Nimara tossed her head back as peals of laughter escaped her throat. They were sweet and high pitched, bellowing tolls of warning. It was a laugh fit for a fae.
The stupid man had given pursuit. He'd chased her.
A staff, cracking through bark and wood, nearly smashed into her face as it swept out in front of her. The fingers of the forest reached out and pulled its numen back, helping Nimara to avoid the pulsating violence of human magic. Cool green energy that had arisen when the winds shifted, eyes that watched from every angle, making contact with its ancient creation.
He'd chased her down, he'd been fast.
And now she was going to kill him.
Despite how pathetic she thought him and how annoying he was, she had given him a gift. She had let him be even after he'd initially tried to attack her. The younglings had put her in a good mood and she had felt generous. She was already having a wretched time and here he was spitting all over her mustered good will.
Chunks and splinters of wood were flying and Nimara howled, dancing out of the way of the man's blows. She rode the currents of the plants as they dipped and fluxed, warning her of oncoming attacks of human energy, charged and thick like lightning preparing to strike.
The man was livid. His rage flew off of him in tangy sweat, smelling of spoilt milk and hurt pride.
He was doing his best to maintain an heir of righteousness, but he was sweaty and red and his smell gave him away. Nimara drank it in. Eager to play the creature he knew she was. She was in a bad mood and she was going to enjoy this all the way to its end.
He pulled himself together, doing his best to quell his emotions. Steadying his stance, rolling his staff into another offensive position. The woman twisted and shimmied unnaturally around him, waving and ducking just out of reach of his blows. If he wanted to hit her he would have to take a more refined approach.
With a deep breath he pulled from the energy of his core, a fine string he let perfectly uncoil from his solar plexus, flow down his arms and settle into his hands. With a mental push, the energy traveled from his body and into the staff. Where his essence had once coated the weapon, reinforcing, its power now curled in, twisting up wood and rings, wiry and razor sharp.
Nimara twitched her head to the side. She had dropped her glamour and now her ears pointed devilishly and her eyes were too big, black and stary. Fleshy veins squirmed under her skin. She was horrifying and curious. The man had never encountered her kind before, moist and all crushed leaves and blackened holes of eyes staring from in trunks of trees. She was like the snapping of twigs in an empty forest. All the finer hairs of his body stood on end.
In swift strides he retreated to a distance and with a quick flick of his wrist the staff horizontally arched and wisps of energy shot forward. Whipping and biting through trees and air. Nimara dropped low, legs and arms spilling out to catch herself as blades of condensed energy ripped into the world around her.
Her laughter bubbled before teetering out to curl a lip and glare at the man.
Another sweeping blast and Nimara rolled to the right. A third, vertical this time, dug a trench in the soil and slashed through branches as she hastily rolled to the left.
The man followed each swing with another. Sending a barrage of attacks in her direction. The priest's lashes were frenzied, flushed with a furrowed brow of anger, mouth drawn down in a rigid and dramatic frown of concentration.. The way the woman had so easily danced around–her ugly, twisted features contorting and rippling– made him feel that if he allowed her to get too near he would surely die.
As she dodged, Nimara picked up stones, palm sized and weighty, and ripped them toward him in retaliation. They cracked through his razor energy, destructive projectiles raining explosions around him. Dirt and bark flew up, clouding his view.
The rocks never hit him, just blasted at his sides and near his feet, spurring him on.
After a while he was sweating and huffing, his slashes becoming weaker thumping against trees, only strong enough to bruise. Nimara ceased throwing rocks, and took to batting away his attacks with the back of her fists.
She giggled again. "Your powers are strong, but you are weak." He was expelling little gasps, now taken to a more defensive position. "What a waste." His stealth and ability to shield himself was astonishing. And those first attacks had been surprisingly powerful but he had lost the energy so rapidly. Nimara had watched as the light of his being quickly became unstable. His core and energy center eating up the fast burning fuel of shallow emotions.
He scowled, but only had enough resolve to cause his muscles to tighten a little. He had reached his limits, a tiredness was sinking into his bones and he'd need time to recharge. In its place little strings of dread were weaving into his skin.
Nimara straightened out, stepping back into her relaxed and arrogant posture. She dropped her guard, loosening her body, smirking at the man.
In a moment of confidence foolishly fuelled by the promise to die fighting for the Great Eeno, he lurched forward.
But the creature had wanted that. She had hoped for it.
A moment too long existed between the servant of Eeno and the assassin. A single moment where time slowed and the wind drew out as the trees rippled. Leaves waving and branches unnaturally rolling, pushing in towards the two.
And then knuckled and knotted vines shot from the ground in all directions.
They lashed up and in, around his arms and curled over his torso. With licks of fire like lashings from a cane they seized his legs and pulled him to his knees. He buckled under their pressure, pulled and stretched still. This whole time she had toyed with him. Been entertained by his efforts to kill her. She hadn't even used any of the power she clearly possessed. Just threw rocks.
Nimara's smirk turned into a sharp toothed grin that stretched her features, victoriously malicious.
"Warrior of the Great Eeno," She addressed him with a title, more than he deserved but she knew what she wanted and how to get it. "What is your name?"
The spell broke from her lips and its charm pulled at the edges of the exhausted and bound priest. It lulled him in, obviously laced in magic, and yet he couldn't see past his reverence for his god. He was but a proud servant of the lord, a warrior of light, a cleansing agent blessed by the holy hand and his name was, "Mathius Illicas"
A first name and a last name. Drawn out and spoke of lineages and prestige. A stringy name with a tune a bit sappy and a bit bitter. Nimara grinned, ears perked up listening to all its notes.
His tune swung from her lips in whistles, all high notes and a squalling little march of rhythm. "Do you hear that?"
The priest shuddered in her hold.
The vines loosened up and his robes crumbled apart, revealing burnt skin where the acidic gnarl laden ropes had bound him. His stomach churned as he stared at the fae, unable to move or blink, even his heart seemed to stop, the blood in his veins coming to a halt. She whistled the horrible song again and it echoed in his ears. A dark arpeggiation leading to an end. "That is your song." She crouched in front of him, elbows resting on knees with a horrible grin full of sharpened teeth. She was too close and the priest was struck still, rendered useless as his eyes bulged and a feverish sweat swept his brow.
"I wanted to sing it to you before you died."