Where the Banshee Wails

Rp Blog

[moirabanshee]

How do you think this lemure should be tackled?

If it were not so old I could find its bones and soothe its soul.  But the bones are gone, long gone...I think the only way now is to pull it out of the host and trap it - of course it’s host needs to be killed for that.

[moirabanshee]

Have you met many other banshee in recent years?

No...I only exist due to exceptional circumstances so I’m unlikely to meet any others.

[moirabanshee]

For Whom the Bell Tolls || Moira and Mina

[moirabanshee]

vaerminagoldsmith:

Her last words echoed towards her. They needed to send him off, yes, she was right. They could hold a ‘formal’ funeral for him in town, but Mina knew Alex, she knew he’d want to be sent off like the old ways. Drachmas on his eyes and burning in the pyre, something that she could certainly build for him, “We need to build a pyre, higher in the mountains.” Mina palmed at her eyes, breathing deeply as she stepped away from the banshee. Mina looked towards Moira, and even though to the creatures who knew no better, she saw the beauty in the banshee’s true, frightening form, “Weep for him Moira. For we are the only ones who truly knew him.” She told her softly, her voice crackling with grief as she turned away. She needed to call for her sisters, the nymphs of the mountain, to come and help to move him - but before she even sung her song she turned to come face to face with a dryad. Not that Mina knew this, but the same dryad that had gone to Alex at the fair, and had tried to help him before. Her skin was thick and dark like the bark of a tree, but there was no mistaking the dark tracks of sap like tears down her cheeks. Mina opened her mouth to speak, but no words came, she pursed her lips. The dryad stepped forward between Mina and Moira, raising a hand as vines and roots gently lifted the heavy corpse of the centaur, “I shall take him there.” The dryad murmured to them both, her voice an ethereal echo “Our sisters will meet us there.”

Moira did not bother put her glamour back in place.  The true face and form of the Banshee was needed here.  She nodded and whispered a quiet thank you to the Nymph, her mountain cousins, as they began the task of carrying Alex’s body to the mountain top.

When the Nymphs had departed she turned and gently took Mina’s hands in her own skeletal ones.  “Let your fire eat his skin and bones and let the mountain wind carry him home.”

She moved in to wrap her arms around her friend, her ragged grey robes cloaking her as a thousand crow calls split the air.  Beating wings and ebony feathers surrounded them and in a blink they were on the mountain’s peak where their tears were chilled by the cold wind clawing up its flanks.  The mountain had long ago given her permission to fly here.  The Banshee let go of Mina and slowly began picking up rocks with strength that belayed her bony form, starting to move them into a stony bed where Alex would lay so that the fire could free him.

[moirabanshee]

What are some things that make you really happy?

Bones *dreamy smile* oh and feathers.  I like feathers.

[moirabanshee]

For Whom the Bell Tolls || Moira and Mina

[moirabanshee]

vaerminagoldsmith:

Mina had urged Xera to leave after discovering the corpse of their friend. She had to perform the appropriate funeral rights for him, especially as a guardian, Alex’s soul deserved a proper send off. Mina knew that he was Greek, and hoped sincerely that the gods had been kind enough to send him to the Fields of Elysium for his hard work. He deserved it. Mina had also managed to corner Ashildr before she had left, and urged her to seek help immediately. Mina knew that even her flames would not be enough to destroy her, she knew that in all her might and power she could not stop Ash even if she wanted to, and knew that Ash was lucid enough now to be able to find that help. She just hoped that the woman could hang on a little longer, to avoid another needless death like this. Ash fled and Mina was left alone with Alex’s body. His strong form unappreciated by mortal eyes with his beautiful dark skin and equine body, powerful and unyielding. She spent some time simply stroking her fingers through his mane, feeling the warmth from his body dwindle, “You were a good friend, and even greater guardian… I’m sorry I failed you.” She murmured quietly to him before she rose to her feet, tears stinging her eyes as she stepped back, getting ready to burn his body before the flurry of feathers bombarded her and the fury of the banshee was unleashed on her as she gripped her shoulders. Moira’s screech was Mina’s breaking point, a choked sob escaping her as she was held in the grotesque form of the banshee, “I was too late.” She murmured, “I couldn’t save him.” Mina blubbered, tears streaking her cheeks as she forced herself to turn away, to let Moira realise that he was right there behind her, laying as if he were only sleeping.

Mina’s sob was another lance of pain to the core of Moira’s being.  She had pledged herself to this woman and she felt the sadness and the pain emanating from her.  Long, bony arms moved to wrap around the red-head’s form, pulling her close.  She could feel the fire burning beneath the pale flesh, her smoky perfume blending with the Banshee’s own scent of dampness and graveyard dirt.  

She gazed over Mina’s shoulder, at Alexei’s beautiful form.  Beautiful in its raw trueness and power.  Black tears still rolled down her cheeks, joining Mina’s clear ones as she stroked her fiery locks with skeletal fingers and talons.  Ebony feathers were still drifting down around them and Moira let out a shaky breath that she did not need.

“No, but you never could,” she murmured to the crying witch, not taking her eyes off of the body of the centaur.  Her eyes were black pits, endless and eternal but still they managed to burn darkly in her grief.  “Not when I needed to cry for him.  He had no fear, only strength and determination.  He did his duty and now he rests.  We need to send him off.”

[moirabanshee]

I think, therefore I’m single. (Lydiya)

The Banshee's lips curled in a sly smile as she cupped the girls face in her hands, leaning in until their noses were be at touching. "And don't you forget it!"

[moirabanshee]

💘

Crush? I don't wish to crush anyone - ohhh you mean do I harbour affection for Anyone? Well of course I do, but...not in your silly human ways.

[umbralacking]

Pouting and Pruning || Quinn & Moira

[moirabanshee]

umbralacking:

The stern Dullahan kept his ground, eyes fixed on the Banshee before him, waiting, watching her pacing along the headstones. He would never get used to it, watching how chaotic his kin could be. How swift in emotion they could be. How…crazy they could seem. Only a fool would believe the facade.

Quinn stays silent as his eyes continue to follow the Banshee, the words she spoke being mentally noted. It seemed unusual for a vengeful spirit, but it wasn’t something he was going to lose sleep over. He’d move to rid this town of it, one way or another. His train of thought is halted by her words of warning, Quinn gritting his teeth and setting his jaw, taking a single step forward toward the Banshee.

“Who?”

Moira stood statue still, neither breath nor blinking of eye stirring her body as she watched Quinn take a large step towards her.  His eyes burned with an unholy rage - and with determination now that she’d let slip that she knew where the spirit had hidden itself.

“The warrior woman,” the Banshee said softly, sorrow creasing her brow as she tilted her head back to look skyward.  “The one who shouldn’t have been touched by the sword, the one with clipped wings.  It festers and feeds, gnawing at her insides like it did with all of the others...but through her it has power now, more than it has ever had before.  With this body it will bring more death than this place has ever seen.”

Her pale eyes fell back onto the Dullahan and a single, tar-black tear rolled down her face.  “All of my graves will be full soon.”

[moirabanshee]

Pouting and Pruning || Open

[moirabanshee]

thestclair-era:

Harrison couldn’t help but to make a small chuckle of amusement at the woman’s sudden change of pace.  The mention of food and coffee had triggered an interest it seemed but he bound back when she rose, quicker than his eyes could track.  Once his heart stopped pounding in his chest he straightens his jacket and tie, taking a moment to swallow hard.

“Right, yes well.”  He hesitated a moment, then he offered the woman his arm.  He wasn’t sure he wanted the bony talons he’d seen at the ends of her fingers around his bicep, but he also knew he didn’t want his mother rolling over in her grave any time soon and he wasn’t about to start now.  “Shall we?”

Moira was oblivious to the discomfort she caused with her sporadic movements and lack of personal space, but she did know enough that most humans did not like seeing the true faces of the Fae folk.  She smoothed her glamour back in place, her skeletal features shimmering before shifting smoothly back into the pretty guise she wore and her hands lost their bird-like claws as she looped her arm through his.

“So polite,” she giggled and then fixed him with a knowing look, pale eyes flashing with mischief.  “Your mother will be pleased at the courtesy.”

[moirabanshee]

For Whom the Bell Tolls || Moira and Mina

It hit her without warning.

Agony, a horrible piercing pain as though Cuchulain's lance had torn through her breast.  The Banshee let out a shuddering gasp, clutching her chest in a vain attempt to stop the immense pain that blossomed there.  Her throat tightened and she was overtaken by the overwhelming urge to cry.

It was a terrible, keening sound that everyone in Spiritvale could hear.  The windows in the homes closest to the cemetery shattered under the onslaught while those further away cracked and shuddered at the awful sound.  Tears ran freely down Moira’s face, the liquid tar black and staining her pale cheeks as her glamour vanished with a thunderous crack.  She stood among the tombstones wailing , her taloned hands covering her skeletal face as she cried.  Slowly, the sobs turned into screams.  Sorrow was replaced with bitter rage and the ravens that had gathered shrieked along with her, beating their wings like battledrums.  The Banshee looked towards the mountain and with another terrible scream and a flurry of black feathers she disappeared.

~

Her arrival was heralded by the fierce tattoo of a hundred ebony wings.  She descended in front of Mina, no glamour concealing her hideous fury as she seized the red-headed woman by the shoulders.  Black, ichor-like tears were still rolling down her face as her milky eyes roiled with pain and rage.  By the time her urge to wail had come, she knew that it was already too late.  A guardian lay slain and it was tasked to her to weep for him.

“He’s gone!” she screeched.  “It has taken him, killed him!  He is gone!”

@vaerminagoldsmith

[umbralacking]

Pouting and Pruning || Quinn & Moira

[umbralacking]

Quinn stands tall, blinking very slowly, as it to further assure his steadfast rigidity. Yes, he did still follow his duties, however short-lived they might be. The Queen of Air and Darkness had little use for the Dullahan as of late. But this visit was more personal, the recent events coercing him into action. Beings were dying and whatever was killing them had been unchecked. It had hurt people who he had come to call friend.

He remains quiet for the duration of the Banshee’s explanation, squinting hard at her ending question. “Yes.” He inhales deeply, eyes fixed on the Banshee. “This spirit will be dealt with one way or another. Its vengeance is a wide-swept scythe cutting down all those in its way of its search for whoever or whatever wronged it. I will not continue to stand by idly while it fills these graves.” His glamour threatens to fade, soft strands of black, smoke-like ichor seeming to emerge from his clavicle, floating into the air like ink disperses in water before it fades from view.

He inhales once again, jaw clenched. “Not before their time.” He exhales, forcing relaxation upon himself, of any sort, if just to better control his mask. “Has there been any progress in dispelling this spirit?”

[moirabanshee]

Moira’s grin turned feral and savage, a flash of the true face of the Fae laying beneath all the glamour and illusion as their kind often did.  She could see beyond his false face, to the fearsome headless horseman beneath and his whip of rattling bones.  The Banshee bared her teeth as she shook her head, her frustration emerging as a soft hiss.

“No, it hides and then takes.  It eats the body from the inside and when the shell dies it finds another close by,” she replied, pacing up and down the row of graves.  Her pale gown that usually rippled so serenely on unseen breezes now snapped angrily at her bare heels.  “It is like trying to catch smoke.  It is fast in its abandonment and its finding of a new host.  I do not yet know how to extract it...not without killing the body.”

The Banshee paused in her pacing, holding her head between her hands.  Long, skeletal fingers tangled in her wild locks as she let out a low, keening whine that would have sent any human running in terror - but not her kinsman.  “I know where it hides for now.  It is powerful, now more than ever.”

[moirabanshee]

Pouting and Pruning || Open

[moirabanshee]

storyofgen:

Gen watched as the woman in front of her practically floated across the ground. She couldn’t remember seeing anything like it in her 124 years of being on the planet. There was something eerily beautiful about the woman, and her words, her smile were incredibly comforting to the wolf. Gen’s eyes widened when she said Finn’s name, and she tried not to gape. “How…?” she started, unable to finish. To think that this woman could know about Finn, about Maddie, when Gen hadn’t said a word about either of them was beyond incredible. She knew there was magic in this town at every turn but the words had shocked her. But not as much as her next statements.

Gen stopped walking, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment she was silent, the color draining from her face. “His body wasn’t recovered enough to be buried,” She said quietly. She clutched her father’s journal to her tighter like it was a lifeline keeping her on the ground instead of floating away. “You can feel him?” She asked, blinking rapidly as her eyes burned from tears that had become all to familiar and frequent. “He’s not bitter,” she repeated, her eyes falling from Moira to the ground in front of her. “He’s not bitter…” she said again before closing her eyes altogether and squeezing them tight. Their fight before he died hadn’t been pleasant. Things said and unsaid that had scarred both of them. “Thank you…” She said, looking back up at Moira

Moira didn’t balk or flinch when Gen’s emotions suddenly flooded to the surface.  The Banshee had seen grief in all of it’s stages - it was a much longer process than most people realized and did not end with simple mourning.  Mortals agonized over things left unsaid, but more often than not those departed already knew the words.  Death was a transcendence of sorts and petty earthly squabbled and fights seemed minute in comparison.  

The Banshee nodded with a knowing smile.  “Yes, he knows love was always what you felt for him and he loved you in return.  His only sadness is not being with you...for a while at least, until you meet him again.”

Moira bobbed her head, almost bashfully at the expression of gratitude.  “Don’t thank me.  I’m just a caretaker, this is what I’m meant to do.”

[moirabanshee]

Pouting and Pruning || Open

[moirabanshee]

thestclair-era:

Harrison took a measured step back as the banshee sprang out into her true form.  He felt the color drain somewhat from his features.  Angering Mina’s friend, a mountain guardian, and the caretaker of the dead was not his intention.  The air witch made ready to plead with the woman, fight if need be.  Though a fight would be disastrous.  But his shoulders slumped when he realized it would not come to that, a chuffed breath blowing through his nostrils.  

The air witch watched as she bent and twisted the blades of grass, hesitating, before sitting down beside her.  He nodded as she spoke, a hand coming up to rub at the stubble on his chin.  She was right of course, but therein laid the reason he’d visited.  

“I meant no offense,” he said slowly, rising, and reaching out to offer her a hand, ”but if you’ll let me, I’d like to make it up to you.  Start with a cup of coffee?  There’s a cafe not far.  Or if that’s not your fancy.. then something else?  Just name it.”

Moira looked up at the witch, her face an almost comical picture of bemusement as she stared at his proffered hand.  “Coffee...oh!  The black water you drink!  Yes I quite like it - it makes me feel funny.”

She sprang up to her feet, the motion so fluid it was like mist rising from the moist earth.  There was no trace of the raging Banshee now, just a smiling Fae with wild eyes.  Moira took his hand, not to hold but rather turned it palm up in her own, inspecting it carefully.  His lines were strong and she could feel the power thrumming through his veins beneath the flesh of his hand.  Seemingly satisfied she let go of his hand with a nod and a trilling laugh.

“Alright son of St. Clair, you may take me to your cafe and try to make good on your word.”

[gotqueensdaily]

Natalie Dormer photographed by Tony Duran for Michigan Avenue Magazine (2015)

[moirabanshee]

☕️ Quinn!

7. Go outside and stargaze (...BAHAHA)

“Hmm, I dislike all of these planes and satellite things that the humans have stuck into the sky.  It messes everything up.”

“And that’s an issue why?”

“Because it’s not right.  It’s confusing.”

“You realize that no one uses the stars to navigate or anything anymore right?  So what if there’s a couple more lights in the sky?”

“But it’s not -”

“Right, I know,” Quinn sighed, patting the top of the Banshee’s head like an exasperated parent caving in to a toddler’s abstract logic.  “Weird-ass fuckin’ Banshee.”

“Cranky Dullahan.”

[moirabanshee]

Pouting and Pruning || Open

[moirabanshee]

thestclair-era:

“Belonging,” Harrison repeated, voice soft.  “I’m not sure whether I should envy or pity you, Caretaker, belonging in a place like this.”  He reached up with a bold hand, though his fingers were nothing but gentle as his thumb and forefinger made to grasp her chin, but his skin was only able to graze against hers before she was moving, marching a dirge like path around him. He did not attempt to follow her, but merely listened.

He nodded, now turning, meeting her iron gaze.  “I came because who are wiser than the dead?   But no matter.  I came because I do have an offer.  I wish to offer my service to you, or however you would use it in return for your council.  Death is coming to Spiritvale in droves, Caretaker, of this I am sure.  People worry about good and evil.”  He shook his head, letting out a long breath through his nose.  “To the hunters, we are abominations, we are monsters.  To us, they are fascists and murderers.  We are evil to each other.  Survival is what matters.  Not that I want to put you out of the job.”

Moira shot the witch a bemused look at his observation and did not seem offended or even seemed surprised when he reached forward to try and touch her face, though she spun out of his reach easily.  “Why should you feel pity?  I am what I am, there is no reason to be saddened by that.  The lonely bones need company and I like the company of them in return.”

At his foreboding proclamation however, she froze in her tracks and whirled around to face him with a guttural hiss.  She shed her glamours in one fell swoop.  Skin blanched to bone white, tightening until her face became gaunt and skull-like.  Her eyes darkened and hollowed while her lips thinned, skinning back over sharp and yellowed teeth.  Her long, spidery fingers were skeletal and ended in long hooked talons that flexed angrily.

“I have already foreseen that of which you speak St. Clair,” she whispered, but even that low tone was enough to make the trees shiver.  “Do not presume to tell me of the graves I know I will have to fill.”

There was only one being in Spiritvale that Moira O’Hara answered to and it was not this son of St. Clair...still, the Banshee realized that Mina probably wouldn’t want her creating rifts when they needed to band together.  Moira huffed and forced her guise back in place, clicking her teeth irritably.  Slowly that anger ebbed away into a tired sorrow as she sat down onto the ground, folding her legs beneath her and plucking out of few blades of grass, trying them into tiny knots.  “The danger that you speak of...I am aware of it and I have been for some time, but that is not the only evil that bears down upon this place.  You - all of us, are fighting a war on three fronts.”

She placed three knotted blades of grass down on the ground in a triangular pattern.  “You hunters that plot and prowl, the black spirit that feasts of life and fear, and the Magic-Eater who lurks in the shadows licking his wounds.  Widen your gaze son of St. Clair.  If you focus only on the enemy in front of you, the ones at your back will plunge in their knives.”

[moirabanshee]

Pouting and Pruning || Open

[moirabanshee]

storyofgen:

Gen remembered hearing about this woman who cared for the graves of the lost, although she couldn’t recall them ever meeting her face to face. It was a noble thing to do, taking care of the people who were laid to rest here. Hadn’t she met this woman at the Fayre? She’d given her a short reading which had been intensely accurate, but she was sure the woman had seen so many people that she wouldn’t be recognized. 

Echoing the woman’s smile, Gen managed to smile back at her and walk behind her as she started to walk. Her ice blue eyes swept over the gravestones, so well taken care of, so shiny in the light of the sun. It gave Gen some peace to know that her father was so well looked after. 

“This place looks really amazing…” She uttered quietly to the woman before her. She wasn’t sure what was going through her head. “I don’t know if it’s strange or comforting that he has a grave to go to where I can visit him. My boyfriend who passed…” she reached for her neckalce, “Wasn’t as lucky as my father.” 

Moira smiled when she saw the brief flash of recognition in the woman’s eyes.  Yes, she knew her face, one of the many who’d sat in the gloom of her tent to have their fortunes told by the cards.  Still, she made no mention of it - that day was still a black mark in many of their memories still and would be for a long time to come.  Speaking of it would only let the fear bleed through again.

“Thank you,” the Banshee said, bobbing her head in thanks to the kind compliment Genevieve gave her regarding the state of the graves.  She cocked her head to the side, frowning slightly at the mention of her boyfriend.  Immediately Moira opened her minds and senses and a name came in a hushed whisper.  “Finn...your daughter’s sire - ah, he loved you very much.”

Pale lips curved in a smile as Moira moved a few paces closer.  When the departed felt loved and loved those left behind in return it more oft than not signified a pleasant soul - and one of the Davenport brood to boot.

“Bones without a resting place are often angry - they get lost, forgotten about.  But he knows he’s still loved and he left a great light behind.  He is not bitter or lingering.  He is warm and happy - waiting.”