[04:33] Sheba asks, "..?"
[04:33] Yvelt Thakland says, "Goo' t' see ya."
[04:39] She was open, a drakanite patiently awaiting anyone for whatever reason. These hours tended to be quiet after all! However a flicker of four elements was detected past shrubs and trees, Yvelt whistled out for attention before intercepting in Sheba's way.
A little forceful, wasn't it? "Look, I liked ya since we me', ya 'ave a way w' words, eh? Ya lil'... silly language, an' praisin' m' for m' abilities 'en we firs' me'... bu' listen Sheba."
Scaled fingers snapped a couple times as she'd make small drifts left to right, walking and carrying an oh-so casual tone. "Ya lo'... 'ey took somethin' from Sanctuary, eh? I'm sure ya know t' situation w' Xavier. Ya shoul' know t' offer forwarded? Well... I can' speak on t' others bu' myself? Tha' ain't slidin'."
The Thakland nods her head a couple times before her expression sharpened. "Sheba, ya comin' w' m' and we'll sor' this Xavier situation 'together', alrigh'? I ain't givin' ya t' choice, an' ya fully know well wha' I am capable... so be wise princess an' come along."
There wasn't a flash of magic, no hostile intent seemingly save for the demanding of Sheba coming along with Yvelt! It was simply on of her tactics, and for once? Myridia was a potential target of it.
(Yvelt Thakland)
[04:40] Sheba says, "Yvelt."
[04:41] Sheba says, "I'm not in the mood to be bothered."
[04:47] "If you don't want to aggravate the situation, and have Xavier's head sent in return for Felice's failure to stay present within Elvira as ordered."
The Sarradian Princess slowly narrows her eyes at the Thakland. The cardinal elements blur into nothingness, fading like dispersing mist, despite the aggressiveness and forcefulness of the situation. From the Princess' tone, there was a seriousness and a frustration that lays underneath that short frame of hers. The days of humiliation since the Giant Ethnocide.
The disrespect upon her person made by those that demanded their needs be met.
"I gave Sanctuary my demands.
The last two times were polite requests.
There won't another nicety after the third."
The Fluvial shakes her head twice.
"Yes. We both like each other, but don't force needlessness. You'll create mistakes...
Like I've told Felice.
Don't take what you're being given." With that having said, Sheba closes her eyes.
"All my life. I've been met with decisions that lead to the same outcome. I've never had the ability to choose because someone else would thrust themselves upon me and burn what little preciousness I've hurried to protect.
...Don't threaten me again."
Eyes slowly open to linger on Yvelt.
(Sheba)
[04:56] "Ya may think ya go' t' high ground 'ere, Sheba bu' ya don'."
She didn't seem diswayed by the situation at all, in fact Yvelt only stepped closer, closing some distance. Her mana heightened slightly, as if showing the sarradian well Yvelt didn't care of what consequences could come. She was a wildcard after all. "'Ere ain't no polite requests. Ya entered dirty work t' momen' ya lo' went into a war tha' wasn't even 'eir own, an' now is tryin' t' trade his life for ya gain. I'd know bes' outta everyone 'eir wha' ya tryin' t' do."
Her sword is drawn, a first real show of something hostile now! Intent was laid forth. "So after all 'is? Whether I ge' ya or no'... Do i', behead 'em, show ya own hands an' force bu' if I find ou' he died? I'm turnin' m' sights away from Atheleon, Caethir an' Arcadia. I'm gunnin' straigh' for only ya lo'."
Her blade is pointed towards Sheba, another threat made once more only this time straight to the point. "Come along, or I'm draggin' ya by ya pretty hair."
(Yvelt Thakland)
[04:57] Sheba says, "I remember when you were offered to join Myridia."
[04:58] Sheba says, "It'll be the same when Sanctuary folds."
[04:59] Vendal watches from the sidelines, filing his nails away.
(Vendal)
[05:01]
{Character Loaded, IC Year: 2216}
[05:07] "And to force a hand upon your liege..?
Is that not...
Treason?"
The atmosphere crumpled, and mangled with an atmospheric pressure. An emergence of magic, and power drew upon the area, swirling in motes of colorless sparks, until they bled with a cyan coloration, mutating and fizzling, corroding and melting into the air, before popping back into existence as suspended droplets of sacred blood hung from the air.
The skylight illuminated fiercely in the darkest night.
The four elements are provoked, and in the prison of the Moon sits upon a presence of judgement. On this auspicious, and defining moment, where the cicadas cry, and nature hums with its buzzes, crickets play their violin, chirping as an orange light begins to emanate from the roaring flames that drape, and orbit around Sheba.
The Princess looks solely disappointed, as her instrument of battle is called upon, fingers coiling around.
"It pains my heart.
To have to crush a rebel.
When all I've ever offered is patience and charity."
The sounds begin to grow louder, as a chorus of firmament rings quietly in Yvelt's ear, blood slushing, and curling, washing along with a stronger row.
The animals feel their cells rattle.
As the Domain of the Imperial Heiress invokes upon the area, clutching and couping whatever semblance of peace it once possessed.
A fog rolls in.
A great deluge's roil.
It soon will flood the forest.
Water begins to rise, and seep out from the soil.
To be spent upon Yvelt.
(Sheba)
[05:13] Yvelt smirked, resistance in its fullest. Fire erupted from her scales as wings sprawled out, showing her mass to its fullest. Pride was what the drakanite held in high regard and even in the moment of defiance against her commands? She so proudly stood in the face of it.
"Ya were t' only princess I once tolerated. Ya an' Auliver bu' after all tha's passed? Eh, Auliver never was t' kind o' real dragon I am." A dismissive shrug is made as that point blade is spun once in a taunting twirl.
Her off hand showed real intent. As Sheba may of seen many times... these claws were capable of thievery. They grew, splitting layers off each other to rapidly grow at her command. Longer and curved did her claws come out like scythes. Sharp to its edge, yet all the more capable of gripping whomever she decided.
Upon this day it would be none other than Sheba. As fire danced and twirled, defying the other elements in a sheer force of burning spite towards the princess.
Scales protect and fires attempt to repel foreign influence on her body, her flesh and blood. Yvelt's wings picking her up in rapid pace before blade and claw is soon brought towards Sheba, engaging her in a much more brutish manner!
(Yvelt Thakland)
[05:21] {Lost Dangerous RPB against Yvelt Thakland}
[05:21] ** Yvelt Thakland has inflicted an injury upon Sheba. ("Permanent Injury", "Permanent Injury", "Permanent", "Severity: MODERATE (-10 Vit)") **
[05:44] An ominous, perhaps authoritarian fog had rolled in. Yvelt was not perturbed from her attempt however. In the face of any self-proclaimed royal or actual, the drakanite had delve claws first into that scalding substance!
Scales had protected her, fires repel the lingering fog as it stood but this wasn't her atmosphere by any means. Sheba was able to land multiple small but debilitating hits on her frame. Blood clots and chokes... water fills the drakanite's lungs as fire kept an upkeep to steam the drakanite clean. Her breath wasn't overly filled with oxygen, and it made her dizzy throughout the battle.
Yet Yvelt endured where she could. Claws had pierced the veil of fog to find their mark onto Sheba! Her small form would be assaulted by one so heavy and mighty. If it weren't for her natural regeneration perhaps this battle wouldn't be so tight.
Wings kept her pursuit through the thickened fog, where Yvelt and Sheba had traded blows in a constant. The drakanite couldn't afford this game much longer however, as she found herself slower, weakening. It was difficult to press on.
"Ugh, ya 'is is wha' I expec' from ya. Amongs' ya clouds, ain't able t' figh' m' head on..." She'd seek for Sheba once more, Yvelt now changing the enviornment to befit her over the sarradian!
She'd fly up into the clouded air before twirling a pyro-spectacle! Wind from the gusts of her wings and fire shot out recklessly all around had pushed away the fog and exposed Sheba enough for Yvelt to finish this battle!
Her movements were sluggish, as mana was starting to be exerted in this moment. Yvelt's wings pull her back before pushing her straight to the Imperialist! Wings boost her as blade reached forth, the speed was blistering and before Sheba realized it? The blade had lodged itself into her body. Firebrandt had skewered cleanly through her chest, puncturing her lung. The material of which Sheba was made of began to melt by the searing heat! Yvelt's eye narrowed before she plunged it further in, surging fire through Sheba in that moment. It was excruciating to behold.
Her foot pressed before pushing the sarradian off of the blade. Slowly and wearily did she walk, she wasn't even capable of securing her capture here, for Sheba had ample opportunity to repel Yvelt before she could restrain her. "Ya coul' 'ave made 'is easier... I always give t' people t' chance t' listen... an' yet 'ey defy m'. I'm fuckin' absolute, eh..? T' injuries I cause is all ya faults... jus' fuckin' listen." Not that she needed to justify it but she was tired of this song and dance of futile resistance.
"Now... come with m'."
(Yvelt Thakland)
[06:31] 'You're a gift.
Why don't you become my gift?'
In a similar fashion, the insects chirping in a hot summer haze. Those words were bestowed by a small tyke which held a mystifying set of eyes as sparkling as a far away sea.
Humbler times, much more simple where two diverted paths led two children with their own ambitions and methods to other ways. That vision. Those moments were further than the stars that hang in the sea of space. A foggy nostalgia that was being outpaced by the burdensome noise of battle.
Fiery blossoms dotted the heavens, an orange hue of light croaking outwards, as the thunderous ripples of heated air drummed past the trees. The leaves trembled, and shook with an incredible force of regurgitating air, while a harsh light lit a fuse, leading a carnage below.
A world of beauty, and nature, to be beheld by night's light is being unmade, re forged in a crude terraforming that is most befitting of a personal grudge.
A clap erects, its piercing cry trains its blade, poking through the clouds of fog, rattling the fluffy constructs that obstructed vision. The earth became dilapidated underneath hovered feet, as the shadows split once the bedrock splintered, jagged rocks raising, its thorns jutting out to lick upon Yvelt's scaled form. Sparks flew, and thunks against natural armor sounded out, as the ocean's fingers curled, and sought to grasp at Yvelt.
Steam broke the yolk.
Water explodes everywhere, and as Sheba's form is battered, brought lo w by a blanket of flames. There is a pressure mounting that causes skin to crumple, and wrinkle, blood to bubble, and the layer of translucent water to spew out an emittance of steam. The heat pricked away at the Princess, and annoyance became her domineering judge.
Slowly, did Sheba's eyes close tightly.
"How dare you.."
From the heart of the dust choking lingering steam, a brilliant cyan light erupted.
The air parted as a spear of purified water surged ahead, its fluid strike cutting through parting particles, the congealed mass of ichor twisted, and turned, accelerating with a wriggle of lethality.
She is feeling the pain now.
It isn't enough.
Again.
Just like Harry.
Her natural form tried to close together, as her blood is provoked, stolen with each purchase of the blade.
The Royal's vulnerabilities are cut open, spilling for the world to see, as the mist evaporates.
There.
Yvelt seizes the moment!
Sweltering heat compresses, focusing all at a single point within her body, as an agonized scream finally taints the Thakland's ears, the Princess stumbling backward, as her pliant flesh is trudged through, and a hole forms from the heat that opens upon her silky frame. Cyan ichor, almost clear-like purified water trickles sloppily down, building up into a puddle underneath her feet, as her hand instinctively holds around the blade to stop more of its progress through her body.
Water drips down her lips, as she's forced to cough out a mouthful of it.
Shakily, she held the weapon at bay, her regeneration stalled from the continuous burning, as if she stood to embrace the sun. There, dwelling within her vessel, her blood started to bubble, and boil.
A pride before the fall.
The words scarred her.
'Made it easier?'
What is she talking about?
In that moment, a gasp slips free, as pain filters into her body with an intense rattle.
"I gave you the chance to listen.
And.. this..?
This..? This is what you do?"
Wheezes of pain skipped past parted lips, as her eyes became half-lidded.
The aggravation of the issue is preceded by the aggravation of her emotions and physical form. The Princess could feel it, how her body couldn't drool its miracles upon the hole, it couldn't close.
"What.. did you do to me?"
The Sarradian questioned with a sense of urgency, before a boot pushes her free from the blade, causing her wounded form to skit back, the dirt parting from the swirling flames beneath her own feet.
A hand held upon her chest, her face scrunching up.
This is real.
And it brought a panicked breath in the midst of that dragging exhale, her chest rose and fell, as her skin couldn't cling and reel in the moisture in the air, her eyes slowly widening beneath a swaying veil.
Everything in that moment inside of her body placed nota single word, leaving only silence on its platter, everything felt lighter, only for those revelations to dawn upon her.
Was it humbling?
Is this humility?
(Sheba)
[06:31] "You caused this...
You'll be the reason why... Everybody has to suffer and lose everything.
You.
You touch me... You did this to me.. I'll take everything away from you.
You curse."
Sheba choked the words out with struggle, as she slowly straightened up upon her feet. Her form became blurry, obscured by the mist.
"I hate you."
Those words harbor True Spite.
Because this is the first time.
Her purity.
Her sacredness.
It had been abused.
The princess' world is crumbling, that perfect image.
Because of a crude painter.
Sheba suffered a consequence for her bravado.
Yvelt triumphed, but who would she be able to carry with her through the victory lap?
Yvelt did not suffer.
But people will suffer in her place.
The Drakanite will have to come to terms with that.
The Princess fades.
And Xavier's fate will now remain a mystery.
...
This is war against Myridia.
(Sheba)
[06:44] Those words from Sheba, pained and humbling-.. it felt satisfying yet crushing. To many others of Caethir, Atheleon and Arcadia? This would feel much better... but from Sheba? It did sting, for there was a world where she could've been a Myridian, they weren't too far apart however key things had prevented her.
In this moment though? She was unable to seize Sheba. Her eye narrowed as she had approached, hearing those words. She caused this?
A small, weary laughter escaped her. "I've caused i' all, aye... 'is is jus' as ya an' me wanted. Sanctuary t' act, t' no longer si' back. Look. I'm doin' i'." She smirked, knowing well the context wasn't for this situation.
"I cause all t' world's problems, an' ye' I live. Ya won' be t' las' t' hate m'." Yvelt stood, watching her any chance to take herwas all but lost. She had turned to mists, carried by the winds.
Standing there in the darkness, a foreboding feeling came, not for herself but for Felice. For Yvelt did something that she may not be able to stop. Yvelt was an evil, but the kind of evil she was, was nothing compared to what Felice may bring.
"I warned ya o' wha' I woul' do, bu' no' of t' others. Make ya choice, Sheba."
She spoke out, as if the sarradian could even hear her... unsure however, Yvelt turned away. She would find home once more, Sanctuary from all of those who hunted her head.
(Yvelt Thakland)