OOC: Set on Erimis 3 (3rd July), two days after the vanguard have travelled to Acantha.
Xanth was livid. Tooth-achingly, innocent-smitingly liv.id.
“Dananka. A word, if you please.” Her telepathic voice was a multi-layered cake of saccharine sweet icing and sticky cherries over the top of a seething, purple sponge so dark it was nearly black. Her wings, in full view because her fury was burning away all of her concentration, mirrored the rage that simmered in her eyes and dripped black spots. Her form, meant to be the same golden-haired human that she had worn during their last meeting, was as close to the reality as she would ever allow herself to get.
She stalked the marble length of her throne room, images flashing across the polished walls of the Badlands and the destruction in her beloved forests. She had watched, her anger growing exponentially with each life taken. A deep crack rode the width of her shattered throne as evidence of her melt-down mere moments before. The broad hall was devoid of life: Midnight, Faroah and the imps had all scattered to the far corners of her temple realm. Even the vibrant green vines and the pretty pink cyprus flowers that wound around the marble pillars had withered and turned black.
“NOW, Danae.” Her fingers arced like claws.
Xanth was livid. Tooth-achingly, innocent-smitingly liv.id.
“Dananka. A word, if you please.” Her telepathic voice was a multi-layered cake of saccharine sweet icing and sticky cherries over the top of a seething, purple sponge so dark it was nearly black. Her wings, in full view because her fury was burning away all of her concentration, mirrored the rage that simmered in her eyes and dripped black spots. Her form, meant to be the same golden-haired human that she had worn during their last meeting, was as close to the reality as she would ever allow herself to get.
She stalked the marble length of her throne room, images flashing across the polished walls of the Badlands and the destruction in her beloved forests. She had watched, her anger growing exponentially with each life taken. A deep crack rode the width of her shattered throne as evidence of her melt-down mere moments before. The broad hall was devoid of life: Midnight, Faroah and the imps had all scattered to the far corners of her temple realm. Even the vibrant green vines and the pretty pink cyprus flowers that wound around the marble pillars had withered and turned black.
“NOW, Danae.” Her fingers arced like claws.