[ She's almost insulted, that he starts to beat his wings.
Akua is many things. Prideful, deceitful -- she is a woman who desperately wanted to see her ideal evil come into being. Only months before -- when she'd arrived -- she'd been fresh from being stabbed, from the Dead King's own necrotized blast taking half of her body with it. The fact that she still looked like she did was a testament to her own aion power, but her fingers and hand on her left side still looked like necrotized, warped flesh.
She bared her teeth, hands spread, as she started to cast a weaving, something larger than what she normally did. Here, she could not construct a gate to summon demons, or create a working leashed with souls as the fodder. She had no way to take the elegant construction of power, and siphon enough night into it to blot out a star brighter than the sun, or weave gates in the air. She has only smaller workings. She cannot even teleport a lake above Howl's head but Gods Below, she thought about it. About trying to pull something over his head.
Her working is still vast. A weave of dark power to rend flesh and tear. To take it and pull it apart, like a necromancer's touch. She wants to rip him to shreds in the way that any proper villain would Her working is complete, slippery letters of high arcana flitting into being, like phased, little things, that couldn't be grasped without the training. Ones mind would gloss over it, and Akua, oh -- Akua.
In her folly, her pride. Her need to fight like a proper sorceress, she is never the one down in the mud. She's not like Catherine who weaves night and fights with her sword atop an undead steed. She isn't the one who steps in front of an encroaching army and lights a pipe and waits for them to stop. No, Akua is different. She rode flying fortresses, and created grand workings with time and study. Perhaps, in another world, her and Howl could have been friends.
As it is, her working of dark night is released, a wave that isn't aimed right -- it's angled improperly when the the tree started to fall -- and her hands rise, to create a shield, but it buckled under the weight of it -- too hasty, too much folly. She tightened one hand, as if to pull the leashes that pulled Howl down tighter, to try to break something, the wave still coalescing and toward him, but if he breaks free, he can escape.
And as her shield buckled, the grip on Howl slipped. ]
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Akua is many things. Prideful, deceitful -- she is a woman who desperately wanted to see her ideal evil come into being. Only months before -- when she'd arrived -- she'd been fresh from being stabbed, from the Dead King's own necrotized blast taking half of her body with it. The fact that she still looked like she did was a testament to her own aion power, but her fingers and hand on her left side still looked like necrotized, warped flesh.
She bared her teeth, hands spread, as she started to cast a weaving, something larger than what she normally did. Here, she could not construct a gate to summon demons, or create a working leashed with souls as the fodder. She had no way to take the elegant construction of power, and siphon enough night into it to blot out a star brighter than the sun, or weave gates in the air. She has only smaller workings. She cannot even teleport a lake above Howl's head but Gods Below, she thought about it. About trying to pull something over his head.
Her working is still vast. A weave of dark power to rend flesh and tear. To take it and pull it apart, like a necromancer's touch. She wants to rip him to shreds in the way that any proper villain would Her working is complete, slippery letters of high arcana flitting into being, like phased, little things, that couldn't be grasped without the training. Ones mind would gloss over it, and Akua, oh -- Akua.
In her folly, her pride. Her need to fight like a proper sorceress, she is never the one down in the mud. She's not like Catherine who weaves night and fights with her sword atop an undead steed. She isn't the one who steps in front of an encroaching army and lights a pipe and waits for them to stop. No, Akua is different. She rode flying fortresses, and created grand workings with time and study. Perhaps, in another world, her and Howl could have been friends.
As it is, her working of dark night is released, a wave that isn't aimed right -- it's angled improperly when the the tree started to fall -- and her hands rise, to create a shield, but it buckled under the weight of it -- too hasty, too much folly. She tightened one hand, as if to pull the leashes that pulled Howl down tighter, to try to break something, the wave still coalescing and toward him, but if he breaks free, he can escape.
And as her shield buckled, the grip on Howl slipped. ]