Of Godesses and Dark Elves (Complete)

[Nine1122]

A Wraith to change the world.  

[Nine1122]

Vale Do'urden


A shadow on the wall of a temple that never should have been built. That is all Vale was before the massacre began. It was a simple contract granted to him by a man who opposed the idea of a Temple of Janos so near to the Dark Lands. A easy demand. Enter the temple, kill all the priests, and burn the temple down. The gold was right, the task was supposed to be simple. Yet it echoed back three centuries to the very first time Vale had felt true power. The very day he returned to the mortal realm from death. The shadow observed the prey as they went about their tasks. Three priests swept the floors. Two prayed before the statue of Janos. Six slept in their dormitory cots and the remaining nine had ventured outside to sanctify the land. The priests would not know it, but their friends beyond the wall had already gone to see their god. Beyond the priesthood there stood four guards at the doorway. Each armed with a spear and a shortsword, yet they had failed to serve their purpose and the Wraith was already inside. One couldn't blame them. How were they to expect that the killer would move through the walls? With the stage set, the Wraith went to work.

"Time for some screaming." With the words spoken, Vale drew his dagger and vanished leaving only a puff of black wisps of smoke where he had been. He materialized in the center of the room between two of the sweeping priests. A flourish of his blade slit the throat of the nearest priest. Vale, wasting little time, pulled the broom from the priest with the smile across his throat, snapped the handle in half, and thrust the sharper half up through the jaw and into the skull of the second nearest priest. The final sweeping priest opened his mouth to scream but before and noise could come out, the Wraith drove his dagger into the opening. The blade itself embedded into the priest's skull at an odd angle and Vale struggled to pull it free so he released the handle and tossed the body aside. It was then that the guards at the door noticed. They let out screams and charged at Vale who didn't even draw his swords. He wouldn't need to. Anyone who signed up to protect a temple would have been out of practice.

The first guard thrust his spear forward and Vale sidestepped it, grabbing the shaft of the spear as he did and wrenching it out of the guard's hands. He broke the spear shaft on his knee so that he'd have a club and a blade. The guard who'd lost his spear reached for his sword but Vale impaled him on the pointed end of the spear before he could pull his blade free. A second guard lunged with his spear while Vale impaled the first but Vale parried the strike with the club he had made. The other two guards didn't attack out of fear they'd hit an ally. Vale used that to his advantage. He maneuvered the impaled guard's body by pushing on the half of the spear that was in him so that Vale's own body was momentarily obscured and in the moment it was, the guards lost sight of Vale completely. He was gone. The three surviving guards shouted the priests out of their beds and prayers and tried to funnel them out the entrance to the temple but the doors were shut by the time the priests reached them. They pushed, but the doors did not open. that was when panic began to spread. Everyone began shouting at each other. The guards tried to restore order but the priests were afraid. They fell to their knees in prayer. They shut their eyes and when they opened then again the horrors only continued. When they opened their eyes again, the three guards were strewn across the floor. One missing a head, one nearly missing his head, and one who had been deprived of all his limbs. They all lost hope for their gods intervention at that moment.

Most of the priests panicking increased. Their screams and shouts were deafening. All but one ran for the door in hopes that they could break it down with their combined strength. The one who did not run turned to his god instead. He slowly walked towards the statue of Janos until a sudden pain in his lower back immobilized his legs. He reached back for the source and found a small blade had embedded itself into his spine. He left it, and began to crawl towards the altar with his bloodied hands. His heartbeat thumped in his ears as he grew closer and closer to the statue. If could reach it, he would be saved. His god, Janos would show him justice. Yet when he finally reached the feet of the great tribute they had built, he heard nothing but silence. The priests had stopped screaming. It had been replaced by gurgling and then the silence. Then a voice.

"Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair." The voice spoke out from behind him. The priest could hear the source stepping through the warm sticky blood the coated the floor. Growing closer with every second. It did not sound to be taunting or joyful. It was a voice of despair. Much like any voice the priest would have mustered. Then he felt his head tilted back, he saw the face of the dark elf. He opened his mouth to speak but the elf shook his head to silence the priest who closed his eyes as he felt the cold steel pressed against his throat. There was no further word spoken. Simply a tune hummed and the steel bit into flesh, stealing life. The final priest fell to the floor just before the altar and the Wraith turned to leave.

Alias: The Wraith | Profession: Assassin | Gear: Ten throwing knives, a dagger, and two shortswords

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Santiago Campos

 

[Smooth Detective]

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Nine1122

In the dark, an ominous presence observed to witness the bloody spectacle. It had been so long, yet not at all, and déjà vu was an understatement to how reminiscent the setting was to a night not so dissimilar. It was a story that ended the same each time, a life taken, a life spared. However, none of that mattered to dead men, not while the goddess pranced quietly through the temple. While she could roam, she could feel her rival’s power coursing through the building, dampening her own; she loathed it. She would have blood, just as the locals demanded it in her honor.

As the bodies fell against the cold floor, the goddess watched her flawless manipulation take shape, speaking the same same words together, though he would not know her voice—not yet. One by one, the fell, a prayer unanswered, a scream silenced by the blade. The last priest remained hopeful, desperate even as he pleaded for his god to save him. Janos would not hear the cries of his faithful; he couldn’t, not while the shadows hid them. Her followers settled the land, and in its soil, her influence was strong, overpowering the dim light of the temple. Still, the priest would have his answer. The answer to his prayer was the song of cold steel as it pierced his , prompting a sinister smile on the deity’s lips. Janos’ priests adorned the floor, a grave insult to the god. As her chosen turned from the statue, however, he would know her at last—again. The moment the priest died at his hands, the cutthroat opened the door to power so evil, dark, and perverse that Janos’ light would never grace the temple again.

A chilly wind scoured the temple, extinguishing the torches inside, followed by a familiar laugh, one that echoed through his dreams. Moments after, the torches lit once more, taking on a strange blue hue. Then came the presence. It was a familiar presence, that uncanny feeling that something followed him, or someone. Each time he turned, and each time he found nothing but his shadow, but not this time. It wasn’t his shadow, no; he was its shadow—her shadow. Her power was overwhelming, so much so that—being within its vicinity—he experienced a sensation within unlike anything he’d experienced in a long time, the same sensation when he found he hadn’t died, the same sensation when he could feel death pulling him away, only for something to pull him back. That feeling of fear, terror, anguish, but also comfort, delight…ecstasy, power so awe-inspiring that there could be no denying what the presence was.

The darkness of the room fused and merged before him, manifesting as tenebrous locks of hair and eventually the pleasant shape of a female whose beauty was unworldly. Her skin was gray, not too dissimilar from his own, but it was not flesh. Her features went unrivaled to any woman he’d ever seen, a form in perfect ratio, but what was truly captivating was the intensity of her eyes. They were gloomy, trickled with delightful mysteries, yet they burned with the fire of a thousand suns. He could hide nothing from those eyes, not when they met blue of his own, piercing into his very being. She didn’t need to introduce herself, for in his heart he knew her name, a name many spoke carefully. She smiled a dangerous smile and spoke a rhyme in a voice that pleased the ears, “Fear and terror, terror and fear, misery has brought me here. You cleaved them in their prayers, you lured them from their beds. Their blood lies spilled across the floor, and herein lies their heads.” Her tone was plainly mocking, not to him, but to the men he killed. However, that would be the end of her rhymes. She glanced over at the advent of his deeds, then back to him, leaning against the statue of Janos and stretching her arms as if the statue was nothing more than a glorified backrest. “My, my, I don’t believe the temple will ever recover from this. Before you burn it, however, I would have words with thee.” Her tone didn’t show any signs of displeasure towards his actions, quite the opposite actually. Her figure almost instantly disappeared and reformed in front of him, her finger gently pushing his chin up to meet her dead in the eyes. When she was close, he felt an odd pull to her, like his soul was tied to her essence. “Do you remember me?” He could never forget, not even if he tried; the memories would always haunt him.

 

[Nine1122]

Vale Do'urden


He could feel it. He knew before she made herself known but he wasn't certain. When the wind blew out the lights Vale unsheathed his swords and began turning defensively. He'd killed many things, people and monsters, so he was ready for whatever came next. When the torches lit with blue flame he lowered his weapons slightly. What came next took him by surprise. He felt the scars across his abdomen and entire body begin to flare with an odd sensation. Not pain, not pleasure, but something in between. Then he could feel the cold again, not the drop in the temperature but the chill of death that he had felt all those years ago. Vale didn't need to guess, he didn't have any doubt about who was coming. Chalthrae The named was etched into his mind like the scars on his body. He'd never forget it. When he turned back toward the statue of Janos, she stood before him. For the first time, he could put a body to the voice that haunted him. He didn't know if he hated her, loved her, or simply didn't care. She had done that to him. More then 300 years of service had done that to him. As the goddess spoke her rhyme, Vale sheathed his swords. If she'd come to take back life, he couldn't stop it and he also couldn't kill her... yet. When she vanished and reappeared in front of him he tilted his head slightly. That was a gift from her that he had learned to use. Maybe not on her scale though. She seemed to play her game with him, moving his head as she desired. He felt the pull and hated it but he answered her all the same. "I do."

Alias: The Wraith | Profession: Assassin | Gear: Ten throwing knives, a dagger, and two shortswords

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Santiago Campos

 

[Smooth Detective]

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Nine1122

Her hand lowered, and her smile read satisfaction. Her gestures were many; she swayed her head, moved her hands, and made subtle motions with her shoulders. “Excellent. I have good news as well. I have not come here to take the life I’ve given you. You may call it a gift, you may call it a curse, but it is yours all the same. I’ve come with answers—some you may have suspected already, and gifts,” she stated, getting that out of the way quickly, so he wouldn’t fret, not that it was wise to lower one’s guard in the presence of the Goddess of Chaos. “I don’t care much for mortals, I need not lie, but you, when I peered into the future and saw what you could accomplish, I couldn’t help myself, so when our lady of death tugged you away,” she clenched her fist, “I tugged back, and won,” she said, opening the hand she closed and setting it on her hip. His potential would have gone too waste had he just slipped away so many years ago. “When I did so, I needed to mend you, make you…stronger, so I tied your soul to me. There’s no fun in telling you what to do with it, however, so I simply didn’t.” All this time, she never forced her will on him, despite her gift, despite how easy it might have been to do so. Chaos itself was unpredictable and beyond control; to demand something of him would be to contradict what she represented. Her words served to validate her actions in a way he could understand, or not. It didn’t matter. Still, she continued to explain. “I have watched you closely since then, but I can’t help but wonder, what do you desire in this world?” Chalthrae was known for many things, including what she could give to people. He had already sampled her power, having cheated death, as well as the fragments of power that served to strengthen him. Men had prayed for many things, and when the other gods did not deliver, a few were graced with her presence instead. It wasn’t every day that a goddess asked someone what they wanted.

 

[Nine1122]

Vale Do'urden

As Chalthrae spoke, Vale's eyes narrowed. "No fun in telling me what to do?" he spoke when she had concluded and he spoke with a notable anger. She who had watched him would know why or could at least draw a conclusion. If not, he'd make it simple for her with his following claims. "You gave me a name that translated to Slave of the Darkness, you gave me a knife, and you made me kill-" He paused as he found the void in his heart. The name of another woman that he had not spoken in a sum of time similar to the stretch he had lived due to the being before him. "You made me a killer and abandoned me in Szithdlyn. What was I to do there but kill? You molded me from the start." From his point of view, chaos was never random. No single event went wrong without incentive. Nothing was random. She had not told him to become what he had but she had certainly guided him towards it. Still he would let that go. It was to her that he owed the life he lived. A satisfied life. That made her question a difficult one. There was nothing in this world that he desired. No glory or gold he wanted. He had gold to buy what he wanted. He had work to keep himself busy. He had drink to keep himself warm and he had power that baffled most. He didn't want anything in this world. Yet in honesty he didn't desire salvation either. He didn't care. His soul was bound to her but would it really matter if he ended up in damnation. Life was bad enough. Still, it was the only thing she could grant him that he wanted."Assurance. That is what I desire. Assurance that this curse will end one day and that when it does I will move into a better existence then the one I've known here. "

Alias: The Wraith | Profession: Assassin | Gear: Ten throwing knives, a dagger, and two shortswords

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Santiago Campos

 

[Smooth Detective]

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Nine1122

His reflection on the past was amusing, but this was expected, the resentment from his abandonment and such, though he couldn’t deny that the life he led after was far more purposeful than what he could have had. Her head titled leftward at his desire. It was a wise objective, something many were too foolish to ask for themselves. Understandably, most asked fortune and fame of her, and—of course—power. “If I told you that I could give you an eternity of paradise, free of the woes you’ve endured, what would you be willing to do to have it? How many would you kill in my name to achieve it?” What he asked for wouldn’t come lightly; the pleasures of life couldn’t rival her offer, not for all the coin in the world. If the dark elves knew anything, it was that there was a damnation that awaited those who didn’t have her favor, an eternity of torment so vile that the horrors of the world couldn’t compare. No amount of misery or suffering he endured in life could ever amount to that possibility after life. It was that fear that drove the dark elves to their extremes, that paranoia of dying, only to emerge in ceaseless despair every hour of every day, over and over.

 

[Nine1122]

Vale Do'urden

"I just killed a temple full of priests to a god who directly opposes you. One would think that is enough." Vale said in a calmer tone than he had had at the beginning of the conversation. Yet, as evidenced by her request, it was not enough. His hand found itself resting on the hilt of his dagger, sheathed at the back of his belt. It was the same dagger, 300 years later, that she had given him the night of his death. The dagger that cut his way out of that forsaken city. How many lived had he taken with it already? How many throats cut by the blade she gave him? Using the power she gave him? He stood in a position most magic wielders dreamed of, he stood before the source of his power and yet he did not ask for more. In fact, he had a feeling that is was the goddess who was asking for more now. "Who would you see dead?"

Alias: The Wraith | Profession: Assassin | Gear: Ten throwing knives, a dagger, and two shortswords

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Santiago Campos

 

[Smooth Detective]

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Nine1122

It was funny he mentioned the priests; their lives were so meaningless that she had forgotten they were still there. He surely didn’t think a few dead priests and a desecrated temple would earn him an eternity of paradise, though given how some believed it would be so easy, she couldn’t blame him. Of course, she couldn’t blame the others either, especially since they found anything but paradise when they died, the price for their foolishness. In the past, some had performed the most violent atrocities in her honor, assuming she had even batted an eye; they were wrong to believe they understood a goddess, especially one who worked in mysterious ways.

However, she owed him an answer. Her figure managed to appear behind him, her left forearm reaching over his shoulder, while her head was at his right, beside his. Her presence had an odd sensation to it, from her gentle breath to the touch of her hair; merely being within her vicinity put him in an odd state of satisfaction, like his soul had longed for her, despite what reservations he possessed. It only intensified the closer she was, like a moth to a flame. Her response came, and the sound of her voice came like soft hands through his hair, a tone smooth as silk, so divine that his senses couldn’t compare them to any sweeter sound, despite the content of her words. “I would see countless dead, my dear, but you needn’t stain your blade as often. You will know when the time comes, and when they fall,” her voice turned to a gentle whisper, which—like a lullaby—put him in deep ease as she disappeared and reappeared in front of him, “you will never suffer again—cross my black heart…” she said, giving him one last smile and wink. In the blink of an eye, she vanished, only the remnants of that sweet sensation remaining, drifting away at the realization that she was gone. The torches had returned to normal, and no evidence of her presence there remained, nothing but his memory, as he stood among the dead.

He had an opportunity many could only dream of, a chance to amount to something more than a few dead priests of a temple, or however many he killed for something as feeble as coin. He had the potential to be an instrument in a grand scheme, the cruel game that the goddess played, but an eternity of bliss would not come easily. If he had asked something of her, there was no doubt that others may have wanted something as well, and he would need to prove himself. It wasn’t like the past anymore; if he won the game, he would have the ultimate reward, but if he failed, he would know an eternity of misery. It was simply, really; he needed to play her game and play it well, show her his life was valuable, become her instrument, her weapon, her agent of chaos, and only then would he find true satisfaction.

 

[Nine1122]

Vale Do'urden

Vale stood motionless as the Goddess did what she wanted. As she grew closer he felt a pull towards her that he could not resist even though he knew he wanted to. How could a mortal resists a deity? When she was finally gone he reflected on the words she had spoken. Her absence created a void but Vale was glad to be alone again. Her power was... intoxicating... and he hated not being in control. She said she would see countless dead, Vale assumed they'd be killed in some impending chaos. Something that would ravage the land. Vale only knew of one such devise that could create enough chaos to please a deity. Yet his thoughts pressed forth. Who was the they that would fall? When would they fall? Two questions he wouldn't know until she deemed it time. Until then, he had a temple to burn. Vale took the torches and threw them to the floor. Within a few seconds they began to ignite the wood. within a few minutes the temple would be in a blaze. And within an hour nothing but ash would be left. Yet Vale would be long gone by then. He had coin to collect.

Alias: The Wraith | Profession: Assassin | Gear: Ten throwing knives, a dagger, and two shortswords

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Santiago Campos

 

[Smooth Detective]

SKIPPING AHEAD A BIT...  

[Smooth Detective]

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Nine1122

“I better not see a single crease or tear that doesn’t belong on my clothes, slave, lest I have your man parts removed and fed to the salamanders,” Alaunriia commanded, the slave silently bowing as he left her presence. His tongue had been sliced, so that was the best response he could provide. With the Ides of March underway, the High Priestess found herself ready to bathe comfortably in her private pool, just within her marble bathhouse. Now, the bathhouse itself was a structure to behold, beautiful burgundy pillars holding up the building with matching drapes. For her leisure, there were folded towels, a chalice, jug of wine, and plate of grapes (food of the surface to denote her wealth). As for the pool itself, it was a square, filled with milk, the furnace beneath warming the solution, and allowing the High Priestess to submerge her sultry feminine shape. As soon as the soft gray of her skin met the white of the pool, she immediately felt an air of relief as, inch by inch, she gradually plunged into the solution. After a moment, she emerged partially from the liquid, the peak of the pool just at her thighs. Her back was arched slightly as she pressed her fingers into her hair, letting out a hushed, pleasured moan as her fingers ran down her head, savoring the sensation.

Meanwhile, her guards—three in particular—were just outside the bathhouse, walking around in a circular patrol to ensure no one would interrupt their mistress, whereas the slaves were busy tending to her clothes, making sure they were presentable, lest the High Priestess show them the error of their ways. The mere distress from the slave as he repeatedly checked the clothing and accessories displayed the sort of influence the woman had over her subordinates; they were greatly intimidated by her.

 

[Nine1122]

Vale Do'urden

Three guards was something Vale would have been able to deal with when he was a boy. This High Priestess had not done enough to secure her own safety. It had been a day prior when the Wraith heard the call. The dagger he had carried with him for so many years spoke as a whisper in his mind. It spoke a name, her name, and in doing so condemned her to what would follow. He moved a shadow across the land till he found where she currently resided. Now he stood among the slaves, dressed as one of them. He held no weapon but the dagger that spoke to him which was sheathed at his calf. From his position disguised as a slave he observed the patrol pattern. He watched the guards for moments when none were by the entrance and when they could no longer see each other in their circle. A moment came where each guard was unable to see the other two and that was when Vale intended to strike. He reached down for his blade but heard the voice in his head again.

No... It said simply. Vale let out a disgruntled noise and instead used the window to transport himself into the room. He appeared, with small black whips of smoke, behind a pillar. Now he unsheathed the dagger. He looked at the blade and then the High Priestess. He knew what he was here to do. He knew what he needed. Vale stepped out from behind the column and cleared his throat to announce himself. If she called for the guards, they would die, but it would not have been his fault.

Alias: The Wraith | Profession: Assassin | Gear: A dagger

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Santiago Campos

 

[Smooth Detective]

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Nine1122

“I was expecting you,” she said, turning his way as he came forward. It begged the question of whether she deliberately settled on a few guards, though truthfully, the guards were more so for show rather than actual defense, and she was aware that the number was insufficient to observe everything. Either way, the High Priestess didn’t care to address the guards, instead moving to her usual commanding self. “It’s customary to kneel before a priestess, especially if you’re dressed like a slave. I must change, regardless, so peer at the ground if you want to keep your eyes.” Her arrogance and feeling of entitlement was apparent, but there was a certain aura about her, one of familiar power. It was dwarfed by his encounter with the goddess evidently, but this priestess likewise dwarfed any other comparable sorceress or mage. Her ego, however, was more than a match for the power she held, and she was far more dangerous than she let on. If she knew he was coming, and acted as she did, she clearly didn’t hold him in higher regard. For her, he was no better than the next assassin, especially since he was male. If he proved useful, perhaps she would provide him with an ounce of respect. Her voice was lovely, a shame her words were poisonous however.

 

[Nine1122]

Vale Do'urden

"You sell yourself as lower than you are. Your visage would not burn away my eyes. It would merely sting them." He responded slowly as he measured her. He would not bow, but he would at the least turn his head to look away. Success was all that impressed Vale and it was evident that she had some measure of success in her life to end up in the room with him now. So he would grant her one of the requests. Unfortunately her tone displeased him and while maybe he had lost the element of surprise today, he would not always be expects. A day would come where their goddess favored one over the other and on that day, he would not stand for her tone. Yet as they stood now he could feel the favor with her and so he knew at least not to stab her. Despite the feeling in his heart and the small whispers in his mind of that voice urging him to kill. He knew he was to leave her alive and so he tried to ignore the urge. Most times he killed for the gain, her he would kill for the pleasure. "Why was I told to come to you?"

Alias: The Wraith | Profession: Assassin | Gear: A dagger

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Santiago Campos