thwart off a quandary yet to be settled, a corrosive line of inquisitions of which the truth may terrorize the frigid rose. Was she even alive?
Did a soul exist, if so, did Mazana possess one? Followed by the philosophical contemplation regarding if the who, or the what, transcended importance within the query of self-identity. The bustle of the market place pleasant, the cacophony of merchants and consumers alike scarcely warranting attention. The abomination was sliding within the masses, zig-zagging between the crowd of people walking every which way. Her signature weapon was resting on the back, resembling that of a shield as it laid inert, fully charged, and ready for deployment at any moment. The aerial crystal serving the combatant well, as its reflective metal sheened due to the binary stars' luminosity above. Those travel-weary boots reaching the door, as hands grasped the knob of brass, twisting it and forcing the creaky maw open.
The door parted with no resistance, as ambient light flooded the scarcely illuminated room, perforating the darkness as the commander slumbered with a bottle of booze on the table. Mazana was rolling her orbs as she stealthily secured the door, creeping discreetly before sitting across the way from the slumbering man and his desk. The agent supposing things couldn't have been that grave if he could manage to catch some shut-eye within this godforsaken outpost. Those nimble fingers were grasping the bottle, pressing the opened top against her lips as she chugged the intoxicating refreshment. She was taking out a silver coin, as extremities rolled it about those digits effortlessly. The homunculus nonchalantly reclining back before elevating and thumping the boots against the furniture top. The oaf banging his palms onto the surface before pitching himself back as confusion cemented itself on the rugged face.
The elder looking on the woman, noting her cleavage and finding her skin exposure to be rather unprofessional, reasoning with ease that this was the mercenary dispatched to aid. The veteran was repressing his breathing as hands raked up and down that coarse facial hair, letting out a begrudging grunt. Sending out that letter by courier was an admittance of defeat, demanding much humility for such a distinguished soul.
"I see you've made yourself at home? Good, as you may be here for quite some time. I assume you've gone over the letter?"
His raspy voice fractured, as the sluggish mind roused slower than the flesh it seemed. Mazana was gradually tilting her head, removing the bottle from luscious lips, as strands of blueish hair obstructed modelesque facial structure. What a silly crusty fellow, of course, she had been briefed, though, not much could be gleaned from his ramblings on parchments.
"Of course, I am a professional, after all. Don't worry; I am sure you will provide me with acceptable quarters during the duration of my stay? Admittedly, your little message seemed woefully lacking, vague hints at best. The more information that is offered, the quicker and easier this process will go for both of us. No need to play nice, sir; I am aware you detest having to beckon for assistance, so let us hurry this along?"
The sultry resonance did not attempt pleasantries, as her name meant little, and she already knew his identity. Those immaculate brows were fanning skyward as the officer sprang to his feet, sliding the legs of the chair across the scratched floorboards. His armored boots collided with the planks, the noise bouncing off natural acoustics as fingers parted the beady strands hanging over the window. His eyes were shifting about tensely, as if paranoid, pondering if his guest had been followed.
"Not even a name? Figures, young people these days and their lack of respect. Yes, I was unclear; that was by design, as I fear this outpost's integrity may be compromised. Tell me, enforcer, did your master ever bother to tell you about the phantoms of the sands?"
An uncanny quietness was taking place, Mazana finding his ramblings to be somewhat frustrating, as she wanted to get to the heart of the matter. She was letting out a soothing rustle, eyelids closing before opening to barrel gaze at the distracted man. Those blemishless legs overlapping one another, as the agent understood she wasn't going to be leaving for a few minutes. She was taking this opportunity to rest those fatigued limbs, as she took a posthaste sip from the bottle.
"Old stories, strange entities that rise from the earth and kidnap naughty boys and girls as punishment for their wickedness. I am well versed on those tales, why do you ask?"
Mazana's doubt pellucid as the guard's head pivoted to face her, giving the outlander a dull glare.
"I have seen them; we have done what we can to keep down the panic, claiming those that vanished were off on business, dispatched to run trade packs and whatnot. However, people are whispering, and they will come again tonight through that ghastly fog to take another. Stay the evening, you needn't believe me yet, but you will soon enough. They say an enforcer is up for any challenge, so tell me, child, are you?"
After he finished speaking, the woman rose, awarding the officer a ubiquitous simper, not believing his little ghost story. It wasn't the first time some out of touch member of the crown's forces spouted out mumble jumbo to her, nor will it be the last. The hand shoving the bottle into the elder chest, walking past him as the fingers reached for the handle. Peering over the shoulder back at him, sensing whoever went missing, wasn't some stablehand given the sensation of trepidation and gravity in that crackling voice.
"The noble Lord, how long has he been gone?"
The older man was taken a bit back, fascinated by her deductive reasoning skills, as she showed promise. Maybe this one would be the hired hand to do the job.
"Four days…"
Having received her answer Mazana quickly opened the door, standing within the blinding light that enveloped her.
"He is most likely dead, you know? If I were you, I'd prepare for the worst. I will be grabbing my room for now and begin my investigations once twilight arrives. Tell your men to stay out of my way because if they impede my investigation, I won't hesitate to kill them."
The agent was marching out, crashing the door shut as she left the man to wonder to himself and fester with that iniquitous seed planted in the back of the mind. The wanderer was traipsing across the town, standing before the local inn and "pleasure" house. Before stepping within the lair of debauchery, the once animate vigorous scene was quelling spontaneously. As the locales took note of her position within the syndicate, only furthering their fears as Mazana seemed to overlook their soft gossips and lingering stares. Stepping forward as a hand rested on the counter, fingers drumming rhythmically against the top as she asked for a room. The frigid flower was leaning forward as the rear was arched slightly, not particularly fond of this prolonged taciturnity as eventually, the banter commenced up again. The jubilant atmosphere not the same, given their reputation within the realm, was far from without incident. Hero to some, monsters to others, yet all seemed to respect her profession when they were in dire need of salvation. This seclusion from others brought with it serenity, as the lonesome road often proved her only company, Ignorant of the feline who watched from the shadows.
The bustle of the lair of degenracy did much to screen the prowling Jackal matron, the zealous enforcer oblivious of the creature's stealthily approach. The mind far too vexed by the smoldering gaze of others, their enervated yet present utterances enough to make the lone wolf's skin crawl with contempt. The eyes tapering, as honeyed mirrors diverted the establishment owner's insular inquests, the line of queries proving routine as the inquisitor wasn't one to divulge her responsibilities so light-heartedly. The painted nails showing through fingerless gloves drumming against the worn countertop, as the denial of payment did little to smooth things over. His abrasive tongue, and harsh tone breeding frustration, as the blubbering buffoon for a brisk period, didn't sanction the cerulean hair maiden a second to articulate. As much as Mazana found this to be riveting, she fancied shrinking away from the center of attention, retreating to her humble, hopefully, untarnished dwelling for the day. Falling into a deep sense of stupor, contemplating internally as she wanted for his misaimed irritation to recede.
Once abated, the homunculus could finally utter, apprising him how the captain had agreed to handle this little transaction as a symbol of genuine faith. The frosty demeanor took the gelatinous slob back, as crusty fingers stroked against coarse facial fibers, snickering with a sense of amusement. The lack of antagonistic vernacular bringing peace, as the repugnant local extended a nod of affirmation. While bewildered as to why one of her vocation would be in their ideal town, the most "charitable" host saw little reason to pry further. Presuming the indolent inventions toward inquisitors to be accurate, given the liquid glacier that seemingly flowed through the muscular traveler's body. He was turning around, lifting his falling trouser, thankfully depriving her of the wondrous sight of his flat, hair ridden crack. As he tossed the keys aggressively to the mutant, condemning Mazana before returning to the glass containers' cleansing.
Those blackened boots pivoting the lithe form, as analytical gaze took in her surroundings once more. The face flushing, the color evanescing, as brown eyes took notice of the elder jackal. The feline she met earlier on the road seemed to be present, was she following the syndicate enforcer, if so, why? A dark series of internal interrogations following, looping around the mind as Mazana wondered if she was at all tied to these grisly disappearances. No, notwithstanding having an undead thrall, the voracious woman maintained far too much self-esteem and class to stoop so low. Whether this was an augury or a sign of immeasurable fortune, the Cyromancer wasn't entirely sure. The shielding on the back humming softly, avoiding the focus of most given the sheer volume of noise pollution bounding off natural acoustics. The head was shaking, whisking off such vain and unquantifiable quandaries, instead, opting to accept her presence for what it seemed to be.
Those gorgeous hips swaggered with gait, as the collision of her footwear reverberated outward, as the distance waned under fearless stride. She was standing close, scrutinizing into fathomless pools as juicy lips curved into a broad smile. Embarrassed, as she wasn't use to having a stray cat following her across the granule knolls. Mazana chuckling as she abstained from exploring the voluptuous well-adorned figure before her, less the icy rose trigger groundless indignation. Despite the legitimate attraction, the wintry agent did esteem her for something beyond carnal desires. When they met, she seemed to accompany others, as the encampment was far too large for just one soul and an arachnid. Making the outwardly stoic inquisitor curious, albeit concluding it wasn't her rightful place to intrude over potentially private matters.
Looking about as the shambling cadaver seemed out of place, bringing a semblance of apprehension from the narrowminded residents of this farming community and trade hub. While not against the law, such magic was more or less tolerated due to the morbid history of such schools of arcane. A begrudging sigh was separating from glossed lips. As Mazana bowed to the corpse out of reverence, recognizing her "elder" and thus more senior position. Standing upright as others' apprehensiveness seemed to evaporate, assuming the two came together for "fun" in contrast to fragile whispers. A spark of inspiration, putting on a ruse as the gloved hand casually reached for her paw, bringing it close and offering a winsome kiss as a declarative gesture.
"My love, I am glad you finally made it! Let us be off to enjoy our honeymoon away from curious gazes. We can converse more in private regarding the joining of our houses and political arrangements. Please bring our mother-in-law with you."
The wink being deployed, elucidating that there was a purpose behind such bombastic performances and vocalized deception. Mazana was gallivanting forward as she led the infectious minx upstairs, as the steps creaked under their ascension. Once out of view, and everything seemed clear, she would playfully pin Mytra against the door, sliding hands up and down the sides before bumping her through the barrier with those broad hipbones. The glacial enigma was moving in afterward as she waited for the carcass to follow her lead before fastening the barrier behind them. Her buttocks faced the potentially flabbergasted jackal, as she peered over the shoulder, laughing before turning and reclining back against the door. Those digits were running through silky strands of hair, adjusting her mane as honeyed orbs looked at that deceptively angelic face.
"Sorry, I am here on a mission and needed an excuse to ward off the dimwits below suspicions. In all seriousness, what the hell are you doing here? Are you that bored you got nothing better to do than follow stale old me? It doesn't matter, all you need to know at the moment is to stay put at night, and I will be meditating and preparing here until twilight arrives."
Adding as she strode over to the lone bed, resisting to sit on it as she had no clue how much filth had been smeared across its sheets. She was unlatching the belt before hurling it onto the bed. Nonchalantly removing a few pouches and the APV system, which was bound to her unique Chi vibrations. Dropping to her knee as palms rested on the thighs, keeping those eyes closed as the inquisitor tried to focus, but failing, as something lingered on the back of mind. Pearly fangs were clamping onto the bottom lip as the locals downstairs spoke of the blue and black-haired enforcer, her honeyed eyes, and frosty tongue.
"May I ask you something?"
The head was shaking vehemently, letting out a grunt as it would have been an outlandish and absurd proposal, one that probably wouldn't end with a cheery atmosphere.
"Nevermind, a ludicrous question."
Mytra pressed the outburst, exhuming the reason for such abrupt timidness. She enamored this enforcer, had since their prior meetings, a tool the vile woman endeavored to employ. The two melded, fornicating outside of marriage, their moments of ecstasy beyond recounting. A taste of heaven, only to be rotted away as her sibling Hunter kicked in the door. The homunculus hybrid was mocking his sister as the three sat awkwardly within that room...waiting for eventide and what horrors it may yet bring.
The Sacrifice
The cerulean streaked beauty remained silent, gawking beyond the window across the vastness of dunes, musing to herself in contemplation. The inquisitive mind was meandering from those utterances from her companions before turning to face the two. Her rear resting on the window sill as honeyed orbs sauntered between her little entourage. The APV system oscillating on the back, as it indicated the charge was maxed, as the finger tapped away on the chin. Her brother's words dissected thoroughly first, contemplating why a group of bandits would seek to "disguise" themselves as aversions? Could they genuinely don a convincing enough disguise so that the guards and their captain fell for such conniving subterfuge? It did seem possible, however, not plausible given other alternatives.
Those groomed brows bending due to confoundment, as Hunter's statement of her erudition caused internalized tussling within the enforcer. The homunculus was shaking the head as a faint exhalation permeated from luscious lips. The abomination that was her sibling indeed did not possess the looks; that honor fell to Mazana and their other sister, which only she was aware even existed.
"I see; I feel such precision is well beyond the common rabble. Though, if these "specters" are indeed prowling the streets under twilights umbra, it must be with the aid of a skillful spell weaver. Which, admittedly, makes this assignment all the more enthralling, albeit by extension more perilous."
Her thoughts drifting from the illustrious tongue, as the mind mollified over the elegant melody that crept from Mytra's lips. This enchanting beauty only outmatched by her song, yet, this didn't absolve her of fault nor potential lapse in judgment. The two may have shared the night and each other's flesh, but in this theatre, Mazana shined. The inquisitor was finding her idealism fueled by sparse tellings of romanticized delusions. Hearkening though, the executioner found that such whimsical retellings were seldomly so fanciful. The truth behind the veil, offtimes far more mundane than the old stories, seemed inherently focused on exhibiting. The frosty beauty cared little for such rantings, having never floundered across a beast or "horror" that couldn't be felled.
Such merriment fading, face becoming long as the word Djinn was mentioned, the irony in Mytra's predicament self-evident, given the knowledge both her and their creator was one by definition. The head was shaking as she'd play it off, attempting to parry any suspicions with a simple, though hopefully efficient retort.
"Djinns, I shudder to think what would happen we ran into such a horror. No matter, even if it is supernatural, nothing a well-placed strike or two can't disperse."
The words mathematically precise, seeing little reward in dancing around the issues before shifting back, as the sun had finally set. The eyes were remaining vigilant as the perception remained fixated on the horizon.
"Evening is coming; we shall see who is right soon. I feel It's both—Someone using a thrall or creature for their nefarious means. I also believe that the prisoners are kept alive, given the lack of corpses that have appeared. Though, they may prefer to be dead…."
The visage was frowning, as the inquisitor was forced to languish over the unknown, only made worse by the mention of Myrta and their joining. The cerulean streaked beauty remained inert, postulating in taciturnity as the feline called out to the impulsive Hunter. The curtain of twilight already here; furthermore, Mazana cared little to rouse the denizens' misgivings further. The people were already on a knife's edge; applying pressure with such a delicate balance seemed both unwise and a dangerous avenue of approach. Those honey-hued orbs strolling toward the feline, knowing what they experienced was a fleeting sensation of carnal release, nothing more or less. The enforcer may be socially inept, but even those cloudy foci could pierce the illusion she fabricated—those fingerless gloves resting on the sill, as a heavy exhalation permeated from the sharp tongue.
"Hunter, please stay, my brother. Mytra, no need to butter me up further; you got what you wanted this evening. Unless your insatiable hunger was not appeased? In which case, let me apologize for not being fulfilling enough in our vulgar tussle. As far as their victims, they took a noble. This bodes ill, as it implies purpose in their prey choosing. Who or whatever is prowling beyond our senses is a crafty one and clever to eluded suspicion to the point we were called in. As far as my plan, it will be partially impromptu to the coming revelation. It's impossible to design a trap for a target whom you know nothing about; every Hunter knows this."
The quarrel evident, as the homunculus had zero interest in permitting it to blossom further. Whether or not Hutner and Mytra disliked each other was irrelevant. All that mattered was the mission, and it's an accomplishment; nothing else entered her scope. Mazana pushed herself from the sill as she made her way toward the crystal lighting fixtures, turning the nozzle as they ceased their illumination. Before returning to the window, permitting the cloak of darkness to keep them sheltered from prying eyes.
"Now we sit in silence, allow our eyes to acclimatize to the eventide, and see what if anything arrives."
The woman embraced the muteness, as the room was so dark she couldn't make out their face or shapes. Having memorized her last location, the artificial soul may have caressed Mitra's form as they waited, giving the regal temptress the attention she secretly craved if they permitted it.
Those hands dared to drum as the three sat within the darkness of the room, that all encroaching umbra of twilight fully enveloped the outside world. The locals were blissfully ignorant of what was going on. They were retired for the night to drift into the bosom of torpor. The stars above twinkling, as their faint illumination would be cast on the granules below. That frigid air of the drifted through the opened window. The utterance of becoming one with Mazana's plight brought a simper to an otherwise stern face. Mytra was an ambitious soul, a manipulator, but the tugging of strings was not always a nefarious affair. The feline was left to endure in introspection, as the homunculus said nothing as those honeyed orbs perforated the best they could through the swarthiness. The pupils dilating, as goosebumps darted across the supple olive-toned figure, as the hand ceased their exploration.
The symphony of nocturnal wildlife was piercing the stillness that had caked itself over the blanched sands. Sending a deluge of respite, as the baneful threat of complacency attempted to wash over those valiant souls standing vigilant watch over the residents. The passage of time difficult to chart, as the once melodious insects desisted their harmonious rhythm. A haze blanketed the surface, as the hairs on the body may be prone to standing upright from the electrifying dread slithering across the earth. The abomination may not have her mother's senses, nor was she clairvoyant. But one didn't need such potent foresight to feel the pressure of something unknown, an ancient enigma that mercilessly preyed on this unassuming town.
The otherworldly fog thickening as a faint hum washed over the land, as one by one, the guards seemed to be lost in this call. That abrupt ballad fixated, directed, signifying intelligence behind obfuscated motivations as it appeared poised toward the sentries. Whatever its desires, they proved menacing toward those under Mazana and Hunter's charge, as the eyelids narrowed, trying to see what was the source of this lullaby. The whipping of gelid gale rushing in between the buildings of stone, kicking up particles of grains as nothing of merit seemed to reveal itself. But just before they could call it an abject failure, the wills behind the abductions would step into the light, though the onlookers may wish they hadn't. The darkness was bending, coagulating into the center of the bazaar into a whirlpool. As blackened forms rose from the belly of the abyss.
Their figures tall and lanky, with unnaturally elongated fingers and what appeared to be pulsating fireflies flailing about within their mucus-like shell, standing 8 ft tall. Their face devoid of features, possessing no nose, mouth, or even eyes. Their bones were snapping like twigs with each step, as their unnatural stride seemed sporadic and out of sync, creating an unnatural waltz of horror. Mazana's mouth left agape as the four creatures stood within the center, swaying back and forth as their forms seemed to run against gravity, much like a waterfall in reverse. Crustaceans like feelers ripping and tearing from their spines and back of scalps, as a bone-chilling cry resounded across the expanse. The new growths were clicking, clanking as if communicating through some elaborate means. The blue striped beauty refused to scream, to cry out, hoping the others bore witness to these aberrations of nature.
The inquisitor was taking a single step back during their rambunctious little choir, as the ambiguous forms instantly went hushed, turning their heads toward the window while raising their palms to the opening. A singular eye bubbling from beneath the flickering gold and black extremities, its reddish burning orb unmistakably their oculus seemed to peer beyond their elevated vessels. The dusky horrors boiling as the image they took seemed to shift between visibility and intangibility. Dancing clumsily as if darting forward through a series of teleportations, though, that was an optical illusion. They couldn't hear, instead, they sensed the slight shifts of her form as the enforcer took a subtle step rearward. Standing still, just twenty or so feet from the inn, as their lower bodies remained inert, and the uppers whipped about chaotically and with extreme fervor.
Their torsos ripping free, as both halves developed crab-like ligaments as they traversed the distance. Their innards drooping and dragging behind their monstrous lumps of flesh, reflecting the same firefly like the glow of gold, as what resembled sacs of air were swelling and deflating continuously. The hum getting louder, the atmosphere plummeting, so that breath twirled from Mazana's trembling lips. Whatever they were, these things were not men, nor were they sand wraiths, but something entirely new and vastly more menacing. The image forever solidifying in her inquisitive mind, as what seemed like the dangling arms and legs of infants flailed about in their jerky and jolting mannerisms of movement.
"Barricade the door with all available furniture now! We force them to enter through the window, where we can funnel them in! Hurry, I need to deploy my APV!"
The woman snarled as she unclasped the disk resting on the back, throwing it onto the ground as the hybrid snapped her fingers. Her mana rushing down the legs, sprawling across the floor as it caused the center of the apparatus to whirl, slowly lifting, as those five crystals of air propelled it free from the planks of lumber. The wrist motioning, as the hovering series of disks, dashed behind its mistress, levitating just above her head, turning it to the side so that the center ice crystal was aimed toward the window. The sound of them smashing the bottom floor door open the only thing that hinted toward their approach.
The feline looking toward the homunculus for answers, yet no lucidity would be uttered as she remained poised. The APV floating in place, as the sound of the creature's footsteps below reverberated off the lifeless walls. The heartless shade provided no succor, as that scurrying of their carapace growths against the sides of the building resonated in conjunction. The kerfuffle of their stomping and banging desisting, as a horrendous quietness brewed within the already rigid atmosphere. Why did these horrors cease their approach? What the hell were those abominations? A series of inquisitions circling the mind as honey orbs remained vigilant and attentive to her surroundings.
With drooping innards, these faceless entities were not of this world and thus were not tethered to the same principles as the party. The darkness thickening around them as pools of the umbra coagulated, seeping through the floorboards. Their surface resembled a rivulet of inky substances that was now seething and bubbling, blanketing the whole room. As from its very profundities, the enigmatic wills rose from the ankle-high millpond of tawny liquors. Their figures ever-shifting, expanding, stretching, collapsing, distorting well beyond the means of comprehension. As the luminous of gold like stars twinkled within the abyss, that was their malleable vessels. An innumerable amount of lights blinding the room, the walls trembling as the very seams of their reality were being stretched, pulled, and molded.
Mechanical shrills escaping their newfangled mandibles, though where the orifice lay remained obscured beyond perception. The party could struggle; it would change nothing, as their bodies were resilient to simplistic attacks and their deployments. The lot could try and retreat, only to find the soundwaves propelling them back toward the epicenter of their swaggering forms. As a warm deluge of radiance, the hold of omnipresent twilight waning permeated within the room, as suddenly, emptiness. A sense of weightlessness took root. As this otherworldly quarrel dissolved, nearly as impromptu as it had been conjured. Mazana was gasping for air as they found themselves within a vast network of black ooze and strings of organic material. Running along the walls and ceilings were bones like tubbings strewn about, as crab-like claws clicked against one another.
The cadenced throbbing of golden fireflies swirling inside the structures around them, as a boisterous bellow perforating the void of sensations. Mazana was looking about, seeing if the other two were transported with her. As something roused from the emptiness beyond their gaze. As a man cloaked in black garb and an ornate golden mask, a soft clap strode forward. The world shifted from horror to a quaint gothic-style manor, as they found themselves standing within art lavished walls and fine ornate carpets. The crackling of a lit fireplace and long rectangular tables filled with a bounty of fruits, vegetables, and meat were on display.
"Let us consider your plight for a moment, shall we? Three mortal's, one Elder, and no salvation in sight. I could disintegrate you all away into oblivion with a flick of my wrist, make all your mundane earthly troubles vanish with a snap of my fingers."
The odd entity turning to face them all, chuckling as the orangish hue of the fire enveloped his outline as he emanated dominance. Snapping his golden gloved digits, a swarm of bioluminescent winged insects rushed from the corners and into the gap of the mask, as the once vacant eye sockets were emitting a full yellow glow like the binary suns of their world.
"Fight, curse, plot, rob others, delve through ancient scriptures, develop new trinkets, unite under one banner, pray to whatever deity you suckle on. Exhaust every possible avenue of redemption and hope as you toil frivolously. And when your hands are carved to the marrow of the bone, and your drumming heart oozes of sheer despair, that is when you will realize the empty platitudes of bravado and hubris. And come crawling to my feet, begging for grace. Something your mother Myrriah pointlessly endeavors to refute...No matter, You are all wondering who I am? I believe your feeble intellects know me as Comm' Orra. The elder one of Chaos, Revolution, Trickery, Madness, Creativity, and Art, at your service..."
The change in scenery proving an uneasy experience as Mazana stood with Hutner and Mytra within the belly of the beast. The Elder one of deception standing before her, as honeyed eyes exhibited a sense of incredulity, followed by dread. The mythological entity was uttering ever so nonchalantly her mother's name, birthing many queries that will be sedated in due time. The artificial lifeform bewildered why he extracted them from the mortal plane, into what she presumed to be his reality. The quandary was bearing forth exasperation frivolously striving to unravel the puzzle standing before them. The inquisitor understood the futility in their plight; to lock arms with such a being would prove senseless, and the independent enforcer was anything but haughty. Her eyes were tapering, as the blue streaked beauty remained in inward contemplation. Turning her head to gaze upon Mytra as she brazenly and haphazardly harangued the indiscernible will before them.
The Elder one seemed unamused as Mazanna strode forward as she broke the muteness incarcerating her tongue. The mind was having enough time to suitably delve through the numerous inquiries, picking out a select few she hoped this man would be willing to entertain.
"I understand; we are prisoners in your domain like the others of Ashtown. I will not pretend to comprehend your unfathomable and faultless intentions, Milord, however, may I humbly request their release? If not, that is fine, as I dare not question my superior's designs."
Mazana was extending a bow, as she persisted motionless less the frost maiden risk evoking his wrath. The creature as ancient as time itself, the first spawn of the dream, seemed unmoved by their gesticulations and speeches, looking toward the Hybrid creature who thus far had said nothing. The Lord of chaos clapping his ornate armored hands, as the glowing insects swarming within his vestige swarmed about with no discernable pattern. The Elder's consciousness exceeded these worms' cognizances, as the terms luck, chaos, and unknown were just fancy ways of deflecting ignorance.
"Bravado, or Hubris? Two speak, yet one says nothing. You are in my world now, boy. Do you truly think yourself capable of defecating without my consent? The air, the ground beneath your feet, everything you can perceive, and that prowling beyond perception. There are things, and much more are all part of yours truly, so fret not sullied one, you pose no threat to me. No more than a single spec of dust does to your arid, uninspiring reality. I advise you to speak, bow, beg before I flip you inside out."
The elder being beyond limitations unamused by his brittle attempt at appearing collective, or intimidating. The audacity to think the maggot could ever dispense a wound on the Lord of revolution proved beyond degrading.
"Cat, if I spoke, you will be rendered insane. I want you to deliver a simple message to Myrriah and tell my daughter that her father is coming to see her. That the cycle is broken, and the moment for change has arrived. I won't waste my time explaining much more to such an ill-fit company; my reasons are beyond your diminutive intelligence to dissect; as such, you understand nothing! And now the final one, the unappointed leader of this pack of mange infested mongrels. Your reverence is unbecoming and serves nothing. I care not if you tremble in fear, sings psalms of praise, or refuse to believe I even exist. So you wish to liberate the others? A simple game, a vote. Would you save a few strangers? Or a singular person you know? Answer quick, as I will not stomach tardiness!"
The analysis had begun, the Lord of chaos gauging to what extent these mortals maintained a moral or logic compass. The truth of the matter was that there wasn't a wrong or ethical answer, as both had merits deserving of criticism. The ancient spirit was snickering, breaking out into a hysterical laugh as Mazana narrowed her eyes. The honey orbs fixated on the pulsating figure as she let out a begrudging rustle after hearing the reply her comrades contributed. The analytical mind delving through the myriad of potentials, she speculated just a moment on the query before offering her answer. The enforcer recalling his demand not to meander for too long in thought, and saw little reason in gambling with such a creature's ire. Though, the inquisitor was a bit intrigued, uncertain what, if anything, this Elder one had to gain from this entire jaunty performance.
"Someone I know, or Someone I don't? Without context, the one I know, though the information may alter that stance. But being none was provided, my answer remains unaltered."
That melodious purr being delivered with a dismal heart, as the restless mind was forced to languish within internalized fears. The artificial lifeform doubted this was merely a conversation starter; no, his utterance had to have a sharp point. But who did this conspirator have in his clutches, out of the three, which one had the bond? Mazana and her brother had the smallest circle, which implied that the impact would be vastly more significant if it fell on them. Mytra, the unappeasable feline, was an exotic variable, as not much regarding her social standing had been excavated. The fireplace behind the Elder flickering, as that undiscernible spirit, tranquilized itself, as he theatrically raised his hand. Comm'Orra teleporting about randomly from the shadows as if pacing in contemplation.
"Worry not dog, even if you have spent your entire life rummaging through derelict ruins and dusty tomes, your erudition would prove lacking. Or are you that arrogant? Onto the harlot pussy cat, who has ambitions only as long as their sight. Which, admittedly, is very lacking. Would you doom many for selfish pursuits? What a lovely leader you will make. I was hoping you wouldn't act surprised, while here, your mind is open to me. I have already combed your shallow depths quite thoroughly. But chafe not, I look forward to the revolution you wish to kindle should prove entertaining. And now the part Djinn, part mortal, the abomination that stands as a testament to my work. The most despicable of them all, even more so than the lizardling hybrid. You think yourself just, the arbiter of right and wrong; I wonder how firm your conviction will be once I offer you this bargain. The person in question is Someone you and your obtuse brother know. Would you offer your place in their stead? How far would you go to protect the oppressed and sustain order?"
Mazana's eyes were broadening, the pupils dilating, as the Lord of revolution rose from her shadow standing behind the cerulean streaked beauty. A cold sweat was trailing down the cheek, as the skin darted with goosebumps as she found herself encountering a dilemma. The creature before them saw herself as lesser, a pseudo being; it is why she pursued this path. The inquisitor sought meaning through the vicarious joy her tributes wrought; the sacrifice was the driving force in her ethos. Those elongated boney fingers encased in gold wrapped around her neck, as the color of life seemed to flush from soft to behold features. Those eyes of honey darting between the two, as she let out a grunt. Damn this being, his snooping gaze violating the sanctity of individuality, fragmenting through any veil fabricated to thwart unwanted gaze.
"I...Hunter, make sure that message gets to mother. Mytra, thank you for our time together; I enjoyed your company beyond anything else in this world. Comm' Orra, master of Chaos, Revolution, Trickery, Madness, Creativity, and Artistry. You have lived true to your domains; you have outwitted me, sowed turmoil, imaginative in your approach, and pointed out my derangement. If I say no, then what I am is insipid and void, fueled by insanity and hypocrisy. But if I say yes, I will be dooming myself? No matter my answer, you win. Yes, I would take the place of this captive under the condition you let my friends here go as well."
The two ejected instantly, appearing within the sea of dunes, not far from clockwork, as the Feline captive, the Tinkerer Anubia, would take Mazana's place. The binary suns aloft, indicating how moments there were hours on the outside world.
"Your suffering will be legendary; I will enjoy subduing you my marionette…Mazana, Myrriah's golden child, tell my daughter her offspring will be getting to know her grandfather rather...intimately..."
That final words were gracing their ears, as Comm'Orra and Mazana were no more. The inquisitor paying the price, staying faithful, as the perceivable dawning torture would be physically, sexually, and mentally focused. Though she wouldn't expire, the senseless enforcer would wish she had been killed, given the alternative soon to blossom. Hunter, Rakash, surely her brothers would come to her aid?