07-26-2018, 08:21 PM
// I have permission to do this!! <3
In. Out. The steady breathing of Solveig did little to rustle the underbrush that she was presently hiding in. In front of her, the medicine dens of Snowbound. It was a simple task. Get in, cause chaos, get out unseen. And Solveig was good with being unseen. The pretty snowshoe had doused her white fur in thick layers of mud and traces of foliage, which proved to not only mask any trace of where she came from, but also provided her camouflage in the dimly lit evening.
The moon was beginning to rise in the sky, but did not yet offer enough light to give away her position, or what she was about to do. A book of matches lay carefully tucked into her jaws, and the 'living ghost' crept forward, her pawsteps slow and silent as she shifted her weight along with her body, her paws barely tracing against the ground to prevent any rustling. Truthfully, Solveig had been surprised that this task had been appointed to her. Of course, they weren't trying to start a war here, no. Solveig was good at making things look like accidents, and in this case, this 'accident' was a simple act of revenge. The Typhoon had lent supplies to Snowbound, and yet after all this time, no return payment had been made.
For an island of pirates, well, that was quite the outrage.
A pair of violet eyes stared forward, only briefly flickering without moving her head to eye her surroundings and make sure the coast was clear. Then, it was all too easy to slip into the den and stare at the piles of herbs in front of her. It was such a shame to waste it all, so much so that Solveig quietly detoured in her task for but a heartbeat, fetching the nearest stretch of cloth and gathering some pawfuls of useful herbs that she could take back to the Typhoon. Tying it up, she set it aside for a moment as she fetched her matches. The rest could be burned. The rest would burn.
With much care, the remaining baskets were piled up in a heap on the floor. She was careful to grab down each one individually to prevent making noise, and, glancing around the den one more time, and with her pile of herbs that she had saved sitting next to her, she took the book of matches and struck one, carefully tossing it amidst the pile as she watched for a few short moments as it caught and began to burn. Then, grabbing her bundle of herbs, she quickly slipped her way out and back into the shrubbery, then far out of the territory.
Long after she was gone, the molted flames of red and orange rose high into the evening sky. No scent to be followed, no clues to be left behind. This was, purely, an "accident", and the smoke that billowed into the air and the blaze of light, like a beacon, was sure to draw attention.
[align=center]TagsIn. Out. The steady breathing of Solveig did little to rustle the underbrush that she was presently hiding in. In front of her, the medicine dens of Snowbound. It was a simple task. Get in, cause chaos, get out unseen. And Solveig was good with being unseen. The pretty snowshoe had doused her white fur in thick layers of mud and traces of foliage, which proved to not only mask any trace of where she came from, but also provided her camouflage in the dimly lit evening.
The moon was beginning to rise in the sky, but did not yet offer enough light to give away her position, or what she was about to do. A book of matches lay carefully tucked into her jaws, and the 'living ghost' crept forward, her pawsteps slow and silent as she shifted her weight along with her body, her paws barely tracing against the ground to prevent any rustling. Truthfully, Solveig had been surprised that this task had been appointed to her. Of course, they weren't trying to start a war here, no. Solveig was good at making things look like accidents, and in this case, this 'accident' was a simple act of revenge. The Typhoon had lent supplies to Snowbound, and yet after all this time, no return payment had been made.
For an island of pirates, well, that was quite the outrage.
A pair of violet eyes stared forward, only briefly flickering without moving her head to eye her surroundings and make sure the coast was clear. Then, it was all too easy to slip into the den and stare at the piles of herbs in front of her. It was such a shame to waste it all, so much so that Solveig quietly detoured in her task for but a heartbeat, fetching the nearest stretch of cloth and gathering some pawfuls of useful herbs that she could take back to the Typhoon. Tying it up, she set it aside for a moment as she fetched her matches. The rest could be burned. The rest would burn.
With much care, the remaining baskets were piled up in a heap on the floor. She was careful to grab down each one individually to prevent making noise, and, glancing around the den one more time, and with her pile of herbs that she had saved sitting next to her, she took the book of matches and struck one, carefully tossing it amidst the pile as she watched for a few short moments as it caught and began to burn. Then, grabbing her bundle of herbs, she quickly slipped her way out and back into the shrubbery, then far out of the territory.
Long after she was gone, the molted flames of red and orange rose high into the evening sky. No scent to be followed, no clues to be left behind. This was, purely, an "accident", and the smoke that billowed into the air and the blaze of light, like a beacon, was sure to draw attention.
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HER BEAUTY RAGED WITH A FIRE
[color=#BCA7BC]THAT NOT EVEN THE [color=#FFFFFF]DEMONS WOULD DARE TO TOUCH
HER BEAUTY RAGED WITH A FIRE
[color=#BCA7BC]THAT NOT EVEN THE [color=#FFFFFF]DEMONS WOULD DARE TO TOUCH