--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[122] Nymaya: Primal Worship (IV)
Thu Aug 7 21:30:52 2014
To: All Reklah Ashtiel Dimidus ( RP Necrucifer Fatale )
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The night was still and she could taste smoke, smell ash and ember. The bonfire smoldered where it stood but the flames had receded. The wild elves were gone with the exception of the shaman who sat nearby, gazing at her.
Weary but released of the ritual, she pushed herself up and sat still, simply content to be free of the fever. To be awake.
The shaman stood while the silence thickened and walked to her side. A feather lowered before her, held in his calloused hand. White and possessed of many brown streaks and spots, he held it there until she finally accepted it. Owl..?
"Wisdom and death walk hand in hand." His cryptic words filled the silence and then, "That spirit will only bring you pain. If you ever wish to be free of it, come to me."
"Which one?" She asked wryly, voice hoarse. Her throat was parched.
The shaman laughed at that and lowered her a bowl that sloshed. She narrowed her eyes at it and glanced up at his grinning features, still painted with white, black and red. Stark colors that made him look as wild as his heritage suggested.
"It is not the ritual drink." He claimed with amusement. "Just water."
"I don't think I'll be doing that again." And she lifted her left hand to accept, but stopped short of taking the bowl. There was a poultice wrapped around the scar, extending from palm to wrist.
The shaman crouched on his haunches and taking her right hand, forced her to accept the bowl even while he explained, "Your scar reopened during the ritual. We take this to mean Fatale was pleased."
Pain throbbed in a sharp line through the wound as soon as she noticed it but rather than dwell, she set her mind to the water and took several deep droughts. She would not accuse these elves of lying but it seemed more likely to her that someone bled her with a dagger - again.
When she was finished, the shaman was gone. Without a sound, leaving nothing but the spent bonfire, the feather and the bowl behind.
Thursday, August 17, 2017
The Pursuit of Vindication
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[138] Nymaya: The Pursuit of Vindication
Sat May 4 15:04:23 2013
To: Ashtiel Ayzrael Reklah ( Cayenna RP Necrucifer ) All
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The cold flame of anger roiled through her.
It was not the sort of anger you paced through, counted through or breathed through. It was the sort of anger that held you in thrall and in silence she stood, gazing up at the equally cold statue of Necrucifer before her. Its eyes blazed balefully down at her, piercing and unmerciful.
She was drawn to feel the empty, cavernous reaches of the cathedral she stood within. It mirrored the empty hole that had been carved from her heart, which made that cold flame burn all the more intensely.
The sound of leather being crushed as her fingers fisted slowly at her sides whispered through the aisle.
She did not answer to mortal beings, not for this sin.
Her right arm lifted, her fingers uncoiling and she drew the leather glove from her hand - to gaze down on the hilt impression that had been burned into her palm. A promise; the mark of a debt repaid. A link to the deed she had done.
Her fingers closed around her palm, her nails digging into her flesh so deeply that blood blossomed forth and with a low growl, she slapped her bloodied hand down on the altar before the statue of Necrucifer.
"I have done what I have done!" She practically hissed but her voice lifted, rising to the very heights of the stained glass above. And in answer she felt the pain recede though the cold anger lingered and in true shalonesti elf fashion, indignation arose. She felt her back straighten, her hand drawing away from the unnaturally cold altar top and she clenched her jaws, her breath leaving her in a long, low exhale. There had been a time in her life when it would have taken more to stir her. Her vulnerabilities had been admittedly lesser but also shielded much better and she sought the darkness in an attempt to regain her lost composure.
The silence that descended yet again was heavier, expectant and she closed her dark blue eyes beneath it. The act of bearing her soul to her God was nigh overwhelming and though she knew there would be no forthcoming answer, she let the cold in - she let it take her conscience - and calm descended.
"You have my devotion, Lord." She breathed in prayer and bowed her head. "Judgment is within Your divine purview. Take whatever You will of me. And by Your will, so shall it be."
[138] Nymaya: The Pursuit of Vindication
Sat May 4 15:04:23 2013
To: Ashtiel Ayzrael Reklah ( Cayenna RP Necrucifer ) All
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The cold flame of anger roiled through her.
It was not the sort of anger you paced through, counted through or breathed through. It was the sort of anger that held you in thrall and in silence she stood, gazing up at the equally cold statue of Necrucifer before her. Its eyes blazed balefully down at her, piercing and unmerciful.
She was drawn to feel the empty, cavernous reaches of the cathedral she stood within. It mirrored the empty hole that had been carved from her heart, which made that cold flame burn all the more intensely.
The sound of leather being crushed as her fingers fisted slowly at her sides whispered through the aisle.
She did not answer to mortal beings, not for this sin.
Her right arm lifted, her fingers uncoiling and she drew the leather glove from her hand - to gaze down on the hilt impression that had been burned into her palm. A promise; the mark of a debt repaid. A link to the deed she had done.
Her fingers closed around her palm, her nails digging into her flesh so deeply that blood blossomed forth and with a low growl, she slapped her bloodied hand down on the altar before the statue of Necrucifer.
"I have done what I have done!" She practically hissed but her voice lifted, rising to the very heights of the stained glass above. And in answer she felt the pain recede though the cold anger lingered and in true shalonesti elf fashion, indignation arose. She felt her back straighten, her hand drawing away from the unnaturally cold altar top and she clenched her jaws, her breath leaving her in a long, low exhale. There had been a time in her life when it would have taken more to stir her. Her vulnerabilities had been admittedly lesser but also shielded much better and she sought the darkness in an attempt to regain her lost composure.
The silence that descended yet again was heavier, expectant and she closed her dark blue eyes beneath it. The act of bearing her soul to her God was nigh overwhelming and though she knew there would be no forthcoming answer, she let the cold in - she let it take her conscience - and calm descended.
"You have my devotion, Lord." She breathed in prayer and bowed her head. "Judgment is within Your divine purview. Take whatever You will of me. And by Your will, so shall it be."
A Long Way
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[105] Nymaya: A Long Way
Sat Aug 31 01:32:12 2013
To: Ashtiel All
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was a hollow sound to the wide, empty-feeling chamber.
Built with black granite, it had a prevalent chill to accompany the hollow but its floor was crafted with long planks of dark wood. Racks of weapons, both steel and rattan, stood at various points along the circular walls, armor padding was displayed on stands and life-like targets made of wood or straw awaited with many a scar adorning them.
She was uniquely familiar with this room and she lifted her gaze up, to study the light filtering in through the high-set windows.
The sound of bare steel clearing one of the racks brought her attention back down and she met the small, confident smile of her daughter, now standing across from her. The mere sight of Ash was enough to bring about an answering smile and without pause, she reached back over her shoulder to draw the sword that had once sang.
Every time it left its sheath she could hear remembered strains of the bladesong, but in the presence of her daughter she pushed past the distraction and held the blade out to her side.
"We've come a long way from the practice blades." She said, her voice pitched low.
Her daughter answered with a smile and an elegant attack. Three parries rang through the room, almost musical in the quality of their sound and then an empty 'woosh' when she evaded the last.
The slow predatory circling of combatants began then and she studied Ashtiel, watching for the tell-tale ticks that would let her know what was coming. Ash's blade was lifted, its tip up and threatening. She kept her own lowered, taunting, and didn't have to wait long for the next attack.
They danced then, across the wooden floor and back. A combination of grace and halting, harsh movements always accompanied by the ring of metal meeting metal. Strangely simple and yet vastly complex, the art had ever called to her and she was pleased to see just how much their daughter had absorbed.
All such pride slipped away as the minutes progressed and their spar grew increasingly more intense. The light air disappeared and before long, every strike and slash - every thrust and parry - became an extension of the abundant, unvoiced, emotion that certainly hid beneath the surface.
She spun around her agile daughter and her sword blade slapped resoundingly off the younger opponent's thigh but before she had time to regroup, Ash spun low and took her legs out. Nymaya fell hard but rolled as soon as she hit the ground and the sound of her blade catching Ash's follow-through rang angrily about the chamber. She was barely able to stand and turn before Ash was upon her again, her sword leading the way. Back and forth they went, no longer mother and daughter. Not even student and veteran. But beings of anger, caught in a place and time they had little control over. Bound by the constraints of blood and upbringing.
And so all the elegance of swordplay departed, until there was only the brutal bashing of blade against blade. Until they both stood breathless and battered by one another, drained and bleeding and done.
Ashtiel's long black hair had come free of its binding and she was certain she looked just as disheveled. The pride returned though.
"We should do this more often." Ash remarked with a breathless grin that was a little hard around the edges and turned to replace her weapon on the wooden rack.
Nymaya met her grin with one of her own and sheathed her blade sharply. "I'll see you soon. I'm sure you have business at the guillotine."
The strut of her daughter and the following smirk as she turned to depart confirmed her rib and she followed Ash out of the sparring chamber with a low laugh.
[105] Nymaya: A Long Way
Sat Aug 31 01:32:12 2013
To: Ashtiel All
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was a hollow sound to the wide, empty-feeling chamber.
Built with black granite, it had a prevalent chill to accompany the hollow but its floor was crafted with long planks of dark wood. Racks of weapons, both steel and rattan, stood at various points along the circular walls, armor padding was displayed on stands and life-like targets made of wood or straw awaited with many a scar adorning them.
She was uniquely familiar with this room and she lifted her gaze up, to study the light filtering in through the high-set windows.
The sound of bare steel clearing one of the racks brought her attention back down and she met the small, confident smile of her daughter, now standing across from her. The mere sight of Ash was enough to bring about an answering smile and without pause, she reached back over her shoulder to draw the sword that had once sang.
Every time it left its sheath she could hear remembered strains of the bladesong, but in the presence of her daughter she pushed past the distraction and held the blade out to her side.
"We've come a long way from the practice blades." She said, her voice pitched low.
Her daughter answered with a smile and an elegant attack. Three parries rang through the room, almost musical in the quality of their sound and then an empty 'woosh' when she evaded the last.
The slow predatory circling of combatants began then and she studied Ashtiel, watching for the tell-tale ticks that would let her know what was coming. Ash's blade was lifted, its tip up and threatening. She kept her own lowered, taunting, and didn't have to wait long for the next attack.
They danced then, across the wooden floor and back. A combination of grace and halting, harsh movements always accompanied by the ring of metal meeting metal. Strangely simple and yet vastly complex, the art had ever called to her and she was pleased to see just how much their daughter had absorbed.
All such pride slipped away as the minutes progressed and their spar grew increasingly more intense. The light air disappeared and before long, every strike and slash - every thrust and parry - became an extension of the abundant, unvoiced, emotion that certainly hid beneath the surface.
She spun around her agile daughter and her sword blade slapped resoundingly off the younger opponent's thigh but before she had time to regroup, Ash spun low and took her legs out. Nymaya fell hard but rolled as soon as she hit the ground and the sound of her blade catching Ash's follow-through rang angrily about the chamber. She was barely able to stand and turn before Ash was upon her again, her sword leading the way. Back and forth they went, no longer mother and daughter. Not even student and veteran. But beings of anger, caught in a place and time they had little control over. Bound by the constraints of blood and upbringing.
And so all the elegance of swordplay departed, until there was only the brutal bashing of blade against blade. Until they both stood breathless and battered by one another, drained and bleeding and done.
Ashtiel's long black hair had come free of its binding and she was certain she looked just as disheveled. The pride returned though.
"We should do this more often." Ash remarked with a breathless grin that was a little hard around the edges and turned to replace her weapon on the wooden rack.
Nymaya met her grin with one of her own and sheathed her blade sharply. "I'll see you soon. I'm sure you have business at the guillotine."
The strut of her daughter and the following smirk as she turned to depart confirmed her rib and she followed Ash out of the sparring chamber with a low laugh.
The Eternal Haunt
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[ 79] Nymaya: The Eternal Haunt
Wed Jun 27 03:20:05 2012
To: Ashtiel Verminasia All Kyorl / Bladesinger
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The great hall was onyx and gold - granite, marble and gilded with such artistic grace that it was a wonder to gaze at let alone walk through.
Beneath a many tiered chandelier of delicate crystal that gave off soft magical light, there whirled couples garbed in elegant clothing and concealed for a Masquerade.
She didn't marvel at the beauty of the satin that clung to the women's bodies or the sharp cut of the costumes that outlined their companions. It was their movements that held her attention as they danced to a song that breathed hauntingly through the expansive hall.
Painfully familiar. It caught her up, enthralled her senses and carried her along with its whispers.
The firm grasp of someone, as an arm encircled her slender satin-wrapped waist, brought her hard up against his solid frame and lifting her gaze she found his face concealed. The mask was black with gold embroidery and covered the top and right side of his face.
There was possession, a dark and boundless need, in his familiar gaze as he held her and with all the confidence of a man who was comfortable with his own movement, he joined the tide and she was swept away on the cresting of the melody.
An awakening part of her wanted to fight it, to escape the sound. She ached to hear it, to feel it moving sluggishly through her body, like a slow poison as it burned through the blood. She had a feeling, a latent certainty perhaps, that it would kill her eventually but much as she tried to lay low the desire to move with it, she could not detach herself from the dance. She could not close her senses off from the music though her gaze broke from his to watch the room as it spun.
And as she watched, she realized the whole room was circling around a low pedestal of soulless black.
Brief glimpses of something sitting its silk-shrouded top were caught with each pass and with each rotation that spun everyone beneath the crystalline light, dazzling the vision with the captivating beauty of the couples and the impressive costumes, she came closer and closer to it.
She tried to struggle but was held closer and the hand holding hers out in true gentlemanly fashion threaded with her fingers while the arm at her waist brought her in closer, until her abdomen was flush against his.
The intimacy made her vision spin and though she fought mightily to dismiss it, she could not escape and the certainty that she needed to get away from the pedestal increased...though the desire to see what it held was nigh consuming...
Her unclear gaze was even then turning toward the center of the room, drawn against the will, but as the way to the pedestal became clear she was spun again in another elegant revolution and his lips drew down to hers, coaxing her to submit to him rather than the draw of the song.
+*+*+
Her eyes opened slowly to behold the shadows of the Iagothal chamber.
The touch of silk was cool upon her skin, a considerable contrast to the warmth of the man at her side. It was a familiar routine by now. Not quite a simple dream, not quite a disturbing nightmare. Different whenever it set upon her, though the message was always the same, as evidenced by the pervasive sound of the soft but discordant Haunt whispering through her.
There was a difference this evening though and slowly, she turned her head to stare through the darkness of the room at the side table. Rain was bending down along the glass of the window, a stormy light casting shadows upon the floor, and accompanying it was the soft haunted strings of a lullaby rising from the small onyx music box, inlaid with silver filigree, that she had set there.
She hadn't opened it...but after a heavy and contemplative silence, she reached over and closed the lid that was, nonetheless, opened. Alone with the weight of memory and consequence, she closed her eyes and tried to fall back into the depths of sleep.
[ 79] Nymaya: The Eternal Haunt
Wed Jun 27 03:20:05 2012
To: Ashtiel Verminasia All Kyorl / Bladesinger
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The great hall was onyx and gold - granite, marble and gilded with such artistic grace that it was a wonder to gaze at let alone walk through.
Beneath a many tiered chandelier of delicate crystal that gave off soft magical light, there whirled couples garbed in elegant clothing and concealed for a Masquerade.
She didn't marvel at the beauty of the satin that clung to the women's bodies or the sharp cut of the costumes that outlined their companions. It was their movements that held her attention as they danced to a song that breathed hauntingly through the expansive hall.
Painfully familiar. It caught her up, enthralled her senses and carried her along with its whispers.
The firm grasp of someone, as an arm encircled her slender satin-wrapped waist, brought her hard up against his solid frame and lifting her gaze she found his face concealed. The mask was black with gold embroidery and covered the top and right side of his face.
There was possession, a dark and boundless need, in his familiar gaze as he held her and with all the confidence of a man who was comfortable with his own movement, he joined the tide and she was swept away on the cresting of the melody.
An awakening part of her wanted to fight it, to escape the sound. She ached to hear it, to feel it moving sluggishly through her body, like a slow poison as it burned through the blood. She had a feeling, a latent certainty perhaps, that it would kill her eventually but much as she tried to lay low the desire to move with it, she could not detach herself from the dance. She could not close her senses off from the music though her gaze broke from his to watch the room as it spun.
And as she watched, she realized the whole room was circling around a low pedestal of soulless black.
Brief glimpses of something sitting its silk-shrouded top were caught with each pass and with each rotation that spun everyone beneath the crystalline light, dazzling the vision with the captivating beauty of the couples and the impressive costumes, she came closer and closer to it.
She tried to struggle but was held closer and the hand holding hers out in true gentlemanly fashion threaded with her fingers while the arm at her waist brought her in closer, until her abdomen was flush against his.
The intimacy made her vision spin and though she fought mightily to dismiss it, she could not escape and the certainty that she needed to get away from the pedestal increased...though the desire to see what it held was nigh consuming...
Her unclear gaze was even then turning toward the center of the room, drawn against the will, but as the way to the pedestal became clear she was spun again in another elegant revolution and his lips drew down to hers, coaxing her to submit to him rather than the draw of the song.
+*+*+
Her eyes opened slowly to behold the shadows of the Iagothal chamber.
The touch of silk was cool upon her skin, a considerable contrast to the warmth of the man at her side. It was a familiar routine by now. Not quite a simple dream, not quite a disturbing nightmare. Different whenever it set upon her, though the message was always the same, as evidenced by the pervasive sound of the soft but discordant Haunt whispering through her.
There was a difference this evening though and slowly, she turned her head to stare through the darkness of the room at the side table. Rain was bending down along the glass of the window, a stormy light casting shadows upon the floor, and accompanying it was the soft haunted strings of a lullaby rising from the small onyx music box, inlaid with silver filigree, that she had set there.
She hadn't opened it...but after a heavy and contemplative silence, she reached over and closed the lid that was, nonetheless, opened. Alone with the weight of memory and consequence, she closed her eyes and tried to fall back into the depths of sleep.
Secrets
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[107] Nymaya: Secrets
Mon Oct 22 02:55:43 2012
To: Verminasia Ashtiel Reklah ( Uvall Cayenna RP )
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The open window allowed an uncommonly temperate breeze in, billowing the smokey gray and burgundy drapes gently and flickering the sinuous flame of the candle on the desk.
Dusk was deepening beyond, the horizon lit with soft light and the fading rays of the sun cast the fall leaves in a brief fiery conflagration of autumn colors.
She watched with a somber sort of silence from just within the balcony, alone but for the milling servants in the hallways outside the chamber. The estate was far enough away from the teeming city to lend the illusion of remoteness, but close enough that at night, the lit towers and battlements could be spied. And when the wind was right, the industrial scent of the dark city could be detected.
The Kayen lands around the manor were expansive, the forest deep and dark where it flourished. There was no bit of it that she had not explored and if there were secrets left to be discovered, they were well hidden indeed and deserved to remain that way.
She lingered on the balcony until the sun disappeared and the evening's shadows stretched far, encompassing all in their silent glory. It was then she moved, disappearing behind the wafting drapery to approach the desk and its neatly arranged parchment, quill, ink pot and wax.
It was all very orderly.
The chair was richly upholstered and padded comfortably when she settled in it. Her gaze turned to the black feathered quill, not a cheap writing implement, and though she knew she had words aplenty to fill a parchment she did not reach for it.
The secrets were spilling forth. And though she'd had every intention of shielding her daughter from them for as long as she could, that ability had finally been taken from her.
..reap what you have sown..
Her gaze lowered to peer at nothing while her fingers fisted atop the desk. Another double-edged blade had presented itself, but it was Ashtiel who would pay the price.
'Well, life would be a lot less interesting if not for your influence, Uvall.' She whispered humorlessly into the empty room and angled her gaze toward the darkness beyond the balcony.
She had no real desire to implore upon the attentions of her tormentor but she imagined the demon most likely knew her thoughts anyway, if it was still remotely connected to her.
Exhaling heavily into the silence, she forsook the writing desk as she pushed away from it, consigning herself to this path that fate was playing out before her and the empty confines of the chamber for the evening that was sure to stretch each hour to come.
Rather than dwell, she grabbed up her brush and proceeded to drag its well worn bristles through the length of her silver hair. There were drills to be seen to on the morrow and she needed to be focused.
[107] Nymaya: Secrets
Mon Oct 22 02:55:43 2012
To: Verminasia Ashtiel Reklah ( Uvall Cayenna RP )
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The open window allowed an uncommonly temperate breeze in, billowing the smokey gray and burgundy drapes gently and flickering the sinuous flame of the candle on the desk.
Dusk was deepening beyond, the horizon lit with soft light and the fading rays of the sun cast the fall leaves in a brief fiery conflagration of autumn colors.
She watched with a somber sort of silence from just within the balcony, alone but for the milling servants in the hallways outside the chamber. The estate was far enough away from the teeming city to lend the illusion of remoteness, but close enough that at night, the lit towers and battlements could be spied. And when the wind was right, the industrial scent of the dark city could be detected.
The Kayen lands around the manor were expansive, the forest deep and dark where it flourished. There was no bit of it that she had not explored and if there were secrets left to be discovered, they were well hidden indeed and deserved to remain that way.
She lingered on the balcony until the sun disappeared and the evening's shadows stretched far, encompassing all in their silent glory. It was then she moved, disappearing behind the wafting drapery to approach the desk and its neatly arranged parchment, quill, ink pot and wax.
It was all very orderly.
The chair was richly upholstered and padded comfortably when she settled in it. Her gaze turned to the black feathered quill, not a cheap writing implement, and though she knew she had words aplenty to fill a parchment she did not reach for it.
The secrets were spilling forth. And though she'd had every intention of shielding her daughter from them for as long as she could, that ability had finally been taken from her.
..reap what you have sown..
Her gaze lowered to peer at nothing while her fingers fisted atop the desk. Another double-edged blade had presented itself, but it was Ashtiel who would pay the price.
'Well, life would be a lot less interesting if not for your influence, Uvall.' She whispered humorlessly into the empty room and angled her gaze toward the darkness beyond the balcony.
She had no real desire to implore upon the attentions of her tormentor but she imagined the demon most likely knew her thoughts anyway, if it was still remotely connected to her.
Exhaling heavily into the silence, she forsook the writing desk as she pushed away from it, consigning herself to this path that fate was playing out before her and the empty confines of the chamber for the evening that was sure to stretch each hour to come.
Rather than dwell, she grabbed up her brush and proceeded to drag its well worn bristles through the length of her silver hair. There were drills to be seen to on the morrow and she needed to be focused.
Foundations
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[114] Nymaya: Foundations
Thu Sep 13 00:05:10 2012
To: Verminasia Reklah Ashtiel All (RP)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The touch of satin was cool and a little strange against her flesh, a powerful reminder of the sort of changes she was going through again. She was certain, in looking down at herself, that it didn't suit her in the moment. The silver gown overlapped by its long silken black surcoat emblazoned with the Kayen crest clung to her and revealed the scars of her past a little too starkly.
People stared, and they did so as much because she was a rarity among the court as for the visible scars. She didn't need them on display, her elven blood was enough.
She had never cursed it until the day she found herself on the outside, looking in at all that had been taken from her and all the hurdles that yet stood before her. Loyalty and devotion rewarded with deceit and betrayal.
A long life to be lived, watching as the populous humans and other short-lived races rose and fell, like the leaves in spring and autumn.
So much pain...and it was hardly over.
She had lost the kingdom she loved, the forest she had lived for, every soul she had ever connected with - save one - and found herself cursed with the Haunt. A bladesong without a blade and tainted so thoroughly that to heed it was to know visceral madness.
She was without recourse now. Adrift among a world that did not approve - of her blood, her marriage, her nobility - her faith.
..keep faith under this pressure..
She had been. For so many years, she had held tight to faith and pure stubborn will. Fighting the current, fighting for the things she believed in - the things she loved.
She shook her head once, slowly, taking care not to dislodge the top-heavy pile of silver hair she'd had done up that morning and felt her gaze harden.
Standing among the court nobles who wandered two and fro, engaging in petty pleasantries, she could have been in a room alone. Her displeasure must have been palpable, for when she brought her full attention back to the room at large she found herself very much alone, the pretty people avoiding
her.
A noble upbringing in Shalonesti enforced by having joined the Kayen family and the courts in Verminasia dictated that she attempt more decorum and with focus and discipline, she managed that much but her inner distraction proved too great a hurdle to completely set aside.
The foundations that she had fought hard to build and sustain, that she had fought for with determination, blood and faith had crumbled. And if she could not rebuild them as they had been...
She brought her gaze upward, to look upon the pale gray light of an overcast day through the magnificent windows. She did not doubt her resolve. She had already gone to Hell and back for her husband and would fight to the bitterest end for him, but she felt numb still. Still unable to completely reconcile that her husband had no memories. He knew nothing more than what he was told, and the conclusions he came to.
'Whatever You will, Necrucifer, I serve. No matter the end.'
Her exhale came heavily, almost on the heels of a call that drew her attention to the room and with resolution solidifying within, she turned, determined to cross the bridges as she came to them.
[114] Nymaya: Foundations
Thu Sep 13 00:05:10 2012
To: Verminasia Reklah Ashtiel All (RP)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The touch of satin was cool and a little strange against her flesh, a powerful reminder of the sort of changes she was going through again. She was certain, in looking down at herself, that it didn't suit her in the moment. The silver gown overlapped by its long silken black surcoat emblazoned with the Kayen crest clung to her and revealed the scars of her past a little too starkly.
People stared, and they did so as much because she was a rarity among the court as for the visible scars. She didn't need them on display, her elven blood was enough.
She had never cursed it until the day she found herself on the outside, looking in at all that had been taken from her and all the hurdles that yet stood before her. Loyalty and devotion rewarded with deceit and betrayal.
A long life to be lived, watching as the populous humans and other short-lived races rose and fell, like the leaves in spring and autumn.
So much pain...and it was hardly over.
She had lost the kingdom she loved, the forest she had lived for, every soul she had ever connected with - save one - and found herself cursed with the Haunt. A bladesong without a blade and tainted so thoroughly that to heed it was to know visceral madness.
She was without recourse now. Adrift among a world that did not approve - of her blood, her marriage, her nobility - her faith.
..keep faith under this pressure..
She had been. For so many years, she had held tight to faith and pure stubborn will. Fighting the current, fighting for the things she believed in - the things she loved.
She shook her head once, slowly, taking care not to dislodge the top-heavy pile of silver hair she'd had done up that morning and felt her gaze harden.
Standing among the court nobles who wandered two and fro, engaging in petty pleasantries, she could have been in a room alone. Her displeasure must have been palpable, for when she brought her full attention back to the room at large she found herself very much alone, the pretty people avoiding
her.
A noble upbringing in Shalonesti enforced by having joined the Kayen family and the courts in Verminasia dictated that she attempt more decorum and with focus and discipline, she managed that much but her inner distraction proved too great a hurdle to completely set aside.
The foundations that she had fought hard to build and sustain, that she had fought for with determination, blood and faith had crumbled. And if she could not rebuild them as they had been...
She brought her gaze upward, to look upon the pale gray light of an overcast day through the magnificent windows. She did not doubt her resolve. She had already gone to Hell and back for her husband and would fight to the bitterest end for him, but she felt numb still. Still unable to completely reconcile that her husband had no memories. He knew nothing more than what he was told, and the conclusions he came to.
'Whatever You will, Necrucifer, I serve. No matter the end.'
Her exhale came heavily, almost on the heels of a call that drew her attention to the room and with resolution solidifying within, she turned, determined to cross the bridges as she came to them.
To Submit
Preface: Reklah slays the homunculous and acquires a forsaken amber crystal that ages him immensely and removes all connection to the divine/magic. This quest has the potential to shift the balance of good and evil on Algoron.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nymaya: To Submit
8/25/2012
To: Reklah Ashtiel ( Necrucifer Imm RP )
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She sat in a cocoon of stillness, watching her husband stare at the fire. It was the only source of sound and movement in the comfortable confines of the parlor.
It was almost more alive than he, and yet his thin shoulders rose and fell with breath. She knew that she was watching him wither.
The stark realization was like a vice grip around her heart, but for the depth of emotion she felt for him, she was left to sit and stare in a perpetual state of inaction. This was beyond what anyone could control.
She was beginning to feel as hollowed out as he looked and bitterness, as black as the depths of the Abyss and just as merciless, seethed silently within.
For as frustrated as she was, she understood her place. She could not but understand. He had taught her as much as he could. She knew what it was to walk in Darkness. She now knew that it was going to strip them to the soul and they were going to give all - willingly.
The tension deepened, strung so very tight, but still she sat unmoving.
It was not enough that she was what she was and had done what she had done. The void seemed destined to pull him back in and though she knew this certainty, it didn't make anything easier. The thought was strangely quiescent within; a serene moment of introspection.
Reklah had already devoted himself to it, was prepared to do whatever he had to do for the Darkness. He had grown all his life with it, had already submitted to the fullness of his devotion and what Necrucifer might demand of him.
Did that mean she had not perhaps?
The question floored her. The tension drained, her shoulders drooped - not with despair, but with a dawning of something so very fundamental. The bitterness dissolved in the wake though the seething black inside her remained, an quiet enmity that knew no vengeance.
She did not know how to let go, to truly submit. Not when it came to him, at least.
Her whole life had been a constant struggle on so many fronts. Could she sacrifice what she needed to, to submit her will to His completely?
She blinked, dry-eyed, at Reklah and for the first time envied him with an intensity she had never known. She had lived for four centuries and yet, in his four decades, he had come further than she might ever hope to on his chosen road.
And now, time was running too short.
The sands of the hourglass fell, striking the bottom of the glass with a sound that could - that would - shatter the future.
Slowly did she turn her gaze from the fire and found him looking at her. There was an emptiness she didn't recognize there but they shared that gaze, a moment as intimate as any they had had.
"What are you doing?" He finally asked, just before she stood up.
He knew her so very well.
"Submitting." She whispered.
She didn't know what she needed to do, but there were places to start.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nymaya: To Submit
8/25/2012
To: Reklah Ashtiel ( Necrucifer Imm RP )
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She sat in a cocoon of stillness, watching her husband stare at the fire. It was the only source of sound and movement in the comfortable confines of the parlor.
It was almost more alive than he, and yet his thin shoulders rose and fell with breath. She knew that she was watching him wither.
The stark realization was like a vice grip around her heart, but for the depth of emotion she felt for him, she was left to sit and stare in a perpetual state of inaction. This was beyond what anyone could control.
She was beginning to feel as hollowed out as he looked and bitterness, as black as the depths of the Abyss and just as merciless, seethed silently within.
For as frustrated as she was, she understood her place. She could not but understand. He had taught her as much as he could. She knew what it was to walk in Darkness. She now knew that it was going to strip them to the soul and they were going to give all - willingly.
The tension deepened, strung so very tight, but still she sat unmoving.
It was not enough that she was what she was and had done what she had done. The void seemed destined to pull him back in and though she knew this certainty, it didn't make anything easier. The thought was strangely quiescent within; a serene moment of introspection.
Reklah had already devoted himself to it, was prepared to do whatever he had to do for the Darkness. He had grown all his life with it, had already submitted to the fullness of his devotion and what Necrucifer might demand of him.
Did that mean she had not perhaps?
The question floored her. The tension drained, her shoulders drooped - not with despair, but with a dawning of something so very fundamental. The bitterness dissolved in the wake though the seething black inside her remained, an quiet enmity that knew no vengeance.
She did not know how to let go, to truly submit. Not when it came to him, at least.
Her whole life had been a constant struggle on so many fronts. Could she sacrifice what she needed to, to submit her will to His completely?
She blinked, dry-eyed, at Reklah and for the first time envied him with an intensity she had never known. She had lived for four centuries and yet, in his four decades, he had come further than she might ever hope to on his chosen road.
And now, time was running too short.
The sands of the hourglass fell, striking the bottom of the glass with a sound that could - that would - shatter the future.
Slowly did she turn her gaze from the fire and found him looking at her. There was an emptiness she didn't recognize there but they shared that gaze, a moment as intimate as any they had had.
"What are you doing?" He finally asked, just before she stood up.
He knew her so very well.
"Submitting." She whispered.
She didn't know what she needed to do, but there were places to start.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
