Chosen Of Vahl
@Vaermina @Rosa Gunn
All the while, The Eye of the Dark Lord would cast that mirror like gaze upon the dueling partners with a twisted smile. When one of the spires came down, a wave of her hand sent the remains to clatter upon the ground harmlessly. When the lightning came directed at her, the Hound proved to be a valuable form of defense, blocking it.
Now he stood before her, holding a spire as if ready to attack her.
That is when Isolda gave a smile.
"Y͝o͘u de͠si͡re ͞to͘ ̢t̀e̢s̕t ͞y̸our ҉F͏ai͘t͠h͡." she said simply, still sitting upon the stone throne. "A̧h͘h..͘.̵ ̢y͟oų'v͏e ̀a͞ ̶to̵uc̡h o͘f the ͠G̀o͢d͜dess ͟ab̸ou̕t yo͏u.͘" her gaze would narrow in turn.
"The͜n̶ y̴ou̢ ҉a̕re awa͘re̡ of͏ ̷o̵ur͝ ͡law̶ś?͢ ̀ ̴No͠?̨." That would be when Isolda would rise to her feet, ghostly air flickering the ebon locks away from her face, revealing the sacrificial scars and tattoos that seemed to breathe with their own life under her alabaster skin.
Her hand would reach out, as if to grab the Hound by the scruff of his throat.
"AL̵L o҉f͟ t͠hé ͏f̴áithf́ul̸ b̴ow ̵to҉ t̴he̷ ̀WI҉LL ͜of ̸the̴ C͘ho͞s͝en." her will would be hammered into each and every word, her voice looming and echoing with poly phonetic reverberation.
"A̕L҉L ͏of t̛he͡ ͞f͜ai̷t̸h̕f̢ul̛ áre e̸xp͟ec̸ted͠ ̛t͡o͠ ̀obe҉y͝ t̢h́e҉ ̛Chóśen͝'̀s͝ L̕áw͢s͢.͜ ̀ The̵ ͏C̵h̛ose̕n'͘s̕ ̧Call͢. ̴T͝he̛ Cho͝s̕en͟ ̛o͡f҉ ̸V͏ah͘l'͠s̴ J̷ùdg̷e̢m̶ent̴." those molten pools of silver that would meet upon the Hound would start to turn a pitch black, shards of obsidian reflecting his image back at him. The red highlights of her hair would bleed into the rest, reflecting with a crimson light it would burn the eyes.
"You ̕de͠sir̢e ̕a tr͢i̢a͞l̢ ̵b͜y̕ f̛i͝r͟e̶?" Her hand would then toss him out to Rosa. "Y̡̮͎o̟u̢̗̟̟͍̪̼ ̝̮̝͕̰r̵̙eq̗͇̤u̹̦̜i̶͈̟͎̣͍r̬͓e̤̺͠ͅ ̥̙̬͎̗s̸̲̫̱ͅé̲̳͍̼̣t̘ ̼̼̱̤͠tḁ̷̭͈̙̙̺s̷k̯͖͚s̵̭̘.̗̼̯̩̣̭ ̳̺́ ̩͔̻̩͎ ̹̥͓͢T̥h͎̫͙e̷͉ ͇̞̬̤̱E̹̘̳͙͓͇̝͟m̨͚̯͙̩̼͙̦p̦̟̦̥̭̮͓̀a҉̣thͅ ̮w̤̭̪̹i̩̮̣l̤͚̖̞̥̩̀l̮͉̜̼͈ ̬̟̳͇͎̹͢gu̫i͏̞͎̝ͅd̛̙̜̮͈e̢ ͕̹y̠͖̳̭o̟̹̥̼͠u̬̙͜ ̶̙t̡͍̘̖̙o̥̟͡ͅ ̣͓̪͖̞̻m͖̝̭̖̦e̡̹̱̗͎̻.̺̬͙̱͖̤ ͏͚̥̲̻̤ ̛̰̖̦̫̪̭I̤̯͙͕t̵ ̼̺̣̣i͚͔͙̭͈̫͉s̰̱̪ͅ ͏͕̗th͙̬͕̻͖̤̰e̡̺͇̗ͅ ̩͖͇o̫̘̯n͔ly̷̯͕̳̩̱̮ ̵̭̗͎̬̲̠w̸͉͉à̗̳͚̩͚͎y ̨͔͓͈̺̦t͚͞ͅo͙̱̙̟ ̲͞c͏͖͈o͔͙̬͓̪̝͘m͚͟p̮̘͉͜l͙̥̣̬͍̰̱e͚͇͍̻͝te̴̳͚̩̱̱̼ ҉̼̬͎̯̞͕̪yo̴u̻̺̩͖ͅr̻̪̰̱͖̙̠ ̜̲̙t͕͡r͖i͠ḁ̶͎͚̫͉̮̲l̥ f͖͚͕̞̺͟o̰̺̤͝r̪͓͇̭ ̛̲̗̫̻̝͔H̡̥̯̰e͏ͅr͖͚̥̣͡ ͈͖͚̘̪̻̰͝G̰͉̼̠͉͖ͅl̸͕͎̝o̟̩̪͖͍ŕ̺̭̠̩̤ͅy.͈͍̟̮̘̹
All the while, The Eye of the Dark Lord would cast that mirror like gaze upon the dueling partners with a twisted smile. When one of the spires came down, a wave of her hand sent the remains to clatter upon the ground harmlessly. When the lightning came directed at her, the Hound proved to be a valuable form of defense, blocking it.
Now he stood before her, holding a spire as if ready to attack her.
That is when Isolda gave a smile.
"Y͝o͘u de͠si͡re ͞to͘ ̢t̀e̢s̕t ͞y̸our ҉F͏ai͘t͠h͡." she said simply, still sitting upon the stone throne. "A̧h͘h..͘.̵ ̢y͟oų'v͏e ̀a͞ ̶to̵uc̡h o͘f the ͠G̀o͢d͜dess ͟ab̸ou̕t yo͏u.͘" her gaze would narrow in turn.
"The͜n̶ y̴ou̢ ҉a̕re awa͘re̡ of͏ ̷o̵ur͝ ͡law̶ś?͢ ̀ ̴No͠?̨." That would be when Isolda would rise to her feet, ghostly air flickering the ebon locks away from her face, revealing the sacrificial scars and tattoos that seemed to breathe with their own life under her alabaster skin.
Her hand would reach out, as if to grab the Hound by the scruff of his throat.
"AL̵L o҉f͟ t͠hé ͏f̴áithf́ul̸ b̴ow ̵to҉ t̴he̷ ̀WI҉LL ͜of ̸the̴ C͘ho͞s͝en." her will would be hammered into each and every word, her voice looming and echoing with poly phonetic reverberation.
"A̕L҉L ͏of t̛he͡ ͞f͜ai̷t̸h̕f̢ul̛ áre e̸xp͟ec̸ted͠ ̛t͡o͠ ̀obe҉y͝ t̢h́e҉ ̛Chóśen͝'̀s͝ L̕áw͢s͢.͜ ̀ The̵ ͏C̵h̛ose̕n'͘s̕ ̧Call͢. ̴T͝he̛ Cho͝s̕en͟ ̛o͡f҉ ̸V͏ah͘l'͠s̴ J̷ùdg̷e̢m̶ent̴." those molten pools of silver that would meet upon the Hound would start to turn a pitch black, shards of obsidian reflecting his image back at him. The red highlights of her hair would bleed into the rest, reflecting with a crimson light it would burn the eyes.
"And͡ ҉I̧ A̷M H͜E͘R҉ ĆḨOS̢EN!"
"You ̕de͠sir̢e ̕a tr͢i̢a͞l̢ ̵b͜y̕ f̛i͝r͟e̶?" Her hand would then toss him out to Rosa. "Y̡̮͎o̟u̢̗̟̟͍̪̼ ̝̮̝͕̰r̵̙eq̗͇̤u̹̦̜i̶͈̟͎̣͍r̬͓e̤̺͠ͅ ̥̙̬͎̗s̸̲̫̱ͅé̲̳͍̼̣t̘ ̼̼̱̤͠tḁ̷̭͈̙̙̺s̷k̯͖͚s̵̭̘.̗̼̯̩̣̭ ̳̺́ ̩͔̻̩͎ ̹̥͓͢T̥h͎̫͙e̷͉ ͇̞̬̤̱E̹̘̳͙͓͇̝͟m̨͚̯͙̩̼͙̦p̦̟̦̥̭̮͓̀a҉̣thͅ ̮w̤̭̪̹i̩̮̣l̤͚̖̞̥̩̀l̮͉̜̼͈ ̬̟̳͇͎̹͢gu̫i͏̞͎̝ͅd̛̙̜̮͈e̢ ͕̹y̠͖̳̭o̟̹̥̼͠u̬̙͜ ̶̙t̡͍̘̖̙o̥̟͡ͅ ̣͓̪͖̞̻m͖̝̭̖̦e̡̹̱̗͎̻.̺̬͙̱͖̤ ͏͚̥̲̻̤ ̛̰̖̦̫̪̭I̤̯͙͕t̵ ̼̺̣̣i͚͔͙̭͈̫͉s̰̱̪ͅ ͏͕̗th͙̬͕̻͖̤̰e̡̺͇̗ͅ ̩͖͇o̫̘̯n͔ly̷̯͕̳̩̱̮ ̵̭̗͎̬̲̠w̸͉͉à̗̳͚̩͚͎y ̨͔͓͈̺̦t͚͞ͅo͙̱̙̟ ̲͞c͏͖͈o͔͙̬͓̪̝͘m͚͟p̮̘͉͜l͙̥̣̬͍̰̱e͚͇͍̻͝te̴̳͚̩̱̱̼ ҉̼̬͎̯̞͕̪yo̴u̻̺̩͖ͅr̻̪̰̱͖̙̠ ̜̲̙t͕͡r͖i͠ḁ̶͎͚̫͉̮̲l̥ f͖͚͕̞̺͟o̰̺̤͝r̪͓͇̭ ̛̲̗̫̻̝͔H̡̥̯̰e͏ͅr͖͚̥̣͡ ͈͖͚̘̪̻̰͝G̰͉̼̠͉͖ͅl̸͕͎̝o̟̩̪͖͍ŕ̺̭̠̩̤ͅy.͈͍̟̮̘̹
̧͍̪̯̺̯
̷̝̣͚̗F̘͚̳͍̪ó̭̩͕̥ͅr͚͕̕ ̺H̩̬̠̙̭̲͖e̸̤͇͕̻͓r̘̙̣͉̲̟ ̻̖͇̦̳Ju̗̫͚̫̞̦̮̕d̩̻̀g̶͔e͈̠̞͚͜m͙̲͔e̞̼̮͙̳̣ͅn̨̼͓̻t̜.̦͍̦̩
̷
̱̠̱͖̥
̷̝̣͚̗F̘͚̳͍̪ó̭̩͕̥ͅr͚͕̕ ̺H̩̬̠̙̭̲͖e̸̤͇͕̻͓r̘̙̣͉̲̟ ̻̖͇̦̳Ju̗̫͚̫̞̦̮̕d̩̻̀g̶͔e͈̠̞͚͜m͙̲͔e̞̼̮͙̳̣ͅn̨̼͓̻t̜.̦͍̦̩
̷
̱̠̱͖̥
͓̜͚̞F͖͈͚̬̝̳o͈̞̠̝̫̪r̡̮̠ ̘̫̩̺͖H̞͔̱͓̙e̮̝̦̗̱̤̩͝r̻̳͖ ̲b̘͜l̯̫̺͖e̝̟̯̳̱͜s͕̲̮͚s̶i̦̰͍̪̦̝ͅn̫͠ǵ͎.̦͚̩͉̭̙"
