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Kinta Sarrai
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PostSubject: Samhain   Thu Sep 10, 2015 7:43 pm

Moonlight streamed through the open French doors, basking the sleeping form in an ethereal silver glow. She looked more like a Goddess than any human ever did. Long and wild flaming red hair cascading down her bare back in thick clusters of curls. It rained like fire over her pale milky skin. There were no blemishes nor freckles that marred her complexion and that flawlessness only added more to her bewitching beauty. She tossed and turned restlessly, finding each new position more uncomfortable than the last. It was too hot and muggy, the sheets clinging to her bare skin. She had opted for not wearing anything to bed in the hopes of getting relief from the oppressive heat. Her AC had quit on her last year and she never got around to replacing it. She certainly regretted that decision now.


With one last groan, Rhiannon tossed the sheets aside and threw her long legs over the side of the bed. Along the length of her spine, in Ogham script were words of protection in bold black ink. A small pentacle was tattooed on the inside of her right wrist. Though petite, roughly five foot three, what she lacked in height, she made up for in the sheer perfection of her curvy, toned form. Years of yoga, kickboxing and dance had honed her down to a healthy one hundred and ten pounds. Her breasts were full and perhaps a bit too big for her size, certainly more than a handful. She pursed her full, Angelina Jolie lips and rummaged through the top drawer of her dresser. She pulled on a white spagetti strap tank and a black yoga pants. Piling her mass of hair in a messy bun, Rhiannon moved towards the balconey to close the double French doors, but stopped in her tracks as she noticed the large raven perched on the wrought iron railing staring at her with beady black eyes.


"And how long have you been sitting there staring, raven?" She asked the bird in a naturally husky, smoky voice that could put most phone sex operators to shame.


Long enough. The bird replied.


Her mouth dropped open momentarily. She certainly had never been expecting a response, though she wasn't entirely surprised. As a child, she had encontered a Shifter that had left a permanent scar marring the inside of her left thigh. A bite mark made by something with wicked fangs. She knew for certain that the supernatural existed. It had opened a doorway for her to study cryptozoology.


"Long enough for what, exatly?"


There was a caw that could have been amused laughter.


Long enough to notice the butt wiggle you did dancing over towards your wardrobe.


Her eyes narrowed.


"Very funny, bird. Why are you here?"


It flapped its wings once as if it was trying to brush off it's amusement.


I have brought a message from the Morrigan.


"Why would the Celtic Goddess of War send me a message?"


The raven sqwaked once, flapping its wings twice in annoyance at being interrupted.


It matters not. What matters is that you listen.


Rhiannon's brow frowned. She folded her arms across her stomach beneath her generous breasts, but refrained from commenting. In her opinion, the bird was being rude.


"I'm listening, bird."


Cian. My name is Cian, not bird.


"Cian, then. What message do you have for me?"


The raven turned its head and slipped its beak beneath a section of feathers at its left wing. It removed a small scroll of some kind of shimmery opaque paper. She moved towards the bird and held her hand out as it dropped the scroll into her open palm. It was sealed with black wax and Rhiannon slipped a nail beneath it, carefully prying it open. She unrolled the scroll with care, staring in awe at the elegant handwriting inked on it’s surface.




I have sent this message along with my most trusted raven. Cian will serve you well in the days to come. I have chosen you, my dear, to be my eyes and ears within your realm, to assist me in a personal and important matter. It has been prophecised that my son, Brock, must assume the throne of the Tuatha de Danann. If he does not, then it could bring about the end of the world. I need you to bring him home. Your abilities and gifts are the strongest among my people. You have a connection with him that is the most powerful I have ever felt. If there is anyone that can save us all, it is you.


Perfect love and perfect trust,

The Morrigan.


Rhiannon’s piercing green gaze shifted up to the raven still perched on her railing.


“She is serious?”


Cian nodded his head once.


Very. Brock is a bit rebellious, especially where it concerns the Gods.


“If he won’t listen to the Gods, how am I supposed to get him to listen to me?”


You’re a smart woman. I’m sure you will figure out a way. He favors hanging around Celtic.


Celtic was a very popular night club that Rhiannon had been trying to score a gig with for her band. Luckily they had finally called her back last night.


“It just so happens that my band is playing there this Friday night.”


Your band?


“Yes, funnily enough, it’s called Morrigan and no I did not choose the name.”


It is rather fitting.
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PostSubject: Re: Samhain   Fri Sep 25, 2015 5:50 pm

Celtic was a cesspool of puerility. Night after night, the parasites entered; their eyes glazed over and their bodies empty needy shells. Inevitably they would find their way to him, leeching drinks and begging for his attention. As the nights crawled on, the expensive liquors flowed without end; his wallet was bottomless, but his soul was frigid and his mind had atrophied. Brock’s life had been reduced to an empty existence - yesterday had been wasted, today was no different. There was no future and he was beginning to feel the heaviness of it all.

“Another drink?” came the soft purr.

Brock turned, his dark blonde hair falling over his shoulders in unkempt waves. The woman leaning heavily against his shoulder smelled of musky perfume and desperation, but he did not throw her off. “Anything for you,” he forced a smile and beckoned to one of the bartenders. He could not remember her name but that did not seem to matter to either of them. She was a meaningless trophy, another notch on his belt. Despite the futility of every encounter he experienced, the desire for contact - to be touched - plagued him and spurred him ever onward. It was a vicious cycle. Woman after woman threw themselves at him, wormed their way into his arms and then eventually his bed. Their attentions would momentarily quiet the screaming despair inside but after the conquest Brock was left with a great void and a sense of wanting.

Once their glasses were refilled, the two settled in for a few stolen moments of torrid passion. Her lips were soft and hungry, and he was willing to reciprocate. She wasn’t his first and certainly wouldn’t be the last, but for that small window of time, she was the only one in the room. His senses soared, enjoying the warm moment. She felt exquisite in his arms, a writhing thing, her scent filled his nostrils. He felt her shiver and fall against him; she was certainly losing herself in the moment.

“May I have your attention?”

Reluctantly, he pulled away. His playmate was exquisitely skilled and withdrawing took a great deal of willpower. Brock’s corner of the club, VIP only, was shrouded in thick shadows. His nightly dalliances usually went unnoticed and undisturbed; he was accustomed to having his way. The Dj’s sudden interruption was as unusual as it was annoying. But still, the young man obeyed, pulling away from the fresh young thing next to him to watch the stage.

A heavily tattooed man trotted up the short stairway, waving at the crowd and pulling the slender mic from its stand. “Good evening, everyone,” his voice filled the club, a smile playing at his lips. “We’ve got a real treat for you folks tonight. A real up ’n' coming star has agreed to grace us all with a performance.”

The room broke out in excited anticipation; couples huddled together, guessing at who could possibly be hidden back stage. Brock, lust roiling within him, sank back into the leather couch. Another wanna-be artist was not on his mind at the moment; his arm held his date tightly, encouraging her to continue exploring his body. Her fingers spidered out and cupped him eagerly. He glanced down and smiled.

“Put your hands together for Morrigan!”

The first glimpse of her froze his wandering desire and he found it impossible to look away. Ascending the stage with an unprecedented grace, she was floating. Siren red hair shimmered in the dim lighting and her alabaster skin appeared to glow - calling out to him. When she took the mic, positioning herself in front of the band, Brock brushed away his date’s clumsy hands. She was no longer of any importance, not when there was a goddess before him.
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Kinta Sarrai
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PostSubject: Re: Samhain   Mon Sep 28, 2015 1:38 pm

For a popular night club, Celtic held a very relaxed atmosphere that smelled of lavender, sandalwood, and patchouli. Candles littered the stage, their flames flickering gracefully as each member of Morrigan took their positions. Before she took the stage, Rhiannon centered her thoughts. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She could feel the scorching heat of Brock's presence. She had felt it long before the raven, Cian, had confirmed it. Her scar tingled, throbbing with the steady pulse of a heart beat that wasn't her own. The music from her band flowed around her, blocking out everything else. This was where her Magick resided, this was where her power reigned. She took another deep breath and began to sing.

Come to the sea,
Wash the memories of war away.
Lay your head down,
Ease the pain now.
Even in your dreams,
It's far from over.
I can see the storm on the horizon.
Like a child,
I weep over you 'till you come back to me.

Rhiannon opened her eyes, her piercing gaze searching the shadowed corners, seeking out the presence that called to her so strongly. Taking a deep breath, she released the hold she had on her powers and let it fill her. As she sang the chorus, her voice rang out powerfully clear, beautiful and bewitching.

My heart is surrounded.
I'll lay my weapons down.
This battle's just beginning.
Standing on this mountain,
I will surrender now.
Today I'm giving in.

Bring your wounds,
Bring your broken blades and chronicles.
Time to breathe and time to leave again,
Making history complete.
I know it's far from over.
I can see the storm on the horizon,
But for a while,
Let me memorize the last time I will see your face.

As if those last words were some kind of spell, the darkness surrounding one of the VIP booths seemed to lighten. Relaxing back against the black cushioned seat was one of the most beautiful men that she had ever laid eyes on.

Long, shoulder length, wavy hair framed a face carved by the Gods. Piercing blue eyes started at her with such intensity that she felt a flush creep up the back of her neck. A full, but well groomed beard showcased a sinful mouth that would make any woman weak in the knees. It was curved into a knowing and seductive smirk that made her feel as though he was undressing her with his eyes. Ignoring the searing and intense look this man gave her, Rhiannon continued to sing.

My heart is surrounded.
I'll lay my weapons down.
This battle's just beginning.
Standing on this mountain,
I will surrender now.
Today I'm giving in.

Her body swayed gracefully in time with the beat. Her slender, toned form was clad in black from head to toe. Tight black leggings clung to her long legs like a second skin and were tucked into knee high black leather boots. The black sweater she wore hung off of her shoulder, baring the flawless curve of her neck and shoulder enticingly. The silver pentacle she was seldom seen without was nestled against the hollow of her throat. Rhiannon took another deep breath, letting the lyrics flow effortlessly.

This heavy armor has been weighing you down.
Skies growing somber and beckoning blood.
Is there any hope for us beyond these walls?
This night shall be in eternal stone.

My heart is surrounded.
I'll lay my weapons down.
This battle's just beginning.
Standing on this mountain,
I will surrender now.
Today I'm giving in to you.

The music trailed off to silence only to be followed by thunderous applause.

"Thank you." Rhiannon spoke into the microphone, adjusting it's height as she spoke. "Those of you that don't know us, we are Morrican, a Celtic metal band formed on the backstreets of Dublin. I am Rhiannon, lead vocals as well as one of the original founding members of the band. Billy, our drummer, and I started playing music as kids. The rest of the band sort of fell into our lives and never left. Since then, we relocated to the States to pursue other career opportunities. Fated seemed to bring us back onto the musical path. I met Billy again several years ago and we decided to pick up where we had left off back in Ireland. I want to thank Mike, the owner of Celtic for allowing us this opportunity to perform here. It has been a dream of ours for a long time. We will be selling CD's and various other merchandise after the show. For now, here's a song that was inspired by that sense of deja vu that many of us may have experienced from time to time."

Flashes before my eyes, seconds flying by
Impression familiar, fleeting apparition

Oh, Oh

Minutes and hours bound together, distance intensifies
Nothing in my memory, telling me how or why

Remember, Remember...

Seconds dividing, and I collide
Is it my imagination, staring into my mind

Oh, Oh

Cryptic enticement, imperceptible
A hidden recollection, thought I'd seen it all

Remember, Remember...

I need to complete this memory
I'm reaching so deep, I cannot breath


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