☾ Black Magic ☆ { PAFP }

They wanted to kill me. They were going to kill me. The black witch of Haeralian. The executioner had his axe held high above his head, where the sharp metal glistened in the summer sun, but you stopped him from swinging it down. You, the prince, had saved my life for what reason? I was guilty of the charges brought up against me, I had accepted my fate already, and I was the one in all of the kingdom to be most shocked by your sudden leniency. What was it that you wanted to prove? Wanted to accomplish? I had committed the most heinous crime that one can commit, and yet the prince saved my black magic.

Plot
The RP takes place in the Dark Ages, where there are knights in shining armor and kings that sit atop high thrones. My character, Garsea, is a black witch. She's well known for her black magic with alchemy, curses, and spells of the sort. Witch craft is strictly forbidden in the kingdom our characters reside in, Haeralian, and the only punishment for this crime is death. Garsea, after lifetimes of evading the knights and hunters, has finally been captured. She was to have her head sliced off in the town square to be made an example of, but the prince {Your charrie} has refused this fate for her. Why? Well the simple explanation is that they had a secret love affair going on for years. The true explanation is that Garsea had foreseen this unavoidable event happening so she used her magic to seduce him into falsely believing he loves her. No one but Garsea and her prince are happy with this outcome, but as the magic spell wears off will the prince become angry and sentence Garsea to death using the most painful, embarrassing way possible? Or will they both start to fall for each other without the use of magic or trickery?

{I do have a few rules:
A. This is semi-advanced. That means no spelling errors in every single post {On occasion is fine, we're all human}, good grammar, and a paragraph at minimum. A paragraph is three and a half lines down or more, anything less will not be accepted. Even with a low muse a paragraph shouldn't be difficult.
B. Please be active. I'm not going to refuse you if you're not active, I understand that we all have lives, but I'd prefer it that way.
C. Yes there's a form, yes I need to accept it, no this is not a jump in.}

Form

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☾ Full Name ☆
☾ Age ☆
☾ Gender ☆
☾ History ☆
☾ Activity {1-10} ☆
☾ RP Sample ☆

My Form

☾ Garsea Boisell ☆
☾ Unknown. Some say she's centuries old, some say she's thousands of years old. She's immortal so there's no true way of knowing, although she looks to be in her early 20's ☆
☾ Female ☆
☾ Garsea's history is shrouded in mystery and no one really knows of it but her. She was born in B.C. time, long before the birth of the middle ages. Garsea and her siblings lived in the wilderness with their parents, protected by nothing more than a tarp of deerskins that hung on the branches overhead. Her father hunted their food, protected them from other people and animals, and kept them safe and healthy. Her mother taught them the life skills they'd need to survive in the primitive wilderness. Well, one day they were greeted with weapons made of steel that were created by the hands of a developing civilization. Her family, everyone but Garsea, were slaughtered right before her. Garsea, on the other hand, was captured and brought to the emperor to be made a wife. Garsea was like a wild, untamed animal. She spoke none of the people's language and was labeled as dangerous and demonic. Through a chain of careless events, Garsea managed to escape her prison and flee into the woods. She was 23 at this time, and embraced witchcraft as if it was all she had left. This made her immortal, and eventually as time progressed, she adopted herself into civilization as the kingdom of Haeralian was created. ☆
☾ 8 ☆
☾ Garsea sobbed into the cheap fabric that she had been given to cover herself. Her parents, her brothers, her sisters... They were all dead. Slaughtered without mercy and now she was alone. Garsea was tied to the saddle of one of the horses, the guards riding them chatting lightly in some strange language, and Garsea could only guess what they were talking about. The child was scared and sore, having been walking for days on end without stopping for food or rest. Garsea was unable to ask them any questions, unable to insult them, unable to talk to them without getting laughed at. She looked up from the muddied earth, peering through the stray strands of black hair, to notice strange structures that were tanned and gray from weathering, all of them bunched together in a large clearing. So this is where they were taking her? This is the hell that she was going to be pulled into? Where on this large Earth was she going to find the one thing she longed for the most? Where was she going to find a place called home? ☆

Accepted and thanks for joining. I guess we can go ahead and start the RP seeing as there's no reason not to. We start at the execution.

Garsea was hunched over the heated stone floor, surrounded by the angry citizens of the medieval kingdom. They shouted foul words that should have never escaped the lips of any living being, threw stones at her, called her the devil. Her hands were tied behind her back so she was unable to use her magic to help herself. She was tempted to jump to her feet and run, tempted to fight the man for his axe and use that as a weapon, and the executioner must've seen that in her eyes. Garsea felt the heavy boot of the executioner press against her soft cheeks, pinning her head tightly against the ground. She instinctively tried to push her hands against the ground to support herself, but considering they were tied, she ended up falling on her stomach.

"You, Garsea Boisell, are charged with witchcraft and in order for our Kingdom to prosper, you must be put to death. Anyone else guilty of witchcraft will suffer the same fate... Do you have anything to say for yourself?" The executioner asked. He expected her to plea for her life, to cry out in sorrow and fear, to claim to repent for her sins. She did none of that.

Garsea looked up at the man with hateful, fiery eyes and said almost too quiet for herself to hear, "I'm guilty of the charge... I do not deny that. But I do deny the fact that death will be the punishment I embrace for my sins. After centuries of spending my life in dragged out solitude, death will be the sweet release I had been waiting my entire existence for. What my punishment after death be? An eternity in Hell is all I could guess." The executioner seemed stunned by her words. Prisoners usually throw a fit when in this situation, but she seemed to be genuinely enjoying it. This angered the executioner as he raised his axe above his head, ready to swing down on her with all the resentment he had for this witch.

Garsea's bland face showed not even the slightest bit of emotion as the Prince halted the executioner's axe. It was all part of her plan, her grand scheme of things, and everything was falling into place quite nicely. The woman had been getting a little nervous at first that he wouldn't speak up before she was dead, a little nervous that the spell was wearing off already, and terrified that this would be the first plan she's ever made that didn't end successfully and frankly, it would've been the worst one to suffer that fate. Yet despite this, her face gave out no further emotions.

Garsea's eyes closed tightly as she heard the blade slice the air between them. Her teeth were visually clenched against each other as she braced herself for death, but death was not the one that touched her, a blade was not what made contact with the tense body. It was the soft touch of a hand, one that she was all too familiar with. The witch didn't really have time to process what was happening before she felt her body be pulled to her feet. She felt like smiling, felt like letting out a sigh of relief, felt like letting her body relax as she realized death would not come to her today, but she didn't. Something like that would raise suspicion, and she needed anything but that at the moment.

Garsea then felt herself being dragged away by the man, her soft, black hair in his fist. The witch did not argue with this, did not fight him, and instead followed quietly until they were out of sight. "I was almost afraid you wouldn't pull through my Liege. It troubles me to think that if you took only one more moment of hesitation that I would be dead right now. And for that, I thank you," She murmured quietly, ripping herself away from him and taking a step back. Her wrists criss-crossed each other for a moment before she violently pulled them apart, ripping the tight rope with ease.

Garsea's red lips pressed tightly against each other, her dark eyes glaring knives and daggers at this sorry excuse for a man. The woman felt like ranting at him, to give him her two cents on the situation, but she was one for self control and knew it would do nothing for her situation at the moment to yell and snap at him. Besides, the strings she had held him on only days before were slowly slipping, slowly fading, and if she said anything to oppose this spoiled prince it would not end well for her.

Not given much of any other options, the witch walked with him. Not behind or in front of him, but next to him seeing as she knew the paths to and from the castle well. Garsea did not slow down when confronted by the guards and walked past them without hesitation, seeing as the woman was clearly angered to the point that she did not carry a leveled head on her shoulders. Glancing towards the prince, she asked in a quiet voice, "My Liege, I have a question and I expect nothing but honesty when you answer me. What do you want from me? I am not one of your dim-witted whores who will give you their bodies at your request. I'd kill you before you could bat an eye if you'd dare to try that and you know it very well... So why do you care if I sink or swim?"

Garsea's eyebrows furrowed at his unsatisfying answer. It involved her just as much as him, if not more, and for him to give that kind of respo- She found the door slammed in her face and her teeth clenched. This prince was going to be a lucky, lucky man if he escaped her wrath with his life after this was all over. She pushed the door open and stepped into the room, closing it softly behind her.

Garsea's eyes scanned the room. It seemed more like a prison to her than home, seeing as her current home was out in the surrounding mountains. Then again, it probably wasn't there anymore. The knights probably smashed her belongings and closed the cave in with rubble. Even if it wasn't, however, that would be the first place they looked for a missing witch. She rubbed her pale arm, feeling suddenly uncomfortable and upset, yet she gave away no other body language that she was feeling that way. It was men, always men, that crushed her mentally and physically. The first time she had lost everything important and was kidnapped to add on, what made this time different? She had spent more years than men can count building her life up from the dirt and now she could see her efforts were for nothing.

Garsea was ripped from her thoughts as she heard the offer for alcohol. With a loud "Ugh" she rolled her eyes. The woman was about to give a loud-mouthed remark but quickly decided against it. She was trying to gain his favor, not lose it. Still, she should've seen it coming that he'd go straight for the bottle. "I decline my good Sir. Alcohol cannot fix my problems nor can it cloud them. It tastes like horse piss and frankly I get no pleasure out of it," She said in her most polite tone, even though it still had a sharp edge to it. "But how long do you suppose to keep me here? What do you suppose I do while I'm here?" She knew she was just rewording her previous question, but that was the point. She was trying to get some kind of reaction to what he was really interested in with her.

Garsea did not answer him for the longest time. The woman's gaze was focused on her white, bony hands as she thought things over, searched for the right words to say. "Good sir," Garsea finally spoke. "I'm afraid I cannot accept your offer. Your too naïve to be speaking such words, and I'm too black hearted to request what I want versus what I need. I'm supposed to be your prisoner, am I not? If I took up residence in a separate room, one better than a prison cell, than it would be found suspicious and especially by your father. If he found out, I worry for my fate as I know my punishment will be more than just death... Same goes for what I want to do and those privileges that you offer me. You're a man with a child's heart, do not speak such things if you haven't thought it over." The witch looked him over once, but long enough to see him turn his head away from her. It was hard to remember at times that this man was supposedly her superior, her captor. It surprised her, as she had not heard of nor seen this side of him. Despite the names and labels that had been placed on this woman, she was still a lady of some sort and so her cheeks involuntarily heated up, blushing a slight shade of pink.

Garsea walked over to the man and stood at the fire beside him. "Remember what I am, good Sir. I am a witch, a black witch, and looking at me with such eyes will be a fatal mistake."

Garea's eyebrows furrowed as he spoke those nasty words. "What is with your sudden change in attitude my Liege? Do you have even less control over your emotions than I had expected?" She asked, not turning to face him when he left. The man was probably speaking drunk words, but if he wanted to see what she was capable of, who was she to deny him that? While it was true that her familiar was not nearby, she must have a little bit of magic to at least scare him. Her fists clenched tightly together, focusing her energy into them.

Garsea then turned her figure around, unclenching her hands to reveal two flames of black fire, one on each palm. "Well then for starters why don't you put that bottle down?" She asked, throwing one of the flames towards the bottle of alcohol. It hit dead center on the glass, causing it to shatter to smaller shards of glass. She then started to walk towards him, clearly reaching a much higher level of anger at this point. She then grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer to where their faces were just barely touching. "Remember, good Sir, that I am in fact a witch. This will be your last lesson over this because next time, I'll just kill you and get on with my life," She said before throwing her remaining flame into the fireplace, turning it black as well. She then released her grip on him, throwing him back as well.

Garsea watched him with a bland face, it not depicting her full amount of anger and rage towards this man. Her eyes watched him carefully, studying his behavior and mentally noting it for a later date. "Your drunken self had asked for me to do that. Do not be so bitter when I was only doing as you had asked," Garsea said with a voice that lacked the human emotions that she was currently feeling. Her gaze moved to the fireplace once, and then to his hand. She sighed and let the anger escape her, seeing as he probably wouldn't ask for that again.

Garsea moved in front of the prince and sat down across from him. The witch was seated on her knees so that he was not able to see up the short, burlap dress the executioner had dressed her in. Her lips pressed together tightly as she watched him for a long moment. "My Liege," She said softly. "I was wondering if you had any clothes in which I could wear. What I currently have on is not a suitable dress for me to wear in front of a man." She figured he had some sort of dress lying around considering the "guests" he usually kept in his bed, and if he was willing to allow her to borrow one than it would save her the shame of walking around in this ugly, uncomfortable dress that only went down so far.

Garsea's eyebrows furrowed. He was getting too cocky for her liking and that was an issue for her. She walked over the end of the bed, grabbing the railings and leaning over them. "And maybe I can mount your head on mine," Garsea threatened, using the same tone as the prince. "For I have not killed you yet and if I had any intentions to do so, I would've already done it. There's no honor in killing a man in his drunken sleep, so you have no reason to fear me at the moment." She smiled sweetly with a fake giggle before she pushed herself back off of the bed. The witch then moved around the bed towards him and pressed her hand against his chest, leaning in close to him. "Let me make myself crystal clear so that even a man such as yourself will understand: I will not sleep in another room yet I will not spend my night chained to a wall," She said softly. The woman then smiled sweetly before she whispered into his ear, "Understand? Or do I need to repeat myself?"

Garsea spent the majority of her night sitting in the corner of the room, watching him carefully. The woman did not trust this man, did not trust that he wouldn't do something to her in her sleep. She had heard tales of horrid things from this man, horrid things she did not wish to think of, and the fact that he offered to chain her to a wall did not help his case or her sleep.

As the night progressed, Garsea tried to keep herself from drifting into a land of bliss slumber, tried desperately to keep her guard up, but it was getting more difficult as the night progressed. Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier until they were too heavy to keep open any longer. Her eyes closed slowly, and before she knew it the witch had drifted off to sleep sometime in the night.