Aritha the Tarnished's page

And HEY! Why have I 'reverted'?
Glares at Charles Evans 25.

I mean not yet it isn't.
I hear that some of the aliases are pretty unhappy about being moved to the PbP section...

<Stomps through thread, enjoying the flames>

RAWR!

Oh do be quiet. This isn't the OTD RPG, you know.

The creation thrashes, utters a psychic scream that would rend the minds of most mortals, and then stops moving, crumbling to ash, leaving only the star behind.

The deity has the sense of a malign artifact of a rival deity being suddenly present.

Oh yes, darling. (She speaks brightly and cheerfully.)
Even if the information about the button were true, so much more cruel and more fun to leave them to suffer like that, rather than put them out of their misery.

Arm in arm, she giggling slightly as he tickles her under the chin, the pair wander off out of this thread and back in the direction of the RPG threads...

Examines remote planet.
Oh dear. I see what you mean, darling.
Passes the scrying lens back.

Walks into the thread, taking a break from the RPG'ing, arm in arm with her prince.
Ooh, look darling! A shiny, pushable, button.
Pushing it, if the sign is correct, will end that world over there.

I wish I could accompany you. But my sacred duties to my goddess call, and my sister had a satyr lover in the woods of Dream once... I may have relatives there with whom I can claim shelter, so long as I do not make too many waves.
Relatives who would not look too snootily down their noses at me for my conversion, that is.
A smile touches her lips.

She examines the items and makes a face. Yes, I believe I do darling. It's an awful responsibility though. I don't know if I'll be able to keep up with you if you're on the move though.

Her eyes are dark with foreboding. That means she more attention free now to hunt for you, darling?

Eventually the silver dragon runs out of audience members and acts to eat. If any other carnival members knew about what was going on in the big top, they either didn't care sufficiently about their fellows to mount any kind of rescue attempt, or in fact covertly approved; at any rate, no kind of intervention occured.
The silver dragon glances in Ashaundra and the apparent male elf's direction for a moment, then reins herself in, and dwindles and resumes her snow-elf form.
Drawing her mantle about herself she makes her way very slowly up and out of the ring to where the other two are, her face and hands smeared with blood, and a dreamy expression on her face.
So kind of you to invite me to dinner; such a polite hostess, she murmurs to Ashaundra.
She giggles and pats her stomach, leaving red marks on her apparel.
Full, full.

Inside the big-top, Aritha retrieves a couple of scrolls and reads the sacred words from them, augmenting her ability to strike, and her resistances against anything which might be a problem, then charges down a gangway, leaps over the rail into the ring, and assumes her silver dragon form.
She proceeds to rampage through the acts and audience, as they scream and cower in perhaps slightly more terror than usual, killing them and tossing them down her gullet in between dispensing blasts of freezing ice and of paralysing gas.
One particular fool, who seems to have been some sort of champion of good, here on a covert mission, and who resists the dragon terror long enough to draw a sword, she fixes with her gaze, utters an unholy word, and smites him into a smear with one sweep of her tail.

The woman c*cks her head a little to one side, as if considering Ashaundra's words.
Well it's very kind of you to offer. She grimaces a little. Under other circumstances I would be delighted to indulge myself, but...
Well maybe a brief indulgance perhaps.
Back shortly....
She heads meaningfully in the direction of a big top...
Cravings, darling, she casts a brief glance in the male's direction. The divine addiction.

"Ah," Ash says, nodding understandingly. "I know how that goes. It really sucks when a perfectly good scheme that you've spent just oodles of time on goes poof, and there you are without any of the things you were working for." She shrugs. "No sense dwelling on might-have-beens I supppose, but this place could really use some extra bloodshed and suffering. I mean, what's life without bloodshed and suffering?"

Just to be clear, is Ashaundra saying this in a she-wants-me-to-take-the-carnival-apart-piece-by-piece manner?

Silly man. He took an army off the front line, and didn't leave so much as a polite apology note. The woman rolls her eyes. Not that his employer deserved such a note, but it's just that he could have been slightly more diplomatic about it.
She nudges her partner in the ribs.

I have an infallible instinct for these sort of things.

Ooh, look, darling. There's a fallen celestial over there, practising her swordplay.
Aritha points to Ashaundra.

Oooh, cute; reanimate the body as a lich for one of your allies.

The pair of elves reach a portal and escape.

Ohhh.... what's she doing here?
Aritha has gone very pale.

Oh you can keep it as a souvenir. It might be too late to put it where it was supposed to end up though. What the capering man did might have completely changed that fate by now.
I hope you have a telekinesis in your array.
She flips the knife in the general direction of Kobold Cleaver.

Examining the dagger.
Somebody seems to have been screwing around with fate.
This dagger's currently supposed to be in the heart of someone called Lynora-Jill.

A sleek black mole with a fiendish look to its eyes suddenly pops up out of the ground, a dagger clenched between it's teeth.
The woman bends down and retrieves the blade.
Oh look, it's the knife which that harlequin dropped....

The female loses her patience, and snaps an order. The whole host of nightmares and dreams, which had been intended to sweep the Starhawks and anything else from the skies, before picking off targets for the pair's amusement, turns on Kobold Cleaver.

You mean a shame for everyone else that it's large and imaginary, darling.
She smiles, wolfishly.

I want that box because I need it for my collection, and you're going to help me get it because you love me so much, darling.

Continuing to examine the entrails...
Anything you say, dar...
Oh stop that, squirming around.
She whacks the imp.
Tough little blighter. Recovered faster than I thought. Oh damn. Now I've gone and killed it.
The imp completely dissolves and turns into a spreading pool of noisome sludge.
Well the omens seemed to be fairly favourable.
She straightens up, produces a blood-stained rag that looks like it has been torn from the altar-cloth of a temple, and proceeds to start cleaning the knife.
Our next little bundle of joy, <she giggles slightly here> will rule thirteen worlds, be queen over a pantheon of demigods, and have a pair of trumpet-archon slaves to feed her grapes.
Either that or Lamashtu thinks we should get rid of the old hearthrug and get a new one made out of octopus hide.
But either way, the omens seem to be generally favourable, so I think that we can probably move in.

She pauses.

Just as soon as we have that box.

Continuing to examine the entrails.
Hmm. No, darling.

Examining the various vital organs....
Hmm. Yes darling.

Well we'd have to redecorate a lot. And I'm not moving in without checking the omens first.
She heads over to the altar, puts the birdcage down, unlatches the door, and reaches inside.
The two imps squeal and try to get out of the way, but she drags one out, pushing the door shut and relatching it, before smacking the imp she retrieved unconcious against the edge of the altar.
She tosses the comatose imp onto the altar, and spends a few moments rearranging it, before producing a silver-bladed knife from her belt.
Then she slices the imp open, and starts to rummage around through its entrails, as ichor starts to slowly spread across the altar.

But they always end up making a comment how plump I seem to be getting. And that always makes me look at them, and see how plump they are, and that makes my mouth water so much.... Why do experienced dress makers, who are worth getting on retainer, always look such tasty, juicy morsels?
And anyway, it's all you're fault I end up getting so plump... well mostly your fault.
She giggles.

She giggles.
But I need to be able to buy new dresses. And you know it's all your fault that I need these new dresses in the first place.

She pouts, but comes away from the door.

It appears to be shut, darling. Shall I break in, just take what we need if it's here, and kill anyone who tries to get in the way?

She rattles the handle.

Ohh, it's shut. And inside of normal trading hours too.

Hello there...
<demure yet sinister smile>