| Without a soul in which to confide her deepest fears and sorrows, a slender Dermorian woman with strawberry blond hair sat atop a grassy hill and stared at the burial well across the wide, open field. Although not its official name, it was commonly called the howling well due to its sorrowful expression. To her, it was cold and hardened; It looked like it was grieving for the loss of loved ones - wailing day and night, cycle after cycle; its cries and moans forever falling upon deaf ears as the foul taste of decay drifted from its lips. Zalloh knew that feeling of sorrow and helplessness quite well. It had been about twenty five cycles ago when she broke down from years of sadistic, methodical abuse and sought resolution of her woes in a way that would leave upon her, an indelible mark. At the moment, it seemed the only reasonable solution. He was small and frail, with thin black arms and small pointed horns on his shiny little head. As if it was yesterday, she could see him staring back at her from beneath the water's reflective surface as she held his soft, fleshy neck in her hands and forced his head to the bottom of the washtub. He screamed and cried for help, but his words were not more than a chain of bubbles and garbled speech. She held her breath - biting her lip and cried . She was dizzy with confusion, life altering stress, and dysphoria that just wouldn't go away, until her son's his face went soft and the last of his air rose to the top. She could smell and taste his breath as the last few bubbles burst and his life slipped from her hands. The time that had passed since that horrible day did little to assuage her guilt. Holding her ripened face in her hands as she placed her elbows on her knees, she rocked back and forth until her depression was replaced with silence. As she stared at the stony entrance to the burial well, she spoke aloud, "What good are gods when they do not answer? Are they deaf or do they just not care enough to intercede?" Leaning back, she placed her palms against the grass and stretched her legs forward - crossing them at her ankles. Feeling a tender twig beneath her fingers, she picked it from the ground and held it in front of her for a look. It was a starphire - with bright blue petals and a long, tender green stem. "Is this just coincidence, or another omen?", she asked herself. Twirling it between her thumb and fore finger, a lonesome tear streamed down her cheek. Smelling the flower, she repeated to herself her husband's favorite taunt, "So tender, fragrant, and wild. You're like a starphire, my dear. So quick to blossom and attract, and quicker yet to whither, rot and die without notice or concern." She let the lonely flower fall from her hand - feeling too weak and miserable to hold it, too overwhelmed to even care. It was so much easier not to care about anything all, but her empathy was her last shred of humanity. She had guarded it for so long and was determined to never let it go, but what was the point now? Nothing really mattered - her life had been ruined over and over again. The only thing left to hope for was true death and the eternal silence that would follow. | (https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-oFUh7zJGpr0/TwA57HO4pII/AAAAAAAAAAk/JiRiJmjMUzI/s512/zalloh-well.jpg) |
| Though grateful for the room at Kada-El's that was paid for on her behalf, Zalloh sat up in bed as she stared out the window. She could hear the whisper of the wind, and the distant rustling of the trees as the throbbing pain in her leg felt like it would explode. She'd not even expected the shot of laka she'd done earlier to completely dull the pain - she merely hoped that it would get her through the night. No longer able to tolerate it, she put on her clothes and boots, then stepped outside. The walk to Levrus' shop was not all that long, but she dreaded walking alone at night - especially on roads such as these, where bandits and thieves hid with knives and daggers drawn just waiting to prey upon the weak. She had only two hexas left with which to purchase a salve, and no means of earning more tria. Wanting to reduce her chances of being robbed for everything she had, she put one hexa in her boot, and kept the other in her pocket. The guards by the north gate stood as still as carved toy soldiers - ready to strike at a moment's notice. Though the comfort that they afforded quickly diminished as she passed them and crept along the twisted, dark road that disappeared into the dark of night. The further she walked, the more visible a peculiar light emanating from the trees could be seen. Her shadow raced behind her, stretching almost as far as the gate from which she had departed. It could have been a campfire had it not been for the light's sheer magnitude; but perhaps it was a beacon to light the way to the magic shop for hardy travelers in the depth of night. Without warning, Zalloh's shadow contracted and arose from the ground, gliding closely through the ground behind her as she took each and every step - until striking her bluntly in the back of the head. Exploding forth was a sharp, white pain, followed by a warm, tingling rush. Barely having time to extend her hands, she fell face down in the dirt - her knees and palms scraped red from the fall. She lifted her head and looked up - too shocked to scream, too scared to look behind her... and there he was. | (https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-c9SKdh511rc/TwcuvNnoHMI/AAAAAAAAAA8/8UXKibGrBzk/s475/zalloh-at-gate.jpg) |
| But something had changed, everything was the same but totally different. He sat on the edge of his bed and looked around the room straining to work out what it was but he still couldn't place it, thought he knew he soon would. He shrugged a little to himself as he stood up to get dressed and sort his hair. The light which woke him every morning was peaking stronger though the curtains as he pulled them open. The fresh light suddenly flooded the room and illuminated everything. He stood there watching the dust dance in the bright Azure light, tiny specks swirling and fighting to run off and hide from the light that had exposed them. That made him smile. Pulling the window open to allow them all a way of escape, the specks slowly cleared. He placed his hands on the window sill and stood watching a pair of dwarfs arguing on the street outside, the scent of fresh flowers blowing over from the nearby garden tumbled round him, smelling the morning air he knew. Things were suddenly clear, he knew everything was the same but totally different, today was the day. So with the pulling on of his shoes the day began. Passing the Grotemeys he moved into the Hydlaa Plaza and headed up towards Kad'El tavern. This was often his first port of call, breakfast cooked by Jomed, a guilty pleasure he always looked forward to, a fresh hot plate of food. He entered into the semi-busy tavern and bought breakfast before he sat at his usual table. This, by no coincidence gave him a clear sight to the entrance, it was also always free when he got there. Looking at Allelia he wondered if that was her doing but smirked before quickly discarding that idea. Eating quietly he returned the few smiles and greetings which came his way, watching the other patrons an interesting Nolthrir couple caught his attention but nothing worth mentioning. As he enjoyed his plate of food his mind wandered a few times thinking about ‘why today?’ He never questioned it, he knew he could not but that never stopped him from wanting to understand what was so special about this day over all the others which had passed before and would come after. He couldn’t place exactly what it was, thought he knew he soon would. With his breakfast finished he sat back with a full stomach and a content smile, it was a good day and could only get better for him. He was never one to help clean up after eating in the tavern so left the items where they were and pushed his chair back getting to his feet. Quickly grabbing his swords and Wand which were laying on the table next to him he departed the tavern with a few kind words to Allelia, commenting on the quality of service and food. Departing the tavern he stood between it and the nearby stone brick tower for a few minutes as he watched one of last night's drunks shouting insults from behind the tavern at Jeferca. Gods only know what he was saying, but it certainly got on the wrong side of the guard. After a few warnings the Enkidukai wandered over and a quick bright flash was followed by silence. He shook his head a little and paced off as silence spread back around the outside of the bustling early morning tavern. Silence was his preferred state; it allowed him space to work and to think. As he reached the bottom of the tavern steps he wondered where he was supposed to be, his eyes swapping between the windowless tower and the Laanx fountain statue. He wasn’t to wait long before his answer came, in the form of a small Ylian girl running from her mother. She came darting round the corner from Willam’s direction, holding a small delicate flower with a ribbon tied round it. Not one to miss the obvious, or miss anything, he knew where to go. She stopped momentarily in front of him and pushed a finger to her lips before saying quietly “Don’t tell my mum where I went.” Giggling a little and not awaiting an answer she ran between the fence and Red Crystal Den. Now smiling he headed up towards the Windowless Tower, as he reached the same corner the small girl appeared round a Ylian women passed by hastily. Too late to have seen where her daughter went he nodded towards the Den and pointed at the gap and continued on his way with a nod of his head in exchange for a grateful smile. | (http://i40.tinypic.com/t9tvrp.jpg) |
| Before long, the Dermorian woman was bound by the wrists and leashed like a yulbar - forced to cary his load. She was treated like an animal, slapped and forced to walk on all fours. This dehumanizing treatment lasted until they reached half way. Seeing the nice and tidy Explorer's camp, they found a tent and prepared to spend the night. Forced to sleep on the floor - despite the extra, unoccupied beds, he kept her leash taught as he fluffed his pillow and made himself snug. An hour hadn't passed before a visitor arrived unannounced. He was tall and red, and cloaked with a hood covering his head and casting a heavy shadow upon his face. Had the two men not known one another, the barmaid might have had a chance. As Rigwyn began to sense the man's disapproval, he worried that he might fail to carry though. Convincing the cloaked man that his inhumane treatment of her was just and fair seemed like a long shot, but then a thought sipped into his mind with the ease and subtlety of a whisper in the dark. With a litany of lies, he painted her as a scoundrel, a back stabber, a weaver of deadly untrhuths - accusing her of having outed him, and of having spread lies about the man which which he spoke. Before long she was on her knees, licking the mud from his boots, then on her back as his foot met her face. Rigwyn couldn't help laughing inside, but did his best to keep his outward appearance more solemn. Having pushed as far as he could to convince the man of her grievous guilt, having attempted to instill hatred, and an urge to get revenge - so he thought, she was sold for a mere pouch of circles, and left at the mercy of the cloaked man. Taking his pay, he hefted his sack and took off for the back roads to complete his journey. As he did, he thought about the pleasant times that he had spent with her in the past - such a pleasant and accommodating woman - and rather skilled at mixing a drink, and above all, a friend... | (https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-f39nlns1U6g/TxLpJNtC6oI/AAAAAAAAABU/vTVZmpf4y5k/s512/dermorian-trade.jpg) |
| Strangely, the man had found his way into an ally with a cloaked stranger the day after. He was not robbed, but instead beaten with a harsh set of fists - swollen and calloused from a history of fights. He was left on the ground - still alive and well, but battered and sore. Upon his chest, a flower was left - small, frail and blue; a starphire. He skipped town in a huff - leaving behind the dust from his shoes, and a note accusing the Stonehead's head chef, Jaard Blacke, of hiring the brute that had roughed him up. Never again, was he seen. Not long after that, perhaps a matter of weeks, another Dermorian woman had fallen to the wiles fate. She was tall and slim with slightly mussed, dusky red hair and a set of jade green eyes that could melt an elf's heart with a single stare. The cheerful smile on her face was often more than enough to elicit the same in return - drawing the cheerful and pleasant side out of those who were near, but this time, it seems, her charm had failed to save her - though it was not her fault. She had parted with her friend, Sanrai - exchanging words and splitting off in their own directions at the bottom of the stairs and across from the Red Crystal Den. Ketta stood there watching - simply gazing into the plaza, then found herself face down on the ground and in an ally - well out of sight. She had been robbed of her possessions, and her eyes covered with cloth to block her sight. The club which had struck the back of her head full force had been put away, and a blade drawn and dragged upon the cobblestone ground as her assailant circled her. Sparks leaped off the tip of the blade as they spoke. She had been hunting him, but as fate would have it, he had found her first. Her neck was nicked and spotted red, and she was elbowed in the head as they struggled and fought - sending her back down to the ground. Laying there exposed, her assailant, knelt down and thrashed his fist into her ribs - bashing them in until they cracked and snapped. He was careful not to pierce her lungs, as perhaps it was not his intention to kill, but merely to inflict pain and suffering; only he would know. Despite her intense pain, she fought back valiantly. He raised a foot to stop on her, only to be kicked off balance and onto the ground. Seeing her opportunity to rise, she scrambled to her feet. Face to face, they crouched, waiting for the right moment to strike. Swiftly, he grabbed her red hair and wrapped it around his vice-like fist. Tensing his forearm, he pulled only to find her knee in his chest as he fell backwards from the blow - refusing to let go of her hair. As if guided by instinct, her hand found a razor sharp dagger and slipped it from its sheath. As she turned to find her assailant, he stuck quickly - sending her flush against the wall with a crack of the head followed by a crimson trickle. He tried to land the point of his elbow atop her head again, but was halted by a sharp pain - he felt her blade as it scraped his side - causing him to wince and retract. Her comeback was starting to improve, and she was faring for the better until his knee struck her head - sending her to the ground with a thud. Leaning on his knees to catch his breath, the cloaked figure stared at the unconscious woman as he caught his breathing slowed - her dagger still clenched in her hand. He got up and kicked it way before leaving her with a small, delicate flower - blue as the dome above, fragile as a whisper. With the starphire on her chest, he crept away and disappeared into the the shadows. | (https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-cpRsWN2Jq3Y/TxVXts2bSvI/AAAAAAAAAB0/G0tIoDLCmU8/s512/ketta-attacked-starphire.jpg) |
| Breaching someone's mind was never simple when they either didn't know about it, even more so when they didn't want it, but sleep was the great door knocker. He began to get a sensation of the thoughts flowing though Zalloh's mind, it felt as if he could smell the flowers and feel the sugar in her hand. Sensing someone's thoughts in dream was simple but changing one was not. He had to be accepted as part of the dream or she would wake. He began to bring up his own memories and push them towards her, ones of feeling happy, the closeness of a beloved child. To give the impression something was there but you couldn't see where, like catching a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye but when you look its gone. He tried to give the impression of someone at a door, to get her to open it, to let him in. As she continued to gaze at her reflection, she felt a tap on her back. She turned, and there before her stood a little diaboli. Her face softened as she knelt down to his level and reached for his face to caress it. She cooed, "Goodness, how did you get there?" As she touched his face, he turned and ran away - laughing and skipping. She followed him as he ran, and dodged between the trees and bushes. For a second he was lost, then reappeared - turning and laughing each time he was caught. Finally, the little diaboli opened a large door and ran in -shutting it behind him. She approached, then paused. She placed her hand on the door and noticed it felt warm and soothing. With a smile, she opened it but he was not there. He felt accepted, a close warm tingling spread over him as he followed everything that Zalloh was doing and feeling. Pleased he smiled, and as he did, he tried to manipulate the scene within the dream to make the small Diaboli give Zalloh a small white flower. Zalloh let the Diaboli reappear and he made him run up to her holding a Snowdrop. He waited for her to take it before hugging tightly to her leg saying, "Hi mummy." He let Zalloh fill in the blanks having him do whatever a loving small child would do to get her connection to him stronger. Tears of joy streamed from her eyes as she held her child and the flower that he gave her. She could feel the sensation of his tiny fingers and palms on her back as he held him tight. Her fingers slowly weaved though his hair - massaging his scalp as she began to sing. He made the imaginary child run round Zalloh, in and out of bushes and after insects. Making the Diaboli bring back a few things he found while playing to show her, proud of his finds. He then began reinforcing the feelings again, senses of 'everything will be alright' and 'how could things not be'. Those stemmed from an empty relationship he once had and how supportive a friend was and how amazing she had been with him. She had made everything feel better. Taking a tiny insect that he had given her, she held it in her hand and gazed at it with the same child-like wonder that he had. It looked just like a tiny little clacker, except it was the size of a thumb nail. As she poked at it, she noticed a tiny strand of green fibre stuck in its pinchers. She laughed at the sight, then let set it free. | (http://i41.tinypic.com/2rrnleu.jpg) |
As the wind ripped past his ears, Rigwyn whippped along the twisted road – passing the junction that led to the magic shop. Seeing a sharp turn, he leaned into his driffter to bank the turn. Slapping Cepht on the side to prompt him to speed up as he pulled out, he shouted, "Hurry up ya piece of crap!" Seeing a Fenki in the road, he pulled hard on Cepht's fins, and leaned to the side to avoid colliding. As he did, the fenki jumped onto the drifter – latching on to him awkwardly and causing both to roll from the unbalanced weight - dropping the two in the dirt as Cepht flew off – frightened by the ordeal. With an indignant tone, Rigwyn shouted, “Damn Carpet! Whats wrong with ya!” - not yet realizing who she was. As he continued to berate her, she quickly leaped on top of him and knocked him to the ground. Holding her shield fast, she yelled, "I'm going to kill you! Rigwyn 's expression changed as he began to recognize the face. In his mind, her name exploded, “Mishka!” Grabbing a roll of fur at her neck and the side of her cheek as he fell, they wrestled fiercely for the top. | (https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-eybtuhH_Lkg/TyMlL2dB_vI/AAAAAAAAACQ/rVgeRrjJD1w/s500/mishka-rigwyn-glassfire.jpg) |
| As the dark energies breached the gap between the staff and Shansghi's head. The Dark Way's influence was immediate. Ripping at current pleasant feelings within the dream and discarding them in to oblivion. Shangshi didn't want the change to be immediate so slowly began projecting the changes into Zalloh, wanting to savor every second, feel every fright and shiver she did. He first began changing the atmosphere in the kitchen, making it dark, changing the smells, changing the look on Rigwyn's face. He made Rigwyn place a dirty plate on a wash board he had just finished cleaning and say maliciously "Is everything alright, mummy!" As Zalloh nodded, she took the plate and began to wash it as a small fly began to buzz around her head. Feeling a tickle on her cheek, she tried to shoo it off, but only managed to get some food on her skin. She could feel it oozing down the side of her face. Taking a fresh cloth, she began to wipe it off, but as she did, it began to spread - making the mess far worse. She stroked her face again and again, then wrung out the cloth. From its white appearance it dripped and splattered foul smelling water all over her nice clean floor and onto Rigwyn's boot. She looked at him and gasped slightly - confused by the emotionless eyes looking back at her. Shangshi projected his own feelings of anger into the image, not only making it dark but with strange noises and ghastly smells. He felt sure Zalloh would slowly but surely fill the gaps caused by his changes with some of the deepest most fearful parts of her mind. He awaited to see what would show and surface before he took control or any new parts. Suddenly fearful of what Rigwyn might do, Zalloh quickly cowered to her hands and knees to spotlessly clean his boots. As she did the mess spread further, and now began to stink like an old bag of rotten garbage. She wanted to look up but was too afraid of what he might do to her. Closing her eyes, she continued to wipe with trembling hands until she was stopped by a loud hiss! As she opened her eyes, a long black serpent slithered between her arms. She stood bolt upright as her feet skidded in the mess on the floor and she leaped from atop the counter where she crouched as she watched it slither into a hole in the wall. Curious, she leaped down and landed on all four hands and feet squelching loudly covering herself in a foul smell. As she hit the floor with a slap, her flesh was suddenly like that of an ugly toad's - rubbery gray with lumps and bumps. She tried to speak, but could only croak. Not caring about her strange appearance, she hopped to the hole in the wall and peered inside. Shangshi tried to imagine the place Zalloh would be visiting as she would vanish down that hole as he made Rigwyn call out 'Mummy' behind her. He pushed stronger energies from both the fear and shadow glyphs with the intent of making her feel deathly terror from the simplest of noises. Unsure of what could be hiding within the simplest shadows. | (http://i43.tinypic.com/8x4qoz.jpg) |
| Stellan Aristo, and his unmistakable handle bar mustache; who would ever think that this mere perfume merchant would prove to be so much trouble. Those words flashed though Rigwyn's mind as he sat in Kada El's while Stellan questioned him. Did he really think he would get an honest answer from such a twisted derelict? Perhaps he wasn't yet fully aware. Having agreed to answer his questions, the two took their conversation to the roof – knowing that Allelia's pointed ears and flappy mouth would be a problem. The conversation drifted from casual talk to accusations of causing true death to a string of civilians and dissolving their bodies, then to playful banter, and full blown insults. Seeing that Stellan's accusation carried some weight should the guards believe him, Rigwyn gave in and answered him.. well sort of – but at a steep price. Not willing to part with his gold – or perhaps not having enough, Stellan agreed to hand over his remarkably well crafted leather boots – bearing the mark of Zylax (a set of crossed horns) , and his hair – not just a single lock, but all of it in exchange for the information he sought. Perhaps it seemed like a mere insult or a chance to dominate, perhaps it looked like a foolish request. | (http://planeshift.subhosting.net/myplane/useravatar/S/Stellan_Aristo.jpg) |
*snickers at the fact that Diaboli could hide between Ynnwn cause they won't get noticed as Diaboli anymore* (Stellan is a Diaboli as far as I know)
This sounds like that RP had been fun and will make fun RPs in the future. Accusing the wrong people... ;)
I like the sound of Icerra. Much more interesting than her tea sippin' sister.
I like the sound of Icerra. Much more interesting than her tea sippin' sister.
[That might be the most accurate description of Aramara I've ever heard.]
I like the sound of Icerra. Much more interesting than her tea sippin' sister.
[That might be the most accurate description of Aramara I've ever heard.]
Hey! She prefers wine you know... I mean, she DOES carry around with her a bottle that never goes empty, and has been known to drink straight from it, forgoing use of her goblet.
Back in Texas, TeaSips are how we referred to 'hippies' and yeah... she IS one of those :P
OOC NOTE:
For those who have caught the disease, below are the details describing it and how its spread.
Please note, this is Out Of Character information.
OOC NOTE REGARDING KNOWLEDGE OF THE DISEASE
When a disease breaks out, we typically do not know about it until after the fact. People start to suffer with symptoms after a number of days. It is not always obvious that one is sick because of their symptoms. For example, one might hallucinate or vomit for any number of reasons. Similarly, the source of a disease cannot be assumed - in real life, we can only guess at a disease's origins.
HAVING FUN
The point of this is to have fun, so let the sickness affect your character and those around you if you choose.
HOW DOES THIS TIE INTO THE STORY?
You shall see.. I've been holding back on posting for the time being so as not to spoil any surprises.
| Rigwyn wandered towards the Laanx temple in hopes of finding a robe or staff to loot. He slowed as he came to the entrance. A rather mangy looking woman was crouched to the side. She was scrawny, with a strip of dirty cloth wrapped around her chest and cut off just at the edge of her ribs to show that her stomach is quite concave. Her legs stuck out of her dirty trousers - cut off at the knee to show the emaciated condition of her shins. Her hair was a tangled mess, the green locks greasy and altogether unattractive. Her cheekbones stuck out prominently as well. She was sickening to look at, but she had an air about her that stole his attention. He approached her and saw that she was indeed as mad as she looked. Lacking poise and grace, she scampered around like an animal - running rather than walking, cackling and mumbling darkly. Before long, he had dangled a torn piece of meat before her and had discovered that she could be coaxed into doing tricks. As a test, he told her to run into the plaza and smack someone. Sure enough, she did as she was told and returned for her treat. For starvation is a powerful motivator, and one familiar with the harsher cruelties of reality an effective numbing agent. The nolthrir was sickly and weak, but in her weakness there was a strength. The type that people get when they realize that things cannot get much worse, so you might as well embrace your own squalor, because certainly nobody else will love you in spite of it. So when the Diaboli with unkempt dreadlocks and a yellow smile promised more food to ease the aching in her stomach, certainly, she agreed to keep an eye out for him, when next he came calling. She wandered restlessly after he had gone, had enjoyed this unexpected break in the depravity that was her existence. Sometimes she rectified her boredom by jumping out at people in the alleys, shrieking and waving her wraith-like arms just to see the terrified look upon their faces. Of course, once they realized she was little more than an impoverished wench there was usually a blow or two involved. Not that it mattered. It fell upon insensitive skin, and she reveled in the opportunity to sulk along and stalk her momentary prey, to deliver a bit of terror and for just a moment feel slightly relevant in the great big thing called the dome. At least to one person, anyway. There was recollection of a time before this one. An important time. She did important things. Necessary, she was needed for something greater, and there was a burning, a beautiful burning that made the passions of things like love look silly and negligible by comparison. But that time was over now. She was a wisp, a thing no longer valued, not needed. And so she stalked, and sulked, and waited for Rigwyn to return. | (http://www.cindywright.org/images/im004010.jpeg) |
| Cezote grinned with a yellow smile as she practically sauntered down the stairs, taking them two at a time in her eagerness, nearly stumbling over her own two feet. She snickered to herself as she moved, her wild hair askew and flying, her cracked lips glistened with drool and a manic glint in her eye. "I'm so sorry it appears to be just us two. I expected a full house. It seems this shall be a very ... intimate meal ... should you want to call it that." Cezote ran her tongue across her lips and turned her head, squinting her eyes, sucking in her cheeks so that the circles beneath them grew more pronounced. "Eh," she said. "I suppose you're cute enough for that," she said, the jest in her tone clear. She sashayed up to Rigwyn and moved her hand to pat him on the breastplate. Placing his hand over Cezote's, he let out a most insincere smile, then pointed to the table before the podium. "You still want the meat now, do you? Be a good girl and face the podium." Cezote's smile took on a fierceness of its own. There was something knowing about it, something eerie and off. Her tone dipped low, grating and gravelly, so odd coming from her frail and feeble form. "A trickster trickster is he, the man with angry eyes and hollow heart. What plans he has, what webs he weaves, a dark and devious art. Believe him? I don't. But care do I? No. We will play his game," she wheezed now, as though it was difficult to breathe. "We will plaaaaaay his gaaaaammmmeeee." With that, she turned, and faced the podium as instructed, her head jerking back and forth and her body following suit in a twitching motion. Rigwyn walked to the wall and lifted a sturdy wooden club from it. Feeling its weight in his hands, he looked back at Cezote and began to chant out loud, "You who call us into darkness, hear my prayer." Cezote heard the club as it came down from the wall. She was aware, at least vaguely of Rigwyn's plans. Her lips formed into a soft 'O' and she began to sing to herself again, high-pitched, probably pretty irritating. "Summoning the darkness is he now? Plans for Cezote, does he have? Bad ones for poor little Cezote, heeheheee!" Rigwyn took the edge of the club and raised it as if about to strike her head, then stopped in thought. Seeing how she had complied, he began to wonder if any force would be needed at all. After a moment or two, he said calmly, "Lay down up on the altar and prepare yourself. You have been chosen for greater things. You shall bring about my master's plan." | (http://i42.tinypic.com/5oe06v.jpg) |
| (http://i44.tinypic.com/nyy7nt.jpg) | As he prayed, his mind drifted as he recalled each and every account of the pain that was inflicted for each starphire. There was the Dermorian who went by the name Ketta, a Fenki named Icerra, a traveling comedian named Falc Loret, Evirea the annoying klyros with her strange text book, Mishka the fenki with the golden spectacles. A bitter taste began to rise from the back of his throat. There was Thidin - who stood beside him at that very moment; well, her suffering was needed - a tear is a tear. There was the barmaid in tattered clothes from Ojaveda and Sacho the menki. That was only eight; high priest Osofus demanded exactly ten beatings. He smirked to himself as he thought, "Screw it; its close enough." Cezote continued to laugh softly to herself, rambling nonsensical things, babbling on and on about flowers and pain and the never-ending dullness and irrelevance of it all. "Dust to dust, dust to dust, dust in your eyes and your face and your hair. Shame, shame, a terrible shame, in your nose and your toes and despair, despair!" Thidin looked at the shower of flowers upon the floor is a distasteful manner, growing to disagree with this even more. Rigwyn stepped forward, then planted his boot atop the pile of flowers - crushing the starphires beneath his boot as he gave his hip a twist. It was not so much the starphires that were being offered, but rather the pain and suffering from the beatings. Unknown to him at the time, each beating was to be a precious gift to the master. The starphire itself was merely a way to make that fine gift of suffering that much more tangible. Leaving a trail of sickening trail of darkness behind, he waved his staff over Cezote as he hollered, "Accept this woman as the bearer of new life, and bring upon her your sickness and your plague! May she be the instrument of your destruction, the very tool that causes all life to cease once and for all!" Cezote's eyes followed the erratic motions of Rigwyn's staff. "Desperate he is, she has nothing else. Alone, alone, let all others be alone. Bring the darkness, bring the sickness, bring the things he wants to see. Slithers out from slimy places and slithers back to flee the light. Kill the light, kill the life, kill the things he doesn't like." Her mantra began to cycle over and over again. |
| Rigwyn 's body lay limp upon the hard, stone pavement. Face down on the ground with little more than the scraps of clothes on his back, a Taya scampered off with a fist full of his glyphs - the rest remained scattered all over the ground. As she left, Evirea watched the woman go, trying to decide whether it would be worth the tussle to get the glyphs back. She cast a glance at Rigwyn, remembering two rather painful blows to her face, and decided it wouldn't be worth the effort. Instead, she put two gloves on her hands, and rolled down her thick carakas-feather sleeves. "Well," she said. "You and I have work to do, it seems." She moved to begin dragging the Diaboli. With each pull, the sound of light sand and pebbles gritted beneath Rigwyn 's heels as they dragged against the pavement. As as distinct as it was, it paled in comparison to the much louder sound of chatter emanating from the plaza. Evirea continued to drag the Diaboli. She grunted from the effort, then decided to change her course. Moving towards the tavern, she offered Allelia pay for a room, and then began the laborious effort of pulling the dead weight up the stairs. | (http://www.ravenousmonster.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/Rosemarys-Baby-Coven.jpg) |
| Feeling his shirt torn and the cool air that rushed against his skin, Rigwyn looked at the glob of mush as it was applied to his chest. It felt wet and smooth like mud at first, then like scalding water, and finally like fire. Bellowing as loud as he could, the Diaboli's wrists and ankles grew bright red as the rope tore into his skin. Thighs spazzing, back arching, he bounced and jerked to no avail. As he did, Jackly covered his own mouth with one hand - poorly concealing his laughter. His eyes tear with joy as two other Ylians enter the room and stood next to him - adding to the choir of mockery. Evirea slowly shifted her hand. Using the tips of her claws through her gloves, she gently peeled away the first few layers of Rigwyn's skin, where the solution touched him. She cast this to the side, and as the blood began to pool, she immediately cleaned it thoroughly with alcohol, scrubbing away until she was certain that all is disinfected. Then, drawing a small pouch from her belt, she sprinkled a yellowish powder over the injury, meant to stop the bleeding. With each cruelly meticulous stroke, he unwillingly chose between staying still, or thrusting and contracting his limbs - only to feel his wrists and ankles tear and abraid further. Most of the time there was no actual choice - his body just reacted on its own. His head and chest were beaded with sweat, his heart was pounding as rage and fear wrestled in his mind like two hungry ulbers fighting over a piece of meat. He stared painfully at Evirera, then shouted, "Let me go now, or I'll make you pay, you winged piece of crap!" | (http://www.logicalimages.com/educationalTools/learnDerm/images/skinExam/scalpel.jpg) |
| (http://danielbota.ro/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/blood-water-large-msg-117354424402.jpg) | Evirea pulled the chair out from the desk and sat on it. She began to clean her gloves, meticulously, using the same bottle of alcohol she used to clean the Diaboli's wounds. She started on her scaled hands, cleansing deeply, as deep as she could. Taking out a tria, she winked. "Heads or tails?" Rigwyn ignored Evirea at first, then said in a calm, detached tone, "As a kid, I remember hearing my father disciplining my mother. He did it daily, several times a day in order to keep her on the straight and narrow, so he said. Laanx was a demanding god who expected perfection and nothing short of it. My father, being a Laanx priest had no tolerance for nonsense." After a pause, the looked at Evirea and said, "Heads" |
| As Rigwyn laid in a room at Kada El's with the door locked tight and lamps blown out, his mind began to drift. Two series of images frequented the theater of his mind - haunting him as if he had something dire to remember, but there was nothing significant about them. He thought it odd. The first was was that of a job the he had done cycles ago. The Dark Empire had lost its dominance. It was no longer the force it had once been, though a list of members had remained. On that list was a price for each of their heads, and a bonus for each Dark Empire badge looted and returned to the family. He had never dealt with the Imperials before, and when he had inquired about them, his his sources warned him, "Don't ask. The less you know, the better." How bad could they really be? After all, he was an Outlaw - he had the protection of the family... so he thought. Taking a name from the list, he looked all over Hydlaa for the Dermorian but he was nowhere to be found. Giving up for the moment, he retired to Kada El's for a good stiff drink. A tall figure in plate armor with a proud Dark Empire badge stood at the bar and conversed with a fenki - apparently a new member of their group. "How convenient", he thought, and sure enough, a Dermorian elf introduced himself to her by name! He turned, then looked at his drawing, then back at the elf. With a smirk, he finished his drink and left.... then eventually followed him outside the north gate with his concealed swords aching for elven blood. | (http://accordingtojewels.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/dark-room.jpg) |