NEW- Questionable Posts

Coordination and information for the various volunteers of BDI.
Jayne
Viscount
Posts: 359
Joined: Sun Mar 13, 2016 9:42 pm
Preferred Title: Nymphadora
Characters: [Main Characters]
Lucinda Darke
Nixlya Silkire
Apple/Faedre
Inessa Deathsong
Kaitlyn
Location: Australia

NEW- Questionable Posts

Post by Jayne » Sun Mar 27, 2016 10:53 pm

Long Day (The Cradle continues to fall)
Author: Marek Swiftblade
Date: 1 July 2003

"Commander, another body has been found."

A soft sigh escaped the elf's lips though it was likely not audible. He set down the piece of parchment he had been looking over, one of the reports of a previous murder. He'd made comparisons on his own, writing them down and continued to look over the reports for anything that he may have missed. He'd already chided himself for overlooking one point that could have become a vital one, at least in regards to trailing the man. Perhaps it had been the grisly sight of an innocent ravaged that caused it to slip his mind. Whatever the reason, it irritated him.

"Have guards section off the scene and I shall be there shortly. Where is this body found?"

"The Roy..the Royal Church, Sir, upon the altar."

Were this any other city in the worlds, the Commander would have thought the recruit to be joking. But her expression and the fact that even telling of the find unnerved her to great lengths told him that it was the truth, and that this sick bastard had a sense of humor as well, or was attempting to.

"Very well. Have the priests hold their ceremonies out of the sanctuary until we can move the body. And see if there might have been at least one bloody witness who *might* have seen something. I don't imagine there will be any. Thousands right around the place and no one sees a damned thing."

The recruit swallowed and nodded, offering a shaky salute that she didn't bother to wait for a response to. While she had heard of the Commander and his demeanor, it was quite another thing to witness it, and this, she realized, was tame. And so the woman hurried off back to the Royal Church to relay the Commander's orders. He arrived a short while later, long bow over one shoulder and a rather displeased look on his face.

The body was that of a small child, a girl, throat slit cleanly and then laid upon the altar. The elf motioned for the guards to step back and give him a moment to inspect it, noting the straw on the ground. He reached up a gloved hand and slowly closed the emerald eyes of the young girl. Emerald. Again. He had a feeling that the age would be the same as well, though that would have to wait. His conversation the previous night with Tespin Silentwrath had opened his eyes a bit more, and though he did not recall the color of the woman's daughter's eyes, he imagined they would be emerald.

The straw was another thing that caught his attention almost immediately, considering that the church (last he checked) didn't generally have straw in the sanctuary. Granted, this was not his homeland, but some things were the same everywhere. "Two of you take a walk around the grounds and find where this straw may have come from. Only trace amounts of blood on the altar mean that the child was killed elsewhere and carried here. Be careful where you step, as our friend may have unwittingly left clues behind. A bootprint, perhaps, if the ground was moist. Find the straw and block off that area, notify me immediately."

The clean and solitary cut across the neck meant that the man was possibly rushed, not allowed to mutilate the bodies as he had in the past. Either that, or he was simply growing bored though that was not likely. When one snapped to the point that they killed in such a manner, it was not likely for them to lose interest. Stowing the body in the church was evidence enough for that, a cold slap in the face of both the priests and the guards. One that the elf took quite personally.

"See to it that this body is identified and taken care of. Notify me once you have identified the child and I shall notify the parents."

Salutes exchanged, the Commander departed once again to return to the guardhouse. While this report would be filed by another, he had his own findings to put to paper. Three children murdered, all in brutal fashion. Emerald eyes and possibly the same age. Most likely the same age. Which ruled out the possibility of it being entirely random. No molesting of any of the bodies, which ruled out some manner of sex-crazed whacko. The inn proper had enough of those to supply the city.

And so well into the early evening, the elf would be at his desk comparing a third set of reports and notes to the rest, and coming up with his own list of similarities. There was a pattern, to be certain, but what could he do to stop it?

Jayne
Viscount
Posts: 359
Joined: Sun Mar 13, 2016 9:42 pm
Preferred Title: Nymphadora
Characters: [Main Characters]
Lucinda Darke
Nixlya Silkire
Apple/Faedre
Inessa Deathsong
Kaitlyn
Location: Australia

Re: NEW- Questionable Posts

Post by Jayne » Sun Mar 27, 2016 11:16 pm

The cradle continues to fall .. Rage consumes Passion
Author: Lil Smidget
Date: 5 July 2003

(OOC NOTE: Yes yes, again I have annihilated the english language. And yes, again, this post contains scenes of graphical violence, language and all that fun stuff. And yet again, you have been fairly forewarned so if you continue to read beyond this point, you hereby cease any and all rights to bitching or complaining. Amazingly, no one has griped to me personally just yet. Compared to seeing fools humping legs, molesting and all that other stuff seen in the BDI*OOC; this may even be considered a rather tame post.)

*****

Little Cecily had been targeted for the past few weeks now. He'd been watching her from afar, keeping tabs on her daily schedule; such as when she left the house with her older brother for school, when she'd accompany her mother to the market and even when the light went out in her upstairs bedroom window when it was time for bed.

Why was she the one he'd spent more time targeting than the others? Simple. She was the only child who most resembled Arahisie thus far. Her hair sparkles in the sun like fresh spun spider's silk as its intricate web is weaved between the spanning branches of some low lying bushes or perhaps between the poles of a wrought iron gate. A luxurious brown in color, highlighted with golden kisses from the sun's miraculous rays. In his mind, he can even smell the scent of the soap used to wash the young child's hair; he imagines it would be the soft fragrance of juniper or perhaps she is more of a lily girl. Mm, yes. Lillies. So fragrant, so exotic and so symbolic of peace and innocence.

While walking past the child and her older brother, Jarik,as they themselves were heading home from school, Cerrach took careful note of the color of the lasses eyes. Brilliant!! Vivid and unflawed, like a rare emerald that has been perfectly retrieved from a mine under mounds and mounds of soil where it took millennia to form. His heart races in his broad chest, his palms sweat with eager anticipation with imagining just how wide eyed she will become once she realizes what destiny has deemed to be her fate in her short life. Six years in the making and Cerrach couldn't ask for a more prized trophy - unless he were getting the emerald orbs from Arahisie herself.

In time. In time, he will.

Cerrach made sure to learn when the next celebration or holiday would take place in the city of Drache. He had been pleasantly surprised to learn that the *Merchant's Festival occurs on the tenth; which is . . .

TODAY!

Splendid! Things are moving along swimmingly in the madman's agenda and the citizens and merchants will be far too occupied with the festival to truly pay any attention whatsoever to anything else that may happen to take place around them. Or so his reasoning goes.

Later in the evening, one hour before sundown:

Cerrach roams through the Market Square, casually looking over the wares and mystical items the merchants are working so hard to panhandle and pawn off on the folks passing their carts or storefronts.

"No no, no thank you dear woman. I am not in need of any eye of newt or fang of wolf."
His upper lip curls while quickening his pace some to get away from the ugly old, used up hag. She might have been pretty once. Her beliefs and ritual magicks seem to have consumed her during the years; for now she has a huge ugly wart on the end of her chin, a long gray hair as stiff as a thistle protruding from it. Wrinkled skin, bags under her eyes and jowls that hung nearly to her breasts; which those too are now sagging nearly to her knees. Overweight and nearly toothless, she certainly wouldn't be turning any eyes of the young bucks anytime soon.

Cecily, her mother and older brother never once noticed that they've been followed since leaving their ramshackle cottage hours ago. He probably could have grabbed the child an hour ago, but the sun was still fairly bright and she hadn't strayed from the mother hen.

Until now that is.

"Oooooo!! Lookie! Can I have this momma!? Please!? I'll do anything!"

Cecily pleads with her harried looking mother. By the dark circles under her eyes and the way she walks with her shoulders slouched, its easy to see that the woman works hard doing the housework; mayhaps even out working the fields for one of the upper class farmers.

"No darling, I'm afraid not. I just cannot spare the extra coin."

Her mother sighs, looking to the child apologetically. Cecily looks downtrodden and deeply disheartened as she lays the pretty china doll carefully back on the vendors cart while a lone tear traces its way over the tiny hairs on her porcelain cheek.
"I'm sorry baby, truly I am. Come along, let's get what we came for and head home, hm?"

A deep sigh as the wee lass shuffles her feet along slowly, a long frown sours those beautiful looks of hers.

A hand gloved in black lifts the doll and coin is passed onto the vendor. Cerrach speaks not a word to the man. A gloved finger is raised to his lips and pressed against them loosely.

"Shh." Then a wink is sported to the man behind the cart. Cerrach follows the slow-moving lass for a few paces then just stops.

"I say young lady, is this yours? I believe I saw you drop this back there."

Cecily turns and looks to the doll which is held out towards her. Her frown deepens as she shakes her head and sniffles; swiping the back of her hand along under her nose.
"No. Momma said I can't have it."

"Is that so?" Cerrach looks to the doll and straightens the silk and lace gown adorning the body, tenderly as if he were a collector of fine antiquities himself.

"Well. It would be a shame to leave such a beautiful doll lying on the cart, wouldn't it?"

Cecily nods, sniffling once more.

"Tell you what. You come over here with me and perhaps we can work out a deal. What say you young lady?"

"Really?" Cecily asks, those magnificent eyes brightening a bit as her frown slowly curves upwards into a growing smile.

"Really. Do you know any stories?"

"Oh yes! I know lotsa' stories!"

Cerrach smiles warmly to the child while extending his black gloved hand towards her.
"Then come. You shall regail me with one of your stories and when the tale is over, you may have the doll. How does that sound?"

"Oh yes! That sounds bery good!"

Cecily takes the offered hand and skips along with the man; if she were to walk, it'd take her two and half strides to match one of his. Cerrach lures the child away from the Market Square and over towards the Mingit District.

"Here. Let's duck under here where we will not be bothered so I can hear this tale you are about to weave for me."

Cerrach leads Cecily under the Mingit Bridge and lays his cloak on the ground. Once seated, he pats the spot beside him where Cecily quickly takes her seat; the doll is placed on the other side of Cerrach.

"Okays. Hows about I tells you about this lost lil' puppy who has to find hims way home before dark or hims'll be in big twouble with da mama doggie?"

"That sounds splendid child .. hm, what is your name?"

"Ceciwy."

Cerrach smiles, stroking the back of her silkened hair lovingly with his hand.
"A beautiful name child Cecily. Please tell me this little lost puppy."

Cecily settles in and thinks for but a moment, then her sing-songy voice begins to tell the tale.

"Onced upon a time, there was dis lil' puppy named Harry. An' Harry went outside to pway wif all his lil' puppy pals!"

And she continues, using over-exaggerated hand motions to aid in telling this children's story to the man seated beside her who was still tenderly stroking the back of her hair.

And when she gets to the part where the pokey little puppy falls into the river, Cerrach clutches her gorgeous hair and jerks her head back sharply, making her gasp and cry out with the pain of having her hair pulled along with the surprise of having it done. No sooner is she about to protest when another gloved hand is pressed over her mouth, his index finger and thumb are used to pinch her nose shut.

Rocking back and forth, Cerrach hums a lullaby to the flailing girl while he stares into those incredible pools of emerald; wide-eyed with horror. Soon, her body ceases to move and she slumps against him; her face frozen with the terror of having precious oxygen prevented from entering tiny lungs.

"There there. It was a lousy story anyways, child." He coos to her, almost in a loving way while laying her body down near the shore just under the bridge. Dark eyes roll upwards as a carriage passes by overhead and he waits silently for it to pass over completely.

Kneeling beside the body, dagger withdrawn, he pets her cheek then leans down to place a kiss upon her ruby red lips.

"Such a shame this must be done. But you see, I must simply have those eyes."

With those words uttered, the dagger is stabbed into the inner corner of Cecily's left eye, spurting blood upwards as if it were shot out from a geyser whose pressure just became too much and had to be released. With expert care, Cerrach carefully carves out the left eye, plucking it from the socket with a sickening, wet, *phlooop*. Nerve endings and thin muscle dangling from the back of the eye, Cerrach holds it up and examines it closely.

"Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Oh child! You have been touched by the grace of Menxvan himself to have such beauty in these eyes!"

The same is repeated on the right eye and in the end, a mad cackle is loosened between his lips which are wet with spittle.

Grabbing a handful of her beautiful tresses, he splices it off near the roots. A ribbon is pulled from around the child's head and used to tie off the lump of hair into a ponytail before its stuffed deep into the pocket of his overcoat.

With the hair out of the way, his eyes fall upon the tiny ear left exposed. Curved in perfection, so small and ... he must have it! And so its cut off, violently; there is no tenderness in his skills anymore.

Grabbing the top of the child's head, he lifts it to spit in each empty eye socket as he seethes with burning hatred now; boiling up from the dark abyss that once could be called his heart.

"You bitch! How could you run away from me like that!? Huh? HUH!? I'll teach you who is the Master now!"

The lifeless body of Cecily DeVille is stabbed brutally; over one hundred times in the chest alone.

With his rage spent and the madness clearing from his mind, he rolls the body over into the Darien River and watches as its swept down towards the harbor where it'll be washed out to sea from the marine creatures to feast upon. That is of course, unless her bloated remains don't get caught up in fallen branches or washed ashore before nearing the opening into the harbor.

Gloves are removed and the cloak is lifted.

"Tsk, now you've made me soil my attire. You'll burn in hell for sure for this young Cecily."

A sigh of annoyance before the cloak and gloves are cast into the River as well; but not before filling the gloves with rocks and wrapping a few larger ones into the cloak and tying the cloak around those. With the weight, the items fall to the bottom of the river quickly.

Dusting off his knees, his eyes fall upon the wretched doll. With a grumble, he hefts that into the river as well then walks off. He crosses the bridge and wanders into the Mingit District; spends some time there then makes his way back towards the festival once more.

Jayne
Viscount
Posts: 359
Joined: Sun Mar 13, 2016 9:42 pm
Preferred Title: Nymphadora
Characters: [Main Characters]
Lucinda Darke
Nixlya Silkire
Apple/Faedre
Inessa Deathsong
Kaitlyn
Location: Australia

Re: NEW- Questionable Posts

Post by Jayne » Tue Mar 29, 2016 12:14 am

The cradle continues to fall .. Rage consumes Passion (Marek-Mun)
Author: Marek Swiftblade
Date: 20 July 2003

Sometime in the past week...

Slanted green eyes looked over the bloated, mutilated body of the young girl, narrowing a bit as if to fight off tears of sorrow. The chiseled cheekbones were set, giving more definition to his already stone-cut visage. By far, this was the worst-death he had seen in a long, long time. Made worse by the fact that it had been water-ridden for at least a couple of days before being stumbled upon.

Identifying the child would come later, though a woman had reported her child missing a couple days earlier. Most likely the night or following morning of the child's disappearance and death. By the end of the day, the identity would be confirmed through divination with the body itself. It would fall on him to speak with the mother and break the news to her. The age of the child was the same as the others, 6 years old. It would remind him of a case of Barney Gone Bad if only the elf knew who that purple bastard from the mun world was. Thankfully, he doesn't.

He had given up on counting the stab wounds knowing it was a pointless bit of information, though many were after the child had been killed, if not all of them. There was no apparent struggle, at least no bruising or hand markings of any kind that he had seen. The eyes had been cut out, but not savagely as the stab wounds had been. No, they were removed with care, so as not to damage them. Two eyes and one ear, and a good chunk of hair from the gap noticed even while the remaining hair was matted by the water.

Fish and other water creatures had nibbled off a finger, and managed to widen a few of the stab wounds. As if the body itself wouldn't have been grisly enough. But the multiple stabbing wounds told one thing, rage was taking over again, at least in this case. A few more notes are added to the small parchment he had brought with him, before his eyes would finally turn from the body, a simple nod of his head to let the others know that the body could be taken care of.

A stroke of luck, really, that the body had even been found before eventually being carried off to sea. During a recent storm, a tree had been knocked over by the winds and into the river where it was not as deep as the rest. The floating body of the child had gotten caught in one of the branches, though it was still a couple of days before a trapper had noticed the clothing when he was checking his traps. Needless to say, the trap remained unchecked.


Now...

The candlelight flickered with the opening of the door, a soft voice asking a simple question of the commander which was answered just as easily. He had gone over each of the murders, compared them. All of the victims were 6 years old, all the females had emerald eyes (the last victim, Cecily, was confirmed at a later time as to her eye color).

The bodies had been found in various places, killed in various places though a circle was beginning to form. Further investigation into the last victim had discovered little as to where the body had been killed, though it was farther upstream. Perhaps in the Mingit District though he could not be certain. There were few areas that were accessible enough to dump the body into without disturbing the ground or falling in oneself.

There were certain similarities that were causing a growing concern in his mind. The children had all been in the same class, a class aided by Tespin Silentwrath. The females with emerald eyes the same as the woman, though it was an earlier conversation that had caused the most alarm. Cirien. The daughter of Tespin Silentwrath that had been killed some years ago...at the age of six. He was still waiting word on similar killings from that point, as well as ten years prior to that child's death. The investigation would be complete and thorough, leaving no chance for error. Or so he hoped.

His hours had increased by choice during the ordeal, and before he would continue this night. Things to check on, ship logs, crests from foreign lands, any similar murders left unsolved in the past fifteen to twenty years. But first thing was first, a letter to the Captain.

Jayne
Viscount
Posts: 359
Joined: Sun Mar 13, 2016 9:42 pm
Preferred Title: Nymphadora
Characters: [Main Characters]
Lucinda Darke
Nixlya Silkire
Apple/Faedre
Inessa Deathsong
Kaitlyn
Location: Australia

Re: NEW- Questionable Posts

Post by Jayne » Tue Mar 29, 2016 1:31 am

Terror Strikes Wylagyn, Hundreds killed!
Author: KwispnQuakeanda KwazyKwittas
Date: 27 July 2003


((I figure I'd better post this with a warning, as some of the incidents in this story involve death, and gore, amongst other issues. Should anyone take offense to these, stop reading now. Otherwise, enjoy the SL for what it is, simply that, a storyline.-The player of Siliwen, and many many others- ))

Deep within the Wylagyn Military institute, deep below where only the most secretive projects are planned, set into motion, and then unleashed....something had gone terribly wrong....

Wylagyn, roughly 175 miles north of Bian razi, had been renowned for it's military prowess, due to the numerous mages, warriors, and alchemists that attended it's schools. Aerilian Savange, and Tethyil Grenthn, the elder made, and eldest alchemist had set plans in motion to create a weapon..the perfect weapon..capable of protecting their peaceful city. Deep within the winding passageways, beyond corridors, and damp hallways, was a small, quiet laboratory, run by students and teachers alike.

It was a small series of rooms, the chemists section, set apart from the main development room, divided by a huge iron door, much like a safe's door. Behind that separating iron, the Aerilian, and Tethyil worked tirelessly on their project..unaware of the dangers yet to come.....

One quiet morning, in the bustle of students preparing the lab for the daily research and development, something horrible had gone astray somehow. When the main body of students arrived, they were drenched in the scent of blood..the huge iron door, leading to the largest laboratory in the city sat, beaten, full of large impact dents..the hinges threatening to tear from their foundries. After a good bit of work, prying, and some hint of magical aide (due to the dents warping the door, and it's locks being lodged tight), they managed to peel the large door away from it's jamb, only to be greeted by the sound of growls..those piercing yellow eyes shot through the darkness of the now blood-drenched lab...the creator of those dents lay in wait for it's creators..fierce bloodlust glowering through those illuminated eyes...

"Oh my god! She's Loo- *" Was all that could escape the student's lips, before blood burbled from them, ceasing the sound..Four inch claws had found his throat before the young man could think to react..But he was only the first to meet the "protector of the city" ..

By the time the elders had been summoned, and had arrived, they found their laboratory in shambles..the great iron door swung by only one large hinge, the bodies of students, teachers, and guards littered the room..an inch of blood, spilled from their bodies covering the smooth marble floor..staining it forevermore.

"Call for the elders! Don't let it escape!!" Cries heard, before savage roars overpowered them, blood blocking the sound as it spewed from terrified lips..Children, and women alike..none were spared as this new terror swept through the institute, and finally into the bustling city streets, leaving a bloody trail of destruction and gore behind as the ebon furred creature made it's way toward the city's gates..killing without remorse, without word, or thought..now was not the time for thought, it was the time to escape.....

**********

It was only natural for the elders to send out hunters to retrieve, or slay their creation..and thus, they were. Chasing the creature, it's project known as "Siliwen Arecia", through numerous cities, over dangerous, and sometimes seemingly impossible terrain.. None were successful, however..Of the elite hunters from Wylagyn, only a handful remained alive, seven were buried by their comrades as result of attempting to capture the slippery beast. Both cunning, and intelligent, it had managed into the city of Bian Razi. Facing her most dangerous adversary to date, she had nearly caught sight of her own death, the hunter-creature with it's large tail had played a number on Siliwen, managing, in her weary state, to lay a gash from left hip, to right shoulder..a wound that would have caused many to fall. Siliwen disappeared..fleeing the city, and sustaining her injury for many miles before collapsing in the midst of a forest..

Only the creator could say how many days she slept..her body naturally knitting itself back together..just as it had been designed to do. She was far from danger, however..As the days passed, and her strength regained enough for her to move about, move she did..venturing to the nearest city, albeit with caution, she found few rouges with which to mend her further..

And with the dawn came hunters it seemed, day in and day out they came, from young to old, women, and creatures..She buried some, others she fled from..her seemingly never ending trek bringing her to the Dragon's spine mountain range..It was a risky, and dangerous crossing, but her agile form proved better than most humans' at crossing the rocky terrain, finally she'd lost track of the hunters..When would it end? When she died, perhaps, but she'd not let such a thing happen as long as she still were able to draw breath..Her trek seemed to be at an end as she reached Drache, the folks here had not yet caught wind of her doings, and it was a good thing..she needed rest..and rest she took, in a vacant alleyway..behind a few water barrels..hopefully to go undisturbed for a day or so..time enough to gather her wits..

Jayne
Viscount
Posts: 359
Joined: Sun Mar 13, 2016 9:42 pm
Preferred Title: Nymphadora
Characters: [Main Characters]
Lucinda Darke
Nixlya Silkire
Apple/Faedre
Inessa Deathsong
Kaitlyn
Location: Australia

Re: NEW- Questionable Posts

Post by Jayne » Thu Apr 07, 2016 8:43 pm

Death of a Lillend
Author: Kel Russel
Date: 4 November 2003


OOC: No, not Quill, you meatheads. ~_^
DISCLAIMER!!!!
There is some gore and stuff ... after all, it's the death of a lillend.
-----------------------

It was the day that Quill's children would hatch. She was so excited, despite the nasty dream she'd had about the Blight. With a sigh, she shoved the thought from her mind, shivering a little with the memory, before wrapping her long tail around the two eggs. Green eyes gazed at the shells as they cracked, split, and finally fell open.

Tiny feathered wings stretched, soggy from the fluids in the eggs, feathers sticking to one another as they emerged. A tail flopped out of the shell, a mottled sort of blue and black scaley one, tipped with stuck-together feathers of black. A pale face looked out from the shell, black and blue feathers plastered to a head from the egg's fluids. Bright, wide green eyes the same shade as Quill's looked up at her, tiny arms shoving the egg's bits away. This one looked to be a girl, but one could never be sure, as Lillendi were hermaphrodites.

The other egg trembled and a small finger poked out from a tiny hole, gripping the shell and pulling it inward. Fighting fitfully, the baby finally emerged, flopping out of the shell clumsily, wings splayed on either side of the small body. This one was coloured differently from its sibling: long tail a beautiful white, shimmering like new-fallen snow. The feathers, however, were a blazing red, like fire, the feathers on the tip of the tail and on the head the same colour. Eyes the same shade as Quill's looked up at the parent of the same name, pointed ears twitching. This child's skin was white as its tail, much the same as Quill's since the Blight's touch a year before.

Quill's mate snaked his way to her, looking down at the children. Quill, however, had other thoughts.

"I warned you. I told you to leave once they hatched. Now leave!" Her wing encircled the hatchlings, who tried to clean off each others' feathers with small, wet hands. They weren't having much luck.

"They are my children as well. I will take them with me. They will have nothing to do with you." His eyes narrowed as he pressed his wings against his back, red-and-black body and feathers glinting in the afternoon sun. This was the middle layer of the Beastlands ... it was always late afternoon.

"You agreed to leave once they hatched. I told you I would kill you ... and so I shall." With a short tune, Quill sent her children to sleep, darting forward toward her ex-mate, green eyes blazing.

"I refuse!" Lillendi were adept magic-users, bards really, and this one was proof of that. Spreading his arms, he sang a horrid song that released arrows of flame at the winter-coloured Lillend.

Quill slammed herself to the ground, silver jewelry tinkling as she did so, some of it cutting into her naked flesh. Snarling, she sang a song in Celestial, calling upon the energies of the Beastlands to cause sharp stones to erupt around the male. He merely heaved his wings and took off, his tail getting cut a little by one of the rocks. Frowning, Quill took to the skies as well, following the mate she had impregnated.

With the male so high in the sky, many other Lillendi could see them, though Quill preferred to live alone rather than in a group. Quill was older than the other Lillend, her skills more adept and stronger. He fired another flame arrow, and Quill just created a bit of water, extinguishing them. She saw the man swear and curse, and she took that moment to lunge at him, thrusting hard with her wings to hurtle at him.

The wind knocked out of him, the male plummeted to the ground, Quill wrapping her tail around him with a sadistic grin. Her slanted eyes met his and he knew that she would kill him ... no matter what, she would kill him. This caused the man to go into a rage, the fear of dying before his time assaulting his mind. Death for a Lillend without choice was a grave sin indeed.

The two managed to stay aloft, their wings beating heavily in the sky, her tail squeezing his body tight, and he fought to breathe. Strong arms punched at Quill, leaving bruises on her body that would fester later. She frowned again, squeezing harder. His wings failed him and Quill had to hold them both up, slowly descending to the ground.

Once landed, Quill used her sharp fingernails to drive them into his eyes. IF he couldn't see her, she was better off. He wailed, a high-pitched hiss-screech, a cross between a snake and a bird ... both of them severely injured. Raking her nails down his bare chest, Quill drove one of his sharp-edged gems into his ribcage, blood starting to rivulet down his body, pooling beneath the entwined Lillendi.

The wintry Lillend placed her hand right on the fiery one's chest, a light, airy tune erupting from her lips. His eyes widened and he fought her, though his ribs were breaking, his tail snapped in several places from her strong coils.

Summoning a wall of swords, Quill quickly lept back, coiling her tail about itself a good ways away, having pushed back with her wings, hands on the ground, elbows bent as if in an attack position.

The male was impaled. The blood matched the colour of his scales quite well, as it was hard to tell the difference. An expression of terror, pain, and anguish was emblazoned on his face as she looked at him, a smile blooming on her face.

"I told you I would kill you." Now that she was all bloody, Quill slithered to her children, who were still enchantedly asleep, beside a stream. Slipping into the water, the Lillend adult lounged for a while, watching the blood wash downstream. His horde of treasures was hers to keep now ... and she knew where to find it.

Jayne
Viscount
Posts: 359
Joined: Sun Mar 13, 2016 9:42 pm
Preferred Title: Nymphadora
Characters: [Main Characters]
Lucinda Darke
Nixlya Silkire
Apple/Faedre
Inessa Deathsong
Kaitlyn
Location: Australia

Re: NEW- Questionable Posts

Post by Jayne » Thu Apr 07, 2016 10:02 pm

I will devour you.. take all your pain away.
Author: Kel Russell
Date: 10 November 2003


DISCLAIMER!!!! This is a torture post. Blood, graphic depictions of malice and torture will be written about. Don't complain if you don't like it. Don't read it if you don't want to. That's about it. Oh, and lots of violence.
-----------

The Underdark was full of Drow, of course, among other creatures. Somewhere near-ish to Drache rested a city, whose name was not important. Within it were Houses, a number wihich was not important. Among those Houses was a particular House, whose name was not important. Inside this House was a Priestess, a Yathrin of Lolth, and she was in a very bad mood.

G`eldvyr, one of the Yathrin of this House, paced in a chamber deep beneath her House, her whip slapping at her leg, though she ignored the gashes the crystalline shards were giving her. She ignored the acid and poison that seeped through those scars; in truth, she did not even notice it. Her whip, a cat-o-nine-tails, was enchanted with acid burst. A very dangerous weapon.

Her vivid green eyes snapped to a man chained to the wall, blood trickling down his mouth, matted in his once-snow-white hair, crusted on his ebon skin that shone with sweat. He wore nothing, bare body naked to the world. In truth, Drow did not care if they were seen naked. They knew they were beautiful, and wanted the whole world to know it. This time, however, battered and bruised, to be naked was an embarrassment. G`eldvyr knew it, and the male hated it.

Named Guan`tyrr, or 'accursed slave', the male had done really nothing to warrant the Yathrin's ire. He had merely spoken out of turn, but in the state of mind G`eldvyr had been in, he had made a very grave mistake indeed. He had upset the Yathrin of Poisons. Venomous Daughter of Lolth.

With hard heels stirring up dust from the floor, G`eldvyr swung her whip back, her lip curled in a sneer, as she lashed out at the man, all nine tails igniting in a sickly green flame upon impact with the man's black skin. He screamed, much to G`eldvyr's nearly orgasmic pleasure. Acid bit into his wounds, green poison spilling over the shallow gashes she had inflicted. She knew much poison was coursing through his bloodstream, but she never cared. They were only men. Men were expendable.

Striding to him, she slips a vial from a hidden pocked within the holster of her enchanted whip. Unstoppered it, she tilted the man's head back and poured it in, watching him swallow. Of course he would swallow. If he did not, she would simply punish him for insubordination.

Surprisingly, the man felt better, but he knew it would not last. More pain was to come. G`eldvyr wanted his torture to go on forever, but he could not hold out that long. Biting his lip so hard to make it bleed, Guan`tyrr closed his eyes in preparation for the next blow. However, no amount of blissful darkness could prepare him for what was to come.

Sparking pain erupted from his groin area, his eyes flew open, mouth wide in a gasping sort of choking sound, blood spewing from his throat, reddening his tongue. G`eldvyr stood there, eyes a deeper red than ever he had seen them. She had rammed her spiked-armoured knee right into his manhood.

"You will never close your eyes to me, you wretched piece of human filth!" G`eldvyr's voice rang out in the wide space, many of the other slaves being punished looked over, curious as to what happened. Grunting, she drove her knee into him again, blood trickling down to the floor and over her leg, the man's eyes overflowing with tears. It was a pain unlike anything he had ever felt. Worse than the whip lashings he had received.

"That is better. Keep your eyes open or I will do far worse to you, iblith." The Yathrin backed up, readying her whip again as Guan`tyrr forced his eyes to remain open. He knew he would pay dearly for closing his eyes. He would have to make himself scream, no matter how much it hurt him, no matter how much it made the blood flow. He would scream until he was hoarse in the throat.

G`eldvyr lashed with her lip over and over, cutting him and slashing him with the venomous crystalline shards at the ends of the nine tails. Swipe after swipe, cut after cut, G`eldvyr drove all of her anger and fury into Guan`tyrr, making him howl with the ultimate pain of every crystal.

Letting her whip fall from her hand, the Yathrin of Venom slowly sauntered to the male, hips swaying in a most seductive way. Guan`tyrr reacted, and vomited in front of him at the pain he felt. With a smirk only a Drowess could make, G`eldvyr knelt and drew a thin-bladed black dagger, twirling it before Guan`tyrr's eyes. That smirk held his gaze as she slid the sharp edge up his chest, from navel to collarbone.

She cut him, a thin slice and the blood flowed. The dagger, poisoned with Dryder venom, bit into his muscle as if thirsting for it. He gagged on his own blood, turning his head to spit it away from the woman. He did not dare get any on her.

With a satisfied grin, G`eldvyr made quick, painful cuts all over his legs, arms, neck, torso ... she made him bleed more than anyone should ever bleed. Her eyes faded to an almost white-green in enjoyment, watching the green-tinted blood puddle around her black-booted feet. Leaning in, she whispered against his ear. "You have done well, my slave. Your reward ..."

She cut off one of his ears. He yowled and twisted against the chains, the shackles tearing into his wrists, causing more blood to flow. G`eldvyr could only laugh, ramming the thin dagger into him in various places, none of them lethal.

"Beg for your death. Beg for it, slave." G`eldvyr's sensual whisper echoed more than her shout as she spoke to Guan`tyrr.

"Jabbress ... kill me ... I beg you. I beg you. I .. beg you!" His voice was barely recognisable as he pleaded, tears spilling from his eyes. His hair was clumped, matted to his head with his own blood. "I beg you, Jabbress of Venom .. most powerful daughter of Lolth ... take my life and release me... I beg you ... with ..." He stopped. He didn't dare go on.

"With what. With what, dear -slave-." She held the dagger to his throat.

"With ... all that I am." He forced his eyes to remain open, watching hers grow black with rage.

"You are -nothing-! How -dare- you beg me with nothing, you insignificant whoreish male!" Standing, she kicked his head with her sharp-heeled boots, ramming her elbow right down on the top of his head. She knew he saw stars, but she kept him awake, physically beating him with her hands, arms, legs, feet. Driving the dagger between each of his vertebrae, G`eldvyr slowly grew calm, watching the blood glisten against his black skin.

"You are nothing." Her whisper was back and she sliced him from the top of his head, down his back, and down one leg to his foot. She walked away, then, letting him bleed. Of course, she kicked a small crate, allowing it to fall open. Spiders, her pets, skittered out and formed a symbol of Lolth, as they were trained.

"Tear him slowly, my children. Make him suffer for how he treated me." She smiled at the spiders as they quickly dashed to their victim.

G`eldvyr left the chamber, then, lulled by the horrendous screams of Guan`tyrr. She would pay her topside friend a visit. Yes, that would cheer her up.

Jayne
Viscount
Posts: 359
Joined: Sun Mar 13, 2016 9:42 pm
Preferred Title: Nymphadora
Characters: [Main Characters]
Lucinda Darke
Nixlya Silkire
Apple/Faedre
Inessa Deathsong
Kaitlyn
Location: Australia

Re: NEW- Questionable Posts

Post by Jayne » Thu Apr 07, 2016 10:05 pm

Punishment Divine.
Author: Kel Russell
Date: 10 November 2003

DISCLAIMER!!! Not as much torture, but still a little. Just don't read it
if you get easily offended, m'kay? Thanks.
-----------------

G`eldvyr was stopped on her way out of the Underdark by the sudden appearance of her younger sister, Molshalee. Frowning, she grunted as the smaller Drowess leapt upon the venomous Yathrin, clinging to her like some deranged koala.

"Sister! Sister, sister, sister! Molshalee made it rain! See?" She grinned madly as she shoved her hands up in G`eldvyr's face, holding onto the other with her strong legs. Molshalee was short, about 5'4", covered in a black leather bodysuit. Her normally-white hair was dyed black, eyes were black, skin was black. Her teeth and gums were purple, however, but it was still a normal trait in Drow. Her teeth were a stark white.

"Molshalee, that is glass. Now, get off. Wait. Where did you make it rain, Molshalee." G`eldvyr held onto her sister, lest she detect the harsh tone of her voice and attempt to flee. Then again, that was asking too much of her crazy-mad sister.

"Molshalee was upside! Upside, sister! Molshalee made it rain inside a inn. Molshalee made it rain! The rain hurt them. Molshalee's rain hurt them all!" She laughed insanely, gripping her sister's middle with her legs still.

G`eldvyr's expression darkened and she pushed the smaller Yathrin against the wall, eyes darkening to a blood red. "Who did it rain on, Molshalee. What was the name of this inn, Molshalee." Her tone could not have been more serious, arms raising up to press Molshalee's shoulders into the wall, the other's hands still up to show off the embedded glass.

"BlkDragon, sister! Molshalee made it rain on lizard-guard! On cocky man with big staff. On cry-baby hot thing, and others! Molshalee made it rain on them all!" She giggled giddily, thinking it all a game for the moment, until G`eldvyr's touch began to burn.

"You ignorant fool! You have no idea what you have done with your maniacal antics, Molshalee! You shall have to be punished." She yanked her sister from the wall, dragging her bodily down the hallway.

"Yay! Molshalee loves punishment! Hot wax, hot wax, chains and whips and other snips!" She giggled again, kicking her feet until G`eldvyr spoke.

"No, Molshalee. The kind of punishment that you hate. You will not enjoy this." She smiled to herself as Molshalee began to thrash seriously now. She knew what to do to her sister to make her hate punishment.

The two entered a room, where Molshalee was stripped naked and chained. Leaving for a few moments, G`eldvyr came back with a male. A male holding Molshalee's whip.

"Your punishment, Molshalee. Let us hope you have not ruined everything for us." She spun on her heel and stalked out, relishing in the deafening screeches of her sister. The male was enchanted to withstand the woman's magical bellows. Molshalee would be punished. And punished well.

Jayne
Viscount
Posts: 359
Joined: Sun Mar 13, 2016 9:42 pm
Preferred Title: Nymphadora
Characters: [Main Characters]
Lucinda Darke
Nixlya Silkire
Apple/Faedre
Inessa Deathsong
Kaitlyn
Location: Australia

Re: NEW- Questionable Posts

Post by Jayne » Thu Apr 07, 2016 10:10 pm

Golden Rogue and Lion's Heart: Shadows Converse
Author: Kel Russell
Date: 10 November 2003

DISCLAIMER!!! Yes, more torture, but there's other stuff too. Don't read it if you don't like it. Okay.
---------------------

Before going topside, G`eldvyr decided to pay a visit to the Matron Mother, Iymalstra. With confident strides, the scantily-clad Drowess swayed into the chamber Iymalstra used as a bedroom, a vast room with domed ceilings and inlaid beds and baths. She had her own massage parlor, complete with steam and scented oils. G`eldvyr could feel her ebon skin prickle at the thought.

"G`eldvyr, my First Yathrin, what news have you?" Iymalstra was lounging on her bed, pillows piled around her as a displacer beast purred under her hand. She watched as her daughter sat with her, laying next to her as Iymalstra would expect. She knew stroking the displacer beast was something G`eldvyr would have rather avoided.

"We may soon gain power on the surface, Matron Iymalstra," G`eldvyr crooned, smiling up at her mother. "There is one topside that is willing to help us, as long as we help him."

"So that is why you have been taking things, G`eldvyr? Slaves and wine, which is rare even for us, as well as weapons?" Iymalstra looked down at her daughter, displeasure in her deep red eyes, which soon turned to delight at her next words.

"Yes, Matron Iymalstra. It is all in exchange for power on the surface. I thought them but trinkets compared to what our House may hold." Sitting up, she smiled, brushing her long hair away from her face. "One Resque Maessen is the human helping us, Matron Iymalstra. Truly ... different." Laying back again, she drapes her legs over her mother, watching her with lazy green eyes.

"Resque Maessen? What a horrid name, G`eldvyr. Surely you gave him a new one? Even a male should not go about with such a horrible name as to bring displeasure to my ears. Poor human must be driven mad with such a terrible name." Shaking her head, she rests a hand on G`eldvyr's knee, meeting her eyes.

"Yes, Matron Iymalstra. I call him Ulvirr`drin. I believe it fits him. He is quick with his mind, and I believe quicker with his hand in one's coin purse." She raised her arms above her head, sighing heavily as the displacer beast rested its head on her stomach.

"Good thing you keep your coin well hidden. Amongst your poisons, nonetheless. Ulvirr`drin is a fine name, G`eldvyr. Golden Rogue. Perfect, it seems. What think you of him, then?" Idly stroking the cat creature, Iymalstra listened only half-heartedly.

"He is different from other humans, though just as quick to back down. I do know that most of it is for my own benefit, and that makes him all the more ... unique, I should say. He knows when to at least swallow his pride and apologise. He did push me in public." She laughed as Iymalstra fumed.

"He dared to do that to you, G`eldvyr? I hope you whipped him into submission." Her eyes narrow and she grips a bit of the beast's fur.

"No, mother. I merely got him to apologise. I find that it was harder for him to do that, than to withstand any sort of punishment I could give him. Hurting one's pride or ego may leave longer lasting scars than even my venoms. Ulvirr`drin is wily, and I will watch him. Of course, I do not expect any sort of deceit. He knows very well our House will be upon him before he could clean out his account." She G`eldvyr chuckles and shakes her head.

"I hope all of this is worth it, G`eldvyr. As First Yathrin, I am trusting your judgement." Moving her daughter's legs, Iymalstra waved her off as if to dismiss her.

"Perhaps I could arrange a meeting between the two of you, Matron Iymalstra?" G`eldvyr stood, straightening her translucent skirt over the black leather two-piece she wore.

"You know I abhore going to the surface. If he dares to come to me, then he shall visit with me. If not, then he is not quite the spectacular human you make him out to be."

"Matron Iymalstra. He is still a male and still beneath me. I play to his ego to keep him with us. He is vital to our ever gaining power on the surface and you damn well know that. Do not play coy with me, mother, for you are sorely mistaken if you think I will swallow it like Alak`qualyn did."

Iymalstra just shrugged and waved G`eldvyr away, rolling onto her side to sleep.

G`eldvyr left, heading topside to speak with Resque about Molshalee.

Jayne
Viscount
Posts: 359
Joined: Sun Mar 13, 2016 9:42 pm
Preferred Title: Nymphadora
Characters: [Main Characters]
Lucinda Darke
Nixlya Silkire
Apple/Faedre
Inessa Deathsong
Kaitlyn
Location: Australia

Re: NEW- Questionable Posts

Post by Jayne » Thu Apr 07, 2016 10:20 pm

the Lion's Heart is Crushed.
Author: Kel Russell
Date: 11 November 2003


Disclaimer as usual. Graphic depictions of torture and humiliation. More whips and blood and all that other stuff. Nudity possible. Pain. Lots of pain.

You've been warned.
----------------------

Cormllenaa knew he had been banished from the Drow city. He knew that Iymalstra could very well kill him if she knew he were coming. Hell, she may even allow him to die by a random Drow attack while making his way toward the Third House.

Wearing his normal white-and-burgundy robes of Kelemvor, the High Elf Priest navigates through the Underdark, using the Sigil Iymalstra had given him so long ago as a compass. It always led the way to home.

Long platinum hair whisping lightly in the self-made breeze, Cormllenaa, whose name means "lion heart", pads along on the dirt pathways, squinting his eyes in the darkness from time to time, watching the dim glow of the Sigil.

He'd had to leap into the path of one of the heat pockets the Underdark sports to cloak his body heat, masking it from Dryder or Drow mercenaries, soldiers, or the numerous spies lurking about. He was already sweating from the many times he has had to perform that much-used stunt. Quite a few of the Drow rode riding lizards, others rode giant spiders, and still others rode stunted black horses.

Moving quickly, the priest hurried to the large city, knowing his task was just beginning. How was he going to make his way through this vast expanse of Drow power? Gulping, he nearly cried out when a hand touched his shoulder. He spun, mace coming quickly to his hand, ice-blue eyes narrowing and ready to attack.

There was Vic`imar. He knew her. She was one of the daughters of Iymalstra left alive. Half-sister to Amalvier, his own daughter. This was not a good sign for the man, and the blank expression on Vic`imar's face did not help his nerves to calm.

"You will come with me, Cormllenaa," she whispered. Vic`imar always whispered. She never screamed, never rose her voice, and never even spoke in a normal tone. Always a hissing sort of whisper echoing from her ebon lips. She had long white hair, smattered with tiny braids, intwined with spidersilk. Her clothing, what there was of it, was also spidersilk, white in color and dotted with real living spiders. One of the few Drow to wear white all of the time, Vic`imar was dangerous.

"And if I refuse, Vic`imar.. creator of abyss?" He knew what her name meant, and used the definition as he glared at her defiantly. An instant after that, he wished he had not.

Vic`imar grasped his arm, her very touch sending a jolt of pain through him. He should have remembered that her touch could harm. She was close to the feeling of pain, and some said she always felt pain, which was why her touch hurt so. Squinting his eyes shut, Cormllenaa kept his hand fisted around the mace, not giving her the satisfaction of dropping it. "You are no longer the Patron, Cormllenaa. You will come with me. I will drag your lifeless body if I must."

She was not joking, and Cormllenaa knew this. Nodding, she released his arm and he followed, half-glad that the Priestess had shown up. If she had not come to his aid, he would have surely died among the Drowish throng milling about in the streets of the underground city.

***

Vic`imar led the priest of Kelemvor into a large antechamber, scattered with skittering spiders, slithering snakes, and many silk pillows. Iymalstra lay gracefully on a pile of said pillows, in a sunken area of the room. She wore a gorgeous dress of burgundy, as if she had known he would come this day. The dress was low-cut, narrowing to a point below her navel. Slit up both legs, the dress showed off the ebony skin of the Matron Mother ... the woman that had once seduced him and captured his very soul. But never his heart.

"Cormllenaa," she crooned acidically, "how nice of you to come to us this fine day. Pity Amalvier is not here. She left for the surface some time ago." A wicked smile graced her lips as she stood, bare feet padding across the cold marble floor. "You do remember our agreement. Never return if I set you free. Yet, here you are. Does your paternal instinct drive you to see your daughter? Our daughter?" Her floor-length alabaster hair dragged behind her on the floor, red eyes glittering brightly. She was a full-blooded Drow.

Cormllenaa paled. Amalvier was not here? Then what did he endanger his life for? Backing up a little, he bumped into Vic`imar, who stood still as a sentry awaiting orders. She smiled mock-tenderly at Cormllenaa, her own red eyes darkening to a blood colour.

"Poor deluded Cormllenaa. You crave the power you tasted while by my side. You were the mate of a ruler of a powerful Drow House. You could have had it all, my dearest. You could have been the Patron of the First House." Her voice hissed from between her white teeth as she came upon the surface elf. "Now, you shall pay the price for your intrusion. Vic`imar, take him to Shadow." With that, she quickly walked out of the room.

"Shadow it is." Vic`imar grabbed Cormllenaa's arm, pulling him over to a corner of the room where she kicked open a fake treasure chest. Using her painful touch, the Yathrin forced him inside.

Down he fell, not bothering to scream, into the blackness and uncertainty. He did not know how long he fell, but he hit the floor hard. Luckily, there was such death in the Underdark that sometimes Kelemvor could hear the prayers of his chosen. Cormllenaa's wounds were healed, and he could almost taste the ire of Lolth. How dare he call upon another deity in the world of the Spider Queen?

"You displease Lolth, Cormllenaa." Iymalstra's voice was heard again. She stepped from the shadows, clad in blood-red leather. Her top was scant, a low-cut bustier laced up the front with black leather, spider web motif embroidery gracing the front of the bustier. Her lower half was somewhat covered by a mid-shin-length loincloth, tied at the hips with more black leather. The same motif of spider webbing dotted the skirt. She was still bare-foot. Long, ivory locks were pulled back into a tight braid. "You call upon your own god in Her domain."

"I am the chosen of Kelemvor, Iymalstra. I am a Doomguide." He stood, only to be tugged backward by what seemed like living chains. Black snakes wrapped around his wrists and ankles, dragging him back to be pressed against the wall. He was not alarmed, yet.

"I would not wish your robes to be covered with your own blood, Cormllenaa.
Let us ... remove them." She withdrew a long, thin-bladed knife, the handle matching the colour of the leather she wore. Using the quicksilver-laced blade, Iymalstra stripped Cormllenaa of his clothing, tossing the tattered and cut fabric on the hard marble floor.

The man was naked to the world, pale flesh gleaming in the low light of the faerie fire spells laid about the chamber. His skin was flawless, very nearly glowing like the moon itself. Iymalstra could not help but admire him for a moment, red eyes raking over him like a hungry animal. She remembered him well.

Cormllenaa frowned, but did not cower. He rather stood taller, regardless of the snakes wrapped around his wrists and ankles. His blonde hair brushed against his naked back, hairless chest defined, regardless of him never actually working on that.

"I had forgotten how beautiful you are, Cormllenaa." The Matron swayed to him, dropping the dagger to the floor to stand before him, resting her black hands against his white chest. "I had forgotten the softness of your skin, and the warmth. You never did get cold." Leaning in, she kissed his neck, sliding her hands down to squeeze his hips. The man did not react in the way she had hoped. "It will be a shame to stain you with your own blood, my sweet snowflake."

"You had forgotten how stubborn I am, Iymalstra." He looked down at her, almost for an instant a bit of affection flashing in his eyes. Was it imagined? Could have been. "Kelemvor will watch after me. Your Spider Bitch cannot touch me."

"No, but I can." She drove her thumbnails into his hips and he grunted, feeling the blood ooze down his legs to pool on the floor. "You still do not fall to your knees." Iymalstra smiled and traced a spider shape on his chest with his own blood before standing back. "Do you remember my whip, Cormllenaa?"

"Yes, Iymalstra. Living darkness. The purest essence of Lolth in that it encompasses chaos and the blackness of where you thrive." He had been broken with that whip. He had sobbed at her feet, bleeding and gashed, curled up in a naked ball, broken for all the Yathrin to see.

"You have a good memory, Cormllenaa." She smiled and allowed the blacker-than-black whip to unravel from its place on her hip. It seemed to hiss in exhilaration as it slapped against the floor, shivering with delight until it settled. The crystalline shards at the tips of the nine tails puffed out bits of dark clouds, only to form into the air around them.

Drawing it back, she allowed the tails to cut into the spider shape on Cormllenaa's chest, her pupils dialating at the sight of his blood. She heard him cry out, and knew his memories of the last time she used her whip were coming back to him. "Remember the caress of my whip, Cormllenaa! It is difficult to forget!" Another lash and he screamed outright, writhing against the snakeish bonds that held him.

The pain surged through him, darkness entering his veins to torment him from the inside. Pain roiled in his blood, causing all rational thought to leave him completely. Pulling against the bonds, Cormllenaa grunted, trying to forget the pain and suffering he was experiencing.

"Yes, fight, my love. Fight the bonds that will never break!" She laughed and struck him from the side, cutting a deep gash into the side of his waist. Blood gushed from the wound, running down his hip and his leg, making a puddle at his feet. She loved the sight of his dark red blood staining the floor; staining his skin. "Fight it." Another laugh and she struck him from the other side, several large scratches appearing on his waist. More blood made small rivulets down his leg to join the others in the pool.

He never knew his body could feel so much pain again. When Iymalstra lashed him with repeated blows, he could not help but to allow a horrendous scream to tear from his throat, his eyes shutting tight as his mouth opened wide.

The dark-and-chaos-enchanted whip bit him on his chest, his legs and arms, even his throat. Blood stained his white skin, marred his platinum hair. He allowed the tears to fall, washing away some of the blood as she flogged him with the malicious weapon.

Iymalstra grinned and wound the whip about her arm, stepping in his blood as she got close to him. The man had since fallen to his knees, close to the breaking point again. She knelt, holding one of the tails in her hand to drag it down his face, cutting into his skin, watching him cry more. That smile only a Drowess could make bloomed on her lips as she traced a vein in his neck with the crystal, eyeing the dark blood that ran from the cut.

"It hurts, Cormllenaa. It hurts you to be treated so. I know it does." She smeared his blood over his body, laughing at the way he cringed and writhed against her touch, against the snakes that held him in place. "It hurts you to be whipped and cut. I know." She raked her nails over his skin, taking out chunks of it with her. He grunted. "But it does not hurt me."

Stepping back, she whipped him again and again, watching the blood pool larger around his knees, watching him cry out, throw his head back and scream, and tug hard against the snake-bonds. Clear tears poured from his eyes as he accepted the punishment, his throat hoarse from all of the bellowing he was doing. Blood spouted from his mouth as the tissue in his throat tore and ripped from the harsh noise he was making.

This only made Iymalstra happier. She grinned and lashed quicker, more violently at him with her whip, watching his blood turn blacker and blacker with the enchantment upon the weapon.

With blood running down his chin, Cormllenaa passed out, going slack against the snakes, which let him go, allowing him to splash into the pool of his own blood. His hair fanned out around his head, floating in the blood that had come from him.

"Vic`imar. Dump him outside of the Inn he so loves. Let everyone know he was broken and bloodied." Turning, Iymalstra passed Vic`imar, who had witnessed the whole ordeal, going to take a nice, long bath.

"Yes, Matron Iymalstra." Vic`imar whispered to her mother, snapping her fingers so three males came skittering over, hoisting Cormllenaa over their heads, piling his shredded priest's robes atop him.

In the night, the group would deposit the unconscious body of the elfin male outside of the house of a certain professor, as Vic`imar decided that that would be a more fitting place for him. They laid him on the ground, laying up on the steps of the lich's home. He was covered in blood and sweat, not to mention tears and his robes.

Cormllenaa had been broken a second time.

Jayne
Viscount
Posts: 359
Joined: Sun Mar 13, 2016 9:42 pm
Preferred Title: Nymphadora
Characters: [Main Characters]
Lucinda Darke
Nixlya Silkire
Apple/Faedre
Inessa Deathsong
Kaitlyn
Location: Australia

Re: NEW- Questionable Posts

Post by Jayne » Wed Apr 13, 2016 5:54 am

Praising the Darkness, Berating the Light, all is well in the Underdark.
Author: Kel Russel
Date: 13 November 2003

Disclaimer. again. A bit more nudity, a bit more violence and torture.
Same as always.
--------------------

The darkness was so thick you could almost taste it. The Shadow was occupied this moment, by quite a few of the more violent and evil of the elfin race. The Drow.

Molshalee was shackled by the same living snakes that had once held Cormllenaa ... twice in his lifetime. Her head hung low, black-dyed hair dripping with her own blood, her ebon skin naked to all who could see. She'd been forced to remove the black bits that coloured her eyes, revealing the all-too-common red of the Drow. Those eyes were trained upon the blood pooling around her on the floor. A male stood before her, wielding her own whip.

Iymalstra stood off to the side, out of the soft light of the Faerie Fire, her other daughters around her. There had been a time when more of her clan were alive, before one died in childbirth, and the other was murdered. Alak`qualyn and Elkaste were missed, but nothing could be done. Or so she mused at the moment.

G`eldvyr watched as Molshalee was punished by the male, a sadistic smile growing across her venomous lips. She'd been the one to apprehend Molshalee this time, with the aid of her sister, Vic`imar. When she spoke, it was soft, and aimed at her silent sister. "How did you get her free, sweet whispering sister?" Green eyes stayed trained on Molshalee, enjoying her pain with all that she was.

Vic`imar's own crimson gaze, too, was amused at the pain Molshalee was feeling. Ironic, really, that Molshalee should hate this. The small one usually loved the feel of the whip against her skin. When given by a male, she hated it. "I made a deal with the law." The tell-tale whisper of Vic`imar permeated G`eldvyr's ears. Vic`imar always whispered.

"Oh? Do elaborate. I feel your efforts may have just helped us." Lifting a hand to her lips, the Yathrin of Poisons half-hides her overjoyed smile, watching Iymalstra give the male orders on how to punish their petite sister.

"Simple, dear venomous sister of mine." Vic`imar moved a little closer to G`eldvyr, placing a hand around the other's hips to pull her over. "After you had pulled her into the Shadows, I stayed behind. Come to find out she had poisoned one of the guardsmen topside. He looked like a lizard-man, which furthers the ludicrous undertakings of the surface." She scoffed before continuing. "Dryder, no less. So, he asked me for the antidote. He actually thought I would give it to him." She laughed, and heard G`eldvyr chime in. "Of course, I required a price. Pardon Molshalee and halt all pursuit of her. He would turn in Valshalee in her place, claiming he had gotten the name wrong."

"Brilliant, Silent One." G`eldvyr rested a hand over Vic`imar's watching Molshalee writhe in pain, the silent shield spell placed just before the other Yathrin saving their ears from bleeding. "What next, then?"

"Well, he agreed. His companion, some little bitch waif of a creature, claimed she would if requested. Slyly, the guard told me she agreed. I would have none of that. Of course, I told him to request it of her, so he did. She agreed." A wicked smile blossomed over her lips as she recalled the encounter. "He trusted me to give him the antidote. Of course, doing anything but would have marred our chances more than anything Molshalee could have ever done. I cured him, but told him if he ever did not uphold his end of the bargain, I would kill them both. His captain of the guard should be expecting a note pardoning Molshalee officially."

G`eldvyr relished this, shivering against Vic`imar. "Oh, sister, you are cunning. Not only do we have Resque working with us, but we now have a black hand upon the Guard. Delicious." She leaned over and gave her younger sister a nuzzle with her cheek, the other returning it.

"Yes. I was trained by some of the best, sister. Too bad Alak`qualyn is not here to view this." She looked sad a moment, missing the eldest of the Yathrin for but an instant before gesturing to Molshalee with her chin. "Look, I believe it is over. Our turn, sister."

Iymalstra moved to allow G`eldvyr and Vic`imar passage to Molshalee. The two took the offer, but no whips were drawn. The hard heels of their boots clacked on the floor, G`eldvyr's black, and Vic`imar's white.

G`eldvyr knelt upon one side of their beaten sister, Vic`imar on the other, both of them lifted her head with one hand each.

"Poor Molshalee, you did it again. You very nearly ruined any chance we had with gaining any influence upon the surface," G`eldvyr said sweetly, her thumbnail biting into Molshalee's cheek. The smaller Yathrin flinched.

"But, in the end, you gave us a hand in the law, sweet Molshalee. If not for your mad antics, we never would have coerced that guardsman to aid us." Vic`imar's whisper echoed more than G`eldvyr's normal speaking tone. "Your poison made me give him the Dryder antidote. We have a fist within the law, Molshalee, and it is all thanks to you."

Molshalee lifted her head to look from G`eldvyr to Vic`imar, hope plastered in her weary and pain-filled eyes. "Really? Molshalee ... helped her sisters?" She'd always been excluded from undertakings given by their House, because of her crazy mindset and smaller stature.

"Yes, Molshalee," G`eldvyr crooned. "You helped. However, you are not to go back to that inn ever again. We cannot risk you ruining this card for us. We gamble in a very dangerous and fickle game. Stay out of that inn."

Molshalee nodded and went slack, unconsciousness taking her as her sister stood.

"Do you think she will listen?" Vic`imar stood, gazing down at their sister with disdain.

"Yes. I believe this time she will listen." G`eldvyr answered her whispering kin before turning and leaving the Shadow.

Iymalstra just drank all of this in, smiling to herself as she, too, left the Shadow. Molshalee would wake up by herself, and take herself back to her own room. Amalvier, her youngest daughter, was no where to be found just yet. This annoyed Iymalstra after having Cormllenaa down here.

The Matron Mother entered her chambers, laying upon the pile of pillows in the center of the room. She only wore a long, solid skirt, with a gauzy robe overtop, her naked torso visible to all who would look. As she lay there, she thought. That is, until Vic`imar entered the room.

"Matron, I feel you have words you wish to speak of. Tell me." Her white-booted feet clack to Iymalstra, her alabaster-clad body sinking into the pillows.

"How astute of you, daughter. Yes, I was thinking about Cormllenaa. Where is it that you placed him?" Iymalstra lay back lazily, eyes watching the high ceiling.

"I placed him outside of Stygian's home, Matron. I felt that, if we put him there, he would be healed and forced to live with our graces. If we left him at that inn, he would die. Torture his mind and his will, Matron, and he will be ours." Vic`imar smiled and lay back as well, watching as Iymalstra grinned.

"Oh, how wicked. I was just thinking how nice it would be to have him as a mate again. He was always so agreeable. And look at the offspring he gave us. Despite her being half-blood Drow, Amalvier is more ruthless than Molshalee." Her slanted eyes shift to her daughter, questioning her for her opinion.

"Yes, she is, Matron. Cormllenaa was one of the more ... agreeable Patrons we have had. He was the only one not to end in death." Vic`imar really had enjoyed the reign of the surface elf, having had her share of his body to herself, with Iymalstra's blessings. "Quite agreeable."

"Good. I shall think on this and we may have to retrieve him. After all, a strong Patron would do us good when we make our move upon the Second House." Iymalstra waved her daughter away before closing her eyes. She would rest, now.

"As you wish, Matron." The whisper of the Yathrin echoed as she left the chamber, smiling to herself. She would have to get Cormllenaa back before Iymalstra could decide. What better gift for her Matron? Stygian would have a black visitor sooner than he would think.

Post Reply