Blackness.

[Baba Yaga]

[align=justify:edcdffd72c]Blackness, the only light produced was from the flames of the fire where a brimful cauldron boiled with grueling pungent broth-like concoctions. Green ooze with floating body parts completed the murky soup now smelling with the stench of death and curses. Scuffling about in the shadows was a frail looking old woman draped in filaments of cobwebs and dust, black frock beneath the gossamer shawl that draped over the shoulders and long grey hair cascading freely in knotted tangles and matted wreaths of henbane and deadly nightshade. To her their blossoms couldn’t be considered as anything but beautiful, but then again even the toad to this witch was more beautiful that the brilliant hues of a butterflies wings. It only proved that beauty was in the eye of the beholder.

Shadows flickered with the variation of fire and darkness, both mixing to form a curse, a philter all of their own. Wrinkled features scrunching up as cheeks puffed out and grey old eyes focused with condensed concentration over the selection of grimoires and spell books. Raspy voice mumbling beneath her breath in a thick Russian accent, harsh to the senses even her own, then again she had only ever had her own company except when lost children found their way, tired to her house deep in the midst of the forests of old. Changing her appearance to that of a beautiful maiden only long enough to get them inside before revealing to them the horror of her visage, jiggered teeth, blackened cracked lips, straggly silvery hair and those twin iridescent eyes that looked as if they belonged to the dead, pale and lifeless yet miraged with all the evils ever know to man and even beyond.

Gnarled twisted hands bearing talon like claws only to grab and tear at their flesh hoisting them up to lynch them from the ceiling like shamanistic windchimes before peeling the flesh away from their bones while they screamed with the sweet song of agony. For centuries she had been condemned to remain in the lower world of humankind for her crimes against the Dark Lord Solathas Nothos, betraying him to the clutches of Noctatur Actatos for a measly loaf of bread and a few rotten turnips. For that betrayal whatever beauty that was left had been taken rendering her as nothing but an old cunted out hag, luckily all was not lost she still had her precious books, bones, herbs and murderous intent. They took her youth but she had taken their children and enjoyed eating every single one of them.

One would think this devils stew was for eating, but much to their disgust it was a mean to communicate with that which had been lost, her granddaughter and she could only hope that she was done with those ingrates and hoodwinks called Darkbane. Mumbling to herself the only distinctive words being ”Fillllthyyyy twatsssss! Bah!” Hand moving behind her back to leisurely scratch her ass then pulling the fabric from the craterous crevice of ass-crack then letting off loudly with a wiry fart, hand waving away the cabbage profanity ”Owh! Mah duck goessssss quack!!!” and chuckling with lethargic laughter while plucking off a dusty shelf a black glass jar then scuffling back to the cauldron, back bent and figure crooked.

Skeletal hands twisting the lid off the jar, left hand diving into the jar to pull out what looked to be a withered root that shrieked with a sonorous shrill cry ”Into tha pot vith yer lil root, no point yellin’ and screamin’ bout it like a liver-bellied tripesnake, into the pot vith yer!” shaking the mandrake root around in the air as if the very thing was fighting against her, though all in her mind along with the screaming. A few hundred lonely years drives person insane, not that she was ever sane to begin with. Throwing the root into the pot as a thick waft of poisonous vapor escaped within the air forming into the shape of a skull before dispersing. Leaning over the pot, smelling the stinking brew, boil infested tongue licking over blackened dry lips revealing yellow stained teeth behind a snaggletooth jack-o’-lantern sneer.

Left hand reaching to grab the heavy cast-iron spoon, plunking it within the center of the gruel then briskly stirring around and around in the anticlockwise direction and gazing hard through the center of the whirlpool, a severed hand grabbing the spoon and pulling it down into the green pea-soup depths only to have the spoon grabbed from its grasp and beaten into submission by the same spoon it had grabbed ”Drrrrrama Drrrrrama, all-vayssss drrrrrama! Yarrr.” Again beating it before rotting fingers slowly sunk beneath the surface. Crow-like features staring hard, seeking the object of her focus, Atra’Lamia.

The wretched lying whores... ”Pffffttttzzzz alllllll liessssss! Cock-sucking goat-humpingggg cum-guzzzzzzling whore! Neva likeddddd that oneeeeee she reeked offfff the animal sex!” Cackling like gravel beneath boot heel, grinding the sharpened edges of her teeth together then frowning to the lack of response from the brew, reaching for another jar of blood leeches and emptying the contents of the jar into the human chowder as the putrid bisque turned a brilliant blood-red only to see the face of a man, dark and beautiful to behold. ”Hmmm I asssssk to seeee mah great granddaughter yettttt seee a prettyyyy man… mmmmm maybehhhhh thisssss olde crones luck is-a-changin’ vouldn’t mindddddd gettin’ me some of thattttttt meattttt on mah fork!” coughing and spluttering, choking on the laughter that threatened to explode from the outburst of excitement.

Splashing at the muck only to see the same image, brow crossing in a dark demonstration of the ancient years she had lived and endured, though long dead, nothing but a spirit trapped between worlds and wanting to get into a fresh, lovely body and her great granddaughters would suit the trick. Pushing past the handsome image of the man to finally see that beauty held in his grasp. ”Ahhhhhh prettttttyyyyyy prettttttyyyyyy! A jewellllllll in these olde eyessssssss bringggggsssss hope to these frailllll bones. Yessssss you’ll doooooo quiteeeeee nicely precccccciousssssss and yer man villlllll do more than keep mah bed varm. I shalllll take great care of him, so don’t vorrrrryyyyyy preciousssss flower, you soon shall viltttttttt vith mah ageeeeee!” Intentions were far from family reunions, her reason was far more selfish and sinful, she wanted that lustful body to trap a companion it didn’t matter who, Baba Yaga wasn’t fussy and once they had kissed her lips just once, they would be hers forever.[/align:edcdffd72c]

[The End of All Light.]

[align=justify:2292df7eda]Everything receives pleasure in many ways and by diverse means, but the most conscious of all is through the eye-appeal for man is a visually-orientated animal; he establishes standards he has set forth for beauty is modified by fashion and social change and he would never be fully satisfied as before the change took place. As he grows older and styles and fancies change more, he will cling to the substance of his joy by retreating into social circles where he might reminisce of what once made him happy or complete. In this way he maintains his vitality, albeit vicariously. Erotic crystallization inertia; the most deadly lie is the half-truth and the average person has one major flaw that pegs him as a perennial. It is one thing to be narrow-minded out of choice, but quite a different thing to be narrow-minded when one has never known how to be broad-minded.

Before anyone can expect to progress in magical prowess, they must expand their consciousness but not at the expense of their emotions. It is this that made it difficult to envision that of the old crone’s obsession. There was only one fly in this great potential sea of ointment, Baba Yaga could not respond to the varying stimuli of life around her, no amount of power could make it possible for her to see beyond that of an illusion. Pathetic isn’t it? No magical future. No fortune. No hope. Oh, how this ignominious whelp kept trying, reading books written by frail old men, sniffing philters or eating hallucinogenic mushrooms or whatever else enabled her to love that which she does not already! Nothing can teach receptivity to sensation, but one can create the disillusionment. Failing to achieve what she so strongly craved.

The most wonderful thing of all is the ability to enter another dimension- another realm of being- and feel the wholeness of that realm to the exclusion of all other environments. Misanthropy and envy… what a waste of precious masochism that could instead be directed towards the most profane infatuation; love cannot exist without a master/slave relationship… in love, even the master is constantly monitored by the contrivances necessary to sustain slavish adoration. Far better to experience total anguish for it requires no effort, demands no criteria, and imposes no limits. Pick an idol, grovel well and suffer in ecstasy. In essence Baba Yaga was no longer nor would be again, crave love even hanker love all the past was already forgotten.

“Recognize me, my love!” was more “Remember me, my loves”, vision turned to reverie but unfortunately suffered in the translation; there may be no fool like an old fool, but being a young fool is far more fun, for the foolishness is fresh and invigorating no matter how fraught with desperation… it is where Baba Yaga’s conviction botched. Even from an entire different dimension Atra’Lamia knew what Baba Yaga was up to for she made no attempt to cloak or hide her inquisition in regards to Atra’s affairs, however, it was not her doing the spying, in fact… it was the other way around. It is a terrifying thing when the animals laugh at the hunter, take a tip from Harlequin and the Joker- if you imitate a fool well, you are not likely to be fooled by others. To put it bluntly, albeit unoriginally: “A fool who knows he is a fool is indeed a wise man” a small twist in philosophy and the understanding of the principle behind the action.

Atra chuckled to herself, of course the old hack would find interest in the man currently in Atra’s company, what was there not to dwell over for the specimen was more befitting than any Baba would ever have had the pleasure of servicing or having them service her; never a beauty to begin with, her cold clammy skin never warmed the bed of her lovers… perhaps that is why they left her forsaken in the darkest depths of some forest hovelling in a house with chicken legs? Imaginative to say the least enough to add to the flavor a momentary pause for amusement; had creatures nothing better to do than deviate themselves with the images of what she currently had her delicate hands upon… it didn’t matter for those hands would never be that of her own…dreams were never meant for the hellish pantheon of dejected bitches. Crestfallen on a pile of smoldering cinders, the Thunder Witch had indubitably and noticeably lost her faculties and commonsensical rationale.

It must be difficult thing to comprehend when you have cobwebs up your snatch! What a shame Atra’Lamia didn’t believe in giving to the poor, then again she could always throw Kain into the fray and sit back enjoying watching the hair being thrown through the air not to mention the screams of protestation  from Kain; that woman could suck of the barnacles of a Leviathan’s cock and still shark around looking for more salt. Baba Yaga’s words influenced a low-toned snicker, seemed like she wasn’t the only one who thought lowly of the exiled ones; lies spoken from betwixt the fangs and serpents tongue, Kalicity proclaiming Atra’Lamia had groveled at her feet, begging for her life was nothing but a delusion on her behalf… in fact it had been the other way around?

How how pitiful… how… Precious!!! Emotions were what had broken those childer not anyone or anything else and still the neophyte couldn’t admit to her own downward spiral and self-failure. They hadn’t matured and never would still prattling old mendacities and perfidy that never transpired except for within her piteous, deteriorating intellect and puny insect mind. Pomposity had always been a trait of the insignificant it was the only way they could retain any self-importance even though others around them relished in the stifled laughter while listening to old monotonous stories told a hundred times before and still bore no legitimacy. It must truly be euphoric living in a fantasy world of unicorns and castles in the sky… {hallucinations}.

In a way it went with the territory of being a ‘Rabbles’ wearing  emotions on their sleeve like a trinket to be plucked and stomped into the dirt… most from Atra's past had never done anything fathomable only snipe to hide their discrepancies.  The epitome of the perfect hypocrite… puppets that either pulls their own strings or offers them to anybody who wants to take them for a dance… talking about a lot of betrayals, egalitarianism and other bullshit but flinch just as well as the rest of them. Were they all even still alive? How quaint. Hearing the name from the desiccated orifice of Baba Yaga conferring that it must be so, madness sometimes offers insight after all, usually it simply obstructs those who would glean its benefits.

The aphorism that madness lie close at hand is assuredly coined by this lunatic wretch who wished to concoct an excuse for her infirmity and still served a purpose unwillingly, how endearing. “Save your breath weak one- no one will hear or care to hear your screams. Allow me to aid you on your journey back to fallen grace so that you may consider taking a different tone with me. You are, after all, worth as much to me as you are dead. So much for so little gain… Babushka Baba Yaga!” An explosion of helpless, hysterical giggling swelled up into full-throated laughter, it all had its pizzazz to inspire hilarity voracious enough to be heard, though, just as quickly as it occurred it soon dispelled back into the recalcitrant coldness exhibited previously except for the fervor burning in her eyes and placing her full and undivided attention back upon Uli.[/align:2292df7eda]

[Baba Yaga]

[align=justify:af4780b633]Nose wrinkled, face tensing to peel back lips snarling, it would be a bad mistake on Baba Yaga’s behalf to even try a stunt like that, brave but foolish, then again, she so wanted to be out of the prison she was forced to call her haven. Groveling wouldn’t work either, to beg only to be kicked in what little teeth remained so she would have to get back into the good graces of Atra’Lamia then again she could even give herself 20 good reasons why Atra would even listen to her in the first place. Were there scraps waiting to be fought over, hell right now Baba Yaga would take on anything just to fix that itch tickling at her crotch. It was only in a witch’s nature to frolic in the fields of man, and variety after all was the spice of life and even a witch liked a good fuck or two. No spell would make her beautiful again, Solathas had pretty much screwed her there and not in the way she had hoped.

”Vat a heap of poppycock! I hear yerrrrr childe, but yer could helppppp a lil olde ladyyyy in her rrrrraunchy endeavors, no? V-what could possibly be gained from me being kept in this lil pocket of darkness vhen I could be out there havinggg much more funnnn with them hot lil boysssss in yer vorld. Give an old ladyyyyy some hope of heaven ‘cause even the Devil knowssss them doors von’t open for me. Dere musttt be somthingggg I can do in exchange for yer, *pause* kindnessssss. Show an olde crone some pity, yah!” Feet scuffling over the dusty floor, hobbling from one foot to another like an excited peacock doing its mating dance, though with less grace and more like some harbinger death bird cawing over a rotting corpse. Atra must have at least some trivial use for the Thunder-Witch who many had feared throughout the eons, not so fearful now for most of her power had been kept from her much to her disgust. All she had now were her potions and implements.

Picking a maggot out from behind her hair “Ah vas savin’ that lil fucker forrrr anotha time, but, no timeeee like tha present, eh!” popping it between her teeth then adding pressure to allow the insides to dance on her taste buds, shivering with glee before looking around on the floor for something else to nibble on for children these days were becoming rather, scarce. Hand lifting to shove a finger up her nose then wriggling it around, lips moving with garbled phrases about phallus’s, horns and how horny goblins are. Searching for a winner, withdrawing her finger and rolling the large blob of near fluorescent yellow-green booger between thumb and forefinger, rolling it into a small ball then quickly sticking it in her mouth making loud slurping sounds and face twisting into delight at the moldy peanut and cheese flavor. [/align:af4780b633]

[The End of All Light.]

[align=justify:1bf5a0cd47]Ascending her hand to swipe away the nauseating image from her psyche, being repelled enough just by the imagination of Babushka’s breath let alone the unsightliness of her visage; that beast was a demonic fumigation waiting to be discovered, perhaps it had been why hell itself had been silent for so long- they were all too scared to move just in case it attracted her attention and she’d be all over them like white on rice. Then again, Baba wasn’t known to wait for consent and well known for necrophilia- and even then the dead complained about the trauma of it. It was a good thing that Babushka Baba Yaga wasn’t her actual great grandmother, it was more of a personification of being considered one of hell’s own… the hex came with the territory unfortunately of having Lilith as her mother and how the demonic pantheon worked… even though it make no sense whatsoever to those who were prone to analyzing structure. However, Atra’Lamia took on more of a Vampiric personification.

If race had to be deciphered into understanding then this is where it rested. Deciphering the mysteries wasn’t for some to ascertain themselves with and although Baba Yaga was indeed wise, that wisdom was rapidly falling from her grasp. Baba Yaga had seen her day; it was time to let sleeping dogs lay…so to speak. Sweeping the image away, in fact locking her from the frontiers of Atra’s mind for not even on the surface was Baba Yaga worth even a smidgen of her time. However, as Atra grinned heinously in the delta Hyperion, a sinister thought dawned over the most Machiavellian of minds- perhaps the old thunder witch could serve a purpose after all. A low chuckle thwarted the din of shades and swirling tempest that choired vociferously, a herald of hell’s hordes and the entire calamity of necromantic tongues lashing in wintry spite.

All it would take is a basic equation of exploitation of barriers and dimensional mathematics to pinpoint the main advantage for her to ‘press’ ever so gently against the fabrics of akashic barrier unthreading the thin layers and filaments and pluck her from the clutches of that defiled and brittle Shadow Lord, Solathas.  Decisions…decisions… the delicious derisions, savagely malevolent as they brewed eloquently only to surface on the face of obsidian like a black mirror in order to converse with demons or trapped spirits; much using the same extraction of technique that Trithemius had derived, infusing spirits into a planar object… then it was a manner of transgression to solid substance. Projecting Baba Yaga from one space to another, directing that presence to the location where Kain and Alexa occupied, and another familiar presence that only made Atra scowl with a macabre expression… Tanthis.

The deed would be done, no longer would the wretched tarnish the underworld, the corporeal world was far more deserving of rotting filth for it was already in the air of every mortal breath, lingering in the atmosphere with contaminated emanations. Smirking with dark sanguinity… several opiate words whispering into the winds “Don’t be too cocky Tanthis… I haven’t forgotten about you!!” Melancholic chortles vibrated twixt teeth, a pestilential hiss escaping over deadly ruby lips. Misanthropy and abhorrence dancing in the smoldering ashes burning within midnight pools, incandescent and ethereally illuminating as if spirits were trapped, screaming to commune but never receiving the benediction of harmony. Surging energies forth… as an ancient horror was once again released into the world… Baba Yaga. [/align:1bf5a0cd47]