Ah, what a sweet embalmer of toxic influences which gathered like a burlesque assortment of misfit and renegades all with the intention of proving something, be it supremacy, statistics, aptitude or past ties- perhaps out of frivolity, foolishness or genuine attachments. Who could really say, only those congregating new of their true intentions and agendas with entering this cursed and forgotten place long condemned unmitigated damnation; for it wasnât a true place in every sense of the word, instead a conjured thought, illusion or mirage from an amused mind observing and gloating over the prospect of another singular embrace in destructions welcomed arms or the prolific entertainment in dying worlds all screaming in concerto at the very possibility that anything was indeed⦠possible- nothing could be predicted, only assumed and that was a very dangerous pastime to endeavor.
Black wafts of darkness and shadows swept across the charred landscapes that now began to bloom with new life, flourishing like the once beautiful biblical Eden before perishing at the hands of ingrates and lesser beings. Could such healing hands be yielded by the nurture of destruction? Why would such a grandiose being stop to revive things that really didnât exist save for a feeble notion of materialistic value? Would this very act soothe the aching heart, restore the meaning of soul and essence or was it simply a display of withheld power to lure, attract like a beacon for the moth? Surely only such a being himself would know the answer of true hidden potential and meaning. A valuable lesson that would some day prove to be a laborious burden on every sense and emotion unless he professed to have neither; yet again the thought would spring from the epitome- why waste time healing when you can just as easily destroy?
Chthonian wreathes swirled with the oncoming tempest, ephemeral talons raking to tear asunder the earth, raping, licking with those carnivorous winds incensed with the pungent sweet stench of rotting corpses; inflicted with pestilence, scourge and despondency⦠melodious names offered to the elements like deficiency of their resolve, determination and spirit yet none uttered that simple syllable that would make all the difference of manifestation, coercion and compelling to heed without any trickery or false apparitions. In all hindsight it was quite entertaining to the nefarious psyche⦠the possibility of bloodshed, war and bitter enemies; after all every one needed a foe to make their meager existences more⦠worthy of conflict.
To make the veins boil with hatred, loathing, denunciation and ultimately elimination of one of the two, perhaps even more if such manipulations were in order, which would be the first chosen... the child to a bitter ending, the lover bequeathed by already supped sinister passions or the one who claimed his masters power for himself and now reigns above all life as a god? Hmmm⦠decisions⦠decisions⦠how could one possibly choose just one out of three promising evils? Darkness once tasted was a delight already enjoyed, betrothed promised laid to waste like a garland of black roses over a tombstone, past affiliations of worlds yet to taste the burning lick of flames and swords? Each had their own objectives to obtain, seek and learn- however one had more advantage than the others and that was simply due to status⦠of recognition.
They had by their own wills traveled here to seek a myth, perhaps they would leave disappointed⦠or never leave at all⦠it was all down to the genesis flip of a golden coin. Fate could be a blessing or destiny of misfortune, especially for creatures already marked by the seal of the forsaken, the children of the damned doomed to walk the earth forever unsatisfied at what they have obtained or strove to become⦠a monster is always a monster no matter how well it is masqueraded to appear like an angel or godsend. Gilded with beauty, ornaments and paint upon the outside, it doesnât hide the rotting beneath along with the sin that remains as its constant companion. A lack of erudition or comprehension tainted their minds⦠so why adorn them with omnipotence, no oracle was ever revealed out of sympathy or a kind-heart; two traits that SHE herself didnât possess nor give false pretense to state the contrary.
With the howling, harangue winds inflicting obstruction in mild refutation⦠an inkling would be a granted accolade of the essence sought above all else- just a fuse of that blackened-malignant decadence; a snippet of ambrosia to be supped and imbibed⦠to taper on the perceptions like stitches slowly breaking from the seams only to fray before evaporating into nothing and the impending sense that what was so easily created could just as easily be destroyed. That was left to personal interpretation, no pieces of the puzzle would be volunteered, if achievement is what was desired, then preparation to work to achieve it should be more than just a flutter of rapid heartbeat and a fleeting thought within the mind- or a name whimsically spoken to the winds only to travel to ears of the dead and never be uttered through stitched decayed mouths.
Not even the dead were permitted to speak that name⦠not even the most virulent of necromancers could determine it or have the means in which to speak it, with mouths full of brambles and maws stitched closed by silent crosses; fingers dismembered from hands with coffers filled with sand. None of the dead held much pleasure in counting every grain of sand and inflicting their souls with muted screams to be heard, desecrated ground never bore tombstones or religious markers⦠it was just blackened earth surrounded by jagged mountains of charred, burnt, destruction⦠so how would one determine? In all recompense, it seemed their was only one living who knew the name and lucky enough he chose to remain his tongue from wagging it only to have it burnt from the orifice of his own mouth by a million suns. Maybe Kain could not die, but he sure as hell could suffer like anyone else, painfully yet surely. It was common knowledge that Kain was a lover and not a fighter⦠he was definitely no threat, not immediately but certainly humorous with his tactics.
The descending embodiment of Uli did come as a surprise, for why would such a deity of grandeur taint his presence with this dissident place simply for a chance interlude? Oh the decadent thoughts which sprung like a fountain of the more piquant sweeter wines, invading the maelstrom of all these other presences⦠somewhat jaded and shaded by their own contaminations on her burning, shadowed gossamer wings. The question remained to decipher, avatar or true materialization? It really did not matter in the slightest⦠it was all one and the same, just one far less reverential and courteous than the other. However, a dark, dulcet chuckle did evade those iniquitous sanguine-scarlet apertures as they curled into a fiendish grin⦠a proffer of elucidation and revelation⦠if she herself spoke the name it would repudiate them of any dominance even if they should speak it in retort in order to cheat their own ignorance.
XaeâLucretia, Atra- merely sobriquets given in adoration or reverence⦠both less potent than the name given on creation by the motherly hands of darkness herself; Black Madonna, Lilith at the very vexation of Samael- however it was far darker seeded than the obvious for with all life comes evolution⦠and advancement much the same as hero may become a god; an event that could not be disputed through millennia of foul deeds and corruption of lesser insects. Puny and easily manipulated; asinines who thought they meant anything to her acrimonious heart, except for one and that was so many eons ago⦠long faded to more useful and beneficial desires and needs⦠forgotten for there was nothing less required than that of matters of the heart for they made one weak, inconsequential to glory and at his death those ideals were greatly proven. They differed, were she would have rather kill than kill herself for their betrayal⦠that in itself was a proven weakness; at least in her mindâs eye.
Eclectic obsidian eyes peering through the shroud of darkness, shadows and thick amalgamated mists now retreated back into the fathomless void, chthonic tendrils weaving about those long, alabaster limbs like hissing pets caressing naked contours exposed from the tiers of black gossamer lace and the constrictive tourniquet of black leather bodice and skirt panels that covered her stature scarcely. Silver clasps of demonic symbolism held the attire about her curvaceous lithe hips and the triangular panels of leather twixt cleavage- bat wing sleeves swathed around her arms and wrists only to accentuate the resplendent silver satirical finger amour honed to deadly precision. Ashen, intense wintry features macabre but unspeakably magnificent to behold should any be granted the portentous veneration.
Forever physically darkness, inky, amoeboid patches of shadow regardless of the presence of light, even that would not dispel the squamous masses only to trap all inside totally obscuring light and even sound to an extent, overlapping fluctuating shadows stretching them to create patches of darker gloomy shades⦠only to separate shadows from their casting bodies and augmenting darkness into things that are truly not there⦠surrounding, contracting, restricting with serpentine like viciousness. Mystically tangible while under her sole manipulation, the temperate rising to hellishly sweltering, cloying to drown gathering awareness in order to disorientate- the darkness aggravated, choking the masses of warriors marching over these forbidden lands. A callous loving hand grasping around throats only to pull those unsuspecting into the thicket of the darkness⦠where only blood-curdling screams could be heard⦠then unnerving silenceâ¦. then again, those inciting screams of brutal agony.
Victims regardless of station or ruling⦠fallen to the heated demise of the âBlood Ravenâ a small gift for this little party, a sordid coup of unrelated coincidences⦠ribs cut away to the loins, not enough to kill, but enough to keep them alive and howling. After the removal of the ribs, invisible hands reaching in through the lucid warm cavity, twisted, gnarled teasing to the inner organs before lungs were forcibly extracted through the gaping orifice allowing the victim the slow leisure to choke to death. What a gluttonous orchestra to be heard, a lilt of choking choirs accompanied by skeletal scores of violins shrieking through the discordant elements. Was it a means to frighten, to install that terror even into the bravest of immoral souls? No⦠it was no means to provoke terror in those gathered who bore station, but certainly their little pets should be alarmed⦠for next it just may be their lungs harmonizing in the wind-song or trying to breath through the slits in their throats. None would see her coming, unless SHE wished it so, regardless of ties or bonds.
Hospitality⦠cohesive beyond their comprehension, nothing becomes of nothing, and nothing can be made of nothing; it was one of those diminutive riddles most failed to perceive. Rising from the darkness like a poignant siren ready to slice those very throats, wings of opaque blackness and miasma parting to allow that swathed leather clad figure to merge⦠motion in a sway beguiled to voodoo, pendulum sway swinging hips gracefully as if instigating seduction not war- and yet where she was concerned both usually came hand in hand. Lustrous the darkness screamed, so hoarse in that cacophony of disharmony yet to her it was the sweetest thing ever heard. Smoldering heat exhumed the very earth by every step as if incinerated by a million fires⦠yet no chimerstry (conjuration) would be sensed no impending power displayed other than what awoke by her very presence, manifest to the flesh.
Appearing in the apex of all those gathering forces, coming to a complete halt in step only to remain standing with shoulders squared back as chin ascended high in a poise of grandeur⦠a nefarious smirk twitching at the corners of those blood-stained lips. Air taken back into archaic lungs only to plume one single word twixt lustful apertures as eyes narrowed in heinous contempt⦠a honeyed elegy intermingled with diablerie and torment. Barely flung upon a muted sigh, the timbre would carry to even the further regions of Naethyrn without hindrance by the myriad of tempests threatening to engulf the very land from existence. Iniquitous mirrors closing, lips pursing to verbalize⦠ivory white mithril fangs breaching the angelic arches before the void-gasped chuckle emerged, playfully mocking those futile calls. One word would liberate her from any bonds⦠any advantages they may have had now vanquished. Oâsoft embalmer of night⦠what a precious virtue to squander, bequeathed to a fiery kiss. âAnkhnesmira!â
ok next post and this should be all done with it, since I am replying to two other people in the other thread Mother...Father. This is just easier until I actually start talking IC to individual people. However everyone should note this is the real Atra this time round... spikes, impaling poles, nastiness included.
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