Nymoria

She gave a soft wave of her hand as the individuals arrived and browsed, before placing their orders. A quick beaming smile, and Nymoria shifted to begin working on the requested items, waving a hand towards a collection of already crafted items that she had placed to the side for display. Without looking up, she quickly signed a response to the larger individual, focusing on her work even as her right hand spoke for her. The Locating Charm. I will make others. Please wait. Moment. She focused, for a few moments, on the work as she defined out the details of what the customer wanted, befo

Shop Post: Makes Me Chuckle Cost of Transaction: 1 material Crafter's Profession: Artisan Crafter's Rank: 7 Item Name: Makes Me Chuckle Item Tier: Tierless Item Type: Trinket Item Rarity: Perfect Item Enhancements: Accuracy[3 Slots] Craft/Appraisal/Obtainment IDs & Rolls: ID231286 Item Description: A polished hunk of bloodstone, with splotches of black and crimson that c

Nymoria shifted at the last second, the blade missing her sister’s form as she realised that she couldn’t strike the mirage down. She knew that she needed to, that it was simply an image of her sister based upon her own mind, created by Cardinal in order to test her. Yet Nymoria found herself stopping the strike, turning it away and stepping back. Shaking, she lowered the blade slightly. Of course you couldn’t do it. What would someone like you ever accomplish in life? You need someone to hold the sword, the shield, even your hand. You couldn’t strike me down! Not even if you- The words

The sabre slammed into the side of the mirage, sending it flying. For a brief second, Nymoria swore she saw something horrid beneath the image of her sister, a blackened thin that flowed and ebbed like a creature from the abyss come to life. Almost as quickly as she’d spotted it, it was gone however, replaced by the form of her sister once more. It was enough, however, to remind Nymoria that the thing before her wasn’t her, that it was nothing more than her own thoughts come to life – as appalling and damaging as those thoughts may be to hear. You think defeating me changes anything? Tha

Pitiful. Weak. Useless. These are the words to describe you. The words that you’ve always hidden away. That we’ve always hidden away. Maybe you should die here. Maybe being trapped in this world is better for us. At least we can forget about your existence. The form suddenly released Nymoria, and she dropped to the ground. Her knees impacted the hard stone, and yet Nymoria found no pain. She was numb, within and without, as she looked down at the ground. The figure before her moved back, slightly. For the first time since it’s appearance, it fell silent, as if waiting to see what Nymoria would

The form of Akane moved towards her, reaching out a hand as if in offering. Nymoria wanted to reach up, to take it and accept the help that was being offered, but something in the thing’s eyes seemed to threaten her. A desire to cause…something, and it scared Nymoria. Almost as much as the words that her sisters form has said; words that Nymoria had known to be true for far too long. She wanted nothing more than to run, to escape, to get away from everything…and yet she was drawn in, pulled up as her sister placed a hand upon her form, lips drawing back into a smile as Nymoria stared at her.

Ending it would be easier, wouldn’t it? But where would be the point in that…you would only cause more pain, more suffering on those around you. Nymoria shifted at the sound of the voice in her head. She knew, without looking up, that it would simply be another mirage of herself, speaking to herself with the entire point of trying to drive her further into despair. That didn’t stop the voice from continuing. Think of all the people who would have to attend your funeral, to show their sadness at your loss…even if they don’t feel it. They’d need to pretend…think of how hard that would be on them

Her breath came calmly, all things considered. Nymoria stared down at the place where her mirror image had lain mere seconds ago, destroyed beneath the heel of her boot as she had taken out…something, upon it. She wasn’t quite sure what to call the emotion. It hadn’t quite been anger, nor frustration. There was no shaking, uncontrollable rage within her that was teeming to get out – in fact, if she were to look inside herself she would almost say there was nothing at all. No feelings, towards what she had just done. If anything, I feel empty. She frowned slightly, wondering if that was such a

Thank you. I will cherish this gift to my dying breath. - Nymoria. ---- Picking up: Repressed | T4 Perfect Rapier | ID: 234438 | Bleed 2 | Keen 1 Description: A simple thin sword with a basic hilt wrapped in a soft pink leather. A single sentence runs along the blade; forgotten, but not gone.

She felt her blade impact something above her, the sudden jerk as whatever it had struck pulled back, and then she was free. The hands released her, drifting off to the side as something heavy splashed into the water beside her. Nymoria hesitated only long enough to confirm that she was released, before exploding from the water. Her mouth opened as she gasped for air, spitting out the remnants of the water that she had swallowed when she had been pushed beneath the surface again. Her eyes spotted the form of the mirage that had attacked her, floating just beneath the surface. It took Nym

She spun suddenly, kicking out against the thing that had held her down. It was pushed backwards, caught off guard by the sudden fight that Nymoria unleashed even from beneath the water. She could feel the burning in her lungs, the obvious sign that she was running out of air. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been under water, but as she erupted from the surface, she found herself coughing in pain as she forced the buildup from her lungs. She rolled onto the rocky surface, holding onto the edge of it as her feet dangled into the water, unable to do more than getting her torso out of the depths.

Her eyes had closed, losing the energy required to remain open as she had let herself drift further and further into the depths. She had given up fighting, given up on anything beyond simple floating down. There was no need anymore, nothing that held her to the continuous torment that had become life. Nothing that would keep her from drifting into the darkness, and disappearing from the lives of all those she had tormented. No one will miss me, no one will mourn me. I can rest, in peace, knowing that I am nothing but a forgotten name, engraved upon a stone that will never be read. A flash

The water touched Nymoria’s nose as she came face to face with it, her torso burning from the odd position she’d leaned into without moving. She stared at her own eyes, seeing the thoughts upon them in a way that she couldn’t quite describe. A part of her screamed inside, trying to get her to move, to resist, to pull away. Yet Nymoria could feel that portion of her dying off, as if drifting away across the distance, moving further and further until it was almost too quiet to hear. She felt a hand upon her shoulder, gentle but firm as she turned to see the figure beside her smiling down a

Nymoria had been shocked into stillness, her entire frame locking up as she stared into the water before her. She could see the reflection of her own face, paled with the pressure of everything she was hearing, from inside her head and without. She could feel herself shaking slightly, the gravity of the situation reaching to the very nerves of her core, destabilising what few defences against the darkness she may have put up. You can see it, right there. Look into the water…see the truth. No one wants you, no one needs you. They cling to you only because they feel like they must. It is t

The voice didn’t return for a few moments, and Nymoria found herself prying her eyes open in order to search for its source, as if to confirm whether it had ever truly been there, or not. She didn’t have to look far, spotting another mirage of herself seated across from her, legs dipped in the water as if relaxing at the pool, or baths. There was no cruelty on its face as the others had contained, no desire to consume or cause harm. If anything, Nymoria would say that it looked almost…apologetic, or concerned. As if it wanted to nothing more than to help her, to ease her away from the pain and