Mangled hearts; black promises

Mangled hearts; black promises

Postby Rance » Wed Jan 14, 2004 11:22 am

I can't believe you.

His existence lay in a city’s worth of ruins crumpled far below the surface of the earth. It had all been buried by heavy, falling stone – the derelict bunker of undead armies recently emptied, now filled by fallen stalactites and shattered rock. Chambers that had once been darkly glorious and morbid-artistic in nature were now no more than the haze of dust from whence they had come.

Shadowdancer was not pleased. Of all things lost, the sentient, symbiotic sword had lost its faith. Where the soul of a dark-elven priestess lingered within, it cursed at its foolish, avaricious slave.

You've ruined it all for us. For me.

The party had come on stronger than he’d ever anticipated. Quincy, Ariane, Gerard, the werewolf, the Duke, the minotaur, the assassin, and the stone-fisted woman. They should have never been so practiced. They were jaded, doubtful, and resigned to fate. He was their superior, and they knew it well. It should have been as easy to slaughter them as it had been to kill Heldenbrand … as it had been to kill Thorn – or had he? The image the dark elf had seen before escaping the heroic onslaught proved otherwise.

Thorn might have been dead, but Sundancer lived on through her. He should have never given that foolish woman the sword. Fickle, fickle weapon – retaliating like so. He should have destroyed it long before. That it could not obtain glory at his hand was only because it was inferior, basic, and primitive.

You escaped the journeymen, Audmathus. But this does not mean that you have escaped my wrath.

In the darkness of Myrken Wood, there came a scream; fragile and broken, as Audmathus clambered at the moist leaves, clenched them, pressed his lips to the earth, and tried to beg for mercy. Abdomen dribbled warm blood across the moon-soaked forest, and lower lip was shuddering. Within him, Shadowdancer raged in punishment … cast black magma through his veins, and poison that no drow could withstand within his organs. Sick with dread, body swaddled in the disgrace of failure, he was moaning.

“They were … too strong.”

Then you should not have angered them.

“… but they were weak.”

And as you have shown me, you are as well.

It cast a fresh bout of agony throughout him, and his fingers were clawing at the earth. A fingernail splintered free, and Audmathus lay amidst his own sorrow – defeated, fractured, and jaded. A cheek was pressing against the earth, and his eyes glimmered with crimson tears. Oh, pain was a wondrous, sensual thing – but not from her. When Shadowdancer inflicted it, it was cruel, harrowed, and insulting. He should have never driven her to such a point.

To the earth, he whispered, grinding his forehead against it. “… give me one more chance, I beg of you..!”

The pain suddenly paused. Why should I bother?

“Because … I am still .. so close. My armies are prepared to attack. They want blood as much as you and I want blood.”

You have wanted blood all of this time, Audmathus, and you have shed little. You have shown me no power. You have shown me a fair share of arrogance, and weakness, and failure, but still no power. Why should I grant you this last chance? Oh, but she was prepared to strike him down – was prepared to leave him the husk of a creature; driven insane, starving, and lost, to be the target of stones by Myrken children, and to move on to better hosts. She was grinding his face against the earth until blood seeped from his nose, and tears of pain were cried even from his eyes. Seductively, she whispered, vaporous tongue against an arched ear. Why should I bother?

Below him, where the once-feared was huddled in a cove of shaded trees, fists were suddenly tightening, and graying knuckles mashed themselves against the soil below. Nostrils were nearly bursting, and he threw his head upwards … to stare towards the glistening surface of Silver Lake through an angered, determined eye. Blood was shot throughout its hue. It thirsted for the final rites of murder.

“You should bother … because though I am fallen, I am far from dead.”

She could not argue, and though her fog-formed hand was still clotted with his blood, she would unravel her gaseous fingers from his hair and unfurl her fingers towards towards him. His gaze begged for her forgiveness, and he was clinging to her warmth, to her strength – needed her within him once more; vile drug that she was. There, in the womb of the Myrken forest, Cecinefien Audmathus Xhevus was curled at the feet of his black benefactor, and she was crouched atop him, cradling her demon, scarred and precious, close to her breast one final time.

Show me that our efforts to take Myrken Wood are not in vain. Then this is your last chance, my slave. She whispered to him. Cast your armies to Myrken, and destroy it piece by piece, and I will guide your hand until we are victorious, or until you are dead.

She clenched at his fingers, and raised him to his feet.

Show me that we have not failed.
User avatar
Rance
Co-Founder
 
Posts: 2520
Joined: Tue Dec 10, 2002 8:00 am
Location: Maryland

Return to Myrken Wood



Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 15 guests

cron