The Beginning and an End -
Archived by the Spinners of Ki’vyyn 7
Quote:
In every civilization that deems itself civilized, in every Sect that believes itself the crème of culture itself, there exists a, sweet, rich, chocolatey layer of barbarity. No one were so well-aware of this fact, as was Al’vhorak Myiin.
Al’vhorak was a product of the Myiin Sect, a Sect who believed firmly in their own superiority, their ability to self-sustain, and carried with these beliefs an almost superstitious need to prevent any outsiders from tainting this perfection that they, and only they had created within their nest, the precious mother lode of a city known as Outaen. What they seemed utterly oblivious of, was the stink created by rot from within, a crack deep in the heart of an otherwise flawless jewel.
It was part of their stubborn refusal to consort with any of the other Sects that was slowly killing them, Al’vhorak mused, watching the light glint off of his scalpel, the blade shining in the blue light causing the tool itself to appear as one of Outaen’s fabled heartstones. It was disgusting, the political corruption and intrigue, not to mention the inbreeding that was dimming the luster of this once illustrious city.
Al’vhorak was like the purifying fire, seeking only to burn away the impurities of their race, of the Myiin Sect itself, yes, he marveled softly to himself, he was indeed that fire, a flame to test and try…and many indeed had been the subjects who had been found wanting.
Turning back to the subject at hand, a whimpering female, he could see all too clearly that she remembered the incident with the kidney yesterday. “Oh do cease your sniveling.” He commanded with a hefty eye-roll, “You weren’t using that anyway.” Assuring himself that she was strapped down with no hope of escape, he gave her the first injection, and without further ado, proceeded to cut down through the muscle and flesh of one arm, tsking softly at the cerulean blood that welled up, spilling onto his table and staining his scalpel.
So far, the breakthroughs had only been elementary. They would thank him one day, when their race achieved flight once more, became creatures much like the twin deities they so lauded, even if only in name and the occasional honorific bow. It was, however, less for the masses and more for himself that he studied, the hunger for knowing not unlike a berserk Marguut Hound’s thirst for blood.
Painstakingly grafting bone to joint and muscle, pausing only occasionally to apply serum directly to the bloodstream, he was jolted from his concentration about midway through the procedure by a crashing sound from above. Cursing softly, eyes narrowed as he glared at the ceiling. The servants knew better than to tromp about like a herd of wild tonbloots, now they’d gone and set him back an entire half-hour.
It was only after he’d given the unconscious Ki’vyyn another injection that he remembered that he didn’t have servants any longer, all of them had either run in terror, or gone the way of the rest of his test subjects. Unworthy, ungrateful little ingrates the lot of them…perhaps it was the kityan, oh right, he didn’t have one of those anymore either. Directing a rueful glance at the small lump of fur that lay motionless in one of the glass cases, that had been a dismal failure, and the creature had held such promise early on. Such a shame.
Another alarming crash, this time closer, shook the floor above. Frowning, he gave up on finishing the procedure at all, tossing his scalpel to the side, where it stuck in one of the walls, a new ornament, he supposed, as he had scalpels to spare. Damn. The least that his new guests could have done was ring the doorbell to announce their presence before barging in like that. Abominably rude of them too.
Stripping off gloves, he headed for the stairs, only to have the door fall in, crashing at his feet and splintering in all directions. “I hope you realize you’re going to have to pay for that.” He calmly informed the owners of the various weaponry now waving just under his nose.
Well well, they’d come prepared for a party it would seem. A shame he couldn’t give them a tour of the lab…but perhaps, if he was lucky, they would become all too familiar with the workings of his lair. He’d have to pack up after this, perhaps move to Ishktar, but no use crying over spilt bourbon. Taking a step back, with a smile and a graceful bow, he spread his arms wide. “Welcome, gentlemen, to my humble establishment, do let me show you around. I hope you will join me for a dance…if you can keep up.”
The leader of the group was instantly wary, as well he should be, of the architect’s welcoming smile. Glancing over, he was horrified to note the subject on the table. Swallowing, he gestured with his spear. “Al’vhorak Myiin, you’re hereby under arrest….and that’s the priest’s daughter, I hope you realize.”
Oh blast. So that was why they’d sent out a full regiment. How darling. Casting a fleeting glance towards his test subject, he frowned, brows furrowing as he noted the girl was no longer breathing. “Oops. Pardon me, she seems to have expired.” Shrugging off the loss, he sighed, waving a long-fingered hand, “Must have had a weak heart, runs in the family, or so I’ve heard.” Or she’d accidentally bled to death whilst he wasn’t looking. Whoops. Pity too, he’d been doing so well.
Hearing a warning growl in return to his flippant response, Al’vhorak nimbly danced out of the way of a spear-thrust, grinning like a fool. Silly, these mortal pawns were. “Don’t sound so outraged, ‘Without burden I sever my soul in twain, that I mayest possess secrets beyond this mortal coil.’ A famous line, a famous heretic, the first priest of our twin gods. We revere him now as a saint, will you not take a moment to compare me thus? My thirst for knowledge, gentleman, is no less…”
Ah, too close, a foolish soldier, and now he was without a throat, claws neatly severing that oh so necessary artery. He could see their faces, grimly set to face a madman, how little they knew, weak-minded, petty tools…minor players in this grand theatre. Al’vhorak could laugh at them, and feel no shame, no guilt that he would hasten their demise, for he was the cleansing fire for this rotting city.
Come pretty puppets, let me show you how it’s done. Let’s dance the night away.
Al’vhorak was a product of the Myiin Sect, a Sect who believed firmly in their own superiority, their ability to self-sustain, and carried with these beliefs an almost superstitious need to prevent any outsiders from tainting this perfection that they, and only they had created within their nest, the precious mother lode of a city known as Outaen. What they seemed utterly oblivious of, was the stink created by rot from within, a crack deep in the heart of an otherwise flawless jewel.
It was part of their stubborn refusal to consort with any of the other Sects that was slowly killing them, Al’vhorak mused, watching the light glint off of his scalpel, the blade shining in the blue light causing the tool itself to appear as one of Outaen’s fabled heartstones. It was disgusting, the political corruption and intrigue, not to mention the inbreeding that was dimming the luster of this once illustrious city.
Al’vhorak was like the purifying fire, seeking only to burn away the impurities of their race, of the Myiin Sect itself, yes, he marveled softly to himself, he was indeed that fire, a flame to test and try…and many indeed had been the subjects who had been found wanting.
Turning back to the subject at hand, a whimpering female, he could see all too clearly that she remembered the incident with the kidney yesterday. “Oh do cease your sniveling.” He commanded with a hefty eye-roll, “You weren’t using that anyway.” Assuring himself that she was strapped down with no hope of escape, he gave her the first injection, and without further ado, proceeded to cut down through the muscle and flesh of one arm, tsking softly at the cerulean blood that welled up, spilling onto his table and staining his scalpel.
So far, the breakthroughs had only been elementary. They would thank him one day, when their race achieved flight once more, became creatures much like the twin deities they so lauded, even if only in name and the occasional honorific bow. It was, however, less for the masses and more for himself that he studied, the hunger for knowing not unlike a berserk Marguut Hound’s thirst for blood.
Painstakingly grafting bone to joint and muscle, pausing only occasionally to apply serum directly to the bloodstream, he was jolted from his concentration about midway through the procedure by a crashing sound from above. Cursing softly, eyes narrowed as he glared at the ceiling. The servants knew better than to tromp about like a herd of wild tonbloots, now they’d gone and set him back an entire half-hour.
It was only after he’d given the unconscious Ki’vyyn another injection that he remembered that he didn’t have servants any longer, all of them had either run in terror, or gone the way of the rest of his test subjects. Unworthy, ungrateful little ingrates the lot of them…perhaps it was the kityan, oh right, he didn’t have one of those anymore either. Directing a rueful glance at the small lump of fur that lay motionless in one of the glass cases, that had been a dismal failure, and the creature had held such promise early on. Such a shame.
Another alarming crash, this time closer, shook the floor above. Frowning, he gave up on finishing the procedure at all, tossing his scalpel to the side, where it stuck in one of the walls, a new ornament, he supposed, as he had scalpels to spare. Damn. The least that his new guests could have done was ring the doorbell to announce their presence before barging in like that. Abominably rude of them too.
Stripping off gloves, he headed for the stairs, only to have the door fall in, crashing at his feet and splintering in all directions. “I hope you realize you’re going to have to pay for that.” He calmly informed the owners of the various weaponry now waving just under his nose.
Well well, they’d come prepared for a party it would seem. A shame he couldn’t give them a tour of the lab…but perhaps, if he was lucky, they would become all too familiar with the workings of his lair. He’d have to pack up after this, perhaps move to Ishktar, but no use crying over spilt bourbon. Taking a step back, with a smile and a graceful bow, he spread his arms wide. “Welcome, gentlemen, to my humble establishment, do let me show you around. I hope you will join me for a dance…if you can keep up.”
The leader of the group was instantly wary, as well he should be, of the architect’s welcoming smile. Glancing over, he was horrified to note the subject on the table. Swallowing, he gestured with his spear. “Al’vhorak Myiin, you’re hereby under arrest….and that’s the priest’s daughter, I hope you realize.”
Oh blast. So that was why they’d sent out a full regiment. How darling. Casting a fleeting glance towards his test subject, he frowned, brows furrowing as he noted the girl was no longer breathing. “Oops. Pardon me, she seems to have expired.” Shrugging off the loss, he sighed, waving a long-fingered hand, “Must have had a weak heart, runs in the family, or so I’ve heard.” Or she’d accidentally bled to death whilst he wasn’t looking. Whoops. Pity too, he’d been doing so well.
Hearing a warning growl in return to his flippant response, Al’vhorak nimbly danced out of the way of a spear-thrust, grinning like a fool. Silly, these mortal pawns were. “Don’t sound so outraged, ‘Without burden I sever my soul in twain, that I mayest possess secrets beyond this mortal coil.’ A famous line, a famous heretic, the first priest of our twin gods. We revere him now as a saint, will you not take a moment to compare me thus? My thirst for knowledge, gentleman, is no less…”
Ah, too close, a foolish soldier, and now he was without a throat, claws neatly severing that oh so necessary artery. He could see their faces, grimly set to face a madman, how little they knew, weak-minded, petty tools…minor players in this grand theatre. Al’vhorak could laugh at them, and feel no shame, no guilt that he would hasten their demise, for he was the cleansing fire for this rotting city.
Come pretty puppets, let me show you how it’s done. Let’s dance the night away.
