Harvester Of Sorrow

*Nephthys* · 03-11-2019, 01:16 AM

The bronze mistress steadied herself. A Ithuriel never stumbles. That's what her Mother used to say, anyway. They were a family of strong men and strong women. Fur of iron, soul of steel. The were monstrous beasts destined for greatness.

Her injuries stinged and copious amounts of crimson liquid stained her egyptian silk tendrils, clinging to her feline-like, slender bodice. She came out victorious and yet she lost her King, her most important pawn on the table and with that in mind she crashed the earth beneath her paws, making her way towards the den, towards her spawns. She was an Ithuriel, she had fire in her veins and armor beneath her isabelline-white skin. She was an Ithuriel, the current Pharaoh, iron was filling her lungs and each breath she took panted, invitingly toxic. She had her lips made of glass and she had a voice cut from steel, features both from thunder and battles. She was not going to stand down and roll over. Even though she left the Battleflied with a heavy heart for both Hannibal and Leera, she knew what she had to do and what were her priorities.

Nephthys Ma'at Ithuriel had stumbled. What she didn't know was how far she was destined to fall.

Come here, my poisonous berries. her voice was hoarse, a battle cry and her coat was a war zone made to match. Come to Mother. she no longer hold the sultry, warm vocals but she knew she must not let desperation break through her tones.

She stood tall in front of their den, her injuries stinging at her heart, pain sending shiver down her spine. Her body was a prison in which a Goddess was waiting. But there is so much flesh and muscle can hold back before her divinity shines in crimson. The land in which she resided did not welcome her without compromise. A Queen must make sacrifices for her King and she is well acquainted with the dealings of suffering to welcome it as an old friend. Her world had shrunk in matter of moments to the den fiery orange orbs observed. She had lost almost everything she hold dear, her mate, the Father of her spawns and her dearest friend but she will be damned if anyone were to touch her three devil chops. She had to take them and be on the move, they will change their den and take residence further to the North, (towards the end of the Forest and the begining of the Crypt, within the territory borders) if they shall manage to find an abandoned site.

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