sound the bugle now
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
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JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
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#1
amalia chandrakant
there is a color that shines through your skin
Like the moon on the wind
As the captive people begin their ascent, Amalia slips away. There is no part of her which wishes to re-enter the Spire: once was enough to prove disastrous, and even now despite Evie's ministration her lungs still burn with fire. The world as they know it is crumbling and falling, and the baker will not have any part in its destruction. Armed with her antler staff and Ludo's lantern, Kristopher's head still clasped in her other hand, she retreats away from what she fears, in search of the only thing which has been constant in her life.

Leaning on her staff before the circle of the shrine, Amalia coughs bitterly, her throat alight with the searing of smoke. She gasps, tears streaking lines in the dust of her face- but they are not just from the coughing, the pain. "Safrin!" Amalia cries to the pre-dawn sky, "Ludo! Frey! The Spire is open, and the Voice-" She coughs again, her plea cut off as her body doubles with the spasm's strength.

No longer able to bear the weight of it all, Amalia falls to her knees in the grass, dark eyes downcast upon her clasped fists. "We tried to stop them them..." the girl wheezes, her voice used up, her vocal chords raw. "They killed everything, and they forced their way in, and we couldn't... I tried to save them..."

Turning red eyes up to the starlit sky, Amalia's tears continue to fall as she whispers her final plea. "I'm sorry... Old Ones, please, I don't know what to do."

the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask
And the rings round your eyes
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#2
frey

Lazily Frey appeared, leaning naked against a tree. One of their legs was bent so that their bare foot could feel the bark as they studied a peach held in their hands. Whether Amalia wanted to or not, she'd feel a sensuous tug in their direction. "I'm into a lot of things hon, and while head is definitely one of them, I don't do necrophilia." They said finally with a disdainful sniff towards the decapitated head that the girl had brought with her. "Though I appreciate the thought."

As always, Frey would appear as the heightened embodiment of whatever it was Amalia found attractive. Their sexual characteristics were in flux and hard to describe, and yet the overall quality of them was one of sexual perfection and prowess.

Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
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#3
amalia chandrakant
there is a color that shines through your skin
Like the moon on the wind
This is not what she expected.

Still tired, still in tears, Amalia blinks at the figure's appearance, for a moment entirely lost and bemused. Her face falls slightly as realization hits her: this is Frey, the one god she never hoped to face, the one whose very name fills the baker with a deep, uncertain dread. Even the sensual tug she feels imbues her with unease, butterflies flip-flopping in her belly at the unfamiliar, yet not altogether unpleasant, sensation.

Swallowing, Amalia bows her head, biting back the tears. She does not know what Frey will look like, does not want to know, in a way. Sex has never been her comfort area, her one experience with it having proven disastrous. But a deity is a deity, and the respect Amalia feels for the gods extends even to this one. "Ah..." she murmurs, glancing down at the head in her hand, before beginning to cough again. Catching her breath, she sets it down, her eyes still on the floor. "I'm sorry... I didn't know what to do with him. I couldn't leave him."

Gingerly she places the severed head upon the grass, and turns enough to look at Frey's foot. "Frey... what should we do?" Frey had been her grandmother's favorite, fond as she was of love and growth. Now Amalia can only wish her grandmother were here to guide her. "What would Rae, and Mort and Vi, want?"

the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask
And the rings round your eyes
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#4
frey

"You absolutely could have left him." Frey replies with a shrug. They take a large bite out of the peach, the juices dripping sensually down their arm in a way which suggest sex and not merely sticky limbs.

Not normally one to give out advice, Frey turns their kaleidoscopic gaze towards the dark-eyed girl who seemed incapable of meeting theirs. Striding forward they squat down, sex organs in full view now should Amalia try to keep her eyes downcast. Flicking their fingers towards Kristopher's head, it rolls away in shocking defiance of physics, and as it does it grows smaller. In its wake mushrooms grow instead, and once its trajectory finally ceases, there is nothing left except a strange line of fungus.

"You know exactly what to do, and you know you're lying  when you said you did everything you could. Your'e alive, which is proof enough that you didn't. The barrier is meant to stay up sweetling, the Voice to stay locked away. But even as the way has been opened, you are here, asking questions you already know the answers to." Frey said, crossing their arms across their chest.

Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
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#5
amalia chandrakant
there is a color that shines through your skin
Like the moon on the wind
Amalia's eyes follow Kristopher's head as it spirals away, leaving fungus in its wake. A fitting end to a mechanical thing, and had the girl been in a better state of mind she might have appreciated the return to nature, been pleased with this turn of events. As it is she withers beneath Frey's nonchalant scolding, her narrow shoulders slumping in quiet defeat. She had thought she did right - tried to do right - but again, as ever, she had been wrong.

She is always wrong.

Turning back to Frey, the girl blinks again, her cheeks flushing hot as she gets an eyeful of attractive, amorphous genitals. Unable to keep her gaze downcast, Amalia looks up and meets their own- beautiful, infinite, in a way entirely different than Safrin's but equally as appealing. It is a strange thing, to be attracted to something as it scolds you: she wants to reach out and touch the being as strongly as she wants to recoil away, her stomach rolling with the warring emotion, her respiratory system still aflame. Every word is a slap, a stab, a wound on her skin and soul.

"You're right," Amalia croaks with a sigh, slender body drawing further into itself, deep voice small and strained. "I was selfish, I..." She searches Frey's eyes, their beautiful face, for some sign of... of... of something. A map for what steps to take next. A guideline she should follow.

Maybe she knows, but at this point she doesn't trust herself enough to believe in what she thinks. She came here for guidance and has received none. She is a lost thing, a broken thing, a shadow of herself. "I should go back," the girl breathes, though a shock of fear fills her at the thought. "I should go back and try to stop them... no matter what it costs."

the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask
And the rings round your eyes
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#6
frey

"Selfish, weak, mortal."  Frey adds on with a shrug, their gaze shooting to the core of Amalia and visually caressing all the hidden parts of her that never want to see the light. "What, you think if you stare hard enough the situation is going to change? Not this time girlie. You knew what you should have done before and you didn't do it. You're flesh and bone and blood and while sometimes that makes your stupidity forgivable, you knew what you should have done and you didn't do it. Those big old dark eyes don't change that."

Frey stands, throwing their peach on to the ground where it immediate degrades and blossoms into a flower. "It's probably already too late." They added, their lips sensual and full twisting into a smile. "You've all already failed. Its all gone too far. But don't beat yourself up too much, I know you're not into that sort of thing—" They interjected with a lazy wink. "—it wasn't just tonight that you fucked up. Oh no, it was all that baking bread and looking for Safrin's stupid books while the new kids on the block were plotting and planning."

Off one hook and on to another.

Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: shark Offline
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Posts: 3,098 | Total: 4,577
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#7
amalia chandrakant
there is a color that shines through your skin
Like the moon on the wind
Beneath the being's onslaught, Amalia quails, drawing further and further into the dark recesses of her mind, the insecurities she'd only recently managed to escape. Selfish, weak, mortal. Every word hurts worse than the last, and every word is true. Who is she, to have tried to be more, to think she could champion immortal causes and higher purpose? She is nothing, a child, a daughter of dust and ash born into darkness and destined to die in dust, forgotten and alone.

Frey stands but Amalia remains, staring hollowly at the ground. It's probably already too late- and she flinches again at the casual tone, the easy way the deity throws her failure in her face. The innuendo flies over her head: once she might have blushed at the joke, but now her face is hot with shame. Still, she glances up as she is told not to worry, hopeless and defeated, already at her lowest point-

-except she isn't, and there's more, and somehow it is much, much worse. Because now it isn't just this error, but everything- everything the girl has accomplished, everything she has ever done, thrown in the mud and crushed beneath their heel, ground down to nothing but meaningless ash. She remembers the rush of pride at the knowledge from Safrin, the way Ludo's task brought her back from the edge of despair. Had she been wasting time, pursuing these accomplishments while the world crumbled around her? Had she truly hidden her head in the sand, contributed and made it worse?

She thinks of Safrin's starlit face, of the way her fingers felt upon her skin. Of the souls she and Jigano had saved from Long Night. Of the Spark Bird, radiant upon its perch.

"No," the baker grinds out between her teeth, hands clenching into fists, as something vibrant breaks through her pain.

the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask
And the rings round your eyes
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#8
frey

"Just because you say it doesn't make it so." Frey said casually. "Want me to help channel that rage into something more pleasant?" They purr, their voice like satin next to a midnight flickering flame. "All that clenched jaw and fists and emotion. It could be all because of something so much better hon. Would you like to see?"

Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
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#9
amalia chandrakant
there is a color that shines through your skin
Like the moon on the wind
Is this her redemption? It doesn't feel like it- Frey's purr feels dangerous, like a sharp blade on her skin. But there is appeal in the escape of danger, and Amalia is desperate, hungry for meaning in the face of her mistakes. Were she in a better state of mind the girl might have hesitated, paused and thought about what it could mean. Frey is paid in orgasms. Frey has no care for mortal struggles. Frey is not invested in the Spire, the walls.

She wishes it were Safrin here to guide her. But her goddess did not answer, and Amalia is alone.

Amalia turns her gaze back to Frey, desperation and desolation mixed with passion in her eyes. "If it will help," she replies, her voice stronger than before, fueled by a last desperate burst of fire, a need for purpose, for redemption, for love. "I will do anything."

the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask
And the rings round your eyes
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#10
frey

"Well it won't hurt." Frey replied striding forward. "Unless you want it to. A little experimentation is healthy." They towered before the girl now. "The safe word is the Voice." Their voice like the sliding of skin beneath satin sheets with only a midnight candle to light the room. And then Frey enfolded Amalia in their arms and everything went black and Amalia's clothing fell away.

And then red.

The world was like what you'd imagine a womb to look like from the inside; indistinct shades of red and black. Frey overcame every willowed part of the young baker, filling her cracked placed and flooding her core with sensation and brilliance. Frey bloomed within Amalia like a lilac in the spring, rejuvenating and bursting from within her. Orgasmic echoes danced through the young woman's belly, shivering down to her toes and making the feeling of the midnight grass around her body feel like a divine experience.

Not growing any longer, Frey now rose above Amalia like a wave, bringing the women's body up to the crest of their sensual surge as pressure suddenly released within the baker and an orgasm racked through her. "See—" Frey whispered in that moment, their hands writhing over the young woman from within, caressing her heart and filling her lungs with air that seemed to belay an intimacy of information. The womb-like narrative before them shifted suddenly. Blown up to the clouds Amalia would see the life span of the barrier race by, days occurring in milliseconds. Zooming in with nauseating precision suddenly they were wrapped around the Spire, Frey holding Amalia's naked body from the outside now, limbs far more than they had before cupping every inch of her. As the strains of her orgasm faded away, one of Frey's suddenly-many hands began a slow descent down Amalia's belly, halting just as the cleft of her hip. Below, the spire demon looked up, only it had wide and intelligent eyes and appeared quite tame. With a lolling sort of stride it began to climb the Spire directly towards where Frey and Amalia lingered, its expression one of sort of chaotic joy.

Frey's fingers tapped lightly against Amalia's thighs as another hand slithered between her legs, the price for knowledge clear.

"More?" They whispered.

Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
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Posts: 3,098 | Total: 4,577
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#11
amalia chandrakant
there is a color that shines through your skin
Like the moon on the wind
"The safe word-?"

But before she can finish the thought Amalia is taken, literally and metaphorically, her body and enveloped by Frey and everything they represent. Colors burst before and behind her eyes, warmth spilling through her lips, the cracks within her soul. It fills her, consumes her, until she does not know where she begins and the diety ends.

Everything is red, and it is nothing-

-It is everything-

-it is so much, too much, and Amalia cries out in ecstasy as wave after wave of pleasure rips through her body, playing a symphony on her nerves, a lightning storm of sensation crackling deliciously upon her skin. Renewed, refreshed, awakened and alive, the girl forgets her failings and fears, letting them wash away like silt beneath the crashing surge of orgasm. There is no room in her mind for regrets. There is barely enough space for her own name.

Frey's touch is a lover's caress inside her soul, so different from the slicing words of before. Amalia blinks as the scene changes, red fading away to black, green, blue, yellow, and it takes her a moment to realize what she is seeing.

Once she does, she gasps a choked sob, tears leaping, unbidden, to her eyes. "It's beautiful," she breathes at the world below her.

Her home, before time ravaged it.

The Hollowed Grounds, before they were hollow.

Days pass like seconds, and through the last tremors of orgasm Amalia watches as people rise and fall. Frey's hands are firm and gentle, her guide's caresses steading the girl as they make their dizzying flight to the Spire. Stomach rolling, gasping for breath, Amalia tangles her fingers in some of Frey's and stares with wide eyes at the foot of the obelisk. The Spire Monster... But it looks gentle, eager, its frenzied ascent punctuated by an expression of near joy.

Frey's hand is on her hip, their voice in her ear, and though she does not know how her body can bear it, Amalia yearns for more. More knowledge, more sensation, more of everything-

Eyes still on the demon she nods her head, too enamoured and enraptured to double-guess herself for once. "More."

the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask
And the rings round your eyes
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#12
frey

—It's beautiful. "Life always is."

And then they take, but also give.

Hands plunging and the throbbing pulse of Frey suddenly filling Amalia again, suddenly the baker wears Frey like a cloak, her every cell buzzing with a harmonious euphoria. How much she can see through the veil of pleasure rising around her and molding against her is unclear. What there is to see however, is the demon. It appears fully organic now, showing no signs of the deterioration or crazed-mechanics that Amalia would have associated with it. Instead it is seemingly biological perfection. Every piece of it made for some purpose working in microscopic unison.

As the second stirrings of an orgasm take root in the base of Amalia's feet and work their tendrils up her thighs and into her spine, time spins once more. Amalia whirls away from the Spire, suspended in a cocoon of animated satisfaction. As she does the demon begins to slowly twitch. Amalia's eyes, fettered and distorted by the whirlwind of pure lust toying with her atoms will see subtle vibrations in the air. Something in the Spire somehow destroying and degrading the demon. It stumbles, it falls from the Spire and Amalia descends slowly with it.

As it hits, the world is jolted forward again to a time much more recognizable. The demon is now deranged, mad, but now that the curtain has been pulled back, the truth has been revealed. It was never a guardian. Never a protector. It was a prototype, damaged and then forgotten and left to rot.

Amalia's climax obscures whatever longing and sadness she might feel for the creature, as Frey's many-fingers and limbs entangle and twist, tweak and stroke and usher shivers that descend into tingling nerves and extremities.

Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: shark Offline
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Posts: 3,098 | Total: 4,577
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#13
amalia chandrakant
there is a color that shines through your skin
Like the moon on the wind
The demon (but it isn't a demon. is it?) looks alive, born instead of built, a far cry from the monstrosity she was raised to hate and fear. Amalia wants to reach out, to speak to it, but the only sound that leaves her lips is a moan as Frey's touch comes again, wrapping around her in a lover's embrace and leaving her eyesight blurry with desire. The loreseeker leans into the caress, momentarily distracted away from the wealth of knowledge, drawn back into the well of lust.

When she surfaces again the demon has changed, twisted into something broken, a haunted version of the living creature the girl once saw. Through tear-filled eyes she witness its corruption, too empathetic and broken to look away, too shaken by her orgasm to interfere. The air around them seems to shimmer, and the creature shudders alongside, corrupting, cloying, plummeting to the ground. Amalia gasps, half pleasure, half fear, as she and Frey descend after the creature, their languid drifting a mocking contrast to the ruined being's fall.

The empathy she might have experienced is buried again by lust as Frey's deft fingers dance across her once more, distracting her body and mind from the heart-wrenching scene. Later she will feel sorrow, will mourn a life cursed by its creators and the many senseless deaths it brought. For now she arches into Frey, her toes curling and her fingers grasping at everything, anything, trying to find purchase as she bites her lip and tries to hold the whimper inside her throat.

the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask
And the rings round your eyes
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#14
frey

"Now see—" The creature suddenly explodes into a thousand shimmering pieces, one of which will kill Ronin. For now though the Loreseeker is positioned right at the heart of it where the shrapnel begins. Time stops, the pieces held in mid air. There, in the centre, is a fully artificial device. A fail-safe meant to detonate should the creature's health become too low. Is it a kindness, meant to put it out of its misery? Or has its creator turned its last moments of agony into triumph by making it a bomb?

The explosion continues and Frey allows the pair of them to be blown away into the ether, the deity wrapping around Amalia like a second skin that can endure the blast even as they are rocketed outwards and upwards. Time skips again and now they are in the Spire.

"Would you like an audience?" Frey asks in a silken whisper, and for a moment Amalia sees them in the third person. The assembled group staring at the Voice and the Core, and there in the corner is Amalia: naked, contorted, sweat beading down her hair, her cheeks flushed and the smell of sex wafting off of her. "We could invite them all, if you like?"



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