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Author Topic: IC: A search for blood  (Read 1585 times)

Acheros

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IC: A search for blood
« on: October 08, 2008, 03:42:21 PM »
[align=justify:27ce946286]Only the best blood would do for Darkbane, the richest and most pure of beauties for thia would be his dedication to the clan. Leaving The Temple of Evil and venturing across the lands of Ayenee to that familiar haunt known as the Slave Auctions. Here he had bought the best there was to be offered and with a pouch of gold and rare jewels within the thickness of his cloak no price was too high. Not for one so rare and virginal. Entering through the gathered crowds looking upon battered, bruised and naked women. Crimson burning eyes gazing over sumptuous forms some graceful and some hideously ugly. Of course looks did not mean a whole lot in this circumstance but it sure brought a greater appeal of gift to the likes of Darkbane. Some may have liked to fuck the ugliest of the Darkbane females, but when it came to sacrifice, all Darkbane males were particular. To Ballathor there wasn't any good looking women to have adorned the ranks, except for one and her name he would think or speak at this time.

Passing by a few of the guards, draped in weak metals of armor they thought probably was highly executive and class, only what money could buy nothing that would interest Ballathor in the magical sense and his senses were highly tuned into powerful magical infused armors and weapons. A couple of slaves had caught his eye, managing to hussel the price down to half of what the buyer wanted. Chains clunking within the tight grasp of leather gloved hand, satisfied with his purchase until a conversation caught his ears.

"Yeh, I heard this slaver is selling the most rapturous female ever to be seen in this parts" A croaky voice whispered to his companion.
"I heard the same, though it is selective buyers only and top gold. I doubt anyone here has the gold to buy such a beauty if she exists" the other man mocked sarcastically.
"Don't rightly know myself. He stands over there like he has Queen of Sheba herself in his possession. Should cut his throat and take the bitch for ourselves."
"We should take the burden of his worldly possessions from him. Laughing out loud before bursting into coughs and wheezes.
We'll wait till everyone leaves. Get the bastard then." Gesturing his friend towards a stall of beverages. Drinking back jugs of black ale, whipping their mouths with the back of dirty hands. Scarred brow staring over towards a suspicious looking back wrapped totally in black from head to tow. A glimmer of gold in the top of his teeth as they sneered in the afternoon sunlight.

The men had caught Ballathor's attention, dragging over his slaves towards them as flesh bagan to once again cover his bones and corpse like appearance. Pulling back the hood of his cloak to address the men directly. He hated the sunlight, any creature of darkness should however it would not kill him, just piss him off making him less likely to tolerate bullshit. Ballathor knew there two were slavers of the most despicable kind and he certainly would not mind ridding them of their worldly possessions, and their souls too. Casually he waved his hand, offering a cheeky grin before directing his cold gaze over towards the back of their treasures cage. "May we discuss a price or two." Allowing a trinket of gold to slide into the palm of his hand before the slavers. He knew there was no way they could refuse gold. By the way they both were dressed there was no way they were selling what any man wanted, they had desperation in their eyes.

Rags to riches, or so they say. Dirty hand rested on the shoulder of Ballathor who had to restrain from severing it from the trunk of his arm in one foul swoop. Smiled sinisterly. "Just a moment of your time, and our business will be done" Not for one instance did Ballathor's attention however move from the black dressed man even when talking to these two wretches. The other man rising, staggering towards the cage while the other followed behind Ballathor, around the back of the cage and out of view from the public of the auction. Proudly the main slaver showed what he had, Ballathor's brow rising in repulsion from the women on display. Closing the curtain with his gloved hand, and acting like he was pondering a price, taking the two men off guard. Neither had time to react before Ballathor's blade was drawn and driven deep into the hearts of both men in sickening turn, twisting violently then slicing downwards to disembowel. Taking the keys while the curtains parted and the cat let himself into the canary cage.

Ballathor drunk deeply, tearing out their throats before returning to the indigo hue of twilight, dragging both of the bodies into the cage of carnage. Locking the door and tucking the keys and the blade back into the concealment of his cloak. Stepping out, dusting himself off and progressively walking towards the black cloaked man. By now the crowds had lessened, most of the slavers now retired to drink or raping the female slaves they claimed were virgins. He knew they would have done that many times before and the slaves behind him were no purer, but they sure would make lovely time wasters of puppets of a different nature. Darkbane needed new blood, so why not breed new blood, at least it would be pure. There was no better victim than an unwilling victim. Already they were enslaved to his spell. Ignorant of the blood he had already spilled, to them he would still be looking at other cages and slaves, an illusion crafted from his mind. They would not see the truth until the horror itself was there to behold, and he could be satisfied in their screams. That was all he wanted.

The same devious grin widening over pale lips, nodding his head to the man while playing with the pouch in his hand, showing that he certainly had gold. "I hear you have a ravishing beauty, pure as an newborn babe. I wish to see her, feast my eyes on this beauty and make the judgment for myself."[/b] Exclaimed Ballathor proudly while the man looked him up and down. To Ballathor the only part of this man that was visible were his eyes, the eyes of a demon. "Show me your wealth, and we shall discuss it in the privacy of my tent." It was clear to Ballathor that he wasn't going to see anything until all he had to offer was placed on the table, a drink shared and things settled in a fashion only true business men could appreciate. Ballathor nodded, agreeing to this and following the man back to his tent. Taking a seat and emoting all the priceless jewels upon an ebony table where the demon or man could examine them for himself.

Black drapery was all this creature seemed to be made of. Sitting opposite Ballathor, sliding a silver goblet towards him filled with the rich metallic scent of blood, though rare for there was something exquisite in the substance, something Ballathor had not tasted in quite sometime. With a studious eye, the man picked up each stone, examining it in the glimmer of light, nodding in approval before swigging down his drink and clapping his hands only once then placing them on the jewels of his choice. Which was all of them "You see, you pay!!" there was something in his voice that Ballathor could not deny him. Indeed this must be a beautiful peach and he could not wait to see this for himself, with the soft scent of black musk and lotus even he would be amazed. His jaw near dropped when his eyes rested on the naked curves of opal-bathed skin, shining in the flickering light. "Have the jewels. I have received what I came here to get. Our business is done."[/b][/align:27ce946286]
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\"Free of their god, intelligence won
Go with your instinct to live as you want \"
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The End of All Light.

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IC: A search for blood
« Reply #1 on: October 08, 2008, 07:16:38 PM »
[align=center]~Glory and praise to thee in all the steeps of Heaven where thou didst reign, and in the deeps of Hell where fallen thy dream, silently.~[/align]

[align=justify:8a9e0f03cc]Did Pandora believe that because she was whispering weak promises within the false sanctuary of her temple that it was coveted to the likes of Atra’Lamia? Surely not even she could be as mortally feeble as that? So the old dragon had finally woken from the blackened smokes of her own puffed out fruitless words… calling to the blood of Darkbane when it was weak, and she was more brittle than oaths spoken; that she too broke. Did this mean she called a ‘Brand of Death’ on herself? Then so be it. Atra’Lamia could also make ‘Promises of a cull’ but hers would not be barren words spoken by on old dragon nor as bold, yelling things to the universe when even the universe may turn a deaf ear on fragile god. The way of this Black Goddess was to blossom her evils into vines of crimson roses, to lure one in for the adulation - entwine them with roses and then with ensnare with thorns to bleed them dry of their very last… scarlet precious droplet. Atra’Lamia did not bleed unless she wished for them to be fooled by the presence of it. The way it dripped over alabaster flesh from the swan-like grace of her neck… cardinal ruby tiers forming opulent beads only to burst and follow the natural crevice of bosom where darkness itself would fluctuate and lap. Tumbling down to worship that was sadistically heaven and that which was seductively hell.

No man or mortal could ever have the intelligence to ponder the evils within the depths and hollows of this acrimonious umbration of a goddess; the two-dimensional being they had known her as in comparison to what she was in reality and in the imagination- the epitome of their dreams and the worst depravity of their nightmares. To beauty before, it was nothing more than a cavernous shell of the morose exquisiteness hidden from the eyes of the mortal realms, immortal and moral alike… until now. The worthless hosts of taken victims thrown to the dark fires of z’ul’zah’lah, where he would devour the carcasses before playing in the fields of their hellish delights- only because the smell of her was still fresh and vivid to its senses while it screamed with the hankering of never really knowing what it would be like to ravage and pillage her writhing body rising in heated pants and orgasmic moans. A creature manifest of all the embodiment of lusts, feeding of those energies with its amoebic tentacles, black shadowy mass coiling around humanoid limbs seeking new holes to venture while quivering mouths suckled at unfruitful, arid breasts like newborn babies. Catharsis pitching to cries of orgy taint only to have its release and then devour the bitches raw. A monster of her darkest loves… her crypt of unbridled lusts in the hellish boudoirs of sacrilegious wantonness.[/align:8a9e0f03cc]


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[align=justify:8a9e0f03cc]So they wanted a slave of the most supple flesh and beauty unbound, ‘The Eternal Goddess’ sending her faithful servant on a quest of virginal deliverance in order to make herself stronger? Had she not known the tables had been turned and a curse was placed upon her womb? Of course not, only one with the knowledge for the darkest esoterical wisdoms would be able to see the atramentous seed already planted; working against her actions. If it was a slave she wanted… a slave she shall get, but low and behold to her death, one that would not be her obedient puppet like the rest who gathered in her infertile presence. Attention placed on the journey of Ballathor, though, Atra’Lamia was more than capable to spread her vision wider and see both events through clear eyes- but why not grant the privacy Pandora wished for she had conquered every other Darkbane Warlord… what was another, it didn’t acquire much for taste on their behalf. Obviously, what they sought was just a gaping welcoming of a tremendous black hole sucking them into seismic waters. No longer worthy of Atra’s attentions. Now, she was focused purely on Ballathor as he roamed the slave market only to find the scraps of every other conquering deviant. ‘Touched’ and ‘Tainted’ internally by every filthy merchant they had been passed down to and only sold because they were regardless as ‘useless’.

Whispered cantrip conjuring forth a demon of shadow, a creation provided by her merit and creation merchandize. A beast from the plethoric womb of her mastery draped in the typical Arabic fashion of the burning sands; furtive and mystifying in both presence and manner where to most he would be nothing more than a human with the strangest black eyes… like the abyss. There would be no way Ballathor could tell it was a demon other than by speculation, assumption or definition of explanation because it would only be his eyes visible. Beneath the wraps there was nothing more than… shadow. It was a good pitch for business to offer only of course the best in feminine produce, one that men would kill to possess and offer all their possessions of both earth and the afterlife. They would sell souls just to bestow one lick over those twin peaks of untarnished carnelian while hands ventured between the limbs of heaven to supple that opalescent pearl and render it betwixt teasing teeth only to have the arch of Venus rise across the blackness of silk in whorish gasp. Her haunting fragrance wafting through the atmosphere only to feed those guaranteed murmurs of rare beauty.

Her scent of foreign perfumes inspiring them to sniff at the air, nostrils flaring in animalistic frenzy, tongues licking the carnivorous winds to catch her taste while minds reeled to render, pluck that wholesomeness from the savage garden and claim that which was unholy, sexual gratification. To use her body as one would a whore with a gilded cunt prized for its tight recesses and ambrosiac nectars. Wracked with fiery denial for those carnal pleasures, the aroma causing the dreams of violent rape as rubiescent apertures screamed for more. A man’s greatest gratification was dominancy over a woman of angelic splendor, to yield her like a trophy while his companions fornicated with her sweetness forcibly over the table before him- to relish. Then again perhaps they would become so obsessed with those naked limbs decorating their beds that they would kill any man or beast that dared touch that succulent flower betwixt her slender thighs. Ballathor would only be one or the other, Atra’Lamia knew him well enough that there were no in-betweens, nothing between the black and white. This she would use to her greatest advantage in her cunning plan, the hunter becoming the hunted. Soon the time was at hand. In the meantime she would prepare, peel off the mortal pelt she had been hiding in for a millennia… and reveal to the world her authentic epitome not the fake coffer of mortal rot she had been adorned in. Behold the unveiling of the Goddess.[/align:8a9e0f03cc]


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[align=justify:8a9e0f03cc]Behind the curtains of veiled black, able to see the silhouettes of two men entering through the parted drapery before it flagged to seal off the world and hot blistering winds outside. Standing their in the embrace of disambiguation where spectral wreathes combed and raked along the lithe curves of her contoured figure… naked in all its enviable grandeur to be revered and admired. Sleek pearlescent curves highlighted by the pale overture of candlelight where voodoo ghostly ribbons decorated; spiraling around the outer chiseled statuesque outlines of her body. Rivulets of ravenesque tumbling over sculptured shoulders, waterfalls of darkness cascading over wintry landscapes to the concaved pit of navel- lapping along svelte thighs of smooth milky flesh. Toned physique entailing that no child had been born from this womb, firm stomach where kings would eagerly dine and priests to have her as their own altar of flesh. Lips curved like the wings of celestial hosts, though prized with the darkest shades of cardinal red’s- a lustrous patina shining over them that casts sensual shadows of their own. Enchanting and enthralling… spellbinding. Fulgor of trappestine opaqueness… lilit in clandestine witchcrafts- piercing to the mind only to capture it like a poisoned carnivorous plant or the elaborately spun spiders web.

Ballathor would be caught in her ‘chimerstry’ the second he gazed into her eyes; wanting her for his very own and Pandora to buggery. By will alone her scent drifted out to tap on his senses, and bring him into her charm; even if it was purely her intention to kill him… she would of course have her fun first. With a urge of her mind, informing the demon that it was time for him to ‘clap’, inform her that he was ready to see her with his new client. Did Ballathor not notice the stench of decaying meat filtering through the under-openings of the tent where he sat? Did he not hear the festering of maggots writhing in the abdominal acids of every other client who had been and gone or The constant buzzing of flies, spewing forth their digestive juices only to fuck and breed. Mankind really was no different now was t? ‘Clap’. There is was, the sign her plan was working perfectly, like a fly to the spider… slender digits furling around the sheer fabric of the curtain that had separated them the whole time, Ballathor’s eyes could have received a good show of her naked curves being explored by elegant hands. Palms traveling over firm mounted breasts to the enclave of womanly treasures… to tease the pearl while a single salacious moan escaped past parted lips. Now her hands parted the veils as if she were playing a harp, hips sauntering in mesmeric sway. A firm, youthful body… the body that was hers not an avatar, apparition or possessed host. Nothing neither moving nor bobbing out of place, a tight little package all for the unwrapping.

Atra would not simply stand there, instantly wrists turned while fingers pinched together. Lithesome arms rising above her head as waist began to rise only to have hips turn in hypnotic dance. Serpentine her body moved in ancient rhythm to a silent melody. Nigrescent eyes closing behind long silken lashes, dew-lidded almost in the rapture of motion. Dainty arms entwining while hands formed into the heads of mimicking serpents- artistic and tasteful but also lustful and enticing… enticing his hands to reach out and pull her into his tenebrous embrace. She cared not for the other female slaves ogling her movements with jealous and envious eyes- there was not one mortal or pitiful immortal who did not envy her coquettish beauty; even those declaring greatness as gods themselves, puerile gods. Portraying a submissive characteristic towards ‘The Dark Priest of Darkbane’… but should his hand rise to grate along her breast with the back of his knuckles as she moved closer. Brutally and viciously his hand would be slapped away. Therefore making the hunger stir in him to make her be submissive. It was the passion of forcing her to obedience that Atra’Lamia knew would turn him on more than anything else. However, Atra did not want to see her ‘bought’ with feeble trinkets… she wanted the payment in blood. Wanted to see how much he wanted her without having the means to ‘pay’ for it.

At that notion, the jewels he had sprawled over the table like an eager prostitute simply… faded, vanishing completely before their very eyes. Of course in the flow of events pretending to be completely absorbed in the pleasurable dance for their delights, eyes only flashing open as her motion ceased at the very moment the shadow demon drew his blade and slashed it forcibly across the position of Ballathor’s throat. Only missing him by a very hair, the argentation of silver flashing within the light of candle that flickered as the weapon disturbed the air. If Ballathor wanted to purchase HER he would have to make the payment in blood, not for the name of Darkbane but in his own declared name… not a personification of it. Loud and clear… for all the elements and gods to hear. If he failed, then he would die by her hands, right here and right now and no false goddess would protect him.
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"I am the black orchid—beauty wrought from war's blood and broken empires."[/siz]

Ladislas

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IC: A search for blood
« Reply #2 on: October 08, 2008, 11:05:00 PM »
[align=center]Flick...

Flick...

Flick[/align]

The serpentine tongue tasting the air of the township, every scent an experience beyond imagination to the heightened senses evoked within Ladislas. The tannery, most definately something new, for to the twisted minds capacity, even the scents normally considered offensive, were a rare treat. The disgusting and offensive, nothing obscene to Ladislas, for he had been grown midst death and agony so if anything could possibly be evoked from those foul aromas, it could be as close to a feeling of homeliness as Ladislas would ever reach. Since he didn't have feelings or emotions for they were a weakness his creator would not tolerate it was just a taste which was familiar, nothing more, nothing less.

He had found his way to the slave market, remaining obscure and watching, waiting for some hint of inspiration, he had thought to find a creature and bleed it dry in offerance to his mother. A sacrifice appropriate, or if nothing was suitable, he would abduct some townsgirl and lead her to her death. That wasn't his current thought though. Eyes watching as he stood completely motionless, leaning into a shadowed corner, barely noticeable. Ladislas could stand if need be for days without motion, the only sign of life the flickering of the audacious tongue, but the speed that moved no ordinary creature would even see it move.

A buyer catching his interest, he watched from under hooded eyes, the discussion of purchase. Ladislas pondering the beings purpose, for although his show to the slavers, was indeed of interest, he tasted of a being, unimpressed by what was on offer. The man and the slavers moving out of sight, his tongue continuing to flicker then the sharp metallic taste, that delectable hint of copper... Blood, death and pain... His interest now thoroughly piqued, he remained standing in the shadows, waiting for the man would return from whatever murderous deed he partook. The man moving to do business with another after his playing, then...

His tongue flicked as a breeze changed direction, eyes widening in surprise for the taste of ecstacy rippled through the nerve endings sending a shudder through Ladislas's frame. He stood straighter allowing his tasting of the breeze to accelerate, attempting to drink further of this delectable nectar. Every molecule of scent a feast of femininities finest, every sensation of taste drank deeply into his imprint. The only other being he had ever smelt of this amazement, was his mother, but this was not his mother, it was perfect, deliscious and different. He had no concept of how this were possible, did it mean another goddess existed, was this some dark and wild creature, liquid in motion, potent in beauty and maddening in scent.

Ladislas was curious, he would wait and follow, seeking to find what this creature was, perhaps he may be able to steal her away for what greater sacrifice to his mother then something as wondrous as this. Such a perfect gift, such a perfect smell, maddening to males, imposing jealousy upon females, exquisate and palatable. The perfect gift to give a woman with everything.
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Acheros

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IC: A search for blood
« Reply #3 on: October 12, 2008, 09:43:21 AM »
If the slaver wanted blood, he would he would get blood. But it would be his own. At the moment Ballathor's gems vanished his sword had already he drawn. Head leaning back along with his back only to have the blade just miss his throat. As soon  as it missed, his sword can around fast, slashing straight across the demon's midsection and since he would still be coming around from his swing, Ballathor's would get him straight off guard. Eyes gleaming crimson as it cut through the demon's body only to watch it vanish into a cloud of shadow, destroyed and there no more leaving him to his prize. Her, the ravishing beauty tempting him with her body and he had every intention of taking it to the ultimate levels of decadent elation. Sword returned to its sheath at his slide with a violent slam, motion all but a blur as it ascended on her. Hand grabbing around her small waist and pulling her in against his bare chest, brutally. Other hand seeking the mounds of delicate flesh only to apply pressure before nails dug in to release blood. Head lowering as tongue flickered only to follow the path which the blood made over breast and nipple.

Tongue like a serpent flicking hard over the firm nub while the hand around her waist rose up to mid back pressing her hard against him, more. Her blood tasted amazing, and the more his tongue brought into his mouth the more he wanted to taste, the more he wanted to draw into himself and claim her for his own. The woman's naked body against him just drove him beyond the ranges and peaks of lust, awakening a more profound hunger in him, sexual gratification wanted since the Goddess had chosen her mate, maybe it was time he chose his. She would certainly satisfy the craving, the fill the temple with wanton moans and orgasmic release. What he had been promised for his services and loyalty but never paid. He didn't want the payment of Kalicity that Pandora had once promised him, her stench made him sick to the stomach and he knew a foul harlot when he smelt one, undead flesh not even a true vampire.

Stepping back, forcing her to make the steps with him until her back landed hard against the metal pillar of the tent they were in. Vanishing behind the sheer screen from what she arrived, tempting him with her provocative dance, tempting his loins to rise and burn beneath the discomfort of clothing. A finger delving into her mouth before slicing against lower and upper lip so that his tongue and lips would mash against hers in a vicious kiss. Hand moving from her back only to move along thigh to soft skin and toned thigh. Other hand moving from breast, only to twist her nibble extremely hard then rising to force her head back against the pillar, holding it there while his body ducked down, tongue moving down to wrap around nipple, sucking it hard then nibbling between teeth until leaving that succulent sweet flesh to venture to naval and then between legs. Serpent forked tongue slipping the nub of womanly pleasure only to tweak it with sharpened flicks to stimulate the jewel of her pearl. She had no choice, she could not move and even if she did, his sword would easily change her mind because he was not taking no for an answer. Not from this one.

His hand followed downwards, slipping between her legs only to play with the lower button to her control, circling around soft at first and gradually adding pressure. Ballathor would hear her screams and moans of pleasure, he would break the skin of her innocence and taste the blood on his own lips before shoving his cock hard up inside of her. This was all he could see, all that he wanted to ravage this woman until she would pass out from the weakness, then drain her dry applying only one drop of his blood on her lips. Making her his, and making her the property of Darkbane for all time. To serve the temple and all its whims of pleasure, pain and ritualistic sexual energy, death and plague. Even if he had to ghoul her, bonding her to him, so that she would be his slave and him her master ready to serve her with his fertile rod and serve her with torture and pain unbound. The taste of her was exquisite, far sweeter than any nectar or ambrosia, Hand slipping down to grip her throat applying pressure to squeeze for he knew this too added to the stimulation of orgasm, and he would have that too, here.


Quote
Auto done with Dy’s permission since it will not be Atra or the woman that is dancing. It is an illusion... Or is it?
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\"Free of their god, intelligence won
Go with your instinct to live as you want \"
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DeMolay Darkbane

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IC: A search for blood
« Reply #4 on: October 12, 2008, 10:15:13 AM »
[align=justify:80081977e1]There was something about this auction that drew Kadasha in like a moth to the flame, some dark decadence that filled her soul with a more profound darkness than any other evil creature ever could. It was this essence pulling her that she felt a sense of dejavu, the blood of Darkbane stained these fields and Kadasha could not help but wonder who it was and why had they come here. The villages surrounding these parts, secluse villages that could feed many times over and fill the rivers with nothing but blood, so why come here when there was fresh prime meat for the taking, for free? Unless whoever it was, was a major amateur in hunting for innocence? Of course she could not venture out in daylight, the curse of the daywalker was not her's to be had when her sire had embraced her, giving her the weaker of his blood and not the stronger. Then again, she knew she wasn't have meant to live through it.

She had to wait till the moment the sun casted a shadow over the land, vanishing behind the black peaks as the sky exploded in blues and purples. It didn't take her long to journey from the ruins of the old temple, thinking it useless to hang onto old memories. There was no way she would attract the favor of her goddess by hiding in old memories when she herself had thrown it to the crows. Of course she felt the pull of the blood, Pandora must have awoken but to Kadasha it was not Pandora who she swore her loyalty to, as far as she was concerned Pandora was nothing, a weak pitiful goddess that deserted her clan for her own selfish needs when her clan needed her the most. If she too had to drain the blood of Darkbane from her veins, she would rather do that than bow down to a dog goddess.

This vampire may just be a vampire, but she had plenty of tricks herself, being once the Harpy Scourge of hell itself until the blood stained day she lay her eyes on Atra. Then again she knew Atra not as Atra but another creature, one more potent than the bitch portraying herself as a goddess when really she was a sponge a parasite. And damned to anyone weaker dumb enough to be sucked into her void of blackness. Shaking, black locks flagging like snakes around her shoulders, dispelling any thought of the worthless from her mind. She would remain loyal to her goddess even if Atra had abandoned her. Really Kadasha did not blame Atra, if Darkbane had treated her like trash she would have vowed to destroy it as well. Cunning minds think alike and this serpent knew that was probably Atra's plan and the stupidest thing Pandora could ever have done was rise, she should have stayed dead where the rest of the clan wanted her.

Pandora would remain weak, her children turned their backs and the only way she would gain energy was to drink the energy of another powerful being. A goddess needed followers, Pandora had none. With leathery bat wings outstretched, features taking on a more demonic appearance as legs and arms became more skeletal and thin, but powerfully muscular. Allowing the wind to fill them as they pumped vigorously. Lifting from the peak of the mountain and powerfully soaring through the dark clouds towards the slave auction. It did not take her long to reach there as feet found the earth and her features returned to normal with a greenish tinge to her flesh as shadows crept beneath. Red eyes looking around, infa-red vision peircing through the depths of shadow to see what had attracted her to this place with compulsion. Funny that she sensed two Darkbane's in this area, and she would stalk them both until the answers were discovered.

One was within a tent and the other not far from that. Seeing past the canvas to the delights behind the screen. A man worshipping a woman that was not there. She could not see where the image was being projected from but he surely thought he was tasting the real thing. There was something strange about the woman but Kadasha could not see her face for it was hidden beneath a mantle of darkness and silken tresses. Standing outside just behind the tent, merging in with the darkness to be slightly hidden in its shroud, though not completely. [/align:80081977e1]
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|Thank you Dy|[/align]

The End of All Light.

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IC: A search for blood
« Reply #5 on: October 12, 2008, 01:14:59 PM »
[align=justify:862f25ce69]Her feminine beauty would draw him in, the undeniable pleasure to not deny him the taste of her bounty and curvaceous landscapes. To make him think that she would be all for his indulgences and to build on that intoxication and voracious appetite, to manipulate the strings of this puppet for her own perverse entertainment. At first Ballathor’s intentions were pure towards purchasing this delectable slave for Pandora’s replenishment, beauty and youth- to give her this body that she could adept it as her own while rendering this soul incapacitated to her servitude. However, the plan had taken a diverse and profound re-direction, a reversal where Ballathor would be intoxicated in the greed to possess her for himself, and nothing for Pandora. It was true in his blood that he dedicated himself to Darkbane, but his rite had been cautious in declaration for as he stated his loyalty to Darkbane, Ballathor did not confess his undying loyalty to Pandora and her arid womb and enervated vitae.

There was always a loophole in the incantations and pacts in the ritualistic sense for the caster, whereas the webs wrought in ceremony adhered the others to unbreakable chains… as long as Ballathor remained loyal to Darkbane, he had not broken his pact. Then again there were many facets to Darkbane and the one seen as the true Goddess of Darkbane, to many Darkbane’s… was in fact, Atra’Lamia. Ballathor and her had shared a little secret of their own, for they had shared blood when both of them reigned upon obsidian throne in the ‘Temple of Evil’ while Pandora sat idle upon her throne counting the grains of sand that filtered through the hourglass, twiddling her thumbs while calculating how she could corrupt the minds of her followers into thinking she was influential. Some had fallen to her trickery, when others like Atra had not, and she had her faithful followers; and that would be what all the difference between her and the infertile pledge of a dying goddess. The not-so-eternal goddess.

Of course Ballathor didn’t know this was the actual Atra’Lamia he was worshipping with his forked tongue- whereas at first she thought it would all be a game to let his mind think he was… why deny herself some ounce of lust and pleasure when a man such as Ballathor was more than prepared to inflict it. To give unto her willingly, just to please her and cast Ballathor’s own lusts aside, and she would certainly permit him this desire but only to manipulate his lusts more into a potent potion of betrayal and treachery, none that Pandora or any Darkbane asinine enough to fall into Pandora’s web of weakness. Atra’Lamia would weave Ballathor’s lust, entwining it only to infuse her scent with it, amalgamated with pheromones to excite his senses to that beyond passion. Taste over taste, he would want more of her, to spread those limbs like the petals of a rose and pollinate it with his own fertile nightmares.

Ballathor was not her ideal mate, there was only one she would ever consider worthy enough and he had long returned to the darkness where the ‘Black One’ emanated, taking him back into the void only to dwell in the chaotic hemisphere of his own sinister plots and plans. Neither him or her needed to exist in the others space of time, except every now and then coalesce in sick, twisted rituals of lust and hatred. Atra wasn’t weak like Pandora who obviously needed a man at her side, to protect her because she would know very well that Atra strived to eradicate her from existence… and the blood of Darkbane die with her. There was not one Darkbane, Atra deemed formidable enough to admire, to her they were all deplorable, puerile sheep following a blind shepherd to the slaughter. Every one of them would know what it would be like to be upon the death-kneel and forced to gorge on the intestines of the goddess they elated. They too would suffer the same fate as Pandora… ridicule and death.

Atra knew it would be only a matter of time before Ballathor would seek her dark embrace, without him even knowing it. Ichors mixed and devoured always cursed to crave more, and on the sup of her blood coursing over firm mounds of piquant valley to the peaks of erect buds aroused by his rough touch, licks and twists. Serpentine moist tongue brushing and flipping in gyration to cause them to rise higher, before being engulfed by his mouth only to suckle at them vigorously as a newborn babe would exhort nourishment from its mother. His other rough skinned hard delving over sensual alabaster flesh of her thighs, slaying wide to take the touch to higher crescendo’s only to leave reddened welts in their wake as black nails scathed the tender surface of satin-flowing limb. Steadily his hand moved over the frontal arch of her leg, reaching twixt milky thighs to ‘feel’ the crux of her hotness running from the core of her body, tempting his hand to reach in deeper to explore the tension of sacred chamber.

Grip enforcing as his direction changed, with the palm of his hand against her forehead only to slam her head back hard against the metal pylon as once again his tongue discovered the rigid stimulation of heaving breasts and pert delicious nibbles. Tracing wet patterns of saliva trickling down as his tongue followed a downward pledge over Atra’s taut stomach and concaved naval to delve into the bellybutton before venturing down to sample the nectars of purity.  Cleanliness unlike no other, the taste of an angel on the tip of his tongue, a single jeweled bead of opalesque venom dancing like a devil on the head of a pin waiting for it to be taken back into his throat and the infection begin. Sensuous melodies escaping past her partially open lips. Tongue exploring the saccharine syrupy tang of blood lingering over her apertures while sirenous harmonies drifted into the darkness beyond and within. Shattering any bond that Pandora had on him or over him, it evaporated just as her indolent enchantments.

 Right lithe leg rising, arching over his right shoulder allowing closer access just as his hand now descended from brow only to wrap around Atra’s miniscule throat and squeeze. Delicate hands not attempting to remove his grasp from her person, even though she was fully capable of breaking every single bone in both his hands not to mention his entire body, should she desire it. Accepting his worship and declaration of lust and blood; their combined energies rippling as his trident-tongue vibrated at the sides of her precious nub. Finger penetrating betwixt the tourniquet of velveteen folds only to use this to inspire louder moans of elation in opiate sonnet. Groans, moans and pants of ecstasy inspiring more than just the curious ears of slavers and buyers discussing business over goblets of alcoholic beverages in front of campfires but also the shadows that began to intermingle and integrate to thicker patches of darkness. Sounds so exquisite to the senses of both man and animal became edgy to similar practices, moral thrown to abandon… beverages spat as both wine and alcohol turned to blood before hands clawed at throats, while the choirs of choking mortals rose to the score.

Even the slave girls Ballathor had brought were dragged in by unseen force, chains wrapping around their throats towards Atra, one at either side as lips met, massaged brutally together and hands explored the delicious mounds of her breasts. Atra’s hands entwining in the mantles of fire and moonlight, while their hands delighted in the sexual passion of her flesh and embrace. Forcing the neck of the redhead to be exposed as the ‘Black Goddesses’ ivory tiers elongated and forcefully penetrated the girls neck… just as Ballathor’s hooded serpent perforated delicate film with brutal thrust. The other side of her victim’s neck exposed for Ballathor to sample, as the other slaves lips lowered to take up breast in her mouth and tantalize with her eager tongue and vacuumed vortex. Leaving the slave impaled on her fangs until near death, discarded as Atra’s tiers sought the neck of the other…lashing into the other’s neck with atrocious vehemence.

Imbibing all her ichors as the other began to hoist upwards, the chain around her throat tightening, looping over the metallic ramparts as she hung, legs and body violently twitching… human waste trickling down the inside of her leg only to pool on the floor, the thirsty ground taking the nourishment only to have the ground turn black with rot, spreading like blackened diseased veins- to taint the earth of all its vitality and drink it in as her own. The other girl would receive the same treatment as both Atra and Ballathor stabbed her through, all the while him ravishing her with his potent virile sword, thrusting her hard against the pillar… time and time again, fast and remorselessly. These would only be two of the bodies that would be left in her wake; simply done not because she needed their blood to live, but to defile the wish of Pandora.

Pandora’s feeble power commanding Ballathor to do her bidding when it was more than obviously pointed his heart and soul rested elsewhere. Ballathor would rather, service Atra and do it without being commanded and asked. This was the precious power of ‘free will’. The Eternal Goddess would feel this drain of power on her reserves, a harsh tug on the heartstrings, and the dispatching hold she may have had over Ballathor if she had not shown such a blatant disregard for one of the first generation Darkbane’s and instead endeavor on her own pathetic tasks of the flesh like she had done time and time again. Pandora was nothing more than a husk of empty supremacy, she needed her children and one by one they were seeing her for the imposter in reality she was. To hell with them all, Atra had their high priest worshipping her like the Goddess Atra is; placing all his energy into her with each ferocious thrust and grind- a curse on the blood of Darkbane… may all that comes from the womb of that bitch be nothing but weak, spawned larvae. [/align:862f25ce69]
"I am the black orchid—beauty wrought from war's blood and broken empires."[/siz]

Ladislas

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« Reply #6 on: October 13, 2008, 05:02:49 PM »
The air grew heavy with the smell of lustful potence as behind the dusty canvas of the slavers tents the sounds and scents of passion erupted into the chill of the night. In addition to the scent of wild eroticism rose the smell of blood, hot, fresh and fervid. Ladislas's tongue fickering with increasing vehemence as within his physique the twisted evocation of reptilian bacchanalian exuberance grew. Hooded eyes looking into the night, figure remaining completely motionless in the fashion that only those of serpent flesh can maintain. Waiting, for something as the atmosphere quivered in anticipation of further stimulation, further digression upon the theme of darkest adorations.

On the soft caress of breezes soniferous delicacy a resonance breaching the night, head cocking left in the most miniscule increment. The echoes of leathered wings rythymically, clawing through the air with their burden flying closer.  Shifting position slightly to watch for what or whomever flew clandestinely towards the slavers outpost, eyes slits discerning the approach of a female ever closer.  Still Ladislas would remain in the seclusion so chosen watching as her feet touched the ground and transformation occured. Facial features transforming as wings vanished and before him stood a woman with glowing red cast eyes and the faintest tinge of green enveloping what flesh was revealed.

Serpentilian tongue flickering as upon the breeze he tasted the most miniscule reverberation of someone his mother had at some time touched with her disparties evolution. Left eyebrow quizically raising for to have survived the touch of the goddess inspired that perhaps this creature was a servant of she to whom Ladislas gave his only loyalty. A decision made he stepped forth from his place of concealment exposing himself to the gaze of the creature new to the scenes engrossment. Head tilting in the tiniest bow of acknowledgement for respect given. Within those his mother had touched, many were worthy of respect so granting a modicum of courtesy was always wise for one never knew who held favour in this moment.

Since he had chosen to reveal his presence, the logical step to follow was to indentify himself to this female, since after all Ladislas wasn't overly exposed to social niceties and cold ophidian logic was his primary way of handling most situations. "I am called Ladislas," he said in a sibilant whisper" "I came seeking slaves, but the night has offered more intriguing entertainments of blood and lust... And you are?"
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DeMolay Darkbane

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« Reply #7 on: October 14, 2008, 02:18:19 PM »
[align=justify:279285da84]He would have caught her off guard had it not been for her extraordinary skill of perception. Head turning as body followed the motion to confront the strange serpent one before her. Nodding a little before replying to his question. ”Ah, I remember you from the temple ruins. I would be Kadasha, faithful and humble servant to the one true Empress of Hell” bowing as soon as the words ’humble servant to the one true Empress of Hell’ Kadasha bowed her head respectfully. A grin manifesting over her lips before crimson eyes lifted and she studied the creature known to be Ladislas, the one of many genetic creations that she knew of that were active in the mortal vaults of what was known as Ayenee. Bony arms crossing in front of her chest tightly, shoulders relaxed as if waiting for any kind of action to occur. This trickster knew, if the one known as Atra was around, there was sure to be a lot of fun, screaming, blood and dismembered bodies to gnaw on.

Smiling widely, showing the many rows of shark-like teeth, her voice a harmony all of its own. ”You are a creation of hers just like me, and in that you and I already have a type of kinship none of these other fucks could begin to understand.” Resting her back against the wooden roughness of a tree trunk to the side of the tent where all the delectable things were happening, nostrils flaring to the enticement of lust and even Kadasha could not help but suffer from the effects flowing on the breeze. ”I would be Kadasha, the Harpy Scourge of Hell. Impressive title, no?” Eyebrow rising on the crest of her brow while burning eyes looked down to study the strange blackish veins traveling across the scorched sands, only one could be this deceitfully cunning.

The infection would not touch her or Ladislas, they already had the taint of that lovely little plague in their systems, it would only harm those untainted by the spores of her Queen’s venoms. Such a pity for the rest though, they would die such lovely deaths. A long taloned foot scraping at the ground only have the black poisonous venom re-direct itself around where she dug, and continue on its path until finally spreading like a sick blanket to intervene on the unsuspecting hybrids of mortals and demons. That would provide enough entertainments to let the time pass until her treasured Queen and Goddess would rise and make herself known to them. Kadasha knew that Atra would know they were there.

She would be able to smell the taint of her abominations from those of more deplorable and blue bloods, hers was a pure linage none could ever be able to rid themselves of if touched and thus tainted. Not even death would free them from the nightmare awaiting them. Lust was thick in the air, but it was not Atra’s it was solely masculine, only being influenced by that of a higher degree of control. He was being played like a puppet and did not even know it. A single crimson eye winking at Ladislas ”Sounds like someone is having a good time!” laughing in a throaty evil chuckle, then directing her attention back on her main focus, and that was to find Atra for she knew she was here or someone sent by Atra.

Sniffing at the air harder, drawing back into her senses a manly scent only to have her lips peel backwards in disgust. The scent was undeniably Darkbane though she did not recognize who the man was. It was only a unimportant detail in her will and design of things. Sniffing even further only to have eyes narrow in distain, the stench of Pandora was only fresh on this beast of convenience. She knew it was Pandora because being a Darkbane herself, which had long been a part of the initiation of all Darkbane’s who passed the blade of death. Besides it didn’t take much effort to smell a whore hiding in the charms of some puny servant. The plot thickened, she knew why he was here and now she knew why Atra was here, somewhere. Another dark laugh emerged, the sound chilling to the ears. ”I believe things are about to get very interesting, very soon.”[/align:279285da84]
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|Thank you Dy|[/align]

Acheros

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« Reply #8 on: October 14, 2008, 10:37:01 PM »
The tiniest morsel of honey was never enough and the single pearlescent dew drop midst the soft folds of purloined flesh had been devoured for his mind was lost in lustful passion. Somewhere in the back of his mind Ballathor percieved a shrieked warning that something was wrong, but the wild heat of bloody passion flowing through his veins would not desist the chosen path. He had taken wenches before in lustful play, but this one, this woman that tweaked unknown strings within his psyche had lifted him beyond any level of past excitement into a plane of pure, near terrifying pleasure.

Impaling the wench upon his lust ridden ardence, slamming her body against the chilled iron supporting the tent in which he took his pleasure, disdainful of any past associations except for the molten heat engulfing the throbbing resolution of masculine adornment. Plunging himself into the abyss of female perfection, gripped by what could have been a thousand tiny fingers, surrounding every sensual thread of fire inflicted nerves. Every thrust taking possession of his will, every breath taking his already beguiled senses to oblivious consummation.

The girls, no the womans leg raising to clamp his body deeper into the embrace, the silken flesh of her leg an added stimuli allowing greater access to the treasure so desired, the sensation against his back only adding to the blindness he lost himself in. The other two slaves, paltry creatures compared to the object of his passion, drawn alongside to join them. The girls barely taking his notice as he continued seeking his own satisfaction, yet they gave themselves to his wench willingly so great was her capture. A throat offered as his woman bit savagely and he couldn't restrain himself from biting deeply into the slaves neck, the hot rush of living blood atop the other sensations rushing through his body.

No power on earth or hell could have made him withdraw from this woman, Pandora a forgotten blot on his history, never rewarding him for his loyalties, too weak to be a true leader. Perhaps now he could finally break the bonds and leave behind the old to seek out a destiny of true glory for himself like every Darkbane wanted. With this woman as his own, nothing could stop the rampage that together they could make. The revelation that she too bore fangs and desired the taste of blood raising the blood roaring through his veins to deafening thunder within his ears.

That drop of suspect honey flowing in such fashion that his craving for more exploded. The second slave girl bled out for their dark satisfaction.Thrusts becoming violent as he tried to extend himself further into the unknowable depths. Powerful legs forcing her upwards, the only vision he could see the depths of her deep, black and to Ballathor inviting eyes like a deer caught in the headlights, trapped beyond redemption. His lips slamming to mash against hers a tongue drove outwards, forcing those rich soft and full gates apart to drive his tongue in wild swirl seeking more of the divine essence. Nothing else existed, no past, no loyalty, no claim, no existance outside of the pleasure he felt with this woman of queenly purpose.


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OOC - I don't really know what you have happening here, but Ballathor is a very happy vampire... Saying that you have to be up to something cause I know you're a sick bitch... Sure you wont come back to Darkbane? I spose I'll have to drag the carcases back to Pandora, "Sorry I got hungry along the way" lol
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Go with your instinct to live as you want \"
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Kain

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« Reply #9 on: October 16, 2008, 02:36:54 AM »
[mod:9f99fef87b]Due to Dy's next post, awaiting Ballathor to read it in PM and approve of the next chain of events. Instead of just posting they are reviewing it via PM and both are on very limited schedules at the moment. Daniel has requested that no one else is to post in this thread until the approval of Dy's post. He has requested that I lock this thread until he has the chance to read Atra's post and he approves. [/mod:9f99fef87b]

[mod:9f99fef87b]Thread reopened at Daniel's request. He has read and accepted Dy's post[/mod:9f99fef87b]



The End of All Light.

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« Reply #10 on: October 17, 2008, 07:42:15 AM »
[align=center]The Ascension of Beastly Hordes
.:Prt I:.- The Birth of Ruze Mabâdâ [/align]

[align=center]~ Aegrescit medendo, Alea iacta est~[/align]

[align=justify:8edb183aa7]Venomous earth continued to proliferate with the insalubrious disease produced by her secretions. The intoxication broadening to engulf all that was living in its path, to plant more constructive seeds in the bodies of those choking corporeal congregation of man and beast. However, in the diverse effects of this particular venom, it would cause bodies to fuse together, one and one beast- even though there was little to tell the difference twixt the two. An extremely painful process, which involved the elongation of limbs as they were brutally twisted and deformed, snapping like brittle twigs beneath the demoralizing heel of otherworldly hilarity. Bones crushing as inflicted aggravated wounds that spawned into bloody orifices ready to engulf the other hungrily. Her corruptive taint now beginning the process of transforming them into colossal beasts of war; hideous beasts with only one purpose and that was extinction of all races before them. Coagulation and amalgamation, human form taking on the animalistic appearance of the animal most closest to them: boar, bull, eagle, elephant, rhino even the desert scorpion, spider and cobra. All creatures great and small.

Poisons rapidly coursing through their bodies and every drop of vitae from the suspended bodies of the slaves only feed it more, granting it an insatiable appetite for more blood and more death. The animals imbibed in the massive gapping wounds, only giving its victim those traits which made them special to the animal kingdom. With the elephant, strength, power and fortitude not to mention the tusks of ivory jutting out from either side of the maws, a protective hide and the sheer stomping force that made them famous in many legions in the history of war. The wild boar also renowned for its upper and lower tusks plus extremely sharp teeth designed to rip and dismember limbs in one single bite. A bite which worked in multiple ways when fatal inflicting damage upon its prey or target, even their speed outwitted the swiftest hunter and add their wrath and volatile temperament that subjected it to frenzy- there was another formidable warrior in the making.

Then there was the bull, to charge at anything in its sight, fortitude, muscle and iron-will; a juggernaut by any standards. Eagle, penetrating focus with sharp features designed for scoping from long distances, needle razor- precarious talons pricked and preened to brutally snatch only to soar above the heavens… and drop their prey to their deaths; these too would have wings and eagled claws. With the rhino, the main traits sought and extracted was the armored hide that protected them from any weapon and spear, this would only be magnified, not just any weapon but also any magickal fused or possessed weapon. Its skin would meld into that of black obsidian, impenetrable. Fortitude alone was enough to match the greatest and most feared of gods and demons, this creature would laugh in the wake of their rampaged annihilation.

Scorpion, toxins and the venomous sting- an additional weapon was always a bonus when concerned war, it gave them an extra strike while also being able to managed hand to hand combat type weapons… the ability to camouflage into its surroundings without being detected by any eyes, even highly skilled and quick sensed would fail to see this lingering beast waiting to strike. Spider, predominately known as the ‘Giant Solpugid’, also known as ‘The Camel Spider’, ‘Sun Spider’ or ‘Wind Scorpion’. Approximately six inches in diameter, the bite replies mostly on pain. The Spider takes its prey twixt their massive jaws (half the length of its body). Jaws simultaneously rubbing together crushing and sawing their victims in half. Body covered in long golden and black hairs in a striped camouflage with the desert sands, these hairs providing additional irritation to flesh and exposed organs.

The Solpugid, fast and deadly, the poison a neurotoxin which breaks down flesh for easy digestion; an enzyme bite but is not considered a spider in science nor a scorpion for they are a genre of their own combined species. The genre is ‘Solifuges’… the sixth most diverse order of arachnids. Extremely fast for their size with speeds up to 10-15mph over a short distance and they have what they call ‘Racquet’ organs on the forth pair legs leaf-like in shape and that is their sense of incredible smell, using both vibration and sight. They can withstand vast amounts of heat, and breathe through their skin, pound by pound the bite of these spiders is stronger than any other animal in the mortal world, and there is nothing that can compare. The ‘Wind Scorpion’ is known to take on creatures eight times their size.

There were the main traits of those inflicted with these special servants… these were forced on the gladiators awaiting buyers from the major cities, one taking the most compelling infliction in alteration. This was the pleasure of decadence in totally infecting an entire auction, filled with slaves, animals, gladiators, soldiers and anything sold and bought by traders… it was a banquet of the worldly favors of every culture and tradition. One cage of particular notice to the embrace of laudable warriors, seeking only the strongest while the weaker perished to the rapid flow of toxins and body alterations that would tear them apart, limb by limb until nothing remained but a pile of steamy entrails and sludge.  These caged birds would soon learn what it was to scream into the darkness only to have their bodies heave, spasm and modify to the bend of Atra’s unbreakable will.

Gladiators from the world of ice, already legendary by fierce reputation, they were not here to be sold just passing through as more were being sought for the games in Eden. A notorious barter, ruthless in his buying practices and deals, seeking only the best and the most brutal; the master of these stalwart men shrewd and too would make an asset involving money for he knew how to rip off the best, cut their throats and still have them think they got the better end of the stick when in fact not only were they dead but also broke to poverty. In would be her first step in taking back what was rightfully hers in the first place having taken it by forge and siege all those blessed centuries ago along with Tenaria. However, these would be the main commanding force behind the newest editions to her already established legions back in the shadows of her beloved ‘Mortuus Lacrimae’.

A new establishment would rise from the black ashes of this world, take back the statuesque Eden and transform it into the idyllic nightmarish realm that she originally intended it to be. The time had come to stand on the podium and announce her return to this {putrid} {squalid} {decaying} world. Libidinous, to wreak newborn atrocities as they howled new-fangled horrors to persecute unto agonizing sufferance’s paralyzed. To possess the bodies of these able fighters, born to die and who lived for death, an edge no other fighter can be compared against, a barbaric nature breed into them, Nords and Spartan’s alike. The one who stood out amongst the rest, a surly muscular male- bronzed Adonis. In height alone he rose above the rest, though having to remain seated, secluded to himself in the shadowed corner of his cage… alone.

Effectual contamination coursing voraciously towards him, attracted to the potency of his soul and nature, not to mention the skill of his mastery. The black veins spiraling around his ankle, tiny barbed prongs rising from the dry sands to snare and entangle just as the barb dug into his flesh sadistically, injecting the venoms into his system before he had a chance to rise and alert those already under attack. At the second of his infection, and the way it had managed to evade his quick attention was that he was focusing on a wandering spider. Interested in the tiger stripe pattern covering its small, hard shell-like body, fist clenched tightly, wrist turning to an angular position before crashing down upon its back with a harsh ‘thud’. This would be the taint to his blood and the metamorphism of his change, from man to a monster. Skin splitting, a blackness gyrating beneath the surface as those thorny tentacles tore open vulnerable wounds- eyes caught by surprise as the Solpugid seemed to be eaten by the gapping wound.

Automatically the transference began, promptly taking effect, suffocating the essence of man and interfusing it with that of the creature’s efficacy. Facially the first transformation would occur, jawline fracturing as loud audible ‘pops’ exploded, causing the bone to completely dislocate and split. Splitting from the hinge of jaw to cheekbone, broadening and widening from skull to torso, a mouth lucratively hideous and well out of proportion to the rest of his body now contorting and twisting in inconceivable agonies. Teeth bursting out from the gums in a gory libertine of fluid and peeling flesh. Blood splattering outwards to cover the metal rails of his prison, spraying over the earth as it turned black with sickness.  Jagged fangs pushing the teeth straight up and down from the orifice that was now a gapping hole… where rows of scalpel sharpness appeared from beneath where once his rested.

Features becoming arachnid while the tiny pronged hairs of black and gold began to sprout over the surface of living organism; taking over the normal appearance of mortal man and changing into something unspeakably wicked. Jaws snapping, bending around the bars of his cage and using incredible force in scissor like fashion, cutting through them easily… like a knife through a beating heart. Emerging to his full height of eight foot, shoulder length alone matching the goliath stature of his bare-chested appearance. Brown eyes now pure black, full of malice and hunger. A cobra wrapping around his leg, poised to strike as another wound opened, swallowing it then conjoining together, sealing it to yet another painful infliction of serpentine tongue and venom just as toxic as the last for now he knew, to become a more powerful beast all he had to do was apply additions to the transformation making him more dominant than the rest who still squirmed and screamed in pain.

It had always been in his nature to hunger for power, this was his chance to no longer be a gladiator for a master’s profit, but now for enjoyment to himself for the mere pleasure of killing- it had been his destiny to be a mighty warrior as told by the ‘Oracle of Enlillara’. Falling to the ground, jaws dragging in a gullet of diseased soil while snapping at the hateful winds with gnashing spite, a grunt of burning pain seething through his body as legs melted together… bones snapping only to weld together to form a single backbone. Legs becoming that of a serpent… only briefly for now it was an inherent ability of will. The brawny male rising from the chest to abdomen, tails coiled permitting his to rise into a poised rigid position. Though as soon as he rose the tail seemed to split again and form back into distinguishable legs covered in black obsidian scales while his head flattened from the back of cranium to forehead, as his eyes took on a serpentine iris, smoldering gold.

Ruze Mabâdâ his name was and would remain the same, why rename one that was already great by name after all there was much power to beheld within a name. His would be remembered and kindled to an upsurge of pandemonium. A conquering darkness to lead forth these underdogs of evil sovereignty… {heartless} {cruel} { impious }. Magenta wines pouring from his mouth, the mortal trapped in the interior now free to purgatory entrapments, the void of the Goddesses clutches. Even though the potency of Atra’s preeminence was more than prevailing in the mortal world, it would be reserved from detection, inhibited and quiet in attendance to this world. It wasn’t like she exactly required the energies and instead decided to collapse her realm and send it back to the darkness where it had been birthed. Of course Atra’Lamia would still have her worshippers, tending to the ‘Sanguine Temples’ erected in her name. That was by their choices and not divine inspiration from her directive willpower.

Gods were not needed in this world, better men and better warriors was all that was required to mend a dying society, or more likely to wipe them from existence; Atra had seen enough weakness and flaws in the races inhibiting this world, like a locus plague. It had been a civilization built from vomit and filth, where deceivers would be dragged before their crosses, only to be nailed in inverted sprawl. Fires would dance in her lascivious flambeaus, like velvet darkness shifting spellbindingly upon the surface of black mirrors. Odalisques forged in the hearts of her war beasts, the inability to betray and become traitors, something she should have implanted in the treacherous hearts of those who professed to love her, or be loyal to her. Atra would spit at their feet, for now their love and loyalty meant nothing to her… just vacant words with empty definitions. Metaphors of madness… the insanity rousing that none would ever have her, not in the way they wanted to despite how well they treasured her memory. Conversions near complete… man becoming beast, beast becoming man and of course those juggernaut beasts designed for cordon and conquest.

Larger bulked beasts, growing in size to beyond that to be considered normal, mammoth to proportions of elephantine beasts with monolithic tusks and black armored hides… everything tainted by the blight eerily took on the same coloration to the flesh, though with a high definition patina; typical of war beasts. All creatures attentive, programmed to only obey her command and that of the general, Ruze Mabada. He would ensure the smooth transitions of the genetic alterations, using the disease in his blood to install other attributes and abilities into the mouths of hungry militia while Atra’Lamia had other surprises planned behind the filmy screen of pitched canvas and sweat. A thistled ruin garbed around Ballathor’s heart, she did not need her mental consciousness focused on him, he was now well under her influence while she gathered her numbers…

It was an army to be proud of, not many would be able to withstand trembling in fear at their unsettling appearances and presences, this was soon to be proven for after her conquering of the Dark Priest, she would begin accomplishing what she had always set out to do… destroy life and existence itself along with anyone foolish enough to stand in her way. To purge her omnipotence from the curse of past ties and bonds, they too were to be severed, strand by strand and thread by thread starting with Pandora, The Eternal Goddess. Howls and shrieks erupting to taint the silence, heads and backs arching to the phosphorent moon as it loomed like a cruel crown over the cragged mountain peaks. Talons and blades raised to the night sky in defiance of the celestial firmament… damnation was approaching, flying on the wings of tyranny. Female slaves, primed with dark spells and incantations; the Gorgons of her progeny with serpents for hair and the body of the cobra; even they would serve a dark purpose- to lure with their lyre sirenous songs.[/align:8edb183aa7]


[align=center]~Potes currere sed te occulere non probae esti in segetem sunt deteriorem datae fruges, tamen ipsae suaptae enitent~[/align]
"I am the black orchid—beauty wrought from war's blood and broken empires."[/siz]

The End of All Light.

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IC: A search for blood
« Reply #11 on: October 17, 2008, 07:43:26 AM »
[align=center]The Thorns of Passion: In The Seat of Death
.:Prt II .:A Tragic Serenade.:- The Dissension.[/align]

[align=center] ~ Amor caecus est, amor est vitae mori!~ [/align]

[align=justify:023eb13dfc]Rimmed with passion and covetousness, therein the throes of sadistic ardor another poison flowered; and there was heaven in black wrath. Sculptured lips seeking to taste new foreign spices… {bedeviled} {enthralled} {fevered}. With sleight fingers to mar and scratch his muscular back rippling with the tension of thrashing bodies. Soaring over the spires of Ballathor’s better judgment, his intuition would inform him something was wrong and to defend himself with the vigor all Darkbane’s were supposed to have. Then again the blood and essence had weakened dramatically… he was fragile in the arms of this Black Goddess, but contented to die within her shahoric gaze of voodoo and diabolic crescents. Psyched to punctured precarious fantasies, opalesque jewels tasted, slowly being engorged to his ultimate, bitter end.

Poisons dancing on the tip of his serpent tongue to soak through opened pores… his body sedated, intoxicated by the amphetamines of succumbed servitude; he was now her prisoner, captivated and caught to her taints. There was no possible way Ballathor could recognize one he didn’t know by vision, it had been a long time between forms and bodies. Jumping to and fro between husks, never remaining in the same one for any length of time- it had only been now that she finally decided to set her bonds free and destructive beauty on a world that had never known true beauty… only thought it did. Delusion swept to illusions, temptation blooming between snatched breaths, thigh clutching against the clammy temperature of his hip only to have her other leg rise and straddle the opposite. Inner thighs clenching, cogently engulfing the serpent of the ‘Forbidden Garden’ where Eve herself had kissed Libido, lazily gnawing on the ‘Fruits of Sin’ till she reeled in hallucinogenic bliss.

Atra however was not such an insipid, lifeless, aficionado. To be so unresponsive when her mother had been the monarch of Lust itself in the biblical sense- being the ’original’  temptress of god, angel, man and devil; until her death had been her daughters ultimate utopia, imbibing all her essences, attributes and traits. Rendering her as the first, and will be the last standing as the others kissed her feet and bowed to eternal slavery. Ballathor would not be deserving of her full attention, behest rather to pretense of her devotion to him- instead looking at him as more of an effigy to pierce the energies of his infertile Goddess, Pandora. Transferring agonies, curses and ill-omens wasn’t a complex charge, not for Atra’Lamia adept in all arts of dark diablerie and sadism. Bodies’ whip-lashing together in jubilation, pursuing Eden of another diversity and scrutiny. But, she would not relinquish satisfaction until he screamed just a little louder, pained and less emphasis on the pleasure received betwixt milky thighs, delving in the honey pot of her inner core.

Rapture a chrysalis; did she feel a flutter of this Dark Priests frozen heart? Then she would have to nurture those threads closely to heaving wanton breast before aggressively severing them before his bewildered eyes. It was the climax of her true intentions that brought the crescendo of musical soprano through the unholy howls and hellish animalistic shrieks. A symphony of kismet and tragedy like a serenade of angels and demons dying, slaves to the tendrils of shadow and void. Ravening tribulation of burning tragedies; the past in the unyielding clutches of her unforgiving hand as fingers stroked uncaringly, aspiring deletion. Erasing the virus completely for there was no use of attachments broken by their own lecherous deeds. Atra would have none of it, unless mistakes were mended and atonements declared, even then it was amply implausible she would forgive the cretins. Atra was going to take from Ballathor pitilessly, without culpability… and not a smidgen of regret. Bayoneted on the pike of Ballathor’s best, though hardly anything to scream about, ascending her to the heights of heaven was going to take a whole lot more than just a couple of hard thrusts and grunts… Atra required something more of vitae and homicide to excite her emancipation.

There was not enough emphasis to ransack her steeple, a temple not for the faint-hearted or light-footed and this one had stumbled upon the gates drunkenly blind to exquisiteness. What was the point for avatars when Atra could have all the pleasure to herself, selfishly- had they all not betrothed her of their egos? So why not indulge in her own ego, just to enliven the circle of narcissism? A necrotic riddle to a far more complex puzzle, so what if he somehow found a way to break from the hypnotic influence of her abysmal eyes, he would not be able to entangle himself from her web for he was already dead, just unaware of it for the rush of blood pumping throughout his body and the adrenalin ushering vigorous plunge. The poison from that single opalescent jewel glistening on the pearl of her flower; had been the initial nail in his coffer for he had freely taken it within himself, by his own free will. Fool him to be so eager to sample nectar from unidentified flora de vagin…toxique demise so sweet.

Indeed there would be a moral to his story, and it would be painted on his corpse in red… never to stick your tongue in a serpents nest for you may never know what shall bite it off! Using the potencies of adopted metamorphic and bodily self modification, body distorting, on the inside of the vault where Ballathor assailed with vituperative grinding, yearning to venture deeper inside… deeper and deeper until he arrived right at his hilt and the bludgeon reaching its objective. Before the pelvic tomb, the womb of creation, the inner chamber developed into an oral cavity, powerful jaws rowed with small, hook like teeth. Cruelly structured in design to dismember in one hew should he move or attempt to withdraw. Ballathor would have two choices. 1. To stay trapped in the cavern of his sought desire or 2. Risk his hooded cobra to be completely severed from the apex of scrotum, and run the risk of bleeding out. One thing that a vampire couldn’t afford to gamble with, after all basic instincts of a vampire where to feed and preserve their existence; blood is the life.

Thus far there had been two attacks. 1. The poison beaded on her zenith of her pearls sheath, taken in by his tongue and thus imbibed, coursing ravenously through his system. A poison with the opiate effects of bliss before a painful death infecting the blood with her own caustic secretions manufactured by inner glands to the back of her throat, where an egg could be produced to embrace one into the her dominance. For a vampire or any being inhibiting a body of flesh would be eaten from the inside out. Sure in the case of demons it wouldn’t be fatal, or spirits that could jump from host to host like a tick. However this wasn’t the case for Ballathor, trapped in the body he inhabited until the day it would turn to dust, inevitably. 2. The inner cavity of teeth clenching against the hard muscle of his erect member, already pumped and using the majority of vitae stored in this dead cell- should he move it would be completely chopped off at the base.

If he remained Ballathor was pinned for her next infliction since Atra in total, in her true form had at least four attacks available to her reserves. Bite, Poison secretions, weapon and grapple and since she already had him poisoned, in her grapple which no attempt had been previously made to escape- wasn’t an option for him any longer. The Dark Priest should have listened to his instincts before traveling further into the arms of death. Two of the other options available would now come into play: the bite and the weapon. Once the jaws clamped around his member, the other two would come relatively swiftly and simultaneously in conjunction with the other. Apertures and tongue seeking to devour the other, though by this time and the imprisonment of his thrusts, he would not be so eager to pursue her passion; the moment his lips would withdraw and should his body attempt to wriggle.

One tight constriction urged by pelvic muscle his member would be completely severed. In the instance should Ballathor decide to take this action Atra’s rubicund embouchements offering heated union elongated, widening at the joints of lobe and jawline. Dislocating like a snake, devouring its prey. Within the vortex of mouth, ivory tiers extended, vindictive daggers jutting down from bone to even the sides of her mouth- the typical fashion of the Wamphyri leech. Legs like a tourniquet around his body, the only option available to him was to step backwards and run the risk of toppling over… since the effects of the poison also involved drowsiness in the advanced stages. The burning sensation of organs and intestines beginning to sear throughout his body, taking hold of any pain threshold and throwing it to the wolves. Back arching slightly as she drew back at the neck and then with vigorous force lashing towards his face with maws spread wide- large enough to engulf his face in full. Swiftness far quicker than what his perception would be able to detect, and move in offensive re-positioning.

Once she assailed on his facial features like a vulture seeking the sweet meat of its prey, snapping down forcefully to the entire circumference of his face, teeth that were targeted to clamp down and perforate below the hairline, chin and the outer perimeter of cheek bone. Compressing downwards to puncture the flesh before ripping her head backwards, taking the majority of Ballathor’s face with her. At the time her orifice ascended towards his face, her right hand tensed as bone and exoskeleton toughened from elbow to form the prized weapon of her signature: The Metamorphic Gauntlet. Solidifying from the plate of bone and petrified muscle, activated by thought and will. Hand now transformed into a vile weapon, since her hand was behind his back, scrapping along the length of spine leaving reddened welts, and pleasures unbound… Ballathor had no way of knowing this transformation was even occurring and certainly would be more caught in the ensnarement of his loins. Damned if you do, and damned if you don’t… it was totally up to his mind if he was going to die with dignity or die like s pleading beggar seeking a salvation that was no longer there. The word ‘salvation’ not holding any merit or consideration; bargaining was not an option for there wad nothing Ballathor had that she wanted in exchange- the information she wanted was going to be extracted… and he was going to provide it.

Caught in the web of proliferate cunning and slyness, the Dark Priest could not deny that he had been bettered, especially when the scalpel satirical prongs digging against the pit of his spine, a punch that easily would place her gauntlet into the crux of his being, through the spine, seeking his internal organs while slicing upwards in one brutal manipulation- slicing like a piece of buttered bread… and just as slickly. Of course this was all a matter of natural physics and how quick Ballathor reacted to her second attack because the first had gone unnoticed. An escape wasn’t the available option because the poison would finish the job, it was ultimately his choice to perish quickly by her hand, or perish slowly in the desert darkness… alone and forsaken. His Goddesses arms would not cradle him until being reduced to a puddle of morass sludge; even he was lucky maybe the sunlight would finish him off… Atra already knew his weaknesses, it came with being allies once. Having shared many secrets and hers would die with him.

At the perforation of gauntlet, prongs seeking to pierce through to chest cavity, grabbing at the organ that was his heart and then slicing downwards to dislodge the pit of organized entrails, spilling them out of the cavity where her arm had punctured as it withdrew, intending to pull out his heart and hold it before his horrified gaze. Intestines spilling out of the massive gap, dangling down only to land with wet, squishy, splashing… sickly blackish gore spreading at his heels only to bleed across the sands beneath his feet. Should Ballathor have been a ‘living’ being, the intestines and bowel would have offered a lovely steamy vapor, heat landing upon the hot ground, even the heat of the sands made the mess audibly sizzle just granting Atra that endearing additional entertainment before the hard member twixt thighs, urged by a final muscular clench… would set the serpent free. Though of course no longer attached to its host; the flaccid tool amputated.

Allowing Atra to remove herself from his person, limbs lowering from hips to delicately touch the ground amidst the glory of steaming entrails… crimson lips moved to his ear, giving Ballathor his last rites ”Be sure to deliver that to your Goddess of Shame in regards to the only name you asinine swindlers know me as. Atra’Lamia. Be a dear and deliver that for me.” Even though at the extraction of his heart, Ballathor would hardly be ‘alive’ or of the ‘unliving’- but she knew in his blood the message would be sent impromptu of that extraction since all Darkbane’s felt the others deaths in past bonds and creeds having shared the same ichors of loyal oaths. The blood bond between those congregating now was fresh, meaning it would travel far swifter than old bonds left to rest. All would know she wasn’t idle in their treachery and if anyone had the resolve and justice to call a ‘Blood Hunt’ it was hers to be justified… not Pandora’s for she had not been wronged in the manner Atra had.

… now, gauntlet hand returning to that of perfect unsoiled flesh, any fragments of delicate skin punctured by Ballathor in the frenzy of his passion would heal, as if he had never been there. Rejuvenating those taints to extinction for not even his scent was to be found on her flesh or anywhere else on Atra’s body. Turning from the body of Ballathor while is slumped to the earth, the sand devouring the puddles of blood enthusiastically, as his body began to break down to fluids. If he somehow by miracle had managed to fight her off before the gauntlet obtained his heart, the moment his back was turned and reaching for the exit… the same action still applied and due to the poison would not even make it out of the door… even so, yet again he would have hordes of blood-thirsty friends waiting for him outside. Out maneuvered and out numbered. Atra only had one aim, and that was to get her clever hands on his entrails, and find the answers she desired… sortilege. This female had no intentions of playing it civil and asking, she was done with conversation and her actions were going to be far louder than any words.

Knees bending outwards at the joints of thigh, crouching down in all her naked triumph… fingers gathering the sodden organs in the cup of her hands only to toss them before her and read what titbits of information and revelation they were able to tell. Of course whatever was going to be seen, had to have been seen through the eyes of Ballathor, and what he had recently witnessed. Intestinal sortilege didn’t have a long-term code of stored information, only what had happened within the last twenty-four hours since Ballathor was not a living entity and relied on a constant source of vitae to sustain him self and the animated body he dwelled in. Never mind, it would be enough to tell her what she wanted; she had not requirement for useless drivel, only the facts as they had presented themselves. Studying the variable patterns created by the intestines and organs, draping over the other in diverse patterns… giving her the divination visual in her mind’s eye.

Witnessing as if she had been standing there in the temple with them, Pandora, Ballathor and Malice… all contributing their ichors for the resurrection of Darkbane plus the awaking rise of Pandora- she had felt that weak ripple in the atmosphere when it had occurred so that was hardly any juicy news. Atra would not begrudge them the festivities of their reaffirmations towards the return of that clan, but Atra surely would dance about in the ebullient exhilaration of it all- hers was a far darker reaction. Vitae-drenched rivulets dripping over her blood-saturated figure. Waiting for the pores of her flesh to absorb the last drops rendering her flawless in appearance; only to be draped in the spooling wreaths of shadow, congealing to a leather swathed tourniquet covering that which was exposed. There was much to prepare for, troops to be positioned around her next target, unsuspecting of the next chain of victims, of course. Whereas Atra would establish her trenchant authority on Eden… after all it was rightfully hers to convalesce.

Entrails and bloody pulp reducing to the sludge that Ballathor’s body had been abridged to, since the organs too were infected they too would return to the earth where his body should have remained to slumber. Right hand weaving into the chilly air, manifesting one black rose only to toss it over her shoulder as she stepped out beyond the concealment of pavilion. Monochromatic features aglow in the ethereal caress of moonlight, ravenesque cascades billowing in the cool windsong of the approaching midnight. Grandiosely, chiseled chin rising in haughty arrogance… wraith-like blackness fluctuating like tendrils as that god-imbued energy released itself from mortal shore- should she need it, it was within her grasp. But for now, the only thing she required was the bare essentials of her quintessence. To any at glance, unless possessed and trained with keen sight, able to read aura’s and energies… none would know her as anything more than a mortal… perhaps even a sorceress of the most foul archaic practices  long forgotten to this world and unreachable to pluck from her mind. None would even be able to read her mind let alone penetrate her thoughts, not even the most skilled for her thoughts and wisdom- mind fog was a effective contrivance.

At the sight of their Queen, all those infected rose, offering their arms of weapon in honor of her- howling vehemence echoing through the darkness. Blades grinning with heinous reflections as the illumination of the moon gleamed in lustrous hatreds. Torches ablaze only to purge the location of all evidence, leaving it to burn to the ground while Atra and those foul fiends melted into the darkness astride nightmares and hellish cries of slaughter… moving through the night like a silent plague, burning down anything in their wake, killing any who scrambled from the fires only to be eviscerated by talon, venom, sting and blade- slow deaths, none would know what it was like to die quickly… not in this lifetime and certainly not the next. The slave auction would once again flourish, life has a funny way of continuing, trade and business always continues… the world turns, and keeps on turning. Such a shame that Ballathor wasn’t as interminable, and the same applied to Pandora- of course they would meet again, someday… very soon.[/align:023eb13dfc]


[align=center] ~ Memento mori… mortvi non mordant, nors ultima linea rerum est~
envy.is.a.deadly.sin[/align]

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[align=center].:Summary:.[/u][/align]

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1.   Atra in her previous post (i.e: the opalesque jewel ….) was the droplet of poison secreted from parts obvious to the nature of the post. This was the beginning of the toxic infection causing him to accelerate in the flow of blood spreading the poison quickly through his system. As already stated in Daniels last post and the acceptance of the poisonous jewel taken by his tongue in lethal dose. Ballathor could have spat it out and I gave him the option to edit his post to react as he saw fit OOC.
2.   In my previous post one leg was already about him, he could have shrugged it off and made her abide to his dominant demands. Again this move was accepted. In this post all she did was do the same with the opposite leg, then applying pressure so it wouldn’t be easy to remove her and cease her next action.
3.   With the poison already accepted. This was not an attack made in this post since it was in the last entry and accepted in Daniel’s last post. Therefore, her only attacks in this post are as follows.
(a)   Her face elongated allowing mouth to broaden large enough to literally bite his face off in one single fluid motion.
(b)   Then in the same flow of motion, the ‘Metamorphic Gauntlet’ formed from her own hand (see profile) swiftly punching to the center of Ballathor’s back using the trident prongs to pierce through to desired target. Because of the length of the gauntlet prongs, her entire hand wouldn’t be required to apply the punch. And, since her hands were already behind his back and his attentive skills slowed by the venom… not to mention being caught up in the ‘heat of the moment’ as posted by Daniel. He can hardly be attentive to his surroundings, as also stated in his post stating Ballathor being solely focused on her eyes.
(c)   Her weapon/gauntlet hand seeking his heart. Basically ripping it out through and from his back. Her hands located at his waist sides and ascending upwards. The motion would perforate through the spine, and up past the ribs where the heart chamber is located. Ripping it from its roots and since the entry wound would be large enough, it is only natural that his vital organs would spill out from the cavernous wound left by the force of the gauntlets entry point. Totally feasible in the forensic sense.
4.   The way her attacks were posted cannot be considered as an ‘auto’. I posted the means and outcomes should Ballathor be able to find a way out of her grasp, bite and attack. Because he had already accepted the poison into his system- he basically is already fucked. He was notified in PM the intentions written in my previous post, and that information was accepted and noted by Daniel, Ballathor’s player.
5.   Because of the caustic effects of the poison, both a neurotoxin and necrotizing agent (pyoderma gangrenosum) for rapid flesh, organ digestion, prey being eaten from the inside to the outside. Designed to liquefy in order to assimilate prey basically reducing her victim to a puddle of sludge in the outcome of bodily dysfunction. Because Ballathor is just a vampire, his degeneration would be swifter than if he were alive because in realistic terms, his body is an animated corpse therefore subject already to flesh-eating bacteria’s and other putrefying nasties which attach themselves to ‘dead flesh’. Basically any creature reliant on a body of any type of flesh WILL be subjected to this poisons toxins regardless of declared immunity. There is no immunity simply by the fact one cannot be immune to a unique poison without having a sample to clinically manufacture anti-venom in order to dispel the fatality and symptoms of this toxin.
6.   Atra then used his intestines and entrails to perform a simple divination process of sortilege ( Harusticy- Intestinal plus Hepatoscopy- Liver). Because of the fairness of play, I only had Atra ‘see’ what Ballathor had seen whilst in the ‘Temple of Evil’ within the past 24 hours, since Ballathor is not a living entity and reliant on fresh blood to permit the animation of his undead body, meaning that his organs would be in questionable reliability; being that it is dead tissue. All Atra saw was the congregation of Darkbane blood shared between Pandora, Malice & Ballathor and nothing more. Since I am not a practitioner of meta-gaming; all information acquired by my character is always extracted by legal means and with the respect to all players in that scene. No assumption made and only fact taken from the players posts from that scene in a means of sense, sight or verbal speech, not what is seen as written by author interpretation and usage of dialogue in order for the storyline to flow. Meaning, only what the characters in question see, smell, taste and speak. Everything else is subject to personal definition and legally cannot be used.
7.   The above post HAS been approved by Daniel prior to me posting this. He accepted the death and did it gracefully. Further discussion he has made the decision to make a new character to interact with in Darkbane.
8.   La fin justifie les moyens ...
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"I am the black orchid—beauty wrought from war's blood and broken empires."[/siz]

Acheros

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« Reply #12 on: October 17, 2008, 11:29:18 AM »
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OOC - Well I will say the same here, that I did via PM. Atra is a BITCH. Well a character cant live forever and I wanted that if he was to die, it would be perfect. Well, this is beautiful and even though when we started the roleplay I didnt see this comning "Doh" I could not hope for a greater doom. I will post back shortly with Ballathors final legacy of this existance, but lol Atra is a bitchlmfao... Death Accepted.
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Go with your instinct to live as you want \"
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Acheros

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« Reply #13 on: October 17, 2008, 04:32:27 PM »
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OOC- Sighs well here goes. Had this char a long time so its time to do something new... ~Salutes the Dyness~


Passions throes almalgamating in ravenous hunger for more of her. Part of him screaming stop, shrieking that this was somehow wrong, but his body and the rest of his mind so intently focused that this warning, normally an instant reaction for he trusted his instincts well, would be ignored. The woman in his arms, riding his maleness, crushed to his body, kissing his lips, the only thing that mattered. Never in his existance had he felt such furious passion, and he wanted it all. Her lips, her tongue drawing him further into the web of this black widow, his insides heating, he assumed form the passion but it was far far more.

A moan as her other leg rose up, now he could really plumb the oblivious depths of his lust and her most wondrous abyss. Thrust after thrust, questing into the velvet grotto ever deeper them a mighty thrust and he felt he had reached Nirvana. He could feel internal muscles and had put it to that she to was reaching a pleasured reaction then pain as he went to withdraw. The fragment of his mind still functioning, screaming as his own momentum carried him outwards. Too late did he react to his error, the teeth so cunningly deployed having completed their work, his manhood ripped from its roots, torn from his body by the savavge razors clamping around its base.

The blood having gathered, his vampirism having focused every droplet to sustain his manly attribute, exploding, gushing to spray over her flesh and onto the ground. Attempting to scream as he staggered from the intense agony, his eyes becoming wide in terror and pain as the face, the lovely face he had but now been kissing, desiring, cracked apart revealing a gaping maw of horror, a visage of horrifying pain, his hands still unable to move from the poisons effects, trying to tilt his head away, too late, too late.

His face torn off, devoured by hells own hungers, blind, bereft of sense, a final breath being sucked to try and scream the name of those who may help, again too late. The inrush of breath mingled in his agonies then the final totality of his situation as he felt his back explode and something moving to rend him apart. Mind shattering in the agony and horror, darkest visions of history fleeting in his imaginings, body collapsing away something said from his demises lips, soft words evoking even more pain. His mind grappling the one thing his clan could fully comprehend "Atra'Lamia", no longer a viable host for the spirit within, a hollowed shell of nothingness now and with the gurgling release of air from his chest, Ballathor Darkbane... Died. His spirit, freed rushing back to Pandora's grasp carrying that single name of abysmal doom.

Ballathor Darkbane, Dead, Succumbed to the most fatal  of mans failures. He let his desire, his lust rule his mind in the last, and that one little mistake, so cunningly drawn upon, leaves him now dead...

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Death accepted and now I have time to think and re read the post yet one more time, thanks Dy for what is truly a glorious death...
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\"Free of their god, intelligence won
Go with your instinct to live as you want \"
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Ruze

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« Reply #14 on: October 19, 2008, 03:17:47 PM »
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OOC - Damn... Atra when you mentioned the warbeast idea I was thinking cool. After seeing how you post and kill, now am like, OH WOW what have I got into... look forwards to the party now, oh boy am I looking forwards to it.


Ruze had been a warrior since he was but a child. His father and mother, his brothers and sister had all been killed in one deadly attack leaving him orphaned when he was only nine winters old. From that day on, the once happy, playful child had trained for his revenge under the tutalage of his uncle, a hard brutal man, a warrior and beserker, who although never showing Ruze a kindness, taught him how to kill, how to avenge the death of his family. As he grew, he learned. As he learned the warriors arts he discovered he shared the beserker heritage of his uncle, and he learned how to kill.

His only passions, revenge, his only dreams, the nameless faces of the hard men that had slaughtered his family and the echoes of their dying breaths in the future when he went forth to claim their deaths against the debt Ruze felt was owed. Another nine winters before his uncle told him he could teach him no more, and for the first time acknowledged Ruze as having any prowess. Ruze finally understanding that his uncle had lost as much as he, yet instead of running off to seek his own revenge, saw the necessity of calmly giving Ruze the chance for life. From the roof of their simple hut, extracting a bundle wrapped in oiled skins and giving it to Ruze, a sword, old, used but honed to a razors edge, and a shield bearing the crest of a long dead lord, and finally his uncles blessing.

Three years it had taken, three long hard years, but one by one he had tracked down every single one of the group, leaving them dead. The first had laughed at him when he laid his challenge, saying "Really pretty boy, why not just drop your pants, bend over and take it like a man as that's all your good for." His faced has showed considerable surprise when he discovered Ruze bit harder then he barked. Then following a long and twisted path, he hunted down and killed every last one of them, and that was... his downfall. A slaver had heard of the young warriors reputation, for tales were being told of the ruthless hunter seeking his revenge, how he had been killing those who destroyed his family, so at the last battle, when Ruze had killed the final spawn of his revenge, and was standing over the body in defiance, a net was cast and he was captured into slavery.

At first Ruze wanted nothing to do with fighting for entertainment, but after several bashings, he discovered he liked his life, he liked the blood and wildness of combat and he liked how even as a slave, if he won his master gold and honour, he was treated less and less as a simple slave. It wasn't a great life, but the food was good, he always had shelter, and when he won a woman in his bed. Right up until he had made a mistake and allowed his passions to over-rule his good sense. He had given in to the desires of his masters woman... Which was why, now Ruze was in this flea ridden slave market. Except for his value, Ruze was sure he would have ended up dead, but the gold clanking in his masters purse was a powerful lure to his survival.

Sitting in the corner of the cage, rage just simmering as his mind went over and over the beginning of his fall. Realising the bitch had trapped him in order to break her husband, his master away from the time he spent looking after his gladiators. Discovering that this was effectively a means for her to force his master into the world of status and intrigue she so felt she deserved. The whore, if Ruze had only understood he would have torn her head off, before bedding the wench. Better to have simply killed her then what had happened. The nights silence then suddenly broken by the throes of passion throbbing in the air.

It seemed the slave who had come in their midst without knowledge, a woman of unfathomable beauty it was said, had either just been sold, or perhaps, the slaver himself had decided to try and break the wench. Although it sounded from where Ruze was sitting as if she may well break whomever was burrowing in the silken grotto and that she took to her chore with passion and gusto. Anger rising, for it had been months since he had ridden a woman, head turning he noticed a spider moving towards him as the night, suddenly silent, had the slaver killed the woman? Silence grew in oppresive nature and the air grew chill in sudden lack of all breeze, Hand rising to slam into the spider, to crush the life from it and noticing a growing blackness rising up his leg, but to late, his hand fell to the spider and then...

Eyes widening in shock as the skin in his hand split, swallowing the spider, moving to leap to his feet to bellow in rage inspired fear and pain, only to collapse as the harshest of all agony ripped through his body. Every bone feeling as if shattered, every muscle on fire, sweat breaking from every pore of his body, mind boiling away his past leaving only the capacity for hatred, murder and complete obedience to his new Mistress's whims. A primordial fear of her growing in place of his male ego as his body twisted into the shape of the future. Solpugid and Cobra melding his form, his muscles and his visage into something more complex, more horrifying and far above the sad attempts of nature to create.

Collapsed on the floor of his cage as the toxins motivation ran its course of defiled mutation, it would be some hours before he could rise. Hungers wracking and tormenting him, sight and hearing enhancing, muscles seeking redefinition, strength and speed lifted far beyond that of any man. His beserker nature twisted, mutilated into a burning rage for death and pain all in the service of a Mistress he had never even met. Yet his senses told him her smell, her taste, her desires and her name was burned like a brand in every cell of his body and mind. Atra'Lamia, his mistress, his torment, his life and death, nemesis and parent, Ruze's doom and his reward, Atra'Lamia... Ruze continued his writhing torment as the changes grew within, soon, soon he would rip his way through the coarse iron of the bars, find food, for his stomach craved blood, then seek out the Mistress to find her orders. Soon, very soon...
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