Changes! (Hat+Aldir)

[Hat-tori]

The manacles were heavy on the robed man's arms. They were meant to stop his magic. He slumped with their weight, feeling it pull on his shoulders. The air was muggy, warm, and unseasonal, heady in this swamp where he'd been found. He grimaced - He was to be brought to Central City, to be presented to the God Law, for execution. He didn't even know his crimes.

He wasn't ugly, not by far. He was tall, with features that brought to mind a hawk, sharp eyes of blue and hair of black. Fit, as well, strong from work and labour around his home to stay alive. Even some hunting. He groaned as they set out. She on horse, he on foot. Of course. His feet would be a bloody mess by the time they arrived, and she'd spend half of it asleep.

The road ahead seemed so long...

 

[Aldir]

Armor was good for two things as far as Ophelia was concerned, stopping blades and arrows and looking intimidating for those who were on the opposing side. She certainly had the imposing part down; any heathen that looked upon her would likely know exactly where she stood. Her armor was gilded and incorporated flames and wings heavily into the design, each piece blended seamlessly into the next and created as much a work of art as protection. Each member of the order received a similar suit of armor, along with a longsword of finely crafted steel and a shield with the sigil of her order upon it. The flaming wings of purity.

The tall knight stared back at her prisoner, lips curling in distaste as she looked upon the wretch. Attractive of flesh he might well have been, but of spirit, only the fires could possibly purify his spirit. Mages, those with an affinity for the heretical and the arts that man was not meant to know or dabble into. Truly there was no greater betrayal of the human race than such beings existing, she believed in the propaganda she had been fed from a young age on this matter. Impurities were to be purged when first they were noticed, no mercy could be granted to such individuals but the flames.

“Keep up mage, we still have miles yet to cover and they will be made longer by you dragging your heels.” The tall armored woman offered gruffly.

Ophelia was no great beauty true, rather plain in the face and possessing a jagged and angry scar running down the left side of her face. Blonde hair was kept regulation short and fell just below her ears to prevent interference with her currently stored helmet. Blue eyes were seemingly constantly alert and searching for potential threats. Her grip upon the horse was practiced and displayed her training well enough, as a paladin of her order. The knight grunted as she continued at her current gait, rather obviously unconcerned with the mage’s comfort.

 

[Hat-tori]

The magus sighed as he walked. She was one to talk - from behind her armor, atop her horse. She didn't have to walk in mud and stone. He smiled quietly, hands behind him. Of course, she'd done the poor mistake of turning down her immediate superior just before this mission - and he had contacted the sorceror.

The iron chains were merely made of copper with greyed paint. Which meant he could do as he wished. He touched the Else, humming to himself as he thought for a moment on how to best take care of her. A gentle peeling away of inhibition, layer by layer. removing this fear, that rule - tearing away her desire to remain covered and feared. Pushing away her need for intimidation. Amplifying whatever minute discomfort came from the armor.

Yes, this was a good start. Let's see you shuck your own shell, you damned oyster-bitch.

 

[Aldir]

Ophelia had opted to simply keep her silence in the company of the wizard, placing her efforts into gazing around at the terrain. Thus far the journey had been peaceful, no one had accosted them and though she would have preferred more comrades travelling with her such was the requirements of duty. The light forests around the road were looked at with undisguised suspicion. Technically, this was the near the edge of human controlled territory. While still in the land her order controlled it was very much still a bit wild in terms of what manner of creatures dwelled there. Things she did not fancy facing alone honestly.

As the minutes bled into hours the knight started noticing her armor weighing uncomfortably down on her shoulders. She rolled them ever so, the motion easily disguised when she was riding on horseback. The feeling did not vanish immediately, and the more she rode she started to notice she was getting a bit hot under the armor. Not normally something she’d consider taking her armor off over, but the heavy plate over chainmail was indeed becoming slowly unbearable. The mage had been bound so she very much doubted he was the cause of her discomfort, so she assumed it natural.

The woman figured that removing her gauntlets and bracers would not be overly terrible of an idea; it was unlikely her hands needed to be armored for riding after all. The clasps were unbound and placed into one of her saddlebags. Her hands were sweaty at this point and she was not exactly sure why but she continued onwards, her agitation unconsciously causing her to increase the gait at which her horse moved. The knight was more worried over her own discomfort at the moment than the health of a mage of all things, struggling to resist the urge to shed her platemail. Though as little bits of inhibition were removed, it became less and less easy to do so.

 

[Hat-tori]

He grinned a little wider, keeping up by enhancing his own endurance. He was, technically, a mentalist for the most part. He smoothed the mind, moved thoughts about. It was his primary skill, but he secondarily had flesh-crafting. Enough to hide his years with wonderful, wonderful magic. His god, opposite Law, was the mighty Clown. May his laughter mock the world. He focused on the muggy heat in the woman's mind. So hot, so heavy. It was summer. Why did they have so much darn padding in these months for her armor? Carefully, he fostered her discomfort, lowered her inhibitions further, focusing both on social and sexual ones.

After all, armor was both clothing and protection, removing it was doubly difficult. He grinned wider, subtly and gently pushing away her years. He was just good enough that she wouldn't notice the loss of wrinkles. Soon enough, she'd be an entirely different person, and if he was good enough, the order would only recognize her well enough when they arrived to realize with horror that the whore was her. She was of some rank, he thought - what a blow to Old Man Law to have it happen to one of his great knights, servile to him, and to his cock. He savored it for now, though - make her uncomfortable, uncertain with her approaching nudity.

But not uncertain enough to stop, he mused, working and worrying away - unbidden thoughts of himself popping into her head at his will. Wonderfully lusty ones, but not too outlandish... things she'd come up with herself. Temptations.

 

[Aldir]

Ophelia was scowling at the moment, her irritation having increased to rather powerful heights to the point where she wanted to hit something. Ophelia herself was a somewhat violent follower of Law; she believed in martial strength and sought to crush those who dared stand before her lord in offence. In another world she likely would have made an excellent follower of War, she tried to exercise temperance in all matters but her irritation at this point was starting to affect her violent tendencies. The seeds of corruption being planted within her mind thus naturally led to her thoughts of violence to rise.

She really wanted to strip off this armor and go out to kill something with her blade, certainly there were other heathens along this road to slay. Her fingers worked to undo the strings of her cloak, which she also placed into the saddlebags. This heat was positively dreadful, enough so that she made a note when she got home to switch to a lighter form of armor for this sweltering summer. Still she road on, harnessing as much endurance as she could. Not only that but she was finding her more carnal appetites rising in the back of her mind. Her gaze briefly flitted over the wizard trudging behind her, pity he was to die. Certainly it wouldn’t hurt to drag the man aside and-

Ophelia shook her head slightly, returning her attention to the road. No, she could NOT do something like that. Violent she might very well have been, but such a thing would break her oaths to her lord. She had her duty to consider, that which separated her from the followers of War. Still now that the thought had been acknowledged it was difficult to shake it off, her ride in the saddle was made a little more uncomfortable for it. Enough so that a couple more hours down the line she stopped near the forest on the side of the road, tying up both her horse and her prisoner to trees.

With this task accomplished Ophelia began removing her plate armor, the chainmail underneath chiming as she did so. Once she stood in the chainmail she sighed ever so, pleased to have ridded herself of that discomfort at least. The chainmail still weighed heavily upon her shoulders, and the tunic and trousers beneath made them seem a bit excessive but she just was not ready to shed every bit of protection she possessed. Not only that, but the discomfort was putting her in an exceedingly bad mood.

“I’ll be making lunch soon enough. If you grovel enough I might consider feeding you, magus.” The knight said, sneering at the wizard and actually feeling a tiny bit better for it as she started to get a fire ready.

 

[Hat-tori]

Endorphins here and there as he felt her thoughts bubble and simmer. Peel away the violence a bit. Aggression, yes, leave that. But not any intent to kill... That had to go. He still focused on inhibition, watching her remove the armor.

Now the chain... he thought. How it must have itched. How the weight bore upon her. Yes. Yes! He'd have her out of it in the night.

"I very much doubt the execution of a half-starved magus would be impressive." he said, "But feed me as you wish." he said, bowing a little. A bit of submission hurt no one, really. Not with what he planned - pushing the years away from her body, leaving her a bit more capable. A bit more beautiful.

More and more he pushed the lust, peeled the inhibition away. You don't need the chain, he thought, you don't need the gloves or boots...

 

[Aldir]

Ophelia growled in irritation at the agreeable conduct in which the mage was conducting himself with, her desire for violence dying down but she was more than a little annoyed. The woman finished setting up the fire, the flames seeming to tease at her weariness regarding the armor. It was probably a trick of the light but she could almost swear that she saw a figure in the flames. Regardless she set about preparing a stew, soon after cursing as she tore off her chainmail. The Knight glared at the mage as she stood in her common clothing, she’d had enough of this feeling burning inside of her. The man was to die anyway, he was a heathen and none would take his word over hers.

The woman removed her gloves and took up her dagger, pushing the mage up against the tree she tied him to. Her eyes were smoldering with malice and aggression, no afternoon of mental prodding would make her forget that she despised mages for their heresy. The dagger she placed at his neck and she leaned in close, her breath hot and her lips curved downwards. The Knight knew well this was in violation of her oaths but at the moment she rationalized it with the knowledge that plenty of her fellows did much the same.

“Listen carefully, Magus. I’m going to use you for my own pleasure; you’re going to be cooperative. If you aren’t I’ll slice off your cock and cast it into the fire. I’ll follow that with your tongue and fingers if you continue to refuse me. I doubt many of my comrades would look down on such a thing, filth.” The Knight growled, pressing the point of her blade just a bit to draw a drop of blood.

“Are you going to cooperate, or shall I add some pieces to the flames?” The woman pressed.

 

[Hat-tori]

"I'd not refuse a champion as beautiful as you." he said smoothly, looking into her eyes.

Eye contact for Mentalists was Special. Once they had it, it was much easier to do everything. He blew away her prejudice, her judge,ent, her anger, blasting it away. You've always wanted to be wanted. he thought, So what happens when your worst enemy is the first to do so?

Easy: A reassessment of 'enemy'. She wouldn't sudden;y fall in love, but her hostility would be partially extinguished. Perhaps... yes. Some revelry in being desired. Teasing, even. Drawing out the moment, the being-wanted.