Elia Rousseau (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} nocturnally) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} cirque_rp,@ 2017-11-26 21:43:00 |
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Who: OPEN to the Coven
What: Hunt Shenanigans
When: November 3rd, 'midday'
Where: Near to the Cauldron
Rating: All the warnings. All of them.
Even in the separate space, the between that the Cirque had slipped into, the energy was amazing. To Elia, it hummed with something different, something special. She could feel the power of the Dark Mother, as if the Goddess herself had laid her hands on the witch's shoulders. The vast amounts of energy that the humans were expending probably didn't hurt – they worked so hard to try and save themselves.
It never worked. They could never be allowed to live, poor silly things.
Elia had waited and watched, not throwing herself too deeply into the Hunt. She had time, and there was so much of interest, so much to dabble in. She allowed her darklings to play, allowing her power to flow freely into her shadow-minions, giving them a will of their own. The small beasts ran amok, terrifying the humans that crossed their paths and guarding the spaces that the Coven deemed sacred – trailers and workshops, for the most part. If the humans ventured too close, even by accident, the darklings were upon them, ripping and tearing even as they pulled their prey into the darkness of the Void where they could properly feast.
Not that the Cirque grounds were less comfortable for them during the Hunt. Once guests crossed into the Tunnel, they found themselves in the endless night of the Wild Hunt, surrounded by the faint baying of hounds and the echo of horns that were never seen. And the screams, of course. There were always screams.
Elia had laid out a blanket near the Cauldron, one where she spread the things she would need for her own ritual. An athame, viciously sharp instead of harmless and lovely. A silver chalice. Crystals infused with dark power. A small satchel of fragrant herbs, a mortar and pestle made of ebony stone. "I feel like I'm forgetting something," she offered conversationally to one of her darklings, a tiny monster with several times the amount of teeth it ought to have, its claws still dripping with gore from the last human who had ventured too close.
What: Hunt Shenanigans
When: November 3rd, 'midday'
Where: Near to the Cauldron
Rating: All the warnings. All of them.
Even in the separate space, the between that the Cirque had slipped into, the energy was amazing. To Elia, it hummed with something different, something special. She could feel the power of the Dark Mother, as if the Goddess herself had laid her hands on the witch's shoulders. The vast amounts of energy that the humans were expending probably didn't hurt – they worked so hard to try and save themselves.
It never worked. They could never be allowed to live, poor silly things.
Elia had waited and watched, not throwing herself too deeply into the Hunt. She had time, and there was so much of interest, so much to dabble in. She allowed her darklings to play, allowing her power to flow freely into her shadow-minions, giving them a will of their own. The small beasts ran amok, terrifying the humans that crossed their paths and guarding the spaces that the Coven deemed sacred – trailers and workshops, for the most part. If the humans ventured too close, even by accident, the darklings were upon them, ripping and tearing even as they pulled their prey into the darkness of the Void where they could properly feast.
Not that the Cirque grounds were less comfortable for them during the Hunt. Once guests crossed into the Tunnel, they found themselves in the endless night of the Wild Hunt, surrounded by the faint baying of hounds and the echo of horns that were never seen. And the screams, of course. There were always screams.
Elia had laid out a blanket near the Cauldron, one where she spread the things she would need for her own ritual. An athame, viciously sharp instead of harmless and lovely. A silver chalice. Crystals infused with dark power. A small satchel of fragrant herbs, a mortar and pestle made of ebony stone. "I feel like I'm forgetting something," she offered conversationally to one of her darklings, a tiny monster with several times the amount of teeth it ought to have, its claws still dripping with gore from the last human who had ventured too close.