Knock Knock You about to get.....

Low, cadaverous rumbles conjured their way past soot-black lips, miry canines deluging them in gesture of draconian displeasure, where drool blighted the graveyard’s chin with papery threads. What felt like weeks was mere days, an obloquy unlike no other stifling the very breaths she took — knots jostled, exhales were chasmic and dour. She’d paved through few dominions, none of which seemed prosaic; howbeit, the inebriety of a provocation purled across the atmosphere, inciting a means to acquisition, perchance.

My, how enthralling.

It wasn’t often that Lebraid cared for social congregations, but the magnestism, the vivacity, the desire to simply gather sagacity of what could be later advantageous, it truly vowed no mercy. Knowledge was, after all, power. She needn’t engage in colloquial convolutions, of course. An ear would flick, dressing taut as monochrome eyes held a moonless, somber expression -- soon, bones became this wasteland’s gem -- primordial, almost, as the air mused with sweetmeat, dead dread. The wolf relished in it, all too easily. Now, what of this challenge? Lebraid ensured she was sat away from the mass, silent, surveying; impassive gaze slaves upon that of a doll, or so it seemed, emblazoned in a galaxy of magenta, french-violet and crayola elixirs. And then, there was the denim-cloaked, auric-embroiled opponent, their polarity in size rather derisory at best. There was no certitude as to what may come from this, so who, pray tell, will avail?

An inkling of ghoulish zest fed, but lay dormant, for now.

Action. | “Speech.” | Skill.
“Wrong me once, I’ll kill you twice.”