Marked

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[124] Nymaya: Marked
Fri Oct 8 19:01:08 2010
To: New_Thalos All RP ( Cayenna Imm Necrucifer ) Dar'shin Reklah Epistatia Liviya Keylan Jadess
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Warmth pulsed through her at odd intervals, strangely comfortable; absolutely disconcerting and it constantly brought the attention of her touch to the stone now hanging around her neck. Uvall's mark.

She'd tried to get it off already, to no avail. The constantly shifting reds within the stone itself seemed to match the dark and still painful bruising around her throat. Her voice was still raspy. She wasn't surprised, the demon could have easily crushed her windpipe if she had continued to fight it. She wondered now if it would have though. Was she more valuable to this messenger's master alive than dead? If she'd gotten any sense from the numerous intensifying nightmares, she'd have had to say it didn't matter, which was why...she had taken the stone over provoking the creature further.

She knew where fate was going to take her anyway. It seemed written in stone and she had to berate herself. No path was set down so permanently that it could not be altered by proper action.

What was the proper action here though?

She shook her head and didn't bother to follow the thought yet, her gaze shifting instead to watch the fire as it crackled softly in the fireplace across the room. Night had long since descended over New Thalos and she still found herself sitting amongst the Council Chamber, guards flanking the doors.

She was disturbed by her own reactions but she knew - she knew fear had sunk its claws into her and further, she knew it was feeding from this. One might have thought that knowing these things would make it easier to combat. She had to smile wryly, unhappily - it was wearing her down. She was plagued by the image of Dar'shin's severed throat, Reklah's dismembered body, blood flowing along the floor, the bladesong rushing through her with discordant exuberance...

Shaking her head once, almost violently, she rose abruptly from her chair and prowled closer to the fireplace. She wasn't cold, the memory of the stone heating against her flesh as it pulsed in hectic rhythm with her heart still vivid in her, but nor did she feel warm.

It was a denizen of the pit, perhaps a creature born of the Father of Darkness or one of those who dwelled in the same shadow. Who was she then to deny it? Who was she? A strange sort of hilarity, something on par with the strange sense of inevitability she had felt at the end of Tribul's mass, inundated her and she tightened her fist around the bloodred stone at her throat - as if the demon had captured just a sliver of the Abyss to set around her neck.

She had lived four centuries through trials that had torn her life apart and set her to drift alone in a world that hadn't welcomed her.

She was Nymaya Kayen and she hadn't been chosen because she was weak.

She had the strength to do whatever was necessary. She always had.