#ed1717
2
0
1
5
Annasiel
At last, my peace. I found it in her eyes.
369
Aug 13, 2015 22:40:06 GMT
August 2015
annasiel
|
Post by Annasiel on Jan 19, 2016 4:12:33 GMT
Morgne ascended the steps to the tiny temple, the languid waterfall beside trickling with innocent delight. The entire scene seemed so detached from the events of the day, so peaceful, as if nature here decided to live on in joyful naivete despite the world's troubles. If she had the time, the sorceress would have wanted a moment of calm here, but time was too valuable to waste on pretty sights. Especially when so much lay so close. If this Timore was true to his word, of course. The temptress had much experience with the bandying of words, having told many half-truths and deceptions herself. But if it was a genuine offer, nothing would stand in her way from attaining it... except for the two armored men descending the stairs, of course.
"Oy! Watcha fekkin think you be doin', lass?" one of the men called, a bandage around his head and a lance hanging over his massive shoulder. The other was a smaller man, reedier, but intimidating in his own right, with squinting eyes akin to knowing violence.
"I think she tryin' to sneak into the Waters, Drak, my bruthah," the weaselly one replied in a sour tone. Drak boomingly guffawed.
"There be no need ta jump right ta suspicions, Simper!" he bellowed. The giant man bent over, his voice slightly softer. "Now, lass, watcha be needing? This ain't tha place ta be explorin'."
He made the mistake of coming close. A stubborn brute he was, but his will was weak as jelly, and in an instant Morgne had insight in full. A young, beautiful girl by the name of Sabrina dominated his fragile psyche. Smiling coyly, she wove her trap with ether and distortions.
"This girl of yours, Sabrina. I know she may be threatened by the forces that are playing in the frantic scene around us, and I know your heart would ache if she would ever come to harm," the sorceress began.
"What she sayin', Drak? Is she a witch? I don't like those words, dem sound like bad..."
"Quiet, you." Drak interrupted Simper, his eyes brimming with worry. "My goddess... she be aight? What's become of 'er?"
"I do not know, but I can help if you offer me your help in turn. I will keep your woman safe, as well as one soul can, lest this offer be adjourned," the queen whispered. She held out a hand to the large man, nodding at him to shake it.
And he shook it.
He was certainly gullible, but it was astounding that he fell so fast. The ether tied them together as soon as their flesh mingled, and his soul became one with her own. Emotions, thoughts, and dreams washed through Morgne's body, as well as the stricken shock come far too late. The other soldier, Simper, had grown tense as the scene unfolded, and he now drew his sword.
"What this? What goin' on?" he asked aggressively. He would not turn so easily, not after witnessing the enthrallment of another. It was better just to tie the loose end quickly.
Kill him.
"Sorry, mate. Is nothin' personal," Drak replied. He slung the glaive off his shoulder, and shoved the blade through his partner's chest. "She be... she be right, is all. And you be wrong. And... and... thass that."
Gasping for breath, the wounded guard toppled backwards off the stair, the metal edge exiting his body with a sickening schlick. He splashed in the waterfall shelf below, a crimson pool leaking out around him like a halo. Not bothering to clean the mess, the sorceress ascended the remaining stairs to the temple. Her newfound servant followed in tow, glancing nervously over his shoulder at the corpse of his murdered comrade.
"Did... did I really haf ta do that...?" Drak asked the queen. She turned to him, her face one of false pity.
"Of course you did, little Drak. He was one of the villains, didn't you see? He might... he might have even wanted to hurt your Sabrina!"
The mention of his wife closed the guard's mouth, and his wavering resolve. Satisfied as much as he could, he sat near the temple's edge, and began wiping the blood of his glaive with the hem of his tunic. Morgne ignored him, pacing around the pool's rim in concentration. He said he would meet her here... did he not?
"Timore! I have come!" she called to the rippling water. And then she waited.
|
|
inherit
10
0
Jan 17, 2019 22:10:26 GMT
4
blacknoise
I don't have kik.
273
Aug 14, 2015 15:19:56 GMT
August 2015
blacknoise
|
Post by blacknoise on Jan 19, 2016 5:14:14 GMT
So, the war had finally begun. His little birds had come back, the seeds he had sown had finally grown into monstrous, uncontrollable weeds. Udel was coming to kill him. For the longest time, the Divines had taken an impersonal stance towards their world, ignoring nearly everything greater that occurred on its surface and had instead focused on their own little side projects. But now, finally, he had someone's attention. Kidnapping Theolandra through her dreams, attacking the palace, threatening the surrogates, nearly killing Azalea, making backend deals with other lesser Divines, the list kept on going. He didn't know when, he didn't know where, but Udel was the one chosen, this he knew. It was her domain, the domain of destiny, through which Timore kidnapped Theolandra. Therefore, it seemed fitting that she come to give him the 'slap on the wrist' to deter him. Or, rather, that is what Timore assumed she was told. The Divines were gods, ultimate beings with egos even larger than his own, they tended to not take orders from anyone, even each other. Therefore, when he heard Udel was coming, Timore knew she had only one thing in mind. Timore stood on the roof of the temple, observing from the shadows as Morgne approached. Morgne, his memory about the woman was foggy, as was everything from that long ago. Timore did not have, as the the mortals called it, a 'picture perfect' memory. His thoughts were fallible, and he wrote everything down for later. It had taken him a while, but he found the book on Morgne. After reading it, memories and experiences came flooding back. Morgne, the 'one who must be obeyed.' He remembered her, her cruelty, her scheming, her power, in its time it was unparalleled. He could not find anything on her death, and assumed someone had offed her in secret. He was so wrong. As Morgne entered the temple, Timore waited until she called for him. "The unparalleled cruelty, I had forgotten how much I missed it." The voice echoed through the halls like the calling of a ghost as Timore descended from the ceiling. A black, hunched over shape plummeting from above and hitting hard the ground below. His faceless form straightening to full height and standing, unharmed, before the sorceress. Like the presence he held back at the Palace, his power could not be felt. Concealed and suppressed, it could be assumed Timore hid himself lest Morgne feel how weak he was. However, such an assumption would be exceedingly narrowminded. There were other Lesser Divines in the world, and he would prefer they not sense his location from flagrant and unnecessary displays of power. There would be a time for that, for sure, but not yet. Timore was already practically exploding with excitement from the fruition of his plans. But now was not the time for that, now was the time for Timore, Lord of Fear, to take the stage. The scene had been set, the masks had been donned, it was time to play the part and put on the show. Afterall, who was he to deviate from the script? His head crooking, a wide smile of nails formed along his face as he continued speaking. His voice proceeding to sound almost human, but disembodied enough to carry the sinister rage of a phantom. "So, you gave my offer some thought?" Of course you did."I'm sure you must have a few, questions?" You're getting the best deal I've ever offered someone."So do I." How you yet live intrigues me beyond measure."However, I've little time, so let's be short." I wish I had all the time in the world for this.
|
|
#ed1717
2
0
1
5
Annasiel
At last, my peace. I found it in her eyes.
369
Aug 13, 2015 22:40:06 GMT
August 2015
annasiel
|
Post by Annasiel on Jan 20, 2016 2:15:07 GMT
"The unparalleled cruelty, I had forgotten how much I missed it."
Morgne's attention was stolen by the words from above. As her gaze rose, the source plummeted, landing on the stone floor with a noise that would send strong hearts cringing. She made a show of keeping a stony face, in hopes to make up for her previous humiliating falters. It proved easier than the latter encounter. This monster before her held no signature, no forceful aura, as if the energy it must hold was repressed and hidden. Justifications for this subterfuge raced through her mind. Maybe he was using the beacons of fear as a diversion... maybe, as a lord of shadows, he had but the sign of a shadow itself... or maybe he was weak. The final thought intrigued the eldritch sorceress, spinning fantasies of betrayal in her constantly scheming mind. It would be an interesting advancement if Timore was nothing more than an illusionist, conjuring displays of power while barely holding any himself. A delightful notion, an enticing notion, but one only to be played with. If the temptress was wrong... she would face the scorn of a powerful being. A being whose strength could only be described as god-like. One look at the now-gaping maw, a cavernous hole littered with stalactite and stalagmite points, would send any betrayer second-guessing.
"So, you gave my offer some thought?"
Of course she did. It was an insult to think otherwise. Any stepping stone was usable, as long as you paid mind to the crocodiles beneath. The crocodilian smiler before her was a genuine threat, bound to snatch her by the ankle if she misstepped, but she did not intend on slipping. As soon as the offer was made, Morgne was resolute to take it. Soon after, she devised a plan to circumvent it. Plotting was second nature to the nameless queen.
"I'm sure you must have a few, questions?"
She had but one question. The premise was fairly straightforward, and there were no hidden strings that she could see... other than the ones she hoped to snap.
"So do I."
Interesting.
"However, I've little time, so let's be short."
So adorably curt! Morgne drew herself to the full height of her vessel (a much-to-be-desired 5'5) and put on her best stern expression. It was time for business, time for questions, and time for what might be the greatest deal of the sorceress' life.
"I only want to ask a single thing," Morgne began. "This wish you have presented me. Am I allowed to wish for anything within your power, as long as it works in accordance with your plans? And it cannot be recanted or granted in a fair weather lie? After you answer this, please, ask me anything you desire. The nature of your questions feeds my curiosity."
|
|
inherit
10
0
Jan 17, 2019 22:10:26 GMT
4
blacknoise
I don't have kik.
273
Aug 14, 2015 15:19:56 GMT
August 2015
blacknoise
|
Post by blacknoise on Jan 20, 2016 6:05:33 GMT
Timore studied the woman as she spoke, letting slip a very, very small crack in his suppression of power to 'reach out' and feel out the woman's being. It was something that could be easily repelled, as Timore was not seeking to forcibly examine her being through magical means. However, it was simply a light touch in order to get a feel for her power. If he was not repelled, he would withdraw and seal himself up once more. If Morgne attempted to do the same to him, she would find herself faced with a power unlike anything else that existed in the universe. Having never before faced a Divine, Timore could not say his power was any greater or lesser than their own. However, what could be felt from the being was the closest thing to a magical black hole that ever existed in history. Infinitely deep, terrifyingly dark, and exponentially powerful, Timore's main being was not something described it, it was something felt. The Lesser Divines were a very diverse bunch, but Lesser was a misnomer. Firstborn, as many called them, fit far better. They possessed Divine lineage, and it was a well known fact that the second generation could always surpass the first. Theolandra possessed the magics of each Divine, Azalea was once capable of creating life, Ethale would live forever, Arcanus possessed secrets even Timore could only dream of. Each held their own strengths, but with their strength came limitation. Timore was strong, perhaps he began as the weakest of all Divines, but he possessed no limitation. He was a black hole, and a black hole, once formed, could never be filled. Curling up his legs, Timore sat on seemingly thin air and began speaking. His voice slipping out to the level of almost a whisper as the mouth disappeared from his face. However, its quality changed in the process. No longer incorporeal, it sounded almost horrifyingly painful, like each word was the dying breathe of a main burning alive. To the quality of his voice, Timore made no physical acknowledgement or changes, as if it wasn't even him speaking. "Magic is a fickle beast, would you not agree? Almost like a virus, it infects your language, your blood, even your very souls. But it's a virus that mortals need in order to live, even if they are not magically inclined. It's a virus that operates on rules, even when you think it's evolved or broken free of it's 'chains,' it still has the same rules. The only thing that changed was your understanding of the rules.
"You see, magic, even magical seals placed upon souls themselves, can always be maneuvered around. Ironically much like many of the 'laws' of this very society and the ones before it. However, there is some magic too powerful to break or circumvent. The wish I grant you is as much a boon to you as it is to me, so long as I hold up my end of the bargain, you will hold your's. So yes, as long as it's within my power, I can grant you almost anything.
"Now, I have a question of my own, it is two fold. How did you die, and how are you alive now?" After he finished speaking, Timore would lean in ever so slightly. He could not resist, his attention had been captured. For one who lived so long, finding something that genuinely interested him that he had no hand in was like finding a gold coin in a hay pile.
|
|
#ed1717
2
0
1
5
Annasiel
At last, my peace. I found it in her eyes.
369
Aug 13, 2015 22:40:06 GMT
August 2015
annasiel
|
Post by Annasiel on Jan 20, 2016 15:34:55 GMT
A loci of awareness nestled itself among Morgne's awareness. A tendril, a probe, advanced in honesty from the entity before her. Gentle, yet resolute in its purpose... Timore was scouting her depths. The temptress decided to return the favor. Her own magical vanguard advanced into the being, as open and as soft as the one he used. As she scried through the crack in candor, piercing the repression of power into Timore's core, she found something far exceeding the potential she had first imagined. Two thoughts crossed her mind in an instant, both in near unison.
What have I agreed to, reasoning with this thing?
Goddess above, I can't feel the bottom.
It has been said that to stare into the Abyss may bring the Abyss to stare into you. Before this moment, that proverb was meaningless in Morgne's mind, but now the intent became all too clear. In that moment, as her interspection withered in the face of unfathomable depravity, she felt the true hollowness overtake her. It was a pit of unmeasurable depth, a darkness too dark to perceive, all encompassing inside that now innocent-seeming shell, all encompassing inside her own vessel. It was inside of her. Watching her. Not just Timore, the face, but this far more terrible Timore that held every face imaginable... and no face at all. The heralding fear from the palace was meaningless in its depths. It was... it was... hopelessness.
If Timore noticed Morgne's scry, he did little to acknowledge it. Instead, he only shifted position, and continued speaking in a (not)voice more fitting of the true horror he was.
"Magic is a fickle beast, would you not agree? Almost like a virus, it infects your language, your blood, even your very souls. But it's a virus that mortals need in order to live, even if they are not magically inclined. It's a virus that operates on rules, even when you think it's evolved or broken free of it's 'chains,' it still has the same rules. The only thing that changed was your understanding of the rules.
"You see, magic, even magical seals placed upon souls themselves, can always be maneuvered around. Ironically much like many of the 'laws' of this very society and the ones before it. However, there is some magic too powerful to break or circumvent. The wish I grant you is as much a boon to you as it is to me, so long as I hold up my end of the bargain, you will hold your's. So yes, as long as it's within my power, I can grant you almost anything."
She had asked for elucidation, not a lecture on the arcane arts. Not that the expounding particularly irritated the sorceress, nor did it not hold its entertaining merit, but it seemed misplaced coming from a being who seemingly held little time. Maybe an indication of Timore's arrogance, in his need to flaunt his intellect, or maybe the fleeting temporality was just a ploy to force her hand into a decision. Begging the observations from before, Morgne leaned towards the former assumption. This was a proud creature, well-founded in both his powers and his plots, a flaw the nameless queen knew well. After all, aren't the best learnings taught by self-awareness, and was she not an arrogant one herself? But then, he had no need for arrogance with his immensity of potential. With that in mind, one might even call him humble.
"Now, I have a question of my own, it is two fold. How did you die, and how are you alive now?"
The sorceress noticed the body language of the being, hoping it at least mimicked that of the mortal races. If it did, Timore was actually eager to hear her reply. She did not appreciate the implication that she was an anomaly to be studied, but it gave her some security against such frightening opposition. Morgne took control of her somber-stricken tongue, and replied the best she could.
"I never died," she began, "though some days made me wish I had.
"It was during my campaign on the Paendragon brood, the affluent rulers of an inconsequential island kingdom, though renowned for magical prowess. They had an old man in pay, a grand warlock of sorts, who did his best to oppose my every advance. Naturally, I took to commanding my troops personally against such a threat. I thought myself in person to be a tipping factor, a thing that made my forces far superior, and in my hubris, I made... underestimations. My attendants must have been compromised somehow. I was slipped a draught and caught in an ancient trap, ironically of my ancestor's design. The ethereal fae, chosen of Estia herself, and sires of my Elohim peoples. Their skills were unmatched in the areas of mind and spirit, and the stolen, petrolithic cage was too much of a match for even my abilities. The warlock mocked me, jeered at me, but I still thought him the fool, until he muttered an incantation even I would hesitate to cast. By sacrificing his life, he trapped me in the limbal realm, where I remained until I found the strength to flee the void. Thousands of years with nothing but myself for company... it astounds me I still have sanity left. But enough about that."
Hoping the being was satiated with her answer, the temptress progressed to more pressing matters.
"I desire to accept your offer. And as for my wish... I wish to never be forcibly submitted to your will, through magic, coercion, terror, blackmail, or any other means. This includes altering my perception in any way to willfully fall in accordance, as that would counteract my will in right mind. Just as my accordance with your plans, you must in turn accord with mine. I see it as a fair trade... unless it is too denigrating for your taste?" The queen beamed with barely-restrained joy at her decision.
|
|
inherit
10
0
Jan 17, 2019 22:10:26 GMT
4
blacknoise
I don't have kik.
273
Aug 14, 2015 15:19:56 GMT
August 2015
blacknoise
|
Post by blacknoise on Jan 21, 2016 3:37:35 GMT
Never died?Thousands of years alone, floating in a void. Nothing but her desire for vengeance to sustain her, she will not make mistakes.Memories slipped back into Timore's mind, of the battle's aftermath, of the subsequent destruction of Morgne's kingdom. She had been deceived, then locked away in one of the very, very few places in the entire universe that Timore could not see. Interesting, beyond interesting, fascinating. A tale of lost magics and great sacrifices for said magics, the kind of story that beyond captivated the ancient being's attention. He made a mental note to go back and look through his own records of that time, as well as seeking out the location where she might have been imprisoned. He would need to investigate this himself. That said, he dismissed his thoughts for a moment to listen into her wish. She wished for him to never force her to his will, through any means. Even as Morgne still spoke, the grin spread once more across Timore's face. Laughter slipped from him, like a vicious hyena who just stole the cubs from under a lion's nose. Standing up once more, he replied with great confidence. "So, we have an accord." Stretching out a hand, Timore momentarily made as if he was going for a shake before flicking his fingers up. For a moment, one singular moment, the entirety of Timore's power opened up. It was but a second, if even that, but it was one of the few moments in the past decade that Timore had fully opened himself up. It was beyond scary, beyond fear, beyond any sort of emotion. Power flooded the room to the point that everything around seemed obscured by black, and Timore stuck Morgne's back. A black spot, dark and sinister like necrotic flesh but living all the same, burned itself into Morgne's back. Like an infection, it momentarily spread to much of her back, searing flesh piercing to the bone, before receding to half the size of Morgne's palm. Laughing, Timore disappeared in an instant. As soon as it appeared, the entirety of Timore's own power disappeared, and the Lord of Fear was no more. All that remained was the sorceress, and the mark. Power emanated from it, power beyond Morgne's own. No, that was incorrect, for it was just as much Morgne's own power now. The mark took effect, and Morgne would feel it on her very soul.
|
|
#ed1717
2
0
1
5
Annasiel
At last, my peace. I found it in her eyes.
369
Aug 13, 2015 22:40:06 GMT
August 2015
annasiel
|
Post by Annasiel on Jan 24, 2016 3:59:02 GMT
"So, we have an accord."
The confidence in the being before her was unsettling. The sorceress thought her wish a fine use of logic, and believed its wording to be flawless. But based on how positively Timore took it, Morgne began to doubt her previous assumptions. She made a mental note to look back over offer and wish once she had time to ponder, to both determine any flaws and to determine her next course of action, preparing for the possible betrayals her 'master' may be plotting. In regards to that word, it drove her tense to think of it, but had she not just sold her soul to another being? The queen now turned a lowly thrall. And she thought herself a conqueror! But pride was a flaw in the path to greater power, and sometimes sacrifices were to be made. Morgne was no longer the shell of hubris from her past life. She understood her flaws, understood that they were flaws, and understood hopefully how to circumvent them.
"Of course we d-" the temptress began, extending her hand to shake Timore's own. This gesture was expected, as her enthrallment ritual had similar motions. But what came next was unexpected. Timore did not follow through, but instead made a motion with his fingers, leaving Morgne open palmed and somewhat affronted. However, all thoughts of the shun were immediately ignored in the events that followed. The void at the creature's core was unfettered, power filling the room with its acrid, awe-provoking darkness, and sending frantic shivers down the fae-blood's back. Almost as if the godthing had sensed her malaisious sensations, its claw came down right between her shoulders. Agony ensued. It was like she was back in the temple of Estia, back in her Saladar home, going through the tribal holocaust once more. This time, though, the pain was a thousand times worse. Death itself was devouring her body, its cavernous maw of excruciating teeth rending tissue and spirit alike. She collapsed to the floor and curled into a ball, twitching and moaning incoherently.
You deserve this, Sera thought to her through gritted teeth. You deserve this, and so much more.
Quiet! I own you, and by Estia the pain so silence and how it hurts and help me please I want to di-
The torture disappeared. When Morgne opened her eyes, Timore had disappeared as well. All left behind was a spike of feeling in the place where his hand had struck, a spike that pierced her all the way through.
|
|