RP:Cursed - The Price to Be Paid

Note that this RP is pending approval from Hildegarde/Lionel

Part of the Hour of Wolves Arc

Summary: Frostmaw is suffering still, as the number of those who have fallen into the addictive business of the Ice Spice keeps growing at an alarming rate. Thamalys, as a Healer, is running out of time, so that instead of waiting for a Druid to harvest the marrow of the Ancient Larch (as Chisel previously demanded), he heads toward Sage himself, armed with nothing but a sickle. It turns out he vastly underestimated the powers of the Dryad, who intercepts the Avian right after the latter managed to retrieve some of said marrow. Note that this is the very last ingredient he needs to craft a potential cure with respect to the Ice Spice madness, but Chisel does not care at all - she only care about the wounded tree, and about Thamalys disobeying her will. As such, the two engage in a furious struggle which sees the victorious Dryad cursing Thamalys via a dreadful grafting, that is by forceful embedding a fragment of of the Ancient Larch itself in the (mauled) left arm of the Avian. The latter still breathes (laboriously), and besides plotting his revenge against the Marionette, he still has some of that precious marrow in his hands…

Kelay-Sage Area: Northern Sage Forest

Thamalys stood perfectly still, leaned against the unwelcoming rough bark of a massive larch. In fact, the Winged Beast had spent the last few hours in that particular position, waiting for the night which eventually, gently as a she goes, descended upon the leafy horizon of Sage. It was high time, thought the Spellblade, so that he slowly, oh so slowly, he proceeded to remove the few items of clothing he carried upon him. Not the tiniest of the rustles could have been witnessed, while the Healer piled up his personal effects into a tidy stack just at the foot of said tree. And yet, the anonymity he was desperately trying to achieve still eluded him, as the countless tattoos covering his skin threatened to reflect some of the moonlight - not to mention the shiny silver cladding his wings. || Didn’t you say this one was supposed to be a moonless night? || chuckled the Ageless Black, perfectly aware of the fact that was not the case… it mattered not. The Avian kneeled to reach a tiny vial containing a very precious preparation, one that even required the blood of a friend to be crafted properly. A single drop the Spellblade poured on his hand: suddenly, the whole of his shapes were basically gone. Darker than black, the entirety of his naked body vanished into a pitch-black sort of smoke. Still there he was, but concealed in such a way that - he hoped - he would have been able to avoid any sort of attention, even that - he hoped once more - of the Lantern Bearer. A Druid, he was not able to find in time - but Frostmaw still needed that potion to be brewed, now more than ever. Hence, armed with all the knowledge he managed to collect from the Guild’s Library - and with an utterly sharp sickle - the Winged Beast set foot toward that particular larch, that is the one that the Wooden Puppet showed him not to long ago. In all fairness, he was scared. He knew he was about to commit something worse than a crime, at least to the eyes of Chisel, and a part of him just didn’t want to do it, not even to try to, in fact. Nevertheless, he had very little choice. He was running out of time, and even the tiniest chance to get hold of the marrow he was after… well, it was a possibility worth dying for. As a Healer, his duties simply forced him to try, no matter how horrible the fury of the Forest’s Guardian could have been in return. One step, another one, a stain of darkness into the night, silent as an assassin, hidden from the eyes of the very forest itself - he thought.

Chisel was unaware of Thamalys' intent and current location. She knew he would return sometime soon. Hopefully with a druid. Hopelly. That's all she has to hold onto from him. Hope, Faith and Trust. Her duty is far too difficult for a single dryad so she had to make amends to what she got. It would be impossible to watch over every tree, every plant so all she does is do her rounds and wait for any to call for her help. The forest speaks to her, telling her where to go and what to do, its not like she is supposed to move up to anyone who enters her realm and watch them closely, that would be too much work. She was quietly tending on her plants when darkness soon enveloped the sky, the forest began to glow blue again as her moon flowers bloom. She senses something, turning her head towards the direction of the Ancient Forest. There's... something there, problem was the trees there are so old that could not be placed under her spell so all she have control of in there were the younger vines, bushes and grass but the trees themselves barely speak. Why? Who knows. These trees are far too ancient to even bother talking, they are busy... of something. No words could describe the depth of what these creatures are busy with. No mortal could comprehend or worthy enough to even know so. She listens intently. Something was calling her. It was odd. Normally the flora that is being attacked itself would ask for help but this time it was something else. Something nearby the flora that is being attacked. Then why wasn't the one being assaulted called for her in the first place? Confused but as her duty calls she began to walk toward the Ancient Forest, with a lantern at hand.

Thamalys kept walking, long, soft strides barely producing any sound - certainly not enough to overcome that of the subtle wind through the countless tree branches of the whole of Ancient Forest. Eventually, he stopped, right in front of the one tree he knew he had to violate. The eyes of the Winged Beast, keen and sharp as always, immediately recognised the tiny clearing where not so long ago the Spellblade was struggling against a rather creepy variety of strangling moss. He allowed himself a long sigh. Splendidly embedded with the night itself, the Avian stood for a little while just contemplating the huge tree trunk in front of him, most likely pondering about the consequences of his deeds to come. Suddenly, he moved, quick as death, circling the larch till he found what he was looking for: a breach, a sort of an old wound into the bark, located high enough for a tall Avian to reach. Carefully, perfectly knowing what would have happened if he would have dared to touch the sodding moss crawling upon the base of the tree, he waived the blade he carried with him, chanting. A Druid, he was not. No matter how many hours in the Library he spent, no matter his staying at Emilia’s Green House, his words, which he hoped had carried some ancient spell with them, fell into nothing, void as doom. On the other hand, the blade carved into the wood with an astonishing ease: in fact, it would have seemed the very essence of the tree sort of gave up upon the touch of the steel. Whether or not that was a good news, the Winged Beast could not tell. Utterly focused on the task a hand, he lifted the sickle again, ready to inflict yet another cut, the one - he hoped - that could have unveiled the precious marrow he was looking for.

Chisel could feel the disturbance in the forest (force). Though it remained quiet for the man, the dryad could sense how uneasy the forest is. At first she was just walking, then brisk walking, running... but mere seconds later she was off, using the vines to pull her about as she zips through the forest. The flowers soon changed into purple as it could sense the dryad's worry. There is something wrong, She zips about trying to find the source of the cries for help and yet there was a great lack pain or agony as if the prey... accepted its... fate. With that the dryad stopped. A moment of clarity. Soon all the flowers began glowing red, bright red infact, far redder than the previous time the man saw it. It began spreading from flower to flower till it finally reached the Ancient Forest. A shockwave of anger and sinister as the doll ever so slowly turn toward the right direction. If one is close enough, they would hear wood breaking apart again and again as if to limber up. With that she releases a howl. It was so loud that a banshee's scream would might as well be a lullaby. The flowers continues to glow and glow, enough to blind if anyone is staring then suddenly they all died. Darkness suddenly enveloped the forest and every beast or animal began to run away leaving nothing but eerie silence. She is coming. And she is coming fast.

Thamalys was indeed about to uncover the very innards of the larch, the steel in his right hand basking ominously in the moonlight. Halfway through what could have been the conclusive blow, though, he simply had to stop, as the whole of the Ancient Forest seemed to have turned berserk in the space of an instant. “By the Wind, it’s Her… how…” sort of stuttered the Blue, a long shiver building fast along his very spine, the moment he witnessed the mighty show of crimson tainting the night. So strongly they glow, the Winged Beast had to cover his eyes with his left hand, a loud moan of pain escaping from those grey, thin lips. Soon after, that awful scream pierced the silence. It was as if everything froze in time and space, the essence of those ancient trees silently querying in dismay for the reason of such an outrage. Some of them would have possibly known, but one of the surely did - the very same whose bark had been torn apart already by the not-to-skilful craft of the Healer. “So close, so close…” chanted the latter, this time hastily plunging the sickle into the wood, ripping and mauling, the work of a cheap butcher indeed. There it was, though. Dripping countless shades of liquid silver, the Avian could see it, now: the marrow, the very last ingredient he needed. No time to be precise or merciful or whatever. With the help of the blade, he started scraping as much of the precious material as possible, perfectly knowing that the Wooden Puppet would have shown no mercy at all for him. Unluckily enough, he was dealing with the innards of an impossibly old tree - hard as mithril they were, and even getting a small amount of the precious substance required some time. And time was running out…

It has been a while. The lantern has held the beast back for so long but now the forest spirit is simply awakening it, accepting its power willingly. The forest, though impossible seems to began parting way for her. Giving a wide berth as the trees move their branches away from her path as she zips about in her vines. She stopped however for a sec as she spotted a fallen tree. It had been there for a week, she even organized its funeral and allow its body to naturally decompose for nature to breathe into but clearly tonight it would serve another purpose. With a wisk of her hand, vines began coiling about this fallen wood from various trees and plant life, Sounds of it breaking apart as the furious forest spirit contours its shape to her will. Once complete it was one of Chisel's signature form, attaching itself upon the dryad's back as six spider like legs sprawl around her from the log that is tied against the dryad. Its joints were made as if done by a puppet master. Its muscles and armor were wood and vines strapped together numerous times to ensure durability and finally at its core is the murderous marionette herself. Ax at hand as she slowly turned toward the direction of the Ancient Forest again, this time, instead of swinging in the vines, there are six spider legs covering far more ground, speeding her way through the darkness. The flowers never lit up again…

Thamalys was panting audibly, as he continued relentlessly to fragment the marrow of the ageless larch. The blade of the sickle was dented, the finger of the Blue covered in silvery powder, which seemed to be made of incredibly sharp shards, each one of those sort of carving a bloody path into the tattooed skin of the Spellblade. It mattered not. A last, desperate effort, accompanied by a loud wail, and the steel in his hand broke - but not before having eventually managed to rip of a sizeable chunk of the silvery marvel. The tree, as if mortally wounded, collapsed on one side, as if deprived from a piece of his very soul. Clutching the latter into both hands, the Blue let go of the broken blade, dashing instead toward the tree where he let his personal effects not so long ago, guilt blossoming within him at each step. Something awful was about to happen, he could feel it in his very blood. The forest was in turmoil - she was on her way, he knew it without a shadow of a doubt.  || You better spread those wings of yours and fly away, Silly… you don’t want to face that Creepy Thing alone || chuckled the Ageless Black, most likely anticipating already the possibility. In fact, it could have been to late, as the ominous noise of something unworldly large to be anything natural became closer and closer. No time to get dressed - the Avian shoved everything in his satchel, larch marrow included. In a blink of an eye, he was spiriting toward the clearing again, pitch black still because of the ointment on his skin, trying to gain the space he needed to unfurl those silvery curtains and soar above the trees, most likely never to come back.

Freedom. The dark skies above, the cool night breeze moves by as escape was within arm's reach, only for the dryad to snatch it away. The second the man makes his way towards the canopy, the vines were already on the move. Without the light, the vines slithers about like snakes upon the branches and treetops to make their way to the man. To make a net? perhaps or to simply bind themselves against him and cause him to fall back to the earth. Chisel on the other hand finally finds herself in the Ancient Forest only to see the wounds upon that tree. Her wails was first of pain and sorrow but the sound slowly adjusts to anger and rage. The log on her back holds her lantern as the spider-dryad moves in complete darkness. Her doll eyes were only there to mimic human eye movements but she has been blind all along. It was the forest, she can see using the forest even through the pitch darkness. She looked up, out of habit. With an ax at hand, waiting for her prey to fall.

Thamalys made it as far as a few metres only above the ground, when the first of those slinking vines wrapped itself around its rift ankle. “What in the name of…” only managed to hiss the Blue, before yet another one of those pesky plants enveloped the whole of his left leg, trying to bring the Avian down to the ground with immense force - and obvious intent. “She’s here…” flatly noted the Spellblade, while an ever-growing number of those wooden tentacles connected with his flash, pulling, rubbing, tearing. There was very little point in trying to fight back - though the Winged Beast, so that the latter seconded that ineluctable pull to the ground with as much grace as he could muster, landing on his feet rift in the middle of the clearing. It was pitch black - the whole of the Avian himself was still blackened, indistinguishable from the shadowy surroundings were if not for the many vines wrapped around him. Indeed it was high time for the Spellblade to remedy that, so that he let go of his precious satchel, while kneeling down partly because of the magic he needed to summon, but mostly because of the nasty force the vines still exerted upon him, almost threatening to break him into pieces in fact. Everything happened in a blur. No more than a split second after the Avian was actually forced to land back into the clearing, and the ink upon his darkened skin began to glow, making him more than visible to anyone who dared to look upon him. For an instant later, the whole of the Winged Beast was enveloped in a hellish vortex of blue flames, dripping in massive gushes from his skin, running across the vines, and well beyond them, chasing those pesky wooden things from the very place they originated. With every probability, he would have by then free of them, the burning carcasses dealing with the spreading fire somewhere else. Still knelt down, the Spellblade rose his head and open his eyes - which immediately regretted. Not so very distant from the flaming fire - merrily crackling in the night still - he conjured around him, he eventually saw her. Chisel, The Wooden Puppeteer, The Keeper of the Forest - the very last creature he did not want to meet that night or ever again, for what mattered. Mutated into a shape the Avian had to recognise was even more dreadful and unnatural than her usual one, she had plainly a single, simple aim written in his eyes: to reduce the Blue into a collection of bleeding bits, never for anyone to weep upon, forever forgotten into the misty ways of the Ancient Forest. The Spellblade knew there was no way in the whole of Lythridel he could have managed to talk his way out of that situation - and yet he had to spit it out: “For the Wind’s sake… just one! One piece of an already dying tree I snatched - not even for myself, and you know that, you… horrible… unworldly… creepy… cruel… creature… see whether you can bleed after all!” he concluded, his right hand swirling into the murky air, while said flaming circle turned into a proper wall of flames, radially expanding from its centre - the Blue, that would have been - towards anything and everything around. Old wood burns better, after all - or so they used to say…

Chisel stood there, under the canopy as she watched the avian fall before her. Her two front spider-leg was raised high as if to lunge on its prey. Chisel's normal arms are raised as well, holding her ax about to strike only to be stopped as flames erupted from the man, burning the vines that bind him and tossing about debri of burning flora, lighting up the area only to show the man who is he contending with. She herself was burning but she stood there quietly. With the lantern embedded within the log strapped on her back, the dryad consumes the solar energy and coverts it directly into herself, her body was burning but one could see the flora-based skin keeps on repairing itself as if her regeneration could keep up with the fires themselves. She stares upon the man with hatred and anger, not a single word was said. She raised her ax and spider legs again to strike only to be stopped once more. The spider legs continues it strike but not against the man but to the ground near him to keep the marionette in place as wave upon wave of flames washes over her. The dryad herself kept on burning only to be cured. The thick scent of burning wood and sap was present, the vines around were coiling around every tree to cure their wounds but not Chisel. As soon as the flames dispathed, The spider simply pulled forward to show the man what he has done. Charred as one would see a wooden marionette still hanging from the spider body, metals bright red but remained intact to keep her body whole. The creepy wooden beast soon began moving its head around, with scorched flora flaking away as she did. "You cruel creature..." but it wasn't her voice. It was Thamalys'. Soon skin began to grow back around the dryad, hair, facial features and clothing, still holding her ax as if awaiting for the man to try again.

Thamalys was bred for battlefields and sorrow, and yet, the moment he realised his magic barely affected the Creepy Wooden Doll, even him felt a long shiver running along his spine. There she was, battered and nonetheless basically unscathed - a horrifying sight. || Is that a hint of genuine fear, that marvellous emotion I seem to be picking up as of now, Silly? ||, chuckled the Ageless Black, wholly delighted to be witnessing some proper violence. || You wish… ||, managed to retort the Blue, the whole of such conversation taking place in utter silence, but a cruel grin did curl the grey, broken lips of the Spellblade. The latter, however, was not ready to withstand Chisel’s acting - nobody would have been. The moment he heard his own voice pouring from the mauled cranium of the Marionette, he recoiled in horror, much of the flaming circle weakening as a result of the pure dread he was facing. A split second after, and the Winged Beast gave in to the Black, out of the unspeakable outrage offered by that mocking creature. “How. Dare. You!” yelled the Avian with the loudest tone he could muster, his blue eyes turned into pits of solid gold, the whole mass of his waist-long dreadlocks raising into the flaming air as the giant tentacles of an ancient Gorgon. “I shall tear you apart, piece by piece!” went on the Blue while breaking into a run toward that spidery thing, adamantly ignoring the fact that just flying away would have probably been a much wiser option. Notwithstanding, he was dashing through the clearing, mad with fury, the Black laughing hard at the stupidity of the Spellblade - with the only result of worsening the berserk condition of the latter. In the space of two strides only, the ivy-shaped ink on his skin protruded from the very flash of the Avian to give life to actual spikes, flaming thorns lightening up the night while aiming for the very kernel of that thing that somewhere contained the essence of the Marionette. With a last effort, the Avian built the momentum he needed to deliver a massive blow, a spiky uppercut aiming right in the very middle of that mocking face - at that stage, he would have been well within the reach of those unworldly, spidery legs…

Psychological warfare? Perhaps. Fear and Horror does tend to weaken the prey, the confusion could cause a man's body to stiffen or atleast weaken one's strikes. It also slows down one's reflexes and judgement. But Chisel never really aimed for something too elaborate, she is simply here to end the man and there is nothing else in mind right now. If she isn't carrying the lantern, this fight would've ended quickly. Either the man burns the dryad alive or Chisel awakens the monster from its slumber. One of them would've died at either scenario right away. But the lantern, safely hidden and protected in her back was healing her, curing her, allowing her to keep up with the man's flames while keeping the 'beast' at bay. Chisel raises her arms to block the man's strike he has already struck twice and yet he has so much more to pay for. Her arms is made out of reinforced iron wood, metal bracings, nuts and bolts, hidden underneath her fake skin. The man may have seen it after he burned her skin away earlier. Keeping it high to guard from the man's punch as he closes in to attack again, she would not just stand here and take a beating as both of her front spider legs slowly raises up, waiting for the man to come into close quarters allowing her to strike from behind. The forest is busy saving itself, vines coiling against the Ancient Trees to save them from the fire, using sap to drown the fires down. Unbeknownst the man, she was already weaving a trap. Vines from further trees are begining to go from tree to tree as if to create a cage. It has to be thick as the man would try to burn through. But atleast thick enough so Chisel would catch him if he runs away.

Thamalys had no awareness of the Forest closing in upon him, the will of the Marionette already bending branches and vines to conjure a second, tougher set of restraints. The only thing he could glimpse beyond the golden curtain clouding his sight was Chisel’s mangled face playing tricks with his mind. Every single shade of that sentiment, from rage to disgust, from horror to fury, would have contributed to the sheer impetus of the blow he then tried to connect with the Wooden Puppet - and yet, he managed to collect a disappointment only. The dreadful blend of metal and wood of which that creature was made managed to adsorb the impact of that spiky punch without too much of a fuss. Conversely, a good portion of skin and flash alike, once sitting upon and around the tattooed knuckles of the Avian, just perished in the making of that collision, a gush of blood erupting soon after from the battered fist of the Spellblade. Mildly stunned, the Winged Beast recoiled for a second, that much he needed to realise the spidery legs of that thing were just waiting for that very moment to strike. He only managed to growl something meaningless, while unfurling his usually silvery wings - now pitch black and rimmed with blue flames - to create a magnificent shield around him. Nothing in Lythridel, magical or not, would have ever succeeded in piercing those metal-cladded wings, the magic of Artia flowing strong as ever within every inch of them.

Chisel took the blow. Actually, the only reason she did do so as it might knock her head off. Being a doll, such is a possibility but pain was something that this dryad is immune of. Sure, she takes damage... but does a tree feel pain when one punches it? Who knows. Her spider legs held ground as it try to keep her in place because of the momentum of the man's strike. The two from behind struck his wings and barely made a difference. The spider took a step closer as she press her face so close to him. Like a bird trapped on a hunter's web. The man is barely wearing anything, she doesn't know why, she doesn't care. But she could sense magic from him, probably somesort of potion to hide his pressence? possible. She has never used one so she would not know if one needs to wear clothes or not while using so. But... that also means that the man is naked... no weapons, no armor... the dryad was wide eyed, eyes blood shot red as a creepy smile ever so slowly creeped upon her lifeless face, she slightly turns her body to the side as both hands held onto her ax, about to swing it onto her trapped prey. The thick canopy is a haven for her vines now, she wonders how the man would try to escape this time as thick fences were weaved from tree to tree.

Thamalys felt those spidery legs trying to pierce his silvery wings - in vain, but the blow was strong enough to bend his willowy shapes for a little while. Mostly as a reflex, then, and not lastly because of the monstrosity of the Marionette’s face creeping closer and closer to him, the Spellblade took a half step back, shifting his weight on his left leg while creating an opening through the shield offered by said wings. Eventually, he took notice of the way too many branches and vines thickening what was already an impenetrable net towering upon him. There was no escape, no more air for him to climb, no more sky for him to cherish. The thought of that possibility weighted upon his mind as a giant anvil - and the Black did not really help: || That’s right, Silly. This is what your pride will get you. Darkness, and a cage. Once more. Exactly as I tamed you once, this creature is going to make you suffer till your thoughts turn into ashes - and you will, be The Lost again after all… || solemnly declared the Old Dragon, a horrible sound escaping through his fang. So strong was the force of his words, the Blue almost forgot about the Wooden Puppet right in front of him. For one moment, he let his guard down, his naked flash clearly visible through the opening within his wings, his eyes still nailed upon what did remain of the night sky.

A perfectly laid trap? Perhaps. She learned from the best. The spiders weave their nets to trap the prey within, then raise their front legs and assault from behind to draw the enemy closer for one's fangs to strike. Chisel stared at him as if he accepted his fate already, she did not care. It was his fault that this has to happen. Ending his life would be so satisfying right about now but saner mind eventually prevailed. She is not the beast in this story. The beast is asleep as long as the light of the lantern is there. A cruel being that ended a life... she is only here to brought in judgement. Was it morality? One tend to think that ending the life of a murderer would make one no better than the other. Yet for Chisel, nature has its own ways of justice. A curse. If the man would not move, the swing of her ax would lodge the blade near his left elbow and slash upward toward his shoulders. The blade would slice through skin and flesh but the flat parts would most likely painfully drag some of him till his whole body is thrown across their battlefield as if struck by a warhammer due to the dryad's strength. She wanted to end him... But her mind is still racing for options, she wants him punished.

Thamalys awoke from that almost blessed torpor the Black lured him into only to witness the axe swinging toward his upper arm. There was no point in trying to dodge the blow - way, way too late for that. Upon a vast smile carving the gargantuan face of the Black, the blade cut through the spiky, flaming, blackened, tattooed skin of the Blue, stopping only when the metal met the bony obstacle of the acromion. By then, the Winged beast would have grasped with his right the handle of the axle, the coldest fury still raging in his eyes. “You…” sort of groaned, enough hatred in his voice to fill the whole of the Forest, but he only came that far. Such was the strength of that spidery version of the Marionette, that indeed the Spellblade found himself flying across the clearing, only to crash on the trunk of a tree with a mighty thud, a lump of bleeding winged meat sprawled upon - how ironic - the very tree he himself cut open only a short while ago. His left arm remained attached to his shoulder by a mostly broken tendon only - a matter of an inch or two, no more. Blood blossomed everywhere, running in crimson streams down that ominous black skin. || It’s not working, is it? || righteously noted the Black, as the magical blue ink that should have taken care of the wound seemed overwhelmed by the task. In all fairness, that was too much even for a mystical masterpiece: most of the upper arm of the Blue was torn open, broken bones and mauled chunks of bleeding flesh left for the onlooker to feast his eyes upon. “By the Wind…” sort of pleaded the Winged Beast, with a momentous effort dislodging the axe from what did remain of his arm. As a result, the latter fell on the soil, swirling vortexes of blue ink desperately trying to connect across a gap that could not be filled, not even by that ancient magic. The soil was soaked with the blood of the Avian, who just managed to put together some more words before the heaviest of the darknesses eventually overwhelmed him. “I just… wanted to help… to heal… ah well, I guess there  is no escape from what we are…” whispered the Blue, only to be rebuked by the Old Dragon once more. || Indeed, Silly… look at you now, would ya? ||. But there was no answer, for the Avian gave himself already to a sleep that rather closely threatened to flirt with Death himself.

Chisel loomed over the fallen man, watching him bleed... He would die if the wound is not sealed soon but that would be too swift on an end. Too swift. A spider was soon raised again, about to strike. She stared upon the man and yet it seems all emotion from her features were gone. Lifeless and yet her eyes burn in hatred. With a powerful strike the spider landed violently... not to the man but upon the dead ancient tree. Easily cracking open its exterior before slowly dragging the leg down, exposing its core for the dryad. If the tree is alive, she would never do this but this is now just a corpse, allowing the dryad to manipulate it like a young bush. She didn't want to do this but it was the only way that the man would understand. The only way he would suffer. She turned her head toward the broken tree, She was hesitant. But soon her normal dryad arm reached for it and tore its core out. A small bright green strand, no thicker than a twig. The spider soon lowered the dryad as if to pin the man to the ground. "A life is taken... ending yours would never be enough. This tree had more time than the pathetic seconds you have... your life would not be as equal." With that, she held onto the twig with her right hand and proceeded to slash her right wrist. Her left hand turned into a blade by coating it with vines and hardening in place. "You will suffer Mr. Thamalys. You may ignore the pain but it will consume you nonetheless. May this be a warning to you and all your kind." Suddenly she reached for the man's wounded shoulder with her left hand. If the man did not dodge in anyway, she'll them proceed to shove the Ancient's core into the gaping wound. Allow her dryad blood to seep onto the gap. Painful? yes. Extremely but the dryad's blood would cure him, it would also become fuel for the core itself as it would begin to ever so slowly crawl, grow and expand inside his arm. Eating him up most likely. As he would probably start screaming and squirming. Vines would grow out of her left hand and began coiling around his wound, holding him down. At the same time, it would act as bandage, sealing the wound and the core within.

Thamalys did not hear a single word of the Dryad’s reprimand, deep as he was into that sort of painful limbo. And yet, the moment the Marionette embedded the ageless core of the Tree into his broken, mauled arm, a fresh wave of indescribable pain embraced the very essence of his soul. Eyes wide open, a dreadful blend of blue and gold, the Winged Beast desperately tried to voice his sorrow, arching the whole of his body so as to utter the wildest of the howls. Strikingly enough, though, not a single sound left this broken, grey lips, so intense, so unnatural was the agony in which the Puppeteer plunged the Spellblade into. A scarlet curtain descended upon his sight. “What in the name of the Wind…” he only whispered, bewildered in witnessing the atrocity the Lantern Bearer was performing upon his very flash. He could feel it. That piece of marrow, fed by the magic of the Dryad herself, getting stronger and bold, probing bones and tendons, nerves and muscles, bonding, mixing, enveloping. None of this was natural, and every bit of it sent wave upon wave of pure, perfect grief in the mind and body alike of the battered Healer. He could not move, partly because of the vines restraining him, but mostly because he simply did not have much more energy to spend. His ink, which immediately sensed the possibility to contribute to the healing, seemed to refuse to have anything to do with the thing now creeping within the Avian’s body. Clearly, that magic could not suffer the invasion of Chisel’s, as for the first time since ever, the Spellblade watched his tattoos abandoning the whole of his left arm, where a messy lump of vines and flesh was finding new ways to torture the Winged Beast. Even the Ageless Black did not like that treatment - at all. It was him, in fact, that screamed first - and the Avian, eventually, followed. twitching madly, buried in an ocean of unmitigated sorrow, the Blue raged his suffer upon the sky, feral screams of pure pain breaking the quiet of the Forest. But no one, aside the Dryad, was there to listen, let alone to help. “Why… why would you…” he managed to whimper between a sequence of awful howls. “What have you done… what… what will happen to me now?” he inquired, not necessarily addressing directly the Marionette. Such a price to be paid for a tiny, wooden souvenir. One thing, though, the Blue realised: he was still breathing, and as long as he was able to do so, there would have been room for revenge, one day…

"I cannot control an Ancient One not because of lack of power... but out of respect. Yet a corpse is as easy as a shrub and my blood would ensure control. It would heal your wound, but my own would slowly mix with yours, eventually solidifies and eat away your flesh. You may find ways to ease the pain, either by magic or sheer will, cut of your arm even but a single drop of mine would ensure the cycle remains. The speed of which it spreads is not up to me Mortal... only your victim would have such right." That is why she shoved that piece inside him. Using her own blood and his to revive it somehow. Finally she pulls away, leaving the man's upper arm still wrapped with vines as if to work like bandages. If the man tries to remove so, he'll bleed and probably die. A coward's death. She looked onto the tree and the flowers around them began glowing again, a dim blue to allow the man to see the cage ever so slowly crawling back to where they came, allowing his escape. "I fought you as a guardian of this forest Mr. Thamalys... but next time, I cannot promise the same professional courtesy." Slowly the spider body began to rot away, breaking apart before the man's very eyes, leaving the lantern hanging from a vine that is growing from Chisel's back, she soon turned about and reached for it. "I need to gather materials for a funeral soon. Don't let me find you here again.”

Thamalys was struggling to even make sense of the Dryad’s speech, that awful vegetable shard in his arm pinning down the mind of the Blue against a whole floor of perfect pain. Not that he expected any particularly good news… and yet, his Avian mind was already racing, despite the suffering. How much time did he have before it was too late for him, that is, before the course would have reached far beyond his arm? Not even Chisel seemed to have an answer. She had plenty of words for the Spellblade, though - and yet once more, the two of them utterly failed to understand each other’s rationale. || Next time? Net time he won’t play the Druid, with useless potions and fancy sickles… next time he’ll bring a halberd, and more… || reasoned in perfect silence the Ageless Black, for one time in flawless agreement with the Winged Beast. Not out of sympathy, of course - point was, not even a Black Dragon enjoyed the idea of sharing, even to a tiny extent, a Dryad’s curse. “Aye, I shall be gone…” said instead the Blue with a broken voice, head down, eyes nailed onto the horrible mass of bloody vines intertwining with his flash. Dryad or not, and however pure, in her sight, her intents and actions were, she seemed to have enjoyed being on top of things - a sentiment easily encouraged. However, he could not hide the entirety of his surprise, when the spidery creature simply crumbled into pieces. He would have probably muttered something, but an unusually keen Black rebuked him sharply instead. || Don’t move, you idiot… think about what you just saw, instead… || growled against the thoughts of the mauled Avian. In fact, the latter had no energy left to go anywhere, at the moment, but his ink was already at work, majorly helped by the contribution of that greenish thing growing inside him. The moment the tattoos connected with Chisel’s blood, actual sparks of whit flames lit the air, accompanied by a piercing scream of the Blue. Both Avian ink and Dryad blood were aiming to do the same thing - albeit for very different reason, but every instant of this sort of healing was soaked with torment. || Feels familiar, Silly? || chuckled the Black, fondly remembering that time when he was the one torturing the Blue as such. The latter, exhausted, lay upon the broken tree trunk, eyes closed, disturbing sounds coming from his left arm. “Ah, the lantern…” whispered the Winged Beast in a undertone, hoping above all that his precious satchel was still to be found intact enough…

This RP is linked to: RP:Into the - Creepy - Woods