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 Posted: Tue Sep 09, 2008 10:45 am
The Duet of Life and Death
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Posted: Tue Sep 09, 2008 10:45 am
Backdrop: Sixty years ago, a cult entitled “The Abysmal Twilight” was believed eradicated by the military might of the Henrandor Kingdom. Twelve of the Cult’s governing body were slain and their heads paraded through the streets of Henrandor's capitol. Twelve heads, eleven clean and one covered in tar. The people cheered as the leader’s heads rotted, taking with them the corruption and death they had spread with their cruel magiks. The few surviving cultists fled and dropped their colors, returning to life as before. But though the tree had been cut and the roots burned, the seeds of corruption still survived. A single member of the cult’s governing body had survived. The thirteenth member had escaped from the slaughter when their central city of Neth’raz’iban was razed. Now, for sixty years he has planned his revenge against the kingdom and her allies that shattered the cults terrestrial power. He has cultivated his followers into a force and this time he will strike. But he must be subtle. The cult's membership is but a small handful and the number of necromancers are even fewer . But they are ready. A small shire, on the fringes of the Empire stands with the sacrificial knife against its throat, waiting to be the first victim in a long line of victims that shall lead to the kingdom's undoing.
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Posted: Tue Sep 09, 2008 11:19 am
Rules -Generally... well, we're all literate role players here. Follow along the typical rules of a role play and the guild rules.
-Send me your profile before you post.
- Violence is encouraged twisted
-Again your literate role players I pretty sure you all know how this stuff works.( I reserve the right to add more rules at any time because I can =p) Also entitle you pm 'Tofu is delicious' when sending your character to me.
Twists: These aren't so much rules as strongly enforced guidelines that you must keep in mind at all times while posting. These are to help give an overall flavor to the rp
1) Mortal: This is number one for a reason. Your character it mortal. Despite having powers and speaking to the damned, your character is still human. Meaning that a rock to the temple, bad food, disease, losing to much blood, a sword through your gut, and extreme temperatures can all kill your character. Keep that in mind.
2) Subtle: This is the major underlying tone of this rp. Everything these characters do must be subtle. The cult doesn’t have enough power to engage in open warfare yet with the kingdom and to much attention to their activities is undesirable.
3) Magic: There will be four types of magic in this rp. They are sorcery and Necromancy (both evil), elemental (fire, air, etc) and holy (from gods good). I'm going to give a brief run through of each.
Sorcery is offensive and concerns summoning other world creatures, burning sigil’s onto people’s foreheads, and boiling blood in people’s veins. sorcery is the magic of corruption and tainting and therefor has a price. The more you use this magic, the more it corrupts your mortal coil. To much and your hair changes color, plants die in your presence, dogs attack you frantically. So the more powerful you sorcery, the more the world rejects you. Food will turn to ash in your mouth and water will become bitter, but you must eat and drink to survive.
Necromancy is the hardest of all magic types and relates with raising the dead and ending life with a snap of the finger. To raise the dead, one must infuse the corpses with spirits bound to their will and this takes time to trick or convince spirits to obey. Also, directly controlling the dead requires full concentration and you are vulnerable while you do so. You can never control more than twenty corpses without aid of magical items. This magic is also extremely tiring since you are forcing your will against the winds of magic and nature. The more powerful your necromancy, the easier it is to defy the wills but as your power grows, the barrier between life and death weakens around you and forever the spirits will be whispering in your ears.
Elemental: you hurl bolts of lightning, you throw fireballs, you walk on water. Most common of all magic types. There is a Academy for the teaching of such magic. No cons to this type of magic if used properly. improperly and you'll have Paladin's hunting you down. About it there. (If you decide to use this magic as a cultist, please describe how you were corrupted and joined the cult in profile)
Holy: Used by the divine orders that be, these are actually prayers that must be chanted to conjure down the blessings of the gods.
Not offensive in the least, these powers might heal, create shield, inspire and purify. for obvious reasons, cultists may not take and vice versa.
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Posted: Tue Sep 09, 2008 12:03 pm
Profile Your characters are the cult's Lieutenants. Your goals are to convert the weak minded, kill those who oppose you, and create a stock pile of corpses for reanimation. How you choose to operate is up to you and in the end, you are answerable only to the cult leader and his voice. (If you want, you may take on a role of a paladin or someone in opposition to the cult. If desired, pm me)( Also i'll be rping the cult leader since he really is nothing more than a plot device)
Race: must be human
Magic: only ONE school of magic. when you pick then decide a specialization. (Ex Elemental: fire, sorcery: blood magic, Necromancy: Exploding corpses.) This specialization will be the primary way you use magic offensively.
Voice of Blood: all characters have a stone that enables them to communicate with others and the cult leader at any time any where.
Location: your character has already been sent out. Your first post should tell where you are in Envinburg shire.
[b]Gaia Username:[/b]
[b]Character Name:[/b]
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Weapon(s):[/b]
[b]School of Magic & specialization:[/b]
[b]Appearance:[/b]
[b]History:[/b]
[b]Purpose/Other/Extra:[/b]
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Posted: Tue Sep 09, 2008 12:08 pm
Characters: Gaia Username: Hinge 1
Character Name: Zlack Montreel
Age: 27
Weapon(s): A rusty knife
School of Magic & specialization: Necromancy: multiple direct puppet control
Appearance: 
History: “Your past is no longer who you are.” These words were spoken to Zlack at age nineteen when he was given the title necromancer. Zlack bowed his head before his teachers and complied. He put aside his birth to his merchant class parents. He let his memories of his childhood be swept away. For Zlack, the first eleven years of his life were no more than a dream now. Now, his life, his true conception, occurred when he was stabbed and left to bleed out in the street. Death crept over his pale body and his wide eyes looked into the void of death and saw the secrets that lay beyond the threads of life. His womb was the bandages that covered his broken and battered body. For close to a year he developed his mind and body maturing as the words of his savior, the only one willing to pull the dying boy from death’s embrace, served as his nutrients. And his true birth was in a whirlwind of fire and blood as he cut down his father and mother in their bed. They had tried to kill him for his short size, but he had been reborn a giant of death. With blood still splattered on his face, he returned to his savior, his master, his teacher, and followed him far and wide.
From his new father, he learened the truth of the world and the fate of all life. He learned that all life must meet Lord Death and be forever servants of death’s will. “The god’s even fear our master’s scythe.” His master said every night by candle light, blood and books scattered around them as they studied. “For in the end of all things, only death and his servants shall reign supreme.” For three years, Zlack followed his master into the recesses of death and life, learning to bind spirits to his will and to reanimate corpses of every creature he saw. With his master’s approval, Zlack began to experiment with creating new creature from the dead. Mixing limbs of creatures with human bodies created the perfect weapons. His desire to make newer and stanger creatures spurned his desire to learn more. His studies were his drug.
“The time has come to make your choice.” His master said when Zlack turned seventeen. “My master calls. The lord of my cult summons us home for a task of great need.” Zlack clutched his master’s arm. “I come and join my will to your masters!” Zlack pleaded. And so Zlack was initiated into the cult. Here his knowledge was increased tenfold. Soon death was his truest companion and none could replace the pale embrace of the eternal master of the entire world.
“I have a task for you.” Came his master two years ago. Zlack bowed and listened to his master’s will. “We strike against those fools who would desire so much to defy our Lord’s eternal will.” “If it is his will” Zlack bowed. “I obey.” Since then, Zlack has studied, read, and traveled the lands where death shall reap in abundance. He now waits for the order to come for the ending to beginning
Other/Extra: Addicted to Stine (drug), He always carries around a ruined teddy bear.
Gaia Username: Zulma san
Character Name: real name: Amhal Baequi'Rae (Pale Swan blessed by the Powers of the Light); used name: Micarae (Lost/ Dancing poison)
Age: 24
Weapon(s): daggers and a short sword
School of Magic & specialization: Sorceress: soul poisoning & illusion mastering
Appearance: 
Ahmal had bright blue hair and eyes. A fresh pink skin and a smile on her face. Miracae has lost her colors, except for her eyes. Hair and skin seems now white, almost transparent. She wears two principal outfits, one by day, the other by night. Both are dancers' costume which seems like dresses with a lot of flying fabrics and pants underneath. (similar to the picture) The day one is yellow and light green, the night one is black and purple. She has a purple moth wings on her back, each wing on each shoulder blade. She hides it.
History:
Amhal was meant to be a daughter of the Light. Blessed by Light magic since childhood she was meant to enter the Light campus. She spent days, mouths, weeks, practicing her skills, dancing with the light. Sun light, moon light, fire light. She was dancing. Her body was playing with the light, gathering it, expending it, making it soft and caressing or strong and aggressive. Those were her happy days. The cult was only in the old legends. In horror stories and granny's tales...
But one day the legend became reality. She was alone in the forest. She was 10. When a beautiful girl with purple hair and eyes appeared in front of her. Ahmal did not hesitate. She helped her. She used her light to start the healing process and brought her home to her family. The girl had a name: Cel. Was this name real or not, Ahmal would never know. Cel stayed, helped and grew up with Ahmal, her elder by ten years. The blue hair girl was often seen following her purple 'sister'. Cel was sometimes distant and refused any discussion regarding her past. She pushed Ahmal into mastering the Light and Ahmal improved. She also taught her how to fight with a sword and throw knives.
Yet again, everything was to be changed. Ahmal was 16. In the middle of the night, paladins broke in. They were there for Cel. She did not defend herself. And she motioned Ahmal to stay quiet and immobile. Before following the men, Cel ordered Ahmal to turn her back to her and Ahmal obeyed. A deep pain came to her back, where Cel put her hand. Half unconscious, Ahmal had the time to only see Cel been killed by the men, her body hit and dismembered. With her last breath, the purple lady whispered "I am sorry".
Ahmal only woke up to contemplate her house burnt, her family burnt. How did she survived the fire? She still did not know. But when she woke up she was in the garden. She knew that being alive would be considered a sin. They would track her. Therefore she disappeared. Her only possession was a purple stone, given by the purple Cel. She found a cave, she found a river and she discovered that now on her back were the wings of a moth carved in her skin and that...she could not control water anymore.
After weeks of isolation, she was no more Ahmal. She was Miracae, the one who lost everything, the one who could poison the souls and hearts. She made dreams which did not belong to her. She heard a voice. She did not know who he was. Soon she was meant to meet him though...the leader of the cult. Cel's leader. The one she did for. Miracae accepted to serve him. She wanted revenge against the ones who stole her everything.
Miracae's soul soon tainted by what she was discovering: her abilities to play with people's mind and heart, to create illusions, to dance and torment them. Her bright blue hair faded bit by bit. Her pink skin became paler and paler. Nightmares haunted her, but she did not stop. At 24, from her blue hair, only pale reflections stayed, her hair now almost white. Her pale seemed transparent. Only her eyes stayed blue and bright. She had an angel face and a goddess body, but from pure feelings, nothing was left.
Other/Extra: Miracae has never been trained on her powers and is unaware of their effect on her bodies. She does not fully understand the cult yet. She follows it to follow Cel's steps, although was it really what Cel wanted... she does not know. She want revenge and only this path will give it to her.
Miracae is not heartless though, on the contrary she is full of feelings, contradictory, leading her to sometimes opposite decisions at the same time. Ahmal is dead...isn't she?
Gaia Username: Lucia Incrucem
Character Name: Annette Red
Age: 34
Weapon(s): Dual Katars, Quiang
School of Magic & specialization: Sorcery: neural affliction
Appearance: 
History: She rose herself, loathing the very sight of her pitiful parents. Their inadequacies and the lack of competence in any field of those around her lead Annette to study something of use from ancient texts; all in the security of a nearby grove in which she practiced both her sorcery and her talents with melee weaponry on the local creatures. Her annoyance with the pitiful beings surrounding her inspired the girl to slaughter them all in a massive bath of blood at the age of thirteen. As she slowly went from town to town, determining based off of how weak and pitiful the citizens and their religiously inspired morals were whether or not to slaughter them, her powers in both armed combat and sorcery began to grow. Her body became lithe and agile, perfect for stealth and the fighting styles which she'd adopted. However, it also grew into a cursed, hideous form. Now, only a necrophiliac would find this accursed woman attractive. All things relating to and derived from life are repulsive and unbearable to her; her only source of comfort and solace laid with The Abysmal Twilight, and now that they are being regathered together, she is eager to join the cause. Without this one source of pleasure, she would have nothing to comfort her in a world that is nothing more than a personal hell.
Purpose/Other/Extra: She is always dressed in scarce armor, as the limited covering provides all the protection needed for one as proficient in dodging as Annette. Her general mobility is used on a constant basis, leaving her endurance higher than a living being should have it, but she is hardly living anymore. She primarily feeds off of the blood she drains from her victims, for it is the most efficient source of sustenance for her; and the less abhorrently flavored sources of nutrients she must consume the better.
She seeks only to serve, and to destroy all that does not; but Annette is not without tact in her actions. When it comes to speech, she speaks whenever she sees fit, and does so in a manner often riddled with sarcasm and cryptic phrasing.
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Posted: Tue Sep 09, 2008 12:09 pm
EVENTS: (9/9/0 cool = Construction started (9/11/0 cool = finished construction. Accepting profiles. (9/15/0 cool open!
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Posted: Thu Sep 11, 2008 9:34 am
Status Report
(I'll be posting these from time to time. These post will always take place in the shire's governing castle by the baron family ruling over the land. These are to show how much of an impact your actions are having and what they are doing, if anything, to counter this threat. This is not an original idea I was part of an rp once that used this technique and thought is was kinda cool. lol. We'll see how well it goes.)
"Any other matters that require out attention?" The speaker was a man clad in a deep robe of red. His wrinkled face was hard like his voice and there was little compassion in the eyes that slowly moved around the room. None of the other sixteen gathered had anything to say. "Nothing?" the man in red mused.
"What do you want us to say, Baron?" An older woman added, her clothes simple like her status. "Crops grow, the old die and young are born. We have already discussed the bandit issue."
"Indeed father. " said a young man, whose apparel was deep red like his father's. "This council has no need to stay assembled any longer."
"Eager to get back to your wife, Alenanius?" the old Baron said with a smile and the young man gave a bit of a blush. "Very well. Adviser's return to your chambers and Alenanius, get back to your bride and hurry up and sire me a grandson before I force your brother to leave the church and do what you seem inept to do" A few chuckles came from those gathered as they rose with bows and began to leave through the grand door.
"Yes father." The boy said, studdering as he blushed a deep red. "I'll get right on that.
"Don't you mean her?" His father jested before turning and leaving, his son several paces behind.
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Posted: Sun Sep 14, 2008 2:51 pm
The stench filled the air. In the cold room, every wall held the stench. It cooled the skin and filled the nostrils. The smell tightened the stomach into a knot and turned even the strongest man’s insides into butterflies. The smell wasn’t of blood and the rotting organs that filled the corners of this subterranean vault. It wasn’t the flies that buzzed and bumped in the darkness as they feasted. It wasn’t the smell of unwashed flesh emanating from the figure tied to the chair. The stench was that of fear and Zlack savored the aroma as he filled his lungs with the acrid air.
“Delicious!” He whispered. He knelt in the darkness, watching from the shadows. He stared intently at the naked woman in the center of the room, her limbs bound by tight rope to a chair. Her hands and feet had long ago turned a deep blue and swelled five times their normal size. No fresh blood had made through her bounds into those fingers in nearly two days. The woman whimpered as she took another breath and her thousand tiny cuts began to bleed again. The rats had been and gone and left her a miserable wreck. Her tears had long since stopped flowing. Acceptance of death had come to her and yet she wailed. Zlack smiled hungrily as he felt her spirit sliding a bit more from life into death.
“Yes,” he purred the sensation thrilling. With every pump of her unfailing heart, the woman came closer and closer to the abyss of death. The tension was thrilling. The waves of death rippled through the room and the void of death beyond. Zlack could sense the millions of sprits in death’s void gathering around him, eager for another to join them in their eternal nothingness. They whispered hastily. As her death grew ever nearer, the sprits grew more and more excited. The sensation was arousing and Zlack’s right hand was rubbing his groin through his robes. “Yes, soon ma’ dear, soon.” He hissed as he felt another heartbeat send a ripple through death’s vastness. The spirits buzzed in eager anticipation. The woman began to whimper as a sleek rodent darted across the stone floor, leaving little bloody paw print across the puddles of blood and ravaged meat. The creature bared its green teeth and dug deep into the woman’s already half devoured foot. The creature ripped meat away and then fled into the darkness. More blood flowed and Zlack knew her time was near.
Grinning, he slowly rose from where he sat, his stiff knees popping, a cruel and echoing sound in the still room. He pulled his hand from his groin and whipped some blood and organ from the front of his gray robes. He shook what he could from the deep silk of his apparel. His hood was raised, hiding his white hair. It silhouetted his deeply angled chin and sharp noise. Silently, like death itself, he swaggered into the wavering light. Three candles sputtered around her, lines of dried blood connecting them in a strange pattern, both nightmarish and pleasing. The short figure stopped several feet from this pathetic form before him. He saw her rasping gasps, her shuddering shoulders, her blackened hands and ruined lips. Her oily hair hung in knots, half of the once golden locks lying in torn clumps on the floor beside her. Zlack flexed his hands delicately, waiting for another ripple to travel through the vastness. The wicked spirits whispered in his ears. They filled the infinite unseen that filled this room. They all eagerly waited to feast upon this woman’s ripened soul.
The tension as mounting. The woman clung to life, despite that there was nothing left for her here. Her husband was now a corpse in a pile buried nearby for Zlack’s amusement. Her sons, infant and child, both had burned wonderfully. Zlack grinned a he recalled breaking their limbs and shoving them both crying into their mother’s cauldron. The cauldron had been so small, but they had fit so wonderfully. But his joy at the memory was paled when he remembered how wonderfully they had cried as the house had burned around them. And no one would find out for days. There house had been built nice and remote with nothing but trees and plowed fields around. The memory caused him to clutch his groin again and give it a firm squeeze, his lips pulling back into a greedy grin. It had been so wonderful and she had been so strong in will! It had taken Zlack a full ten minutes before she had screamed under torture. She was going to be perfect for his newest creation. The perfect form of locomotion for an unstoppable beast. All that must happen must be her death.
“Now!” He shouted suddenly, as a wave of death rippled and the woman died a bit more. Viciously, Zlack raised his foot and delivered a firm kick between the woman’s leg. She shrieked as best her dry throat would allow and went tumbling back. Zlack watched as the woman tumbled back in the hair and he savored the wet smacking noise that filled the air as her head met the stone. A trickle of fluid began to form at the base of the woman’s skull; her lips beginning to automatedly open and close, as if trying to grasp something that wasn’t there. With quick enthusiasm, Zlack laid himself beside the naked woman and stared at the blindfold that covered her eyes.
“Havin’ trouble breathn’ my dear?” he purred softly as he caressed a tear crusted cheek. “Ya should be, ya know.” He added, sliding himself through a puddle of blood and placing his lips close to her ear. “Ya insides have been leakin’ fluids right into ya lovely lungs and arteries. That sensation cloggin’ ya throat is bile and blood mixing and creating a pretty little foam that is blockin’ air to ya guts!.” The woman was gasping more and more frantically, her chest heaving with exertion as she grasped for air and found only the stench of carbon-monoxide in her brain. “Before ya die,” Zlack said, his tongue sliding out and licking some of the blood dripping from her ear. “I just want ya to know that this is nothing personal. Ya just were so full of life. A rare treat. I knew ya would be perfect for my next great toy. And indeed ya soul shall be. Death is near my dear.” She was gasping and gargling, a foam bubbling between her lips and dripping onto the floor. “ya soul, ya death, this long death is makin’ your soul strong. When ya die, I’ll seize yor soul and let the hungry soul’s devour who you were, tha memories and joys in ya life. And then, when ya soul is nothing but strength, power and will, I’ll fuse ya with a beautiful corpse and for all eternity you shall be mine.” The woman was still, her flesh a deep pale and with a hiss, Zlack reached a hand into the air and seized something. For close to an hour, the necromancer lay there beside the still corpse, his hand held out.
Time passed and the rats grew hungry, the stench of still warm and rotting meat filled them with courage and by the dozen’s they began to cross the floor from where they hid. Their black eyes saw and their twitching whiskers sensed as they maneuvered close. With eager bellies they open and bit into the woman. They ate and ate. Filling them. But none dared touch the man. Theyh sensed darkness and something to avoid. One rodent moved close to the man, the rat eager for a bite of the woman’s head. The rodent came close and bared it’s fangs. It never felt the hand that suddenly crushed its body and flung it across the room, where it exploded in a spray of organs. The movement startled the other rats, who fled in hast from the rising Zlack.
Sweat poured of his bow and deep black bags of weariness underlined his eyes. He was shacking from fatigue but grinning like a fool as he turned. There, amongst a pile of rotting meat, movement stirred. First, a long, sinewy arm broke free. Next another arm, both hands, giant paws from mountain lions, scrabbled at the stone floor and the human arms bugled with excess muscle. Next a head, that of a half rotted canine, pulled through the mass. What followed was a human torso and a pair legs like nothing seen before. Half human, half horse, half cat, the thing rose to a monstrous height of ten feet. The stench of rot filled the air around it. Zlack clapped his hands together.
“It’s perfect!” he hissed. “Do you see it, Xeris?” Zlack shouted as he turned. His eyes gazed into the chips stones that served for his teddy bear’s eyes. The heavily stitched and restuffed toy didn’t move. “Perfect, indeed.” Zlackwent on, turning back and looking at the creature. He ran a hand over the unmoving chest and then abruptly turned. He calmly walked across the room and picked up the teddy bear by its one arm. Dangling like a lynched corpse, the bear bounced and jostled as Zlack walked up the stairs and slammed the door to the basement, leaving the corpse standing still in the darkness.
Zlack placed the bear down on the table in the middle of the one room hut. There was nothing special about this hut. Hidden two miles from the nearest town, the room was hot from the fire that blazed in the fireplace; crude construction of clay and rough stones. The ceiling was nothing more than thick straw and leached horrible during the rain that plagued this part of the world. The walls were made of wood and stone and held the heat in well. The three windows that looked out were made of a cheap and bloated glass and did nothing to stop the cold from seeping in from the outside. An unkempt bed was nestled into a small alcove and a table with four chairs stood in the middle of the room. Two large cabinets stood in two corners and beside these was a large tub. Zlack approached the tub of water. A black film had collected on the surface, but Zlack placed his hands into the vile liquid and scrubbed until his hands were devoid of the red crust. Zlack looked at his pale flesh and smirked.
“Xeris” he whispered in the quiet room. “Well done. Well done indeed.” With that, he pulled his robe over his head. He looked longingly at the bloodied garment and then tossed it into the fire. He stood there, watching the robe burn away. “Well, then,” He said, sliding his naked form into the tub. “Time to cleanse, eh?”
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Posted: Mon Sep 15, 2008 3:05 pm
Miracae was smiling but there was no joy in this smile. A pale, cold, moon-light smile. Her gaze lingered on the man at her feet. His face frozen by death in a strange expression both a mixture of ecstasy and pure pain. His eyes were wide opened as if seeing the most beautiful and yet dreadful creature. The woman's head slowly leaned to the right as if she was trying to understand what this face meant, trying to discover something hidden in this expression. She sat still for a second, a minute, an hour. Immobile. Frozen. Staring.
He had lost his way. He had found her. She remembered his smile. He felt relieved. She could feel it. He did not seem like a bad person. He offered her food. He spoke too much though. She was just watching him. Smiling. Nodding. He took confidence. He sat closer. Touched her arm. She did not step back. She stayed. And slowly...slowly...it started. This feeling. This sensation on her back. Warmth... She could feel the tattoo...no one could...but she could... the wings of the moth...softly warming up...as if to remind her of its presence...
The first time she thought she was becoming crazy. She could not understand what was happening. It was burning. She had tried to flee. To run away...but one cannot escape their own body. In a second it had been over. The body was lifeless at her feet. But that was the first time. Since then, many times had followed. Similar and yet different. Slowly, bit by bit, she got used to it...then came the liking...and one day, she found herself lingering for it...
That day, she had been tracking him as much as he thought he was tracking her. When the wings had awaken, the man had frozen. Miracae was offering much more than any woman would ever give him. Deep in his mind and yet in front of his eyes, she was his...his doll...whatever he wanted her to be. The pale creature had been watching this man. His excitement. His desire. His lust. Rising in his, to become unbearable. His breathing accelerated and with his, hers. She was sitting on a rock, feet away, watching him slowly dive into the deadly embrace of her illusion.
At one point, she had walked to him and taking her dagger had cut the back of his neck. He had not felt it. He was not with her anymore. She had brought the blade to her lips and her tongue had tasted his red blood. A habit she had taken. A shiver had ran along her spine and she went back sitting, staring, waiting.
Came the moment when the man's consciousness made an attempt to escape. He understood that it could not be. He turned his confused face to her. The sapphire gaze was glowing. His hand extended to her. She laughed. A soft giggle, like a water stream, fresh and pure. But her eyes had lost their kindness. Cel...he will pay for Them... She had no pity. The man started having problem breathing. His heart was beating too hard. His lungs could not follow. The illusion was at its paroxysm. More than he would have ever dreamed for. Relief came with Death.
Miracae stayed lost in the sensation for a moment as his soul left his body. She was half conscious and cold brought her back to the reality. She enjoyed creating those illusions, seeing them losing themselves in her world, imploring for grace and dying. She felt strong and powerful. But after...after came cold and emptiness. She then usually stayed staring at them, trying to understand. Understand why she did it. Understand what happened.
Miracae stood up slowly and spun on herself. Her hair and clothes floated around her. She liked dancing. She wished she could still dance with the light as she used to... But she had other gifts now. She grinned. She was often wondering what the cult was. She had not learned a lot. And still she was to meet the Leader. It would come on time. She knew it.
Her pale face stopped smiling all of a sudden. She heard that voice. That was not the first time, nor the last. The Leader's voice. Was it? Or was it an illusion? She felt called and followed the voice. Maybe she was just dreaming. But in any case, she had no destination, so why not following it...? She let herself led for miles and miles. Up until the lights of the day started declining. Then the voice stopped and then she found herself in front of a strange building. It looked bear, naked, plain. Wood, glass, stone...She wondered how it could still stand. She stared. The sky was getting dark. Not from the night but from a storm. Rain was coming and the winds were raising. That finished to decide her, if she had ever needed a reason to knock. She walked, her footstep as light as an illusion. She knocked on the door and waited. She knew that someone would open the door.
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Posted: Thu Sep 18, 2008 9:25 am
“Ah,” the sigh of pleasure escaped Zlack’s lips and every tense muscle relaxed. His pupils began to widen and he raised his left hand from the water murky water. He let the warm water sink into the muscles of his body, the black fluid oily. The fire nearby flicked and cracked as it made weird shadow’s dance in erotic patterns on the wall opposite the gapping mouth of mortar and rock. Upon these sensual images Zlack let his eyes rest and watched. The shadow’s moved and waved; drowning sailors in the light’s embrace. The image made Zlack’s lips grin.
One short leg rose from the water and Zlack studied his toes as the black fluid dripped off his moistened flesh. The droplets struck the water and made a million ripples in the tube. The ripples collided into one another, bouncing, each trying to out do each other.
“There!” he hissed through his thin lips. “There is tha ultimate comparison of humans. Each thinkin’ they are unique. Each obsessed with trying ta out do and out show all others in ‘tis pathetic world.” Zlack leaned forward, holding his fist over the rippling water. The fist hovered menacingly for a moment as Zlack’s eyes watched with eager anticipation. “But what they don’t know is dat when ta times come, death, whose been there all along ta way, will take them all!” He drove his fist into the water, sending a cascade of water rocketing into the air and showering back down. The water splashed around violently and good deal sloshed over the side of the basin and splattered against the dirt wood floor, darkening the color. Zlack raised his hand and gazed at it. He flexed his fingers wide open and held it before a nearly spent candle.
“And now we are ta be this hand.” He smiled. “Tha hand that at one moment gives great pleasure and at tha next, destroys everything human’s hold oh so dear ta themselves. Soon it shall begin; soon ta rivers will run red, tha cotton fields black, and the villages dead!” Zlack snickered as he rose, naked and dripping from the tub. The air was cold and he placed himself by the fire, letting its heat dry the running droplets that coursed over his flesh. He stood there for a long time, staring at his teddy bear, wondering what those chipped eyes saw. “You know Xeris, you really are a good listener! I mean, ya be ta only-”
A rapping at the door cut him off. His eyes darted towards the sound. With apprehension, his looked at the cold, metal handle and the dark wood of the door. He raised his lips to flash his teeth and subconsciously, he began to motivate the creature that stood in darkness beneath his feet. He felt the dead puppet move into life and with silent footstep, the undead animation slowly staggered across the floor below, making its way towards the stairs.
“Well now,” Zlack muttered, seizing a towel and wrapping it around his scrawny waist. “Who comes bumping at my door, so late at night? Let us see.” Curiously, he approached the door, his fingers slowly wrapping themselves around the latch and with a smooth motion, he pulled the wooden door inward. The cold air came bursting in, stinging his exposed flesh. The flesh on his knuckles instantly reddened and he emitted a deep curse as he looked out. It took him a moment to adjust to the darkness outside, his pupils straining to take in the shape that stood less than five feet from him.
“Who tha hell are ya?” Zlack grumbled, pretending to be immensely tired. “If ya have come here seeking medicine, I’m afraid ya’ll need ta be waiting. I ain’t been ta town in nearly a month to re-supply my stock.” His eyes finally adjusted and he made out the sensual curvature of a young woman standing before him. He paused and then smiled, dropping his act.
“But you didn’t come here seeking herbal medicine now did ya?”
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Posted: Thu Sep 18, 2008 12:44 pm
The wagon strolled through the quiet forest; the trail was soft, still wet from the last night’s rain. Through the swaying branches and rustling leaves could be seen a gathering of clouds, foretelling the coming of more rain tonight. In the West, a splay of colors from a central red to an outermost violet was visible at the and of the trail. The merchant sighed, as did the four guards surrounding him. There had been rumors of men and women wandering into this forest, only to disappear without a trace. It had left them all unnerved as they passed through it, expecting some strange abomination at every turn in the path; but now they were almost out.
Suddenly, one of the guards stopped. Only he could feel the vicious overexertion of his heart as it pumped wildly, at a pace that felt tenfold the fastest he had ever felt it pump before. He fell to the floor screaming as the atria and ventricles pumped faster than the various valves, attempting to control the blood flow, could keep up with. Within ten seconds his heart held more than it could, and it burst. Blood flowed freely into his pericardial cavity in an unstoppable rush less than ten seconds after he had ceased moving.
Panicked, the other guards began to shout, the threatening questions to the invisible cause of this death were emptied by the shaking of their voices. Another dropped to the floor as the veins flowing to his legs contracted, stopping the flow of blood and thus disabling their ability to function. He bit his lip and moaned in pain as he felt them attempting to obey his commands to without the necessary oxygen. The burning sensation that initiated soon after the blood flow had ceased worsened and he would soon lose feeling in the limbs altogether.
Terrified, the Merchant began repeatedly whipping his horse, but it appeared as though the creature had already entered a state of sleep far too deep to be awakened. He jumped off of the cart just as a spear flew from through the dense bushes to the south and impaled the third guard through the head, flying all the way through as the jell-o like ooze of his brain splattered all over the merchant in a red spray as it mixed with the blood from all of the vessels that had been torn through by the projectile.
The fourth guard turned his direction to the direction from which the spear had come, his knees shaking with fear when, from the southeast, a figure ran as silently as a falling leaf and leaped over him. She twisted in the air and jabbed her katars through his skull. Spreading her arms wide as she turned in the air to land gracefully on her feet; the man’s head was wrenched open by the hand-held blades and its contents poured out of the crevices at each lateral end.
The merchant, meanwhile, half-stood; his body was pinned to the cart by the Quiang, which had penetrated his chest after exploding through the third guard’s head. Annette replaced her katars to their holders on her thighs and approached the him. Without a sign of emotion crossing her thin face, she turned her spear ninety degrees and tore it from the merchant’s chest, pulling with it chunks of bone, connective tissues and parts of his respiratory tract. She wiped it off on his pants after he had slumped to the ground then returned the weapon to her back.
Annette then approached the second guard whose limbs had lost oxygen and already losing their color as he lay helpless on the ground. She knelt before him and, wrapping her lengthy fingers around the back of his head pushed him up. She lowered herself and bit down into his neck. Her canines were the first to puncture the skin, followed by her incisors. She drank hungrily as his blood flowed freely from his torn throat. She drank her fill of the putrid liquid, as unbearable as any would ever be to her then rose.
Slowly, the horse began to awaken, and she approached it. Its adrenal glands were disabled so as to prevent the release of epinephrine, thus keeping the horse from a fight or flight response. Annette stroked its mane, she had heard the call, and intended to answer it.
…..
The horse slowed to a halt, now considerably weakened. It was not the effort of traveling the short distance which it had, but the mere presence of the woman atop it which had initiated premature decay of the creatures flesh and momentous loss of what were once considerable stores of energy. If she had not been focussing on disabling its sensory receptors, the pain would have distracted the creature and made it useless for providing transport.
In the distance, before the darkening sky, a hut of some form was viewable and the call had grown loud and beckoning. Annette knew where she was headed. Sliding off the beast, She patted its mane before the creature slumped to the side, all of its nerves immediately ceasing to fire. Leaving the dead creature behind, she stealthily crept along the lack of a path that lead towards the brick and mortar-walled structure before which stood an attractive young woman and, before her, a relatively short man. Without a sound she silently walked up until she was but a few feet behind the woman, and there she stopped. Not a word escaped her lips as she awaited acknowledgement that this was exactly what she knew it to be.
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Posted: Fri Sep 19, 2008 5:42 am
Miracae stood quietly as the door opened. Her eyes dropped slowly on the skinny man in front of her. His greening dark hair was half hiding his eyes. But before she detailed him any further came the smell. A disgusting smell. She repressed the need of putting her hand to her nose. This metallic smell. She knew of it. She had tasted blood. But this time, that was different, there was something. She got nauseous. But she held still. Trying to change her mind, she focused on the person holding the handle. The man could have had charm if there was not something obviously wrong about him. She could not figure out what...but she felt unease next to him. A towel for only clothe, he looked like he just came out from his bath. But then she noticed. His skin was wet but...it was not water. He looked oily. The oily liquid seemed of a darker color. It took her a far amount of courage not to turn back and run away. To his question, she answered "Indeed." her lips were as pale as her voice as she addressed him.
That was Miracae's first encounter with anyone from the Cult, outside of Cel who had died years ago.
The woman did not know what to say nor do. Her blood seemed frozen. As strange as it seemed, she believed in beauty. When she was killing, when she was dancing, her illusions, she was striving for beauty. And from the figure she could see standing in front of her and the glimpse she caught at the inside, there was no trace of beauty. Any pretty thing in front of her eyes had been perverted. She had her own way of describing beauty and she could feel that the man in front of her did not share the same taste.
Her blue-white hair floated a second and she felt a shiver through her spine. Miracae thought that the cold of the night was the reason, until she felt a presence on her back. She turned her head slightly and her blue eyes widened. She could not hide the disgust in her eyes at the creature in front of her. If at one time, she must have been a beautiful human, she was now pure decay. Despite her will to look away, Miracae could not remove her eyes from the new comer. What happened to her? she wondered. It was impossible to guess the age of the female creature in front of her eyes.
Will I too become like her...? the question snapped in her brain. She had noticed the changes in her body. Her hair losing its color. Her skin becoming paler and paler. But Miracae had no clue of how her body was affected by her actions. She had never been 'trained' to the Cult. She knew nothing. Would she have stopped if she had known? Maybe. And maybe not. The kill, the dance and the illusions were now part of her, she could not escape them. She had tried after her first kill. She had stayed days, hidden in the forest, weeping. She had thought about killing herself but life was too strong in her. She remembered Cel. She remembered her revenge. And she lived.
Now Miracae was standing between two creatures who she knew were part of the cult. The two first she had ever met. Weren't they suppose to be her companions? From all the creatures she had met, these two were the ones that scared her the most. She had to admit it, at that moment, she was scared. No, she was terrified. The hours alone in the forest as she was still Amhal were nothing compared to the feeling that rooted her at the front step of this house. She barely dared breathing. She felt like time had stopped. She let one of them move first, speak first. She just could not. Her blue eyes, the only vivid color in her face, were wide opened, glowing. She wondered if they would recognize her as one of them.
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Posted: Fri Sep 19, 2008 1:20 pm
"I believe we've all come for the same reasons." Annette's voice rasped, there was the sign of former elegance to it, but it had lost it's beauty to the decay her body had suffered as she used and abused her abilities. Approaching the entrance and standing beside Miacae, she noted the smell of decay sifting through the house and it brought comfort. It was one of the only things she could stand; the scent of death, the sign of delivered pain. She could tell that the scrawny male had been playing games, she could tell that he was no foreigner to his art; he was obviously a necromancer. The woman beside her, however, she was a different matter entirely.
Annette's gaze drifted to settle on the beautiful woman, unwavering, constant and unblinking. Annette could tell Miracae was young, not just by age, but in power; no matter how potent her abilities may be, she failed to understand the dark arts. The sense of fear emanating from the woman was too strong, it was obvious that she was a stranger to decay. An unnerving chuckle escaped the sorceress' lips, how surprised the girl would be to discover what came with the mastery of her abilities; all the ways in which she would come to loathe every touch of life. Her attention returned to the necromancer.
"Are you going to invite us in, or do you plan on having us stand here in silence for an eternity?"
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Posted: Mon Sep 22, 2008 3:45 pm
((its short sorry but im really busy and not much free time. lol))
“Ah sorceress,” Zlack said slowly moving aside and gesturing with his free hand. “Do be pardonin’ my rudness. Please come in and be making yourself at home.” Zlack watched them both analytically. The second, less attractive female was certainly more powerful of the two. The power had been with her long, it was evident. The demon’s pack was taking its toll on her mortal coil and Zlack permitted himself a twitching smile as he flexed his hands. Sorcery was the magic of corruption and decay, necromancy was the magic of the eternal and preservation, which is why Zlack looked no older than seventeen. He would outlive both of these sorceresses; it was how the world worked.
He looked at the second woman and felt his adrenaline release. Her curves, her beauty. She was lvoly to the eye and it was certainly evident that her powers were little and undeveloped, unlike her. Zlack felt a bit of pity for her. He smelt the metallic scent of sorcery hanging around her and knew that the power would either increase her beauty or corrid it like the other before him. But her newness gave him pause. She wasn’t initiated into the cult fully. Why was she here? She was hardly even an initiate but here she was. Why would the dark master drive her here? The fog of deep thought passed from Zlack’s eyes and he shut the door, stopping the gusting wind froim stinging his flesh. He watched them both and smiled as he crossed the room. He threw a log on the fire and watched as it roared into life.
“So then, ya have come.” He dropped the towel on the floor and strode to the cabinet. He pulled open the door and began to dress himself as he spoke. “Best ta be telling what ya need ta be knowin bout all dis.” He pulled on the trousers and then tuggeg on the grey robe. He turned and flashed a dazzling smile. He waved a hand at the table. “Be seating yourself and I’ll be getting to the points.” Zlack sat himself down and smile. “So the time has come eh? Tis be so good. Be ya ready for da plans then?”
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Posted: Tue Sep 23, 2008 6:40 am
Miracae entered the house after the older woman. She had felt the eyes on both of them on her and had not dared looked back. Instead her gaze had fixed the floor. Why am I here? Who are they? But she knew why she had come. The voice. The voice had called. The voice had whispered, telling her where to go. She followed docilely inside. The slam of the door behind her almost made her jump.
Once inside the smell took her to the throat, she thought that she would vomit. Noticing the fire in a corner, she walked to it and sat on the floor as close as possible, almost burning her face to the flames. The scent seemed pushed away by the wooden fragrances. The familiar smell of a fire brought some ease in the young sorceress and she dared raising her eyes. The first thing that her look met was the bare body of Zlack. The towel was on the floor. Her sapphire eyes widened. His skin looked almost transparent, pure, a pearly white. Sure when he had opened the door, he was half naked. But now, he was fully naked and that in her mind made all the difference. The flash of an illusion came to her mind. You could dance for him...You could make him 'dance' for you... whispered her mind. She swallowed slowly, her eyes fixed on the adolescent looking man. Soon a grey shadow covered his limbs and the illusion wandered away, leaving a sour taste in the back of her throat. She had to learn how to control her impulses.
When Zlack spoke, she listened. As through mist though, she was enable to understand him or rather to understand what he meant. '...knowing about all this...' '...for the plans...'. Which plans?! About what?! Both of them seemed to be aware of something, why was she lost? What was happening? She thought about raising and taking a sit. But that meant being closer to them and further from the fire. She stayed on the ground. The fire as her anchor. She simply nodded at his question although she had no clue what she was supposed to be ready for. If she had been her usual self she would have asked for their names and what he meant. But she just could not. She had to wait for answers. Was that what Cel really wanted? she wondered.
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