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 Posted: Sun Sep 24, 2006 11:04 pm
Lanfear/Cyndane and Jalil
Two women ripped from their multiverse and cast into an entire other plane of existence. One a young woman dragged through several trials by fate and left a twisted hellspawn trying to rebuild some semblance of a life. The other a Chosen, one of the Great Lord's highest, a devious lady of charms and dreams bent on ruling it all. What would happen when fate brought the two together? What havoc would they bring to the worlds around them?
Read on and see.
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Posted: Wed Oct 25, 2006 1:56 am
Lanfear/Cyndane
Daughter of the Night  Name: Cyndane, aka, Lanfear.
Age: Undefined.
Race: Human
Place of Birth: Never specified - Mierin, her real name, is without birthplace in the records. Lanfear, the name she chose for herself when bending to the rule of the Dark One, is given birth from the Breaking of the World.
Hair: (Lanfear) Black (Cyndane) Silver
Eyes: (Lanfear) Black (Cyndane) Acid blue
Skin Tone: Pale, as if she keeps from the sun to retain creamy pale skin.
Height: (Lanfear) roughly 5'9 (Cyndane) 5'1
Build: Slender and delicate
Character Class: Initiate/Aes Sedai/Chosen
Nicknames: Daughter of the Night, Last Chance, She Who Walks the Night, Second Highest, Forsaken, Chosen
Habits: Calculating and cold, Lanfear, no matter which body she has, is a ruthless, conniving woman. She retains little sympathy for mankind, considering themselves damned if they do, damned if they don't no matter what happens. She loves power, a bit of a meglomaniac, she is strong in the One Power that Aes Sedai wield, as strong as Ishamael was. Her undying love for a man from her past leads her to sometimes illogical judgements, proving that even if she is all powerful, she is still only human.
Specialist Items: Sa'angreal (amplifier) Ter'Angreal
Special Abilities: Weave the One Power, Balefire, Tel'Aran'Rhiod (World of Dreams) Weave the Dream, Travelling, Skimming, All kinds of offensive talents, Compulsion.
Special: Lanfear was born as Mierin, some time in the distant past of the World of the Wheel of Time. She was a scholar and a behemoth in wielding the One Power, unusual even then among the insanely strong Aes Sedai, the 'Servants of All'. As time passed, she met and became Lews Therin Telamon's lover. But not long after, he fell in love with a woman named Ilyena and despite her incredible, unswerving love for him, she was put aside. Driven insane by such cruel rejection, she later bore into the Dark One's prison by accident and when he was freed, she was the first to join his cause. As such, she was the only one to choose her own name as a Forsaken, "Lanfear," which means in the old tongue 'Daughter of the Night'. Proudly she waged war and chaos in his name, until like the other 12, they were sealed away with the Dark One. Centuries later, she is set free to wreak havoc on the world of the Wheel of Time, war, death, all of it - but in doing so meets the Dragon reborn, a man with the soul of Lews Therin inside him and pursues him. In doing so, she fells through an active ter-angreal, supposedly killing her. But she is given a new body, that of the short Cyndane, also known as 'Last Chance'. Whether or not this is Lanfear's last chance to have her ultimate revenge on Lews Therin is to be seen, but she is still one of the most dangerous people alive...
Greatest Talent: Anything in the One Power, mostly Balefire.
Worst Talent: Healing.
Other: *DISCLAIMER* Cyndane/Lanfear/Wheel of Time/The Forsaken/etc are a creation of Robert Jordan and all credit goes to him. This Cyndane is an Alternate Universe portrayal of the Wheel of Time character done by Bhryn and is in no way meant to be 'stealing' from Robert Jordan. Description: Lanfear: Standing at a slender yet imposing 5'9, the Daughter of the Night is what could only be described as the epitome of breath taking beauty. Her hair, pulled back from a face that angels may have had a hand in creating, is the colour of her self styled night and hands free to her hips in a glistening wave, washed each day in rainwater, perhaps? Her skin, the colour of cream, is soft and smooth to the touch, without a single scar or mar upon it. Her features are more than simply beautiful: high cheekbones, the perfect curve of her cheek, the right angle of her jaw and the exquisite balance of nose and full lipped smile. Her eyebrows arch in delight when speaking and her eyes, large and a soft brown-black in colour, are thickly lashed, so thickly that you wonder if it is artifice that creates such wonder, but you would be wrong. Her poise is delicate, her air of mannerisms precise to the very letter and her tone of voice like sweet honey. Her form is slender as she is tall, with the budding hint of maturity about her that sets the heart of man or woman to beating faster, the cheeks aflame with desire. Her figure, despite such slenderness, retains accents of an hourglass. She clads herself only in the purest snow white, a dress with a high neck in the Andoran style and close cut sleeves and skirt in a twist to the traditional Andoran way, clinging to her in a suggestive fashion that reminds the watcher of the exotic coasts of Tarabon. The dress is silk and shimmering and when her feet deign to peek out from the fluted skirts of frost, they too are in slippers of snow tooled with silver snowflakes. About her waist is a belt in the design of mazes, silver also and on the left wrist is an aged ivory bracelet, carved in the shape of a woman bent backwards, holding her ankles...Cyndane: Last Chance stands at a mere 5'2 so that you would think she spends her time looking up at people. Not so, for her imposing presence and regal attitude draws attention down to her instead of the opposite way around. Her eyes could nail you to the wall with the force of will being them, a stark acid blue that is hardly ever seen, peering out from a doll-like face that seems without a definable age, set with a rosebud mouth and fine features. Her hair, worn long and free, is a waterfall of silver down her back, glistening as though doused in rainwater each morning. Despite the angry snapping gaze she presents, Cyndane is soft spoken and well mannered, yet you always leave with the sense of adoration for this curious little woman. She wears a dress of blue, the same blue as her acid eyes with accents of white. The dress is cut in the Tarabon style, with a low neckline and a clinging figure, swishing as she stalks about, exposing through thanks to a slit in the skirts most unusually (for this usually indicates Shienaran riding clothes) her creamy legs, bare apart from the flat snow white slippers tooled with silver snowflakes. Hung about her neck is a cage of silver latticework and around her left wrist is a bracelet of a woman bent backwards, holding her ankles...Reference Pictures: Forthcoming
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Posted: Wed Oct 25, 2006 2:06 am
Jalil
Rough Translation: Daughter of the Dark  Name: Jaliloloth Dae'Ithildin
Age: 24
Race: Human/Raukodae
Eye color: Red
Skin color: Almond
Body build: Light and curvy
Hair color/length/style: Fiery red-head, her hair is long and wavy. She wears it in many styles, often pulled partially back with bangs framing her face and parts braided and twisted around her head
Unusual Features: She has a pair of exceedingly beautiful long white feathered wings
Tattoos/Markings: She has a very faded scar on her face going from above her right eye across the bridge of her nose and ending under her left eye.
Clothing: Jalil prefers red, white, and black colors in her clothing. Her clothing is sexy without being revealing. Oh she might show a little cleavage or her legs from time to time, but often the clothing she wears when clothed from neck to ankles is considered more scandalous due to the alarming way it clings to and emphasizes her curves. Jalil often wears flame motifs on her clothing either endroidered on the bodice and the hems, or sewn in as a part of the actual clothing. She wears dresses more than pants with the exception of her favorite red catsuit (see first description) which she is often seen in.
Armor: Jalil doesn't wear armor
Weapons: Jalil carries a black leather whip that is enchanted with blades that pop out on command from an extradimensional space in the whip. She also carries a length of white, silk rope that is enchanted to entangle the target it is thrown at.
Jewelry: Jalil often wears an amulet of onyx stone that appears as if there's a flame dancing inside the stone. Aside from that, she does wear earrings, necklaces so long as they aren't tight on her neck, and rings. She will not wear bracelets for the same reason she won't wear choker-type necklaces, because of her time as a da'mane.
Character Personality: Seductive, dominant, fiery, enjoys pleasure for its own sake
Class: Channeler (As from Wheel of Time if you've read the series)
Backstory/Other: Jaliloloth Dae'Ithildin was once a normal human girl. However, much has changed about the young channeler from Arad Doman over the years.
Her true name is Aithne al'Mael. Born the single child to a wealthy merchant family, Aithne had it made from childhood. Being a Domani, she had seduction down to an art by the time she reached puberty and as the only child, she was poised to inherit the inn that her father ran as well as her mother's trade business, but that life vanished from her when her ability to channel the One Power manifested ending in the death of a Whitecloak Questioner. Her ability to channel couldn't be overlooked, and left untrained she would like kill herself or burn out her ability to channel entirely. Thus she thought it fortunate when an Aes Sedai approached her after the incident and offered to take her to the White Tower to train for the shawl.
Her hopes were misplaced and fortune turned to misfortune when the woman betrayed her, turning her over the the Seanchan to be leashed and collared as a da'mane. She spent years collared in a foreign land, broken by the sul'dam that carried her leash and treated her as if she was some pet, and trained to channel on command as if she were a weapon, nothing more than a tool to be used. It wasn't until the Seanchan returned to the Westlands to begin the return that the miracle she had been holding onto came true...she was freed by another channeler in the city of Falme, but fear and her instincts told her to run, afraid of being used again as the Seanchan had used her.
She ran until she was clear of the city, looking back as the sky was filled with the battle cries of a thousand dead heroes and the clash of the Dragon Reborn and the Dark One himself. She knew she couldn't stop now, though, so she wandered on past countless towns and cities, relying on the kindness of strangers for provisions and a place to sleep. Eventually she saw her chance to regain a position of power and, using a compulsion weave which she had natural talent with, she slipped into a position of power in one of the great houses in Tear.
It was there that fate would again twist on her as one day she found a great cache of ter'angreal and angreal locked away in the basement room. As she wandered through the shapes of trees and fat men with swords and dancing women who held onto each other and cried blood like tears, one thing caught her interest above all: A stone arch completely round that twisted upon itself with no beginning or end. Curious, she stepped through and the world lurched for a moment until she found herself standing in a white room like the great room of a castle, faced by an fox-faced elvish person. When asked if she had brought any means of light, weaponry, or steel, she searches her pocket, finding an old belt knife that had never left her reach since her escape at Falme. Before she could say anything, the fox-like figure vanished like mist, the room seeming to fade after him, and then reality itself...
When she woke up, she found herself in an unfamiliar land, unable to remember where she had come from or who she was. She was taken in by a strawberry blonde sorceress who named her Jaliloloth Dae'Ithildin from an amalgam of different tongues to mean 'Daughter of the Dark'. Told that her ability to channel was a gift of dark sorcery from an entity known as the Shadows, the woman cared and provided for her until she was well and then sent her out on a mission as a payment for all she had done. Knowing nothing of who or what she was, she could only believe and trust the woman who had sheltered her, and so she set out to infiltrate a cult of fiends, undergoing the horrendous ritual to become one of them. The ritual changed her body smoothing out all her flaws and imperfections and gifting her with a pair of pearly white wings to mock the angels in the heavens. Moreso, though, it warped her already fragile mind, twisting her the final step towards embracing the darkness.
Eventually the woman who had sent her on her mission vanished with no trace, and the cult fell apart, and so Jalil found herself once again the master of her own life. She began to carve a path for herself, no longer caring who the path cut through. It was during this time when she had begun to establish herself in her new surroundings that a figure she would only have believed in nightmares appeared. Cyndane, one of the Forsaken, had also found her way into this strange land, and when she found such a precious commodity as a woman who could channel the One Power in a land where the True Source wasn't even known, she jumped on the opportunity and Jalil soon found herself in the woman's service. It was through Cyndane that she begin to rediscover some of the truth behind exactly what she was, and redeiscovered in the full her ability to channel which had for so long been directed as sorcery. Cyndane began to teach Jalil how to truely weave the True Source.
The path to rediscovering who she was was long and filled with times of insanity, but through it she found her heart and soul, Tyffron, and together brought the light of her life, Lyn'tora, into the world. Motherhood has gentled Jalil and given her an understanding with one who was once her enemy, but the ties of darkness still tug at her from her Mentor, Cyndane, and only time will tell which pulls stronger in the end.
Picture Credits: Lineart by Bhryn, CGed by Jalil.
Pose Ideas: Jalil, being Domani, has a naturally enticing air about her. Her smiles often seem smirks, her gestures invitations, and it has been said that even her anger is alluring. The trick is that Jalil doesn't have to be half-clothed to be sexy, it shows in her body language and utter confidence. Somehow Jalil has an air about her that allows her to come across as a model of perfection even in her worst moments. Description: I've redone her description countless times in dozens of different outfits, but here's two of my favorites smile As you hear the soft footsteps you turn to look and your eyes are met with this most unusual beauty. Her eyes burn into your soul, fiery and red, but holding a deep and sinister darkness within the swirling pupils. Her blood red hair is pulled back into a ponytail and laced with matching feathers here and there, especially around the top of the ponytail. She wears a robe-like red and white outfit, the top cut low with the feathery-textured red embroidary leaping up on the white like flames of crimson. The sleeves are narrow just below the shoulder widening out down to her wrists where the flame-like red pattern cascades over the material in the same feathery texture. The top of the robe splits just above her midriff revealing the tightly clinging, new, red, silken catsuit Jalil wears underneath. The white robe hangs over her legs to her feet, embroidered with the flaming pattern at the bottom, and seems to be split in the back to her waist.
The red body suit extends to her feet, flaring slightly below her knees to lay over her boots of red leather encased in a hard silver metal. Her hands are gloved in red leather and an onyx amulet hangs from around her neck that seems to hold a brightly burning fire when the stone is looked at carefully. The most striking feature of this lady, however, are the perfect, pearly white wings that extend from her shoulder blades, cascading to the ground. At one side of her hip, under her robe, a length of white silk rope hangs in a coil, on the other hip, a striking black whip. The saying "Beauty can be a dangerous thing" has new meaning once you look away from her...
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As time turns and todays give way to tomorrows, so has Jaliloloth Dae'Ithildin changed again. Her ever stunning beauty is crafted into a delicate 5'3" frame with an ageless face that appears to shun the touch of time. Dark pupils of red give an inner fire to eyes lined with kohl, her eyebrows arching smoothly o'er to emphasize the sinister cast of the eyes. Richly colored almond skin smooths the form into perfect shape, disrupted only by a single, faded scar across and down the face from west temple to east cheek, though only the beholder can say if this adds or detracts from her looks. Full lips are carefully detailed in ruby red matching the lengthy, gathered locks of hair, meticulously twisted, braided, and smoothed into a cascade down her back with multiple locks carefully turned 'bout the crown of the head and full bangs left to trace cheekbone to neck where hangs a single amulet carved from onyx and set into silver dangling from a matching chain crafted in the image of fire. Fit for a queen she dresses twixt collaborating shades of sable and cardinal hues. A piceous dress of sleek satins and smooth silks covers flawlessly from neck to ankle save an oval-shaped section in the back, though some might consider it to cling in a rather alarming manner, like a second skin. The sleeves are straight cut to the wrist where delicate hands bear a simple ring cast in white-gold and set with a ruby and two obsidian stones. A silver link chain draped about the waist holds twin coils, one of a niveous shade with the texture of twined rope, the other a melanic hue and smelling faintly of well-oiled leather. The straight skirt swishes with the give of extra fabric to allow for comfortable sitting, and is divided for riding. Polished to a sheen, leather boots dyed black buckle up the leg to just below the knee, the heel lifted moderately off the ground. Decorating the back from the shoulder's blades drifts a snowy pair of feathered wings. As they say, beauty is a dangerous thing...Reference Pics: Jalil:     Artists in order from left to right: -Row 1: Bhryn, x~Berserker~x, Lumo -Row 2: Neobakeneko Jalil and Tyff:    Artists from left to right: Budha Pimp, Rabscuttle, Songjewel Tyff, Jalil, and Lyn'tora:  by ChimeraNell
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Posted: Wed Oct 25, 2006 2:24 am
Lanfear/Cyndane and Jalil's relationship If there was one person in this strange world Jalil ended up in that she adored, it would be Lanfear. In the time when Jalil's mind was at its most warped, Lanfear found her, a precious channeler on a world where the One Power was unknown and untapped, and claimed her as her own, sweetly treating her as her own daughter while using her towards her own devious ends. Of course, Jalil found herself awestruck by Lanfear, especially once the memories of who she was and where she was from began to return. In her darkly twisted perception, she could have recieved no better honor than for one of the Chosen themselves to take her under her wing, and the honor of it blinded Jalil to the fact that she had no qualms with bending over backwards to serve Lanfear. When her mentor and only link to her past was destroyed, Jalil was filled with rage and took up her mentor's campaign against the celestials that killed Lanfear. Little did she know at the time that as she stalked their dreams, her mentor watched from the shadows having stolen another body to live on in, recreated as the silver haired and vibrant blue-eyed Cyndane. Eventually she revealed herself to Jalil, encouraging her campaign against Celestia and the war that followed. However, the development of Jalil finding a lover, Tyffron, who dared to second-guess the Chosen and coming to an understanding with one of the ones Cyndane so hated enraged the Chosen to the point that she nearly killed Jalil and Tyffron's child (thus why Lyn'tora was born pre-mature and with a very serious childhood disease). It wasn't long after Lyn'tora's birth that Cyndane dissapeared, and her whereabouts are still unknown at present.
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Posted: Wed Oct 25, 2006 2:34 am
Cyndane RP/Story Snippets 'Star Shine' by Bhryn; Sera fights Cyndane The magic was so wild it hurt, the power of it striking out like some caged animal suddenly let loose. This power came not from the short woman before her, however, but from someone else as a young scream echoed out across the air, twisting sense and flaring them to white-hot agony. This wild magic was Alantie's. Determined, her eyes frowning a pale green, she kept her grip on the awkward sword handle, watching the woman and waiting. Dragona lay to one side, the clearing in the tree's floor half upturned from the mass destruction the earthquake had ravaged. She dared not remove her eyes from this Immortal woman to see if the dragon was alright, the huge form slumbering peacefully. It left her and her alone to fight her. To fight her? To...kill her? The steps towards her faltered, an inch of hesitation as that inexplicable something was woven about again, the hands twisting ever so slightly to form a weave of air that battered into her side and smacked across her shoulders, like a switch. Screaming in pain, she tried to think, tried to concentrate as Cyndane circled her, feet light on the ruined sod and soil. Her body fell down, fingers digging into the soil, scraping it under her fingernails as pain descended again and again and again... If she died, it wouldn't matter, would it? But what would Allie do then? Forcing her head up, another flow of this smashed her mouth and sent her sprawling onto her side, blood streaming from her lip. "Oh look, a pet celestial... on her side, crying..." Crying? She was crying... it hurt. Her hands scrabbled for purchase as instead of air, a foot broke one of her ribs, and she screamed again, echoing out across the forested area. If she could stand up, she would fight. Let her body be broken, let her spirit die down... anything... but she would not give into this. "What now, cry some more? No dragon to help you..." I am more than this. "If the shadows took pity on you, maybe you could become something..." A hand entangled itself cruelly into her hair and jerked her head about. In agony something bubbled as words in the throat she used to own. Lips rested by her ear and began speaking, "I hate your kind, so self serving and prideful, not a moments notice for anything or anyone else... concerned only with your home and kingdoms of Gods... let the shadows eat you all whole and may you all die..." Her hand found her sword, and with strength born of fear rationalized, she struck out and felt it bite deep into Last Chance's ankle. The woman screamed now, she screamed. Bitter happiness she surged as a demented thing to her feet and dug her own fingers into the pits of Cyndane's eyes, pushing there, spitefully, hatefully. "I am more, than this," she gasped, and cast her final spell. The body stiffened, with no measure to counteract it, falling lifelessly to the floor, just as Bhryn hobbled her way in. She stood there for a long time, staring at nothing real, then down at her hands where blood had broken over and ran. She had killed, for the sake of a girl, for her people. Was she a savior? Could she live with that? Bhryn spent sometime bringing Dragona round, and they then stared at her. What now? Dismal, broken, she hunched her shoulders and fled the clearing, crying...
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Posted: Wed Oct 25, 2006 2:37 am
Jalil Story/RP Snippets Last Chance Saga by Bhryn Every night, she dreamt her own guarded dreams. But in them, the dreams were always the same, always began and ended in the only way she knew how. The breeze never changed, as cold as ice and trickling down her skin in shards. It was like having someone plunge her directly into icy water after standing for hours under the loving heat of a midday sun. She loved the sensation of warmth as much as the next fiend could, but stood here in the harsh light of day, all she could wonder was why she was waiting. The landscape remained the same, a wide open field of sea green grass that waved like water and sometimes she imagined she could see her own reflection in the ‘waters’ below her as she straddled and strove her way through them. There was in the distant, a set of faintly glowing walls which she had never seen before, and to the north of her stood a grove of trees that she dared not approach. But tonight the dream was different. She controlled the clothes she adorned herself in as they attempted to flicker back to the humble rags she once wore in the depths of her own living hell, towards the more sane red leather catsuit she preferred. Her hair was faintly colourless and she felt out of sync with the world, every other step somehow jangling out and ringing like a sour note in a beautiful harmony. Wherever she walked in her dreams, she was certain she didn’t belong here at all, not in this life or in the material one. She moved through the grass, drawn towards the mists and soft light that emanated from the woods and trees, shining silver and tall beyond her. The sky was a rich limned purple, speckled with stars over the forests like an eternal night, but far towards the white walls, she could see daylight and warmth. This place she walked was nothing but death and would never hold anything less than death and the souls of those gone for such a long time. Her steps faltered and she slowed, her dark red eyes flailing about her then towards the figure stood to her right. Frowning, she knew she should feel some odd animosity towards the figure as she also stood looking towards the forest. It was her, that whelp of a Paragon who defied her at every turn. But… she was reminded sharply of circumstances surrounding the woman that did not differ too wildly from her own hap hazard and slapdash past. She paused, watching the celestial as she looked down towards her empty hands, a face like a marble statues weathered with tears, cracks and chinks in a stony exterior. This woman had never felt anything but cold to her keen senses, as she was wont to see people in forces and feelings rather than any real physical sensations. Cold, hiding parts of herself. What was missing from this picture, she mused as she watched in curiosity. Yet she had seen it countless times before, those hands outstretched and empty, searching for something that had been taken from her, but what. She shook her head, watching the celestial cry over something lost and never to be found again as voices snatched away her senses. The woman in red, painted softer and in lines of wavy format here in her dream, turned on her heel to see what ailed her hearing and saw only the misty forests and the silent stars above them. Stars, countless dreams all revolving around this one. Around that Astairre woman and what she looked for night after night, tearing her soul apart to find what it had lost. Curiosity piqued, she moved in deliberate steps towards the open forest and the silvery-yellow mist that gathered in the silences there. Her steps took her away from the celestial who vanished with the first rays of dawn passing by, some dream snatched from here by waking. Paying it little mind, she kept moving onward until she felt she could almost press her face to the firm wall of mist and find it to be only smoky or frosty glass. “…Hello?” There was nothing but a sensation of movement and stirring behind the ridges that kept her from the spirits, or perhaps the spirits from her. “…” she pressed her heart shaped face closer, looking for something and narrowing her eyes as if in expectation. Straining to hear those sounds within, she jumped a mile when the hand came down on her shoulder. “…Hello…again.” She spun, quicker than a flash and found only dark, dark eyes staring at her from a face riven into her mind, melting away to replaced by blue so bright it stung her eyes… and when the first acid sledged down over her body, she found herself screaming for mercy, screaming… …Jalil sat up and pawed at her throat, the silken sheets clinging too close as the dream slowly slipped into place and recognition. “The sword, she is looking for the sword…” Tears fell from her eyes and quickly she was grateful that she spent that night alone, that night trying to gather her jumping thoughts and frittered emotions of late. The room was open but the floor was covered in deep pile carpets, where from open windows shone the faint moonlight, fading into day. It hadn’t been entirely a dream, there was always some primal force moving a dreamers mind about the place and giving her the will to make things happen, a reality and a forewarning of events to come. Her hands shook, reflexively curling up then uncurling as she thought about those brilliant eyes she saw now only in her deepest nightmares and reliving of her greatest failures. They were clammy and the squeezed out sweat from their palms tickled down her fingers and onto the sheets. It was a warning. And also, the prophecy she had been waiting for. “…War.” She breathed, and found it sweeter still for all that terror she still endured… Last Chance Saga by Bhryn “I knew it.” Her partner looked up from where she was unwinding herself, caught up inside a tangle of silken red sheets and cushions. Her hair slid over her pale shoulders, blood red and as slick as blood itself. She glanced from his vaguely questioning eyes, then looked down at her hands in excitement, almost crowing to herself. “Knew what, dear?” With a lounging roll of her shoulders so they were pulled back, hair slipping with the motion, Jalil offered a smile to end all smiles, full of malice. “I’ve been hanging around as much as I can without any real harm to… them.” ‘Them’. Celestials. The very bane of her rotten existence. Wishing nothing but ill upon them, she waited for Tyffron to put down whatever it was he was molesting, a chart of maps she eventually saw with a quick sliding glance, and come to her side. As he settled in on their somewhat disgustingly spacious bed, she took his hands and laced her fingers through his with teasing slowness. “I found the very weapon we’d been looking for to torment her with.” “Oh?” Her smile was dark, but her eyes burned up as Jalil said in seductive, adoring slowness, “Have you ever heard of… Ragnarok?” The reaction wasn’t something she had expected. Not truly of these worlds where such a sword was legend, stolen from her own world many years ago when she was but a child in many terms, she had missed out on certain fringe benefits that being born and raised round such legends afforded. Parts of her still recalled the mighty legends of her own world. But the look of sudden terror which slid over Tyffron’s face was something she really hadn’t expected at all. To match the sudden underlying emotion of fear, a new shot of it creased the darkness from a corner where no shadows struck, and she tilted her head. A voice, thin and helplessly self loathing crawled from the shadow recess, “Not that, anything.. anything but that.” “You both react as if stung by a nest of hornets,” she said slowly, turning her burning gaze back onto her partner, “What is going on?” “You don’t know…” he breathed. “Obviously!” “That sword… God-slayer.” It was an effort for him to swallow, “It is the blackest of legends. A sword made for one purpose, given sentient life to a point, and the blackest, darkest of magics. It has it’s own agenda and uses those who grow attached to it.” “The wench had that sword,” she said, narrowing her eyes. Tyffron just nodded, and a brief look of sympathy crossed his face, enough to flare her rage further. Sympathy? For that useless, snivelling wench who had people at her beck and call?! “It is… of legend.” He finished slowly. “Either way, everyone in that wretched place thinks of the sword and how it influenced their precious, precious Paragon. Perhaps I should go visit her dreams with the sword… turn her thoughts to it.” Tyffron frowned and tightened his grip on Jalil’s hand, so much that she almost snatched her hand away. “That’s dangerous,” he said slowly. “Danger is my middle name,” she smirked, lying back down on the fan of her glistening, crimson hair. “I’ll be careful. Astairre will not bother me.” As she faded back into the dreams, the voice from the shadows whispered in frightened tones: “It is not Bhryn you should worry about…” …Not……Bhryn?…
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Posted: Wed Oct 25, 2006 2:39 am
Cyndane and Jalil RP/Story Snippets Last Chance Saga by Bhryn Jalil turned and glared at the woman who had presumed to move her from the dream to another section of the dreaming world. Recognition flooded through her eyes and her glare turned so dark that it was a wonder sparks did not fly from her eyes in fury. The woman was taller than she, by four or more inches, with a bearing that spoke of command. Slim, with the usual build which accompanied a celestial, strong shoulders and narrow hips with long legs. Her clothes were drab, plain grey. A cloak with a strange emblem upon it, a cool blue-grey shirt and a neat dark grey trousers tucked into utilitarian boots. The face was little remarkable, oval in presentation with almost regular features. A straight nose, a typical mouth and cheekbones not high enough to warrant instant notice. The eyes were tired and old; the colour of steel grey but not long lashed nor lined with cream to enhance them and from the corners of the eyes were spun fine webs of wrinkles, laughter lines. Her only saving grace was the wealth of hair which was braided intricately about and above the face, the colour of burnt sugar, shining with rich strands of copper and gold as she tilted her head to study Jalil. “You meddler,” Jalil hissed, hand curling round empty air. “No more than you.” The voice tickled in familiarity, but she couldn’t quite place it. Either way, Jalil’s clothes flickered from her usual ribbed leather catsuit to a high necked dress in a savage red, with deep sleeves and a short skirt, belted once with golden links shaped like stars, her legs wearing high boots in a dark reddish leather, hands clawed and gloved in red velvet. The embroidery moved to flames that almost writhed with contempt. The woman once known as Andary, or Lhandariel, her clothes never once shifted. “Bend your knee, pitiful wretch, so I may watch your squirm for interrupting my walk this eve, and for the insult you paid to me,” Jalil smiled cruelly, “And pay dearly you shall…” “Make me,” was all that cool, serene voice said. The weave was the first trick she had ever learnt to use. It was said all born with the ‘spark’ of this talent eventually came to their powers one way or another, through different weaves, but two remained the most common if varied. Some learnt how to eavesdrop from a distance, weaving air and water to carry the voices to their ears. Jalil wasn’t that simple, she wanted more… and so she had learnt the beginnings of a forbidden weave known as Compulsion. Weaving instinctively the lancet of shattering pain that would stab at her intruder, it became a glowing shard of many strands of each power, certainly she was weaker in Air, Water, and Earth, most of all Earth. But her talent lay in Fire, naturally as well as power is measured, and that which gave pain was emphasised also. She braced herself, as someone would when throwing a spear, muscles in her shoulders knotting up as sweat popped onto her smooth brow, her clothes flickering indistinctly between dress styles as she lost all concentration upon her clothes. The dream did not matter, only making this woman, this thing pay! “And so you have learnt nothing.” It was a spiteful comment from Lhandariel’s lips and with a shattering cry of pain, Jalil flung her compulsion lancet at the woman, streaking the weave through the air with a golden afterglow. The glow sprung itself up from around the other woman, and weaves she couldn’t see entirely slashed with vigour and strength through her own weaves, they seemed somehow pathetic alongside this new revelation. Before she could think, those flows which sliced with a keen knife edge of spirit split, one slamming itself between Jalil and the source, another melding into air and buckling her limbs in place momentarily, and a third splitting even finer and with a skill she could only envy, it wove into the net of Compulsion too fast for her to follow or reproduce. The net lowered onto her with no sugar coating or warning, and she grunted as the only other sign of pain, the backlash of her severed flows and the absence of saidar enough to keep her from speaking. “I see that as time passes, you imagine that you can just stalk the dreams like a clumsy child. Just because you imagine you are the only one who touches upon the world of dreams, Jalil.” She tried to summon up a glare, and the net of flaring pain tightened the instant she thought of it. I am a fool… a tiny voice said, in the back of her mind. “W-who are you?” “You don’t recognise me?” The face of stark, regular features crookedly smiled, dimpling one cheek lightly as the smile crept across the oval visage. Then ‘Lhandariel’ began smoothly walking towards her, blurring a little around the edges. “No,” Jalil shook her head, more of a toss at the pain subsiding. Trapped, in her own dream! The Great Lord take this light blasted woman’s soul! “I do not recognise you.” “Ah,” There was that smile again, “I suppose you don’t really look beyond the value of a face, do you?” Jalil compressed her mouth into a taut line, hating every word that dripped with hidden venom, falling casually from that gruesomely smiling mouth, and hating even more every word she could throw into those white teeth but could not even whimper out. Absently she tested the bonds, looking back at Lhandariel. “How about… this?” It was all she could do not to have her eyes fall out of her head in astonishment. The woman stood over her was familiar, more than familiar. Shorter than she, but with that horrid ability to loom, slimmer in build and with a commanding air. Adorned in a dress of white, with silver hair to the small of her back and a hawkish face lit up by a pair of large eyes and a pouty mouth. Acid blue eyes which almost nailed her to the floor in their temper. “M-mistress!” she stammered, sweat rolling down her face. You really are a complete fool: that little voice quite happily pointed out. “So you do happen to have the occasional flash of sanity. Remarkable,” the caressing voice was dry, drier than twigs to be snapped underfoot. “I however, have become more used to this form, as I have always been and will be again.” Acid blue eyes hardened then melted down towards infinite darkness, fading to cool brown-black eyes that glittered above a high cheek-boned face, a cool and striking face that held no measure of thought on it’s smooth surface. The mouth was cruelly tilted towards a dark humour she joked inwardly over, hair the sweep and shade of night was drawn away from the pale skinned face and held there by silver combs, the impossibly and intensely female frame with a waist easily circled by two hands was draped over with folds of creamy white velvet, belted with thick silver links. Queenly, Cold… Nightmare. “I beg forgiveness, I am sorry-“ she would have babbled more, had the woman she knew only as Cyndane hereabouts not made a gesture with a hand, sharply. The net woven to emit pain tightened on her senses and she scowled, brow furrowing as she did. Then all was lost in the final crumbling of her resolve… the power was…intense. Everything faded into adulation, and remorse over her own stupid actions. Jalil may have known the basic trick of a trickle of compulsion, but Cyndane was the Mistress of those powers, and weeping did the despised winged woman bow her head. Fingers, gentle as death to steal a soul away, alit upon her bowed head and stroked the red hair. Jalil trembled under those fingers, filled with a righteous urge to try and amend her grievous mistakes. “Mistress,” she whimpered. “Hush, there, there.” The tone was soothing, but if Jalil could even wrench the tiniest whim of her mind from this overwhelming compulsion and looked up, then the eyes she would see were far from soft and forgiving. They glittered darkly, malice and spite churning in them. Old spite, curdled to foul temper. Cyndane, or Last Chance as she had come to be known as, had one thing on her mind. Revenge. “Now then,” she said in sweet tones, “I’ve been watching you for a long, long time…” “How?!” Jalil gasped, looking up adoringly. Yes, of course, with that nimbus of gold about this wonderful woman it was only obvious she would be giving her benediction of love to her. To her alone. Mine! Mine! Mine!: her tiny inner voice demanded. “You didn’t listen as well as I had expected. Nevertheless: Death is no bar to those bound yet to the Great Lord’s will, and submitting to him utterly am I also made part of his intricate plans from now until the Dragon falls. I engage in spirit until I can find a suitable time, place and power to assume a body. This time though, in this new place, I can re-assume my old image.” Cyndane looked up irritably, then her plump lipped mouth curved into a terribly dark, wicked and malevolent smile, “The Daughter of the Night, she walks again…” Deep down inside, a small part of Jalil was screaming… that tiny morsel of her that had been alive and in the light years and years before with the tales of the forsaken and their horrors inflicted upon mankind. Even as she nodded and agreed, the dream fading around her, she screamed inside… “Jalil?!” She blinked as she was shaken awake, and abruptly realised that tears had been rolling down her flawless cheeks to land on the silken sheets, sheets that her hands gripped so hard that they bunched and folded into wrinkles that would never come out properly. Tyffron, darkly handsome and covered in shadows stared at her until she took a slow, lingering glance about the room. Still dark if not for a few candles, still on her large open bed and still scattered with luscious cushions, hangings and dressers, all in blood red and gold. “I’m awake…” she said slowly, forcing her hands to release the covers. “You screamed.” He said it so flatly that it was almost like music ringing off metal. Toneless and scared. “I did not,” Jalil said tightly, lifting her chin, “But I do have some news. We’re going to win the war.” “Oh?” The smile was darker than Cyndane’s eyes, and inside the old fear quelled from rising up and consuming her. She would be Chosen, she would be a faithful hound… and then, she would learn to replace that insufferable Jardis as Cyndane’s right hand… As the shadows darkened further with a guttering of a candle she told him all that had transpired, and soon his laughter, rich and malicious, echoed out through those shadows and corridors, scaring cowed servants into hiding and long into the night the wolves beyond the crag of darkness howled.
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