#vanbredevoort

[boundlss]

@vanbredevoort / starter call ( isengrim faoiltiarna ).

Sorceresses are far from human, but they share the same roots as the branching tree that is humanity, so this one puts no less of a vile taste in Isengrim's throat, amended only by the fact that this one is, as far as he knows, currently working for his benefit.

Not that he really trusts that. The sorcerer she is never seen without---Vilgefortz---only seems like an honest person. No man is without their desparate itch to stab their own allies in the back. For all those humans who wield magic like to imagine themselves above and beyond their humanity, Isengrim has often considered them to be among the very worst.

This one, however, is more tolerable than most. Her silence is appealing, from the standpoint of someone who can no longer stand the sound of any of humanity's languages.

"I see you're without your sorcerer," Isengrim comments, less a personal greeting and more a veiled expression of frustration with the fact that Vilgefortz isn't here. "Highly unusual, and unfortunate. I have much to discuss with him."

[wilczmin]

for  quite  a  long  while  ,    geralt  looked  upon  the  young  sorceress  and  spoke  nothing  at  all  .    he  sat  by  the  fire  ,    holding  an  odd  sharpened  stick  with  a  small  slab  of  meat  stuck  upon  the  end  .    it  was  nearly  finished  cooking  ,    though  the  effort  was  slow  ,    given  that  he  didn't  want  to  catch  the  stick  in  flames  .    but  he  sat  ,    and  he  looked  regardless  .

she  was  young  ,    this  lydia  @vanbredevoort  .    not  far  out  of  aretuza  ,    he  imagined  ,    though  he  had  not  asked  for  her  age  nor  her  reason  for  following  .    only  her  name  .    the  rest  ,    he  could  ascertain  on  his  own  ,    and  then  ,    perhaps  ,    she  wouldn't  find  him  quite  so  detestable  as  the  other  mages  .    he  shouldn't  have  allowed  her  to  come  in  the  first  place  ,    but  there  gleamed  in  her  eye  something  optimistic  that  he  was  loathe  to  simply    …    subdue  .

❛        it  is  not  that  i  doubt  your  magic  ,        ❜        said  the  witcher  suddenly  ,    after  long  saying  nothing  at  all  ,        ❛        but  that  i  don't  know  what  your  ability  entails  .    forgive  me  that  i  don't  .    but  it  is  not  within  my  custom  to  affiliate  myself  with  the  alumni  of  your  school  .        ❜        he  gazed  forward  ,    knowing  ,    already  ,    that  he  had  probably  said  too  much  .    though  he  had  once  taken  an  interest  in  magic,    he  cared  little  now  for  getting  to  know  great  leaps  of  magic  .    the  consequences  were  usually  disastrous  ,    and  he  would  rather  stay  out  of  conflict  he  couldn't  fight  against  .    even  a  witcher's  expertise  could  be  outrivaled  even  by  some  novice  mages  .        ❛        have  you  practised  on  anything  other  than  your  fellow  mages'  spells and illusions  ?        ❜

𐎟܆᭝゜ plotted  !                𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜  𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 .

[assilat-vojjor]

"What need do you have of a witcher?" The missive he had taken from the noticeboard had not given him much to go on.

[okruchlodu]

They had been running for what felt to her, hours now when, in reality, it had not been but minutes of breathless, furious pursuit, fleeing from the town they had only just arrived that morn, with Ciri feverishly trailing after her as the enchantress grasped and gripped at her forearm, urging her onwards frantically, her breath coming in shallow, sharp gasps that were brutally torn from the back of her throat. Her eyes, assuming an ardent, dark purple colour, were two furious shards of glass, cuttingly penetrating every thing around them as she madly rationed her gaze over her shoulder and all around them, making sure they were far enough, swift enough so that Ciri would escape; so that she had time enough to prepare for what would surely come next: for nothing would hurt her, Yennefer swore with feverish intent that had her arms trembling from the tension that she was imposing upon her body. She was numb all over; her legs ached unbearably, but she kept running, fiercely casting spell after spell to summon portal after portal after portal as they were hunted down.

Run! she screamed over the roaring of her furious magic as they leapt through another portal from a castle to dark, cold woods, feeling her blood pound in her ears and her vision blur as they were violently spat out with Ciri tumbling forcibly against the bark of a tree and someone leaping at her, the only one remaining of their pursuers (surely, another mage to have made it this far). Yennefer felt her heart rise in her throat, and in a breathless, furious moment of panicked fear, she leapt forwards, throwing herself at them.

The sorceress violently raised a hand and screamed a spell. Forceful spirals shot from her hands with a furious hiss, bursting into flames that powerfully shot forward as she tumbled with them onto the ground, fighting for control. No! she hissed menacingly, like a cornered viper, her hands trembling as she bared her teeth in a display of frantic, intense intention, meaning to fully and wholly annihilate this threat. Nothing would touch her daughter; she would gladly die if she had to, but first she would snuff out the very breath from their lungs, making sure not even a hair upon Cirilla's head was touched. Pathetic, twisted little witch! thought she maliciously, anger flaring in every curve and angle of her face, terribly flushed and malefic in the shadows that were cast upon it from her own fire as she looked down upon the witch, swiftly recognizing her. She gasped maliciously, struggling for control as she ruthlessly moved her hand—flaming with her Chaos— towards her face, hissed, darkly, breathlessly, ❝ You would fight me? You?❞ her words spat like venom through her teeth as she used all of her power to keep her pressed to the ground beneath her, hearing as Ciri scuffled away in a hurry, hearing her little fearful breaths as she screamed her name, panic in her throat.

@vanbredevoort

[martyrshe]

❝ 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 . 𝚒 𝚠𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 . ❞

"Ah, Lydia," Philippa says, her voice dripping with confidence as she leans in, not quite nose to nose, but close enough to make the situation uncomfortable, her piercing gaze fixed on Lydia's bright eyes. "Always so determined to keep your secrets close." She mutters, raising an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. "But do remember, my dear," she continues, her fingers idly tracing the pattern on @vanbredevoort's dress on her arm, "that time has a way of wearing down even the staunchest of defenses."

With a deliberate pause, Philippa's fingers still, and her expression turns more contemplative. "What you won't tell me today, circumstances might unveil tomorrow," she muses, her tone almost playful. "However, I admire your resilience—it's a trait we both share." She leans back, finally putting some space between them, her arms crossing on her chest, her gaze unwavering. "Just remember, knowledge is power, and secrets, however well-guarded, have a tendency to reveal themselves when the stars align just right." Whether you want it or not. She pauses, purses her lips just briefly, before canting her head to the side. "Until then," her voice lowers to a near-whisper, "I'll bide my time, as patient as a sorceress should be."

[scoiakrol]

AM I UR FAVORITE DH'OINE

      ❝  You smell of fowl shite and burned lacquer. The only peg left in the grand hierarchy of ‘tolerable’ which you stand on is that you’re far above that ploughin’ wretch Philippa !  ❞ 

[snarkomancy]

❝ you make a fool of death with your beauty. ❞

She paints her lips red. Blood-bright, glistening, theperfect shade to match her skin. The sorceress parts her lips in a smile as sheplaces the brush aside, admiring her work in the mirror.

F l a w l e s s. 

She takes note of the door swinging open behind her and nodsbriefly, raising a sharply defined, perfectly shaped eyebrow.  

The sorceress opens her mind, deliberately, obviously, aninvitation for Lydia to communicate. And Lydia does.

You make a fool of death with your beauty.

The compliment is well received, there is no mockery in it,no sarcasm, no challenge. Lydia has never been interested in playing suchgames. Her honesty is frequently jarring, awkward, so out of place in thisempire of lies. But tonight, it is appreciated.She replies telepathically, touching Lydia’s mind gently, almost with respect.

Why, thank you Lydia. You’re very kind to say so.

A kindness for a kindness. Something we all need every nowand again.  

[rekakrola]

054

⇝ooc. hmm, you know, i don’t think roche wants any kind of power or authority; that is, not anymore than he already has. the reason he succeeded so quickly through the ranks of the blue stripes was from sheer need to make foltest proud. & a need to prove to himself that he could be something; that he could be good at something, be useful. but i dont think he’s ever sat down & pined for power, or to be an authority (though he’s adjusted to it rather nicely).thanks so much for asking this !!