[Bishop] Chivalry Is Dead

Exposed

For weeks, pain had been ousting from Lebraid’s mouth, specifically cuspids, and it was refutable in ceasing altogether, no matter how hard she tried to veto its existence.

And where there’s provocation, came a higher prospect of fitful tendencies. That, howbeit, wasn’t the only uncanny anomaly; in the slumber of nightfall’s prussian sombre, she’d somehow acquired adjunct height, a rather fortuitous compromise in a world that had swallowed her whole.

Was it spellwork, mayhap? A gift from the god’s?

Even still, being thrice reborn, she needn’t another, and prayed this was the last. In truth, it only maddened the cacodemon’s glacial, infernal soul, a stark reminder of what she once had, yet could never have again —— well, for the most part. Who’s to say she cannot rule? Lebraid had been afeared before, and could surely do it again. A low, thundery growl drummed past those wet, obsidian jowls, mossbed and tundora jacket pulling taut against the seasonal harvest’s brisk, susurrant breath, almost like a sea of fire set ablaze on the woman’s spine. Burly, leaden paws pressed against the verdant, overgrown pastures, june-bud tones melding with jade, malachite flora’s, vastly rife as the mountains bore a velvety, mabel hue, basked in rolling clouds. Its hill-type lofts gave an unholy feel, perhaps primordial; why that is, she did not know, and certainly did not care. Eyes of a deathly nebula held a woeful, callous expression, scourging the plains and its grazing buffalo -- food sounded far too inviting, moreish, a prudent necessity -- although, she’d rather wait for an opportunity to arise, should there be one.

Hunger bred, silence asphyxiating every fibre of Lebraid’s being.

Text | "Speech" | Skill

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[Bishop] Chivalry Is Dead

Exposed