A Tiger in a Lion's Den

[Alora Fae]

Dathomir | [member=Imran Feral]​

Dathomir was dark. Even from the vast, neverending darkness of space Imogen couldn’t deny the fact that the planet was swallowed by it. It glowed a deep shade of crimson, looking remarkably like the eye of some great beast glinting at her hungrily, with only the backdrop of space proving its true existence. The Songborne witch sat in the pilot's seat, sunkissed chin cupped by slender fingers, her destination reflected back in ebony eyes. What little information she could scrape together on the place swam around in her head, never settling, never finding a place to take root. It was better off that way.

She wasn’t here to learn about the planet’s terrain, or the species that lived there, but she was here to learn from them. Most of Imogen’s race had a mind to destroy all others who claimed witch as their name, and Imogen herself wasn’t far behind them. The witches of Dathomir would eventually, like it or not, be eliminated entirely. Imogen just wanted to drain them of every single bit of knowledge before draining their lives. At least then they would be of some use, though bringing her body count up a few was certainly an honour in its own right. Jolting with the ship as it landed, Imogen wasted no time gathering her things and heading out for the planet surface.

Ordinarily she would have been garbed in her Coven’s usual attire. Flowing dresses of a blue hue so light they seemed to glow, designed to catch the unwary eye, but practicality dictated something different today. Instead she found herself encased in supple leather that moved just as easily as she did. It would provide enough protection if an assailant were lucky enough to get close, but the chances of that were very slim.

The Songborne witch skipped across dead ground, a softly hummed song on her lips as she went, entirely unconcerned that the planet itself could swallow her whole if it had a mind too. No doubt other Metal Borne Heirs would have visited Dathomir too, but as of now they were no concern to Imogen. Unless, of course, they belonged to one of the other Three Faces. She may pass the time of day then, but her task here belonged to none but herself. She alone would complete it.

With little to guide her but a powerful fluctuation in the force and the stench of burning flesh, Imogen pressed on.

 

[Imran Feral]

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[member="Imogen Songborne"]​

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He'd tied the leather straps around his body. They dug painfully into his skin, restricting blood flow and cutting into him. Two thick straps crossed over his chest while almost seven thin ones were woven around his arms. All of the straps ran back to a large piece of wood, dragging against the ground and leaving marks behind him. Sweat and blood spilled from his body in even amounts. His left arm had been badly burned, but he couldn't even feel it at this point. His eyes were wide and filled with rage. Rage from the pain of the straps and the difficulty of dragging this damned thing through the barrens. The piece of wood was not so heavy. It was the three bodies, piled on top that made it such a kriffing task.

He grunted and yelled, pushing through the pain. He just wanted to get there already. He'd been walking for miles and his legs were starting to cramp and spasm violently. He really should have thought this out better but it wasn't like he was a deep thinker.

That was when he smelled it.

It was disgusting, stomach turning, and oddly sweet. When Imran looked up he could see the pyre he had built. A mighty emerald flame reaching to the skies in a twisting inferno. He smiled, his teeth buried into one of the leather straps he had fastened through his mouth, like a steed. There were two bodies on the pyre already. Most of the skin had burned away, or melted against the bone like some sickening adhesive.

Imran drug the piece of wood, each step easier than the last as he grew closer and closer to his goal. Finally he pulled the damned thing beside the fire and stepped back. When the strips of leather loosened from around his body, he let out a sigh of relief. The piece in his mouth fell into the dirt, nearly completely chewed through by this point. He wanted to rest. Lay back on the ground and take a nap or find something to eat. Not yet. He leaned down, grabbing one of the bodies by it's wrist. The body had a small frame and long hair, a woman. No, not a woman. A female, to be sure, but this was little less than a demon birthed from hell. He threw the body onto the pyre, yelling out as he did. His laughter as he saw the body burn was wild and crazed, but it felt so good to watch the woman's body burn.

He glanced around him. The pyre had been set in the center of a clearing, but it was not a natural clearing. The entire area had been scorched, by some giant flame that overtook nearly a mile's radius. The ground was blackened and charred and there were a number of wooden structures that had been all but burned to the ground. Imran chuckled dryly, grabbing another body and allowing it to join the others on the fire. "Burn!" He yelled, slamming his hand into the ground as he fell to his knees. "Burn...." He said, his eyes watering from the heat of the flames before him.

 

[Alora Fae]

[member=Imran Feral]​

Fire. Ash. Blood. Death.

All four smells crept up on Imogen like a tiger waiting to pounce. One moment all she could taste in the air was the distinct smell of burning embers, but with just a few steps she walked into a wall of cacophonous scents. Fortunately, the Bloodborne witch was more than used to all four of them. In fact, she quite often revelled in them. They came hand in hand with many of the spells and rituals herself and her sisters enacted. In a way they were like home, and they called out to her temptingly, urging her to follow. So she did.

The heir moved swiftly, feather light footsteps barely leaving an imprint in their wake. Mixed in with the stifling scent of cinder and bone was the rhythmic thudding of a heart. Not human, but a heart all the same. Much like the pounding beat of drums, the sound pressed against Imogen’s ears till it was all she could hear. Her dainty care free skip across the mostly barren landscape slowed to a carefully measured walk. This heart, the one that caused her blood to rush through her veins in time to its rapid tune, was strong. She could taste it in the air, the power that radiated from it was as plain as the columns of emerald smoke billowing into black skies.

To a witch who could skip through time in order to travel, walking was like pulling teeth. However, the closer she crept the clearer it became that the painful path of slow and steady was one that would likely save her life. Shadow and flame leapt across the landscape, trying desperately to reach the tips of her boot, as though casting their ethereal glow on them would somehow reveal her location to their master. Lithe frame moving with the changing breeze, Imogen slipped herself behind the nearest charred tree trunk. The towering figure blocking the burning orange embers intrigued her enough to stay. Whether their paths crossing would amount to anything even Imogen could not say. But still she stayed, if only to linger near the smell of scorched flesh longer.

The flame crackled violently as the last of what Imogen could only assume to be offerings were thrown onto the pyre. A fresh wave of heat and scent washed over Imogen’s caramel complexion, but the heir did not turn away. ‘Burn!’ The tremulous baritone called out into the ever ignorant wind. This alone elicited a smile from the watching witch. A smile that bore the glimmer of sharp silver teeth along with it. ‘Burn…’ The voice came again, this time followed with a crack that rumbled the earth beneath her feet. As her head tilted curiously, a sheet of ebony hair cascaded down Imogen’s shoulder.

Though she could make out little more than the muscles rippling across his back, Imogen thought he looked rather defeated. By the effort it had taken to burn the bodies, or the act itself, the heir hadn’t the mind to guess. Defeated or not, injured prey would simply not do. By now, instinct had kicked in. The heir was hungry for the youthful soul that sat so willingly before her. Hunting certainly wasn’t her primary goal, but even the Maiden herself couldn’t deny such an appealing meal. She made her move. The supple leather wrapped tightly round her body creaked as she stepped from the shadow of the tree into the orange glow of fire. To some it might have seemed foolish, to place herself in the bright gaze of a stranger who clearly knew his way around a battlefield enough to kill two… maybe three souls? It was hard to count the smouldering carcases in the heart of the flame.

However, Imogen’s approach was strategic. Having fed very recently, she was at the pinnacle of her power. Save for the armour that clearly served as a moderate form of defense, she carried no weapons. The woman who emerged from the shadow was short in stature, with a frame and face that was suited to a woman no more than nineteen in age. By all accounts she was entirely harmless, in most people’s eyes she was no more a threat than the insects that buzzed noisily around the spot where the bodies once lay. Imogen played her part well.

‘Hello?’ Her voice radiated as easily as the heat from the raging pyre, yet it seemed no louder than the breeze that whipped across the dead landscape. ‘Are you-... Forgive me, but I saw your flames from my ship. Are you hurt?’ The question came with a maternal quality, but it was somehow wrapped in a tone so innocent none could have even begun to fathom her true nature. Her features matched. The blemish free complexion had molded into an expression of concern that reached as far as her raven orbs, reflecting a crimson tinted sparkle of concern toward the stranger. To add to the show, she brought a leather clad had up to the tip of her nose and left it there, as though the smell offended her sensibilities. ‘Can I be of any help?’

 

[Imran Feral]

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[member="Imogen Songborne"]​

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He had practically lost himself to the inferno before him. It majestically danced, sending large plumes of black and grey smoke into the air above him. So it was quite a shock when the song-like voice echoed out behind him. He moved with speed that was unnatural for a mere human. In seconds he had drawn the tomahawk that laid at his waist and brought it in front of his chest in a defensive stance. What he saw was far from what he was expecting. She was a woman, not a witch like the crones he had set to blaze, but a regular human woman. As she continued to speak, Imran was noticeably on edge. Sweat bled down his temple freely and the flames massaged his back uncomfortably. He was exhausted.

Whether he wished to admit it or not if this woman posed a true threat he was unable to combat her. Though, she seemed to be unarmed and perhaps this meant she was not here to fight. Normally that would not make a difference for Imran, he would kill her and take her body to the flames as he had the others. Right now he did not have the strength for such exertion.

After a few moments dipped in silence Imran lowered his tomahawk, albeit hesitantly. He exhaled, before finally answering the woman's question, though not how she'd be expecting it to be answered. "I didn't think there would be any off worlders on this part of the planet, usually your kind stay closer to the villages in the west."

The man's back was tight and he had to force himself to relax as he looked to the woman. She was young and more beautiful than any woman that Imran had ever seen. She was nothing like the witches whose bodies were burning behind him. "I don't need any help. Go away." He told her, waving his arm back to the wooded areas away from the clearing. He looked to her, expecting for her to turn and go. Perhaps she would run away from him or maybe she would just wander off. It didn't matter to him, though he wondered why he was paying her so much attention to begin with. Yet, there was something about this woman. Something that sent a cold chill down his heated back and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand erect. He just could not figure out what it was.