? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? she { amazonian tyrant! } glides through compact foliage and underbrush with the prowess of a phantom -- unobtrusive, elegant as the glorified monarch whose position she so desires to reclaim. covetous grows her thoughts the longer she dwells within her carmine beauty?s ambitious and entrancing presence, aspirations of further usurping and annihilating never straying too far from the confines of an obsessive mind -- partially for her own sake, yet primitively to sate her consort?s overwhelming cravings for the iron throne. the need has nearly solidified for the elysius deity, she need only locate a target whose crown she will wrench from an unworthy skull -- an endeavor she had managed on a multitude of occasions beforehand, and a maneuver she so seeks to commit again. and the deity finds herself succumbing to the lure of an adjoining area to her misted domain, a cryptic sensation of nostalgia creeping into iron veins as she recalls encountering the embellished saxe brute within this placid keep -- within a period when she so desired to conceive an heir. such a need still lingers within the deity, yet a potential sire has yet to ensnare the tyrant?s rare attentions; however, she still searches. for she is bound by the obligation as the only remaining elysius { the others having been stripped of their surnames by none other than the matriarch herself! } to ensure the bloodline thrives past her generation -- to assure alacritia will never escape the clutches of the tyrannical elysius.

Solstice was so close. She didn't doubt that someone would notice her presence. Silver paws pressed into the earth, pulling her across the dying grass. She had left her home behind for the afternoon, preferring the quiet joys of taunting her unspoken enemy. Her coral gaze swept before her, senses on high alert as she moved, waiting for all of Solstice to come bursting forth in outrage. But no one did. Instead, a sickeningly familiar stench would creep within the caverns of her nostrils. Interest piqued, she would slowly drift towards the fallen tyrant, unable to help herself. "You just can't stay away can you?" Soft lyrics would leave upturned lips with faint amusement. It seemed that no matter how many times her crown would fall to ashes, the pale wench just couldn't stay away from these lands. Idly she would wonder why? What could possibly hold the woman's interesting. Her behometh frame would come to a halt several feet away from the fallen queen, peering at her with vague interest. The smaller woman looked no different, scars marring her once flawless face. Her visage had becomes marred with the recent battles that had captured her attention and time. Though in the end each scar was simply a token of those who had fallen beneath their powerful grasp. "Speech"

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? she writhes through the spires of stone mechanically -- almost subconsciously -- mismatched gaze perceiving her surroundings yet her thoughts too overwhelming to truly register the topography. it is not until the feminine aroma { entwined with the rotting stench of blood } permeates the atmosphere that the tyrant?s schemes are momentarily discarded, skull rotating in the direction from whence the fragrance emanates as ardent pupils ravage the familiar physique of her brother?s sovereign. and velveteen lips tweak with the faintest hint of sardonic amusement as the silver wraith lays waste to the distance that separates one tyrant from the next, infiltrating the proverbial lion?s den with an astounding lack of caution. for it is known that the elysius? wrath is unpredictable! and it is no secret that she had yearned to inflict it upon the negligent queen herself in a former life. but the silver?s inquiry extracts a bout of mirthless laughter from the phantom deity, velveteen lips contorting with a cheshire grin so haunting; yet her smirk fails to extend to the eyes. no -- they retain their frigidity as they fixate upon cataleya?s own coral, as if to bore into the depth?s of the monarch?s soul! -- testingly. ?and leave you to terrorize alacritia on your own?? she remarks with feigned bewilderment, brows ascending upon her lacerated forehead to refine her bemused facade. ?i wouldn?t dream of it.? the elysius? beguiled shock dissipates from her porcelain countenance as her infamous smirk resurfaces, pupils wavering from the arcanum queen?s own to further scrutinize the woman?s behemoth exterior. and the scars that riddle the silver?s pretty flesh are noted duly as the former tyrant contemplates whether or not her once-adversary had developed enough of a backbone in her absence, though the curiosity over what, exactly, had occurred still lingers within the hindmost portion of her pestilent mind. ?is the boy as weak as when i tore from him his pride?? she queries indifferently, all traces of emotion draining from abhorrent features as she fixes the silver sovereign with her prying stare. she need not elaborate as to whom she is referring to -- she knows the woman before her is not daft, nor does she believe that the queen will praise her brother for any conquests he might have achieved in her season-long hiatus -- if he had any to his name at all.

Mismatched gaze would rest on her face, laughter filling the air between them, however the amusement doesn't reach soulless eyes. Her own laughter would bubble up as the fallen tyrant suggests that they might actually work together in some sick and twisted way. Feigned emotion fell from pale features, replaced with her signature smirk that seemed to always rest on her lips. "Well I seem to be terrorizing just fine on my own." Words held such promise for the future. Amusement would curl her lips into a smirk, her gaze slipping from the pale wraith to the direction of her new self-proclaimed adversary. It was unknown to her that it was the woman who stood before that not only robbed the russet bitch of her eye, but her throne. There was no denying which boy she spoke of. Novocaine. A shrug would lift broad shoulders. "He's survived." The brief statement was true. She had not been easy on him since she had dragged his unconscious dead weight home from the battlefield. He had even gone so far as to request a higher rank. But his beloved sister did not need to know that. Nor did she need to know that he was still completely useless, pouting his time his ego was bruised by another. But discussing the Cyclops boy was of no interest to the silver queen, no she was more interested in the ivory tyrant before her. "Speech"

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? the tyrant is conflicted, skeptical as her glacial gaze consumes the wicked contortion of the monarch?s countenance and as her ears swivel with the abrupt influx of bewitching chortles that cascade from the silver?s lips. for does the arcanum sovereign not detest her malevolent entity, were they not the best of rivals? and while the elysius deity had never been granted the opportunity to assert her battle supremacy against this silver queen { for the silver had since evaded her wrath }, still their previous encounters had proven less than pleasant. surely the former tyrant had never previously considered quelling her relentless urge for RETRIBUTION whilst sharing the company of a negligent adversary such as she. though the phantom does find herself intrigued by cataleya?s assurance, a singular brow quirking upon the premises of her mutilated forehead as her mismatched gaze trails after the silver?s own diverted -- curiously. she knows not what { or who } lurks beyond the tapered stone pillars of their current dwelling, though the vehemence of the arcanum queen?s coral gaze is enough to earn the woman an inquisitive, prying stare. ?oh?? is the simplistic query that breaches velveteen lips, a subtle attempt to return the silver?s attention unto herself as robust appendages propel her nearer to the queen at a sluggish yet elegant gait. ?and what has transpired in my absence, madam cataleya?? vocals are a saccharine croon, her infamous smirk still stagnant upon frayed lips -- invitingly. and the deity halts in her stride once she infiltrates the monarch?s personal space, hefty mass reclining upon chiseled thighs approximately three feet away from her once-adversary -- a gesture to denounce her previous willingness to assault.

The inquisitive voice her temporary companion would pull her gaze from the distant pack back to her porcelain features. A smirk would lift her dark lips as she not to subtly dug for more information. Her own haunches would recline as the smaller woman invaded her personal space before getting comfortable. She paid no mind to the proximity, taking it as a silent gesture that this meeting would be pleasant, or rather, mostly pleasant. Her tail curled around her hips as she settled in comfortably. This is was bound to be a story that would capture the attention of the woman beside her. Her pack had called for war, called for the spilling of blood. But that seemed so cliche. No, instead she wanted to rip everything from the russet bitch until she was left with nothing. Not even the breath the in her lungs. With a chuckle, the silver woman happily dove into her story. "I'm not sure if you are familiar with Solstice, a pack just over there." She would gesture with a nod of her head. "Well its Queen, a useless russet whore, recently fell into my grasp. She enjoyed to her stay until her husband came looking for her." A shrug would lift her broad shoulders, eyes dancing with wild amusement. "To think someone so weak could control a pack." She would shake her head distastefully, her coral gaze clashing with the mismatched gaze of the tyrant beside her. Surely she would understand. "I sent her home, despite his failure to come out victorious." her tones steadily became nonchalant, though almost thoughtful. "I'm not done with them. Not until her debt for losing my pack is paid and she is left with nothing." Lips curled with each word, malice ringing out strong in her voice. "Speech"

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? their encounter thus far has proven fruitful, cordial { and perhaps falsely so }, and the elysius deity willingly offers her temporary counterpart her rare attention as the silver delves into a vindictive tale of treachery. such recollections intrigue the former tyrant yet her abhorrent features retain a fraction of stark indifference, the only trace of sardonic emotion evident in the malicious gleam of her mismatched gaze. and the phantom finds it peculiar that the arcanum sovereign?s psyche is dominated by a relentless urge for retribution when the elysius? twisted mind is influenced similarly, and she can only ponder over whether or not that is the reason that the two tyrants clash so flawlessly. and the tyrant queen allows for the silver to conclude her speech before interjecting, intensified curiosity coursing through the chasms of her own mind as she contemplates the identity of cataleya?s target. ?which incompetent red queen are we speaking of?? she voices the query that had since plagued her from the moment of the silver?s vague description, a singular brow ascending inquisitively upon her forehead. ?the armada whore whose eye and crown i seized --? the deity pauses momentarily, oversized paws subconsciously flexing against the earth as a desire for battle emerges within her. ?-- or the covari coward that disappeared when the promise of war was thick in the air?? regardless of whom the queen had been referencing { if they were either of the insipid harlots the elysius had mentioned }, they were both women that the tyrant would readily DESTROY.

 

Whether or not any good would come from this little chat remained to be seen. It seemed she had captivated her ivory companions attention for the time being as malice gleams in her mismatched gaze, her perpetual smirk firmly in place. Questions would fill her silver ears, the woman speaking of not one, but two russet whores. A brow would lift in her own curiosity. It seemed she had her own list of adversaries that she wish to watch fall at her paws. But what was more interesting, is that she described the object of her own plans perfectly. One eye, and a russet whore. It would seem that the tyrant beside her had been the one to steal her throne from the grasp of the russet queen.  "Well, it seems we share something in common. You should have taken more than just her eye." She would purr. "Her precious husband, as incompetent as he is, is undoubtedly a soft spot that I intend to exploit." She didn't doubt for one minute that the fallen queen beside her would take an interest to the potential bloodshed.  "But do tell, my dear, what Covari coward do you speak of?" Her silver crown tipped fractionally to her left, a singular brow lifting in question. She only knew of one russet woman in Covari, and the title of coward did not suite her.  The desire for battle hangs between them, a common ground that they can both share, whether it be to benefit one another, or not, it remained to be seen. It seemed war had been on the horizon while she was away, she could only hope that war would once again be on the horizon. Her horizon. It was time to plaster her name across all of Alacritia.   "Speech"

 

ooc; sorry for the abrupt ending! this thread is outdated thanks to me maybe we can thread them again when lia, ast + ody thread??

the deity suppresses the urge to scoff as the negligent silver subtly belittles her conquests against the russet armada whore { perhaps unknowingly }; yet indifference prevails upon a beguiled facade, mismatched gaze hardening with vague contempt upon the woman’s coral. for the elysius has witnessed firsthand the incompetence of her battered adversary on a multitude of occasions, and thus, remains wholly unimpressed with the arcanum regime’s ability to vanquish one who’d been broken before -- at her own paws. and despite her withering reverence towards the silver monarch and her budding empire, the tyrant remains mildly intrigued by the prospect of totally obliterating an adversary, training her pupils to cataleya’s own even as the queen’s speech subsides -- contemplatively. it is not until the silver’s query perforates the silent atmosphere that the deity’s apathetic guise fragments, a singular brow quirking with incredulity. “the coward,” the elysius enunciates, her vocals entirely monotonous. “its queen who ran not only from war --” she pauses, eyes narrowing minutely with abhorrence, “-- but from me.” calculating pupils divert from the monarch’s and pinpoints the location where she presumes the armada whore’s kingdom lurks, a tentative scowl rupturing the indifference of her mutilated countenance just briefly. silence prevails for a prolonged moment before the deity’s attention reverts to cataleya, chiseled haunches vacating their perch upon the soil as she maneuvers into closer proximities to the brooding wraith. she halts adjacent to the woman’s left side until their front halves overlap, feeling the warmth radiate off of cataleya’s silver flesh and unto her own -- almost dangerously. “should it come to war, you may find an unexpected ally on your side,” she states rigidly before brushing past the woman and parting through the shadows that dutifully consume her rugged form. --exeunt artemis