MadameBlackwater
02-02-08, 08:38 PM
(solo)
Burning silver poured from her lips as her crimson orbs watched the trees pass by. Fiorair was one of the last places humans were ever meant to live, but to a woman that sought things no human sought, there was no better place. The mosquitoes that usually plagued most were kept aback by the strong smell of her cigar.
A yawn escaped her as she stretched a little, a rather lengthy local that spoke only enough common to get a hint of what she asked continued to use a pole to push the raft deeper into the darkness. The area to which she had designated on an old piece of parchment as their destination was on a small island on the edge of what her guide called in his native tongue the “deep darkness” which as another had explained, was where the trees grew so thick that nary a bit of light bled through.
As she thought about it all, she let slip from her mouth a statement.
“Figures she would live somewhere like that...”
“Ci qui?” her guide spoke in question.
“Nothing...” she replied, having figured from hearing it a few times that it meant something along the lines of “what” in common.
With a shrug and a nod he continued with his duties. The sky was beginning to burn as what she could only figure as the sun was beginning to set.
“I thought you said we would be there before sundown” there was a bit of anger in her words as she looked at him.
“Désolés, we..uh...will...be there soon” he stumbled heavily as he tried to reply in common.
With a shake of her head and a muttered obscenity she turned back around to watch where they were going.
She took another long pull as she began mulling her memories. She had only been under Madame Ravenscroft's wing for two years when the old crone and her entourage had arrived at the meager Radsanth apartment. She was known as Momma Desiree, her rotting teeth and dried corpse hands were only a handful of things that Sera remembered about the woman she now traveled to see.
A shiver ran down her spine as she thought about how the old witchdoctor had looked at her, with a dark, rotting grin and her piss yellow eyes that made even her darkened soul shudder under their gaze. How her breath could drain the color from you and peal the paint off the neighbor's house. Those long bony fingers that ended in cracked and filthy nails, the way her skin hung from her like a loose dress on a skeleton, and the way that every time she moved, some joint would pop as if it had gone into rigor.
Not that it couldn't be suspected that the crone was actually experiencing the issues of death, having heard more than enough rumors to say that she was well over a century old.
With a flick of her fingers, the smoldering remainder of her cigar joined the black surface of the water, hissing for only a second in the growing quiet.
There was of course no one else she could really seek out that had as much experience as Momma Desiree. None of the other Madames or Sirs that she had heard of had even a page to submit against Momma Desiree's book of sheer knowledge.
The raft slide silently across the black water as they slipped into denser trees. The sound of swamp crickets singing in the darkness accented the dancing of the many lightning bugs that began to awaken from their daily hiding places.
Burning silver poured from her lips as her crimson orbs watched the trees pass by. Fiorair was one of the last places humans were ever meant to live, but to a woman that sought things no human sought, there was no better place. The mosquitoes that usually plagued most were kept aback by the strong smell of her cigar.
A yawn escaped her as she stretched a little, a rather lengthy local that spoke only enough common to get a hint of what she asked continued to use a pole to push the raft deeper into the darkness. The area to which she had designated on an old piece of parchment as their destination was on a small island on the edge of what her guide called in his native tongue the “deep darkness” which as another had explained, was where the trees grew so thick that nary a bit of light bled through.
As she thought about it all, she let slip from her mouth a statement.
“Figures she would live somewhere like that...”
“Ci qui?” her guide spoke in question.
“Nothing...” she replied, having figured from hearing it a few times that it meant something along the lines of “what” in common.
With a shrug and a nod he continued with his duties. The sky was beginning to burn as what she could only figure as the sun was beginning to set.
“I thought you said we would be there before sundown” there was a bit of anger in her words as she looked at him.
“Désolés, we..uh...will...be there soon” he stumbled heavily as he tried to reply in common.
With a shake of her head and a muttered obscenity she turned back around to watch where they were going.
She took another long pull as she began mulling her memories. She had only been under Madame Ravenscroft's wing for two years when the old crone and her entourage had arrived at the meager Radsanth apartment. She was known as Momma Desiree, her rotting teeth and dried corpse hands were only a handful of things that Sera remembered about the woman she now traveled to see.
A shiver ran down her spine as she thought about how the old witchdoctor had looked at her, with a dark, rotting grin and her piss yellow eyes that made even her darkened soul shudder under their gaze. How her breath could drain the color from you and peal the paint off the neighbor's house. Those long bony fingers that ended in cracked and filthy nails, the way her skin hung from her like a loose dress on a skeleton, and the way that every time she moved, some joint would pop as if it had gone into rigor.
Not that it couldn't be suspected that the crone was actually experiencing the issues of death, having heard more than enough rumors to say that she was well over a century old.
With a flick of her fingers, the smoldering remainder of her cigar joined the black surface of the water, hissing for only a second in the growing quiet.
There was of course no one else she could really seek out that had as much experience as Momma Desiree. None of the other Madames or Sirs that she had heard of had even a page to submit against Momma Desiree's book of sheer knowledge.
The raft slide silently across the black water as they slipped into denser trees. The sound of swamp crickets singing in the darkness accented the dancing of the many lightning bugs that began to awaken from their daily hiding places.