#ondrea

O: The nocturnal symphony which oft carried over the planes of La Noscea unfolded gracefully, as the delicate, satin veil of the sky was glided over a by a canvas of ethereal hues. The celestial expanse was enveloped by a velvety embrace, as the twinkling stars adorned the twilight sky with their luminous presence.

In the far reaches of the landscape, a menacing presence of rainclouds casted a shadow on the horizon, their ominous darkness rivaling that of the night sky itself. The looming threat of impending rainfall was palpable, as the clouds gathered in a foreboding display of unpredictability.

Ondrea exuded an air of authority as she sat confidently astride Curach, a majestic black buck of a chocobo with a beak that gleamed as if it had just been honed to perfection. His piercing orange eyes scanned the surroundings with keen vigilance, mirroring the sharp focus of his skilled rider. Ondrea's gaze remained fixed towards the east, where the radiant glow of Limsa's Aetheryte pulsed in the distance.

“Smells like rain.” A deep, drawled out voice emerged from her side. Cormac, a prominent Hyur, had faithfully served House Cress since Ondrea's youth. Despite not being related by blood, he was considered a part of the family in many respects. Standing shoulder to shoulder with her brother and his closest companion, Argrin, Cormac had a slim physique and an aristocratic air, which sharply contrasted with Argrin's more rugged appearance. “We should act swiftly if we desire not to be caught in it.”

Cormac's words resonated with truth, as Ondrea found herself yearning to avoid the clutches of an impending tempest, especially considering their cargo. A disheveled figure, concealed beneath a tangled veil of oily shoulder length chestnut hair, lay sprawled belly down on the back of a Cress Guard chocobo. Strangely, it seemed that the mere mention of hastening their travel caused him to emit a feeble groan, as if Cormac's words had stirred a deep sense of discontent.

Ondrea deftly manipulated the supple leather strap of Curach's reins and exerted a firm pull to veer him to the left. The ground beneath his colossal talons surrendered effortlessly, leaving behind precise imprints as he gracefully advanced. "Indeed, we shall proceed swiftly and head towards the west," she declared as she extended out her arm and gestured with a razor-sharp claw towards a dense thicket in the distance. "The banks of the river ought to be located approximately a mile in that direction."

The bound man received only a fleeting glance, as if his presence was of little consequence. "Any further outburst from him will be swiftly dealt with in a manner that he would undoubtedly find most unpleasant." Such was delivered in promise.

Cormac found himself unable to suppress the faint smirk that graced his lips in response to Ondrea's addendums. This was not the initial encounter with Ondrea's unique approach to work that he had experienced. He seemed to be one of the rare few to stomach it.

With a graceful swing of his leg, Cormac mounted his Chocobo, and with a swift and practiced motion, he skillfully wrapped the reins around his wrist, ensuring a firm and secure grip. "Hold on, now." he advised with little avail as his other hand gripped tight to the man's tunic. With a dignified chuff, his Chocobo took after Ondrea's, leaving behind a trail of swirling dust that danced in the ether.

As the pair advanced, they found themselves embraced and shielded by the veil of darkness. Nevertheless, to guarantee their unity in the midst of the obscurity of the thick forest, Ondrea would summon a burst of mystical violet-tinged energy that trailed behind her with a faint, shivering glow.

A discerning observer might catch sight of a flickering purple light dancing among the trees in the forest. Whatever could be rushing through the wood in the dead of night? M: The night’s veil would shroud the movements of the black and majestic chocobo while it moved with the 'prisoner' away, the woman dressing in black and her soldiers would certainly be well camouflaged to the average eye. But tonight’s observant was not the average eye. Instead, it was a man whose body had the taint of the abyss: A Dark Knight’s source of abilities and strength. Despite not being an expert of the dark arts, his body was partially but permanently changed because of it. Eyes that could see in the dark as clear as if it was day, a glimpse of the moonlight was enough to ignite the whole world ablaze, metaphorically, albeit black and white, unable to see colors and shades. The wearer of those eyes: A Tall, 6,2 Highlander man with a hair mixed between a sangria red and gray locks that indicated he was no youngling, descending to his face, one would see verdant eyes, a long and rough nose, with two scars, one on his left eye, going from the cheekbone to the forehead, and the other on his lip, close to the right side of the mouth, both seemingly from blades. On his hips, he carried a sheathed longsword, with a simple scabbard holding the steel blade inside, and for armor, he wore chainmail on top of leather, with leathery boots, a combination of armor and clothing that gave him the look of a wandering knight, intentional or not, it provided with serviceable defenses while not impairing his movement. And on his back, a black cloak, tattered from worn, and dirtied with the sand of La Noscea. What was this man doing in here ? Didn’t matter, plans had changed, for he watched the suspicious caravan delve into the forest, the purple lightning pushing him towards the decision of investigate, so he started descending from the top of the hill he found himself with, and as his cloaked billowed against the hitting winds of La Noscea, he would power walk towards the direction they went: Deep into the woods. His pace was fast, and his footsteps would forfeit stealth as they crunched into the sand closer and closer, he was not faster than a chocobo, however, and he was counting that they would be ahead until he would be able to see them, should they stop somewhere in the woods. He had many thoughts as he sprinted, what was going on ? Was this a cult ? A gang ? Officers of the law ? What was going on ? Whatever it was, it didn’t smell right for the Highlander, quite literally, as his nose would catch an odd scent, perhaps it was the magic, the figure riding the chocobo, or one of her guards. And… whatever it was from, it would send a shiver through the man’s spine, making him almost pause, and his eyes widening. ‘What is this?’ He thought, and with a brief pause, realized what it was: Fear. The instinct all men have, and one he was not used to feeling. ‘Why?’ he whispered to himself, and no one spoke back, he frowned, being afraid irritated the man, and more than that, his curiosity was much wider than his desire for ‘safety’. But as he continued to walk down the path, his hand was resting on the hilt of his sword, the palm resting on top of the pommel, similar to how a knight holds its sword when posing, it brought him comfort, and a sense of security, to know that he had his weapon nearby, and at ready.

O: Undoubtedly, the powerful and robust strides of chocobos would unquestionably outpace the journey of any individual on foot. Nevertheless, Magnos would find himself surprised when the trail of purple strings of magic abruptly vanished with the approach of the the soothing sound of a babbling brook just ahead.

To the inquisitive and perpetually observant, he would immediately discern the figures of a triumvirate, with two individuals positioned on their mount while the third descended from her elevated position. From where he crouched, he could hear the crunch of stone beneath her boots.

As she gracefully made her way towards the meandering river, her lustrous ebony tresses cascaded like a luxurious veil of the deepest black, extending beyond the delicate curve of her lower back. The most captivating aspect of her countenance, however, resided within her eyes, which presented a captivating enigma. At first glance, they appeared to possess a resplendent golden hue, albeit subdued by the surrounding darkness, yet their allure remained undeniable. The infinitesimal dimensions of her pupil, resembling a minuscule puncture, was the more peculiar thing about her hues. It was as if she harbored power yet unlocked.

"This will do." Ondrea's voice carried a tone of finality, her gaze fixed on the flowing river as if it held the power to bring her plans to fruition. "Release him, but ensure his feet remain bound. I have no inclination for a chase," she commanded.

"You heard the lady." Cormac responded with a matter-of-fact tone that bespoke his dedication. As he dismounted from his chocobo, he deftly produced a hidden dagger and swiftly cut the ropes binding the man, allowing them to fall to the ground in a cascade of freedom. With an air of authority, Cormac implored the gentleman to rise from his hunched posture and as the man began to lose his balance, Cormac did little to assist and allowed for him to descend to the ground with a loud thud.

The scraggily man emitted another low groan, causing a pool of crimson liquid to slowly seep from the edge of his lips. Without any additional introduction, Ondrea swiftly pivoted on her heel and strode towards her captive. With a graceful crouch and a tightening of her leather-clad fingers, her gloved hand firmly grasped the back of his head, securing his hair within her firm hold, and jerked his face from the ground. The piercing gaze she directed towards him was intense, with narrowed eyes emanating a chilling glow of venomous green that seemed to ignite from the depths of her gaze.

Ondrea's hand descended and offered the man a tender touch with her leather-clad thumb as it glided across the apple of his cheek, then down to removing the traces of blood that adorned his mouth and chin. It was almost beautiful, the gesture, were the hand conducting it not attached to such a creature.

"I know it's you." The man choked out. "I can smell that foul magic on clinging to you---or is it you clinging to it?"

This caused Ondrea to chuckle a low, single note from the hearth of her throat.

"What use are powerful words when the tongue that they come from is as limp as its hosts backbone? Tell me, do you think you'll be saved?" To what exactly 'saved' was remained nebulous, though it was evident by the strict tone wrapping itself around her voice that she wasn't speaking on anything secular.

"By the flames, I will be purged and pure." The man uttered, his dry and flakey lips muttering the sentiment over and over again.

With a skeptical glance, Cormac fixed his gaze on Lady Cress, hoping that his expression would encourage her to conclude the matter swiftly. Unfortunately, Ondrea was not inclined to hasten proceedings unnecessarily. Instead, she forcefully pushed Cormac back onto the damp gravel near the bend of the river, emitting a disapproving click of her tongue accompanied by a sigh.

"Would you prefer to cut his tongue out, my lady?"

A pause followed, as if something peculiar lingered in the air. With a slow and methodical turn of her head, she peered out into the darkness. Searching. Watching. She raised a hand to silence Cormac's addendum, leaving but the muttered, repetative phrasing streaming from the man below them.

"--I feel something." She added, eyes scanning. "Someone?"

M: Having come to a stop following the trail of purple lightning, the man would turn to a different sense: his hearing, he heard faint noises coming from the river, as well as the gentle sound of the water sliding against the rocks bellow, and whisper-like voices coming to his ears, impossible to assert what was being said. So the man turned to follow the voices, and came to find the triumvirate close to the river. In there, the man witnessed the raven haired woman bring her hand to the man’s lips after roughly yanking at the back of their head, he watched as the so-called Cormac cut the ropes of the man and later suggested cutting down his tongue. He watched torture, or at least what he thought it was torture. He watched all of it from a bush, not making a sound, his gaze, verdant and piercing as a ray of sunlight through the night could not look away from the woman dressed in black. Every inch of his body begged him to go away… until he heard the restrained man speak about foul magics, then he knew why. Perhaps it was a sense developed by practicing the magic, perhaps it was a way that his intuition warned him that this woman could be far greater than he is on the arts of the occult, but he couldn’t just look the other way, they were going to kill a supposedly innocent man, and he would step in, his brain already looking for ways to make the innocent man less innocent in order to convince him to leave, failing to do so, of course. Before the man could have made the decision to intervene, that decision was made for him when he noticed the woman raising a hand, and watching as Cormac’s eyes scanned the surroundings after her warnings, if he could feel uneasy by her, then perhaps she could sense him. That did not come as a surprise for him, and even then, stealth was never part of the plan, he even thought to himself a phrase he often uses whenever he fails at such. ‘Subterfuge is the weapon of the coward anyway.’ And he stepped forward, coming out of the bushes, and making himself visible, first to those that could see in the dark, then to everyone else as the moonlight illuminated him. He walked with confident, calm steps towards the direction of the woman and its two bodyguards, unafraid, or at least, pretending to be. His sword was not drawn yet, but his hand remained on the hilt of the weapon, perhaps it was a gesture of peace, or perhaps he didn’t even think he’d need his weapon to retaliate if attacked. “Perhaps he might.” The man said, his red locks visible as the moon reflected bright sunlight into his surface, his voice was calm but deep, always carrying a menacing tone as he spoke, yet no anger came out of his lips. “Be saved, that is” He added, and pointed at the tied man with his eyes. Indicating he both had witnessed what happened before, and also to add a tone of sarcasm on his speech. He smirked at that, another sign of confidence, lessened by his own concerns. His eyes then moved from the two bodyguards to the woman. And he simply asked after a low sigh, one of tiredness. “Who are you people, and what are you doing to that man? And who is that man?” He expected not only would they not answer his questions, but also that they would ask questions of their own, questions the man was annoyed to answer. Or that they would draw their weapons and not ask anything, either outcome was not pleasing for the Highlander, thus the tired sigh, expecting inconveniences in the way. The way he stood, the way he spoke, the way he grinned briefly before, the way he held his sword, it resembles a classical knight of Ishgard, but with a twist. He lacks a shield on his free arm, he speaks with sarcasm and casualty when there is usually none, his smile is slightly crooked, and he has less life on his eyes. It was like watching the portrait of a Knight, painted without colors. His green eyes were locked into the woman’s, more than they were locked into the two bodyguards. Perhaps he knew she was actually the threat to him, or perhaps it was just that he had identified her as their leader. O:

Cormac and the second guard were the initial ones to shift their attention to the unfamiliar voice. The Cress guard quickly drew his katana, but Cormac stopped him with a single raise of his hand, indicating for him to remain at his position. The guard complied. With a slight tilt of her chin, Ondrea directed her gaze towards the man, her eyes shimmering like liquid gold in the dimly lit night that enveloped them. As the sound of an unfamiliar voice pierced through the surroundings, the man's eagerness to speak was evident as he hastily raised his head, panic etched on his face. However, before he could utter a single word, the katana was swiftly positioned against the side of his throat. Though it yielded to graze his skin, the threat remained palpable.

Her gaze lingered on him with an unabashed air, for it was not a mere fleeting glance, but a thorough assessment of his physical presence and demeanor. With a practiced eye, she took note of his height, build, and overall appearance, analyzing every detail, searching for hidden threats. After a moment, she took a step forward, casting an askance look at Cormac, as if to convey a sense of reassurance while subtly signaling the need for caution.

Ondrea's refined appearance was further accentuated by her elegant attire, which spoke of her elevated social standing. As she drew closer, Magnos couldn't help but notice the delicate bell trinket adorning her throat, a symbol associated with House Cress. Perhaps, if his memory served well, he'd have heard of such a symbol.

"Inquiring so extensively for a stranger is quite unusual. The majority of individuals with sound judgment would likely choose to leave in such a situation--but not you." The latter left her with a tone that signaled her own growing curiosity. "I am who presides over my ancestral line, alongside my Lord brother, Argrin Cress. You may address me as Lady Ondrea Cress." She kept her distance, though this did little to stop the man behind her from speaking aloud, almost pleadingly.

"They're going to kill me!" He shouted, though his proclamations were abruptly silenced when the back of the katana's pommel forcefully struck the side of his head. Collapsing to the ground, he let out a groan of pain. The Cress Guard, wearing a leather mask that concealed his nose and mouth, hissed at the man to be silent.

Unperturbed, Ondrea's gaze remained anchored to Magnos. Without hesitating, she confidently affirmed. "Indeed, that is the strategy. A gesture of kindness, as usually traitors to our name would meet far worse ends. Tell me, stranger, do you intend on witnessing his punishment or do you have further curiosities you wish to satiate?"

Cormac's response to the latter was immediate, as a single chuffed chuckle escaped his lips as he folded his arms across the breadth of his chest. Ondrea, however, remained placid and attentive to the man before her. M: The next sound was those of his footsteps, and the crunching of the chainmail armor that originated from the rings moving against each other. The redhead approached, with piercing green eyes that did not move away from Ondrea, until she finished speaking, then he briefly glanced towards the pleading man, and the two soldiers. When she introduced himself, he gave a low chuckle in response. Ah, nobility, things wouldn’t end well for him, he thought. “A pleasure, Lady Ondrea Cress.” He rolled her name out of his tongue, and despite the sarcasm, his decorum wasn’t lacking. “I am Magnos. No titles or surnames.” Yet his own demeanor betrayed him, white pearled teeth when he smiled, straight posture and there was a politeness in his tone, words were rarely abbreviated. One could easily pick up the Ishgardian Accent on his voice, he might not be nobility, but he surely was not a commoner. The name ‘Cress’ would ring a bell, something he’d read somewhere and never studied further, enough to recognize her words' truth, but not to know the depth of the problem he was in. He did not know any specifics of their family, other than being nobles. He shrugged in response when she addressed that individuals of sound judgment would have let it go, and not him, and he sighed. A tired, bored sigh almost. “Individuals with sound judgment, as you put it, are rats without strength to fight, only the cunning to hide and look after their own skin, and who can blame them ? Danger is… dangerous after all.” He implied that it was not a problem for him, despite his insights telling him to leave, he was already committed to finding out the story there. He squatted briefly to look at the pleading man as he shouted for his life, he gave a piercing glare to him, as if assessing if the man was telling the truth, or giving him crocodile tears in hopes of receiving empathy, he would know, sooner or later. His eyes returned to the woman as he picked himself up. He tilted his head sideways, and cleared his throat. “Oh, many more curiosities to satisfy. Call me a Concerned Citizen, what did this man do to warrant the punishment of death ? Is he an employee of yours that stole something he shouldn’t ? Or let me guess… did not address someone of status with the proper manners, hmmm?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice venomously, almost in a condescending like manner. His intention was to stir a response within Ondrea. Anger perhaps, or slight irritation, it was only when provoked that often people would reveal their true nature. He then looked at the old fellow about to meet his end. “Or perhaps he was an incompetent turd ? Perhaps he laid a hand on one of the other servants ?” Unlike Ondrea, which he addressed with sarcasm, his voice was not harsh and his eyes piercing with a glare, he too wanted to provoke a reaction on the man, maybe fear or despair, as that would also allow him to glimpse at his nature from within. Before the two would even answer, the Highlander squinted his eyes and glanced to his surroundings, it was clear that he was surveying the region, Ondrea would perhaps notice how the squint was not necessary, for he already saw clearly in the evening, and that the squint was to pretend not to. Something he did to fit on, or to deceive his foes into assuming the darkness would save them. Before he finally returned his gaze to the woman with raven hair and golden eyes. O:

The accent that rolled from his tongue struck to her ears like a familiar melody, and with it did it prompt her dark brow to loft with great inquisitiveness. "One would presume an act of trision reason enough for execution. Given your…" A pause followed, and before long her voice carried with addendum. "…stature, understands some of those limitations." Ondrea was no fool, and though he hadn't outright made a point of such an implication, she could very well distinguish that he was, to some degree, a creature of status.

As Magnos crouched down, the man lifted his gaze to meet his with a sense of desperation in his watery eyes. In that moment, he wisely chose to hold his tongue, fully aware of the imminent threat of being coerced by the glinting blade hovering nearby. Though, this did little to cease the wordless motioning of his mouth, as if silently pleading. When Magnos arose, Ondrea turned to meet his gaze once again.

The name "Magnos" felt unfamiliar as it rolled off her tongue. It seemed to rest uncomfortably upon it, yet her countenance betrayed such things. Nonetheless, she maintained an emotionless façade, as if the sudden appearance of this individual was not at all surprising to her. "The man who has piqued your curiosity is an individual who has taken solace in divulging information about our assets to an external entity. Given that our House is presently engrossed in the development of cutting-edge vessels for voyages to the Western regions, we deemed it appropriate to violate his contract as he so willingly violated his word."

Ondrea's gaze shifted downwards towards the pitiful man, a faint smirk playing at the edges of her lips. "He can attest to the fact that it was his own hand that inscribed his name at the base of that piece of vellum. He was well aware of the repercussions of his betrayal." These words caused the man to audibly choke, his expression a mixture of fear and regret.

"I did not intend to inform anyone, my Lady! I am committed to serving the Cress family with unwavering loyalty, just like my father and his father before me," the man exclaimed passionately. However, his words were abruptly cut short as Cormac, disregarding any formalities, swiftly approached him and forcefully yanked him up by the back of his hair.

"Enough out of you." Cormac's frustration was becoming increasingly apparent as he grew tired of Ondrea's slow progress. However, he wisely refrained from pressuring her to hurry. Instead, he maintained a firm grip on the man's hair, wrapping it tightly around his knuckles for a second time. Ondrea, consistently exemplifying her proficiency, diligently pursued her assignments with a tranquil and unhurried manner, unaffected by any external pressures or time constraints as they were effectively on her time.

"You may be a concerned citizen but I do find myself wrought with inquiry as to what exactly it is you intend to do? Do you intend to speak authority on a matter where you possess none?" The latter almost made her smile.

"Or will you concern yourself with observing instead, Magnos, the would be Justiciar?"

Cormac's focus shifted from his captive to Ondrea, who was met with a stern gaze that seemed to convey a message of pushing boundaries. As the closest companion to her brother since childhood, Cormac was familiar with Ondrea's behavior, yet he remained unsure about the stranger in their midst.

In spite of all circumstances, Ondrea appeared to be ready for any possible outcome. What she knew for certain was that blood would be shed this night.

Whose blood, however, remained nebulous.