Post by angelofdarkness on Jul 4, 2010 18:48:34 GMT -5
"Can't you hear me screaming once again?
Voices you can't hear
Because you are consumed and in content
With everlasting greed
Don't you see me on my hands and knees?
Begging and bleeding
You're smiling as you bite the hand that feeds
But will you never see ?"
The scene opens from a bird's eye view, of a great, twisting labrinth. Old and aging stones, jutting up from the ground in a great maze. It is a cool, breezy evening, the sun beginning to disappear beyond the horizon. A dark, robed figure enters the endless maze, walking its twisting paths. One would think She would get lost easily in such a place, but it soon became apparent she knew her way around, knew exactly where she was going, as she strode through the labrinth with purpose. She seemed at ease, at peace with her surroundings, gently tracing the walls with her fingers as she passed. The tips of here fingers were drawing lines on the walls, as they were covered in a thick collection of dust.
The sun began to fall, and the moon began to rise, clouds partially concealing it, and it begun to bear a crescent shape. From behind her long flowing, black cloak, she pulls out a gnarled torch, and she strikes match, setting the stick ablaze, to light her way. She holds it forth in front of her, continuing along for quite a time, before reaching the center of it all. She looks around, her feet nudging a few lumps in the ground, small mounds of clumpy earth, as if looking for something. She uses her free hand, to pull out a silver amulet, set with an emerald in the center, from under her robe. She holds it, closing her eyes for a brief moment, and her eyes snap back open.
She walks three paces to her left, and reaches down, pulling on what appears to be a root in the ground. All it not what it seems, however, and she pulls up, and it turns out to be a handle, and the trapdoor is opened. She looks down into the darkness, and gets on her knees, climbing down onto a ladder. She climbs down into the dark depths, closing the door after her, and uses one hand to steady herself, the other holding the brightly burning torch. She descends what seems to be a hundred feet, and drops down onto a stone floor.
Turning around, she takes in the familiar view, of stone walls, and a corridor. It looks as if something out of a fantasy novel, the workmanship and cutting of the stones, looking as if made by dwarven folk. She walks down the corridor, using the torch to light braziers and torches on the wall, torches held by a metal caging. She takes a left, and then a right, another right, and then straight forward. She comes to a dead end, and one would think she is lost. She bends down, pulling a cleverly concealed lever, and the wall opens up, from side to side.
Into a room she walks, and this room is lit dimly by a chandelier. She sets the torch on the wall, inside of a bracket. The room is semi circular, a large table in the center, covered with scrolls and books. The walls are adorned with cages, and chains, shackles, a few in which hang skeletal figures. A torture rack lies to the left, caked with dry blood. To the right, is some sort of stone altar, a rectangular structure, with clawed horns pointing up from each corner. At the far end of the room, a man hangs in shackles, his face appearing very gaunt, and white.
He is wearing nothing but rags, and his ribs poke out grotesquely. He looks malnurished. His beard is haggard, as if not having a good shave in quite some time. Katrina lowers her hood, and approaches the man, who looks up at her with hatred.
The time has come, your suffering shall end shortly.
Is that so? And what has prompted such an act of mercy?
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She cocks her arm back, and brings it forward swiftly, raking her nails across the man's face, drawing streaks of blood, flesh being ripped and shoved underneath her nails
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Julius, my dear friend...the first step of my plan is drawing near, and I shall see it completed to satisfaction. Your blood given to the goddess will bestow me the blessings to bring my victory.
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She paces around the area, speaking to herself in a sort of monalogue. The man shakes his head in disbelief, and watches her, letting her ramble on in silence, having been through this many times before.
This...Layla El...wants to speak of Dark Forces....how little does she know! She lives in some sort of fantasy, she knows nothing of the powers of my goddess, of the real true power, the real forces at work. Mine is a reality, hers is merely fiction. How dillusional she is....Do I value my life? A good question, to be answered in blood. My life is meaningless, I am merely a tool in the hands of my mistress, to do her bidding, her will be done.
This Layla speaks with no credibility to her name. She believes she has knowledge about fear, and terror, when I have mastered the arts of bring those emotions to bear in others. Destler and Layla will know the exact meaning and definitions of the terms. The goddess wishes it, and she will be given her desires at the hands of her faithful servant. Julius, my dear father...for all we've been through, for all you have done to me in the past, I should be upset, angry. However, I have come to realize that I must thank you. If it were not for you, I would not be who I am today, I would never have met and embraced my deity. The abuse, the beatings, the molestation...it all turned, and converted into me gaining my power, my strength. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you view it, your part in this little story is over, and with your blood, a new page shall be turned. The next chapter begins...
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She whips around, lashing out, her fist, as tough as the stone that surrounds them, connects solidly with his jaw, shattering the bone, and he screams out in pain. She unshackles the beaten and broken man, hoisting him over her shoulders, and laying him across the altar. She pulls out a curved dagger, the crosspiece resembling the visage of a spider. She grips it with both hands, and raises it up.
Goddess, by your will, for your pleasure, I give to you this man's soul. By his blood you shall be praised, and in return I ask of you to grant me the power to prevail over my enemies. May the darkness consume, and the dark, terrifying, glorious power of your greatness fill me with warmth.
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She plunges the dagger down viciously, and the scene fades slowly....with the screams of a dying man...and the laughter of a depraved woman.
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