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(Cydra) Delilah's Story
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<blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 2329347" data-attributes="member: 1210"><p><strong>Delilah's Tale- part I</strong></p><p></p><p><em><strong>8/1/371 O.L.G., the astral fortress Hiktakka Getsch</strong></em></p><p></p><p>Delilah the Damned strips the beautiful dress she was wearing off. With a contented sigh, she runs her hands over the naked curves of the body she wears. She loves feeling <em>warm</em> again. </p><p></p><p>Delilah smiles languidly as she steps into a cage of adamant bars, taking only her spell component pouch with her. Outside, the githyanki jailers close the locks, and then Delilah releases her hold, returning to the <em>magic jar</em> that holds the woman’s soul. The switch takes only an instant, and the naked woman collapses, sobbing, in her cage. Delilah transfers back to her true, undead body, and <em>teleports</em> to her boudoir. </p><p></p><p>It is always slightly depressing to be in her real body. The spark of life, the <em>verve</em> of living flesh is something she cannot match as an undead. She has tried, Bleak knows; even hundreds of years ago, not so long after the fight with Dexter, she had tried, crafting the spell <em>inner warmth</em> to aid in her seductions. Delilah’s Cheshire grin spreads across her face. She has always been an intensely sensual creature, and she has always needed to be gratified. The utter inability to achieve satisfaction as an undead was torment for years, until she achieved the mastery necessary to control a herd of women (and, later, men) who she could possess at will. </p><p></p><p>Of course, allying with Dzaram the Lich, and thus gaining access to an astral fortress run by githyanki, didn’t hurt either.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Later they come together for the first time since the end of the caster’s conference. Delilah and her close allies, a cabal of villains of incredible power and uncertain desires, together represent an immense arcane power. In fact, ironically, even Delilah does not know their goals. Only Dzaram understands the schemes they are perpetrating. Only Dzaram knows why they have aided the Forinthian Empire, servants of Galador, god of the Light, so much over the centuries. </p><p></p><p>Well, one piece of the picture became clear when Dzaram put Prayzose on the throne.</p><p></p><p>Nonetheless, Delilah glances sideways at her master, Dzaram. He is a short, dark-haired man. No one could tell by looking that he is a lich. Indeed, to look upon him, one sees only a man garbed in respectable green clothes. He looks wholly unremarkable.</p><p></p><p>Delilah knows better. After all, Dzaram carries a tarrasque in his pocket.</p><p></p><p>Nydroth- “Grisly” to many- is there as well, stinking of unwashed flesh and the taint of dead meat. His clothing crawls with vermin. He cackles frequently, his vulture clutching his bony shoulder. His recently-constructed <em>staff of necromancy</em> is clutched in his hand. Behind him is his newest quickling crossbreed- merged with spider eaters, he raves, and they can paralyze enemies with incredible speed.</p><p></p><p>Zazou is looking out the window, strumming his lute. The Yellow Bard, as he calls himself these days, seems uncomfortable near the death knight Ominous, an undead githyanki blackguard of unfriendly aspect with the orichalcum teeth of the devourer in his belly. For a moment, Delilah thinks of Jerakai Ilmixie, tiefling ally from long ago, long dead. She is feeling quite reflective. The group discusses the outcome of the caster’s conference; Dzaram feels that it is a constructive engagement. The others, naturally, concur. If there was something wrong with Dzaram’s opinion, they would feel free to voice it, but there usually isn’t. He’s brilliant, after all.</p><p></p><p>After Nydroth’s report on his current experiments- he’s trying to replicate some of Felenga’s more interesting constructions- Ominous tells them of the progress he is making on conquering some rather far-flung islands. Apparently, the locals are able to duck and hide fairly well, forcing the combat into poor terrain and giving themselves all the advantages. Despite the challenges, however, he obviously relishes the level of slaughter he is allowed to perpetrate. </p><p></p><p>Then Delilah rattles off a report about her newest research; unfortunately, one avenue she was researching has reached a dead end, but another shows promise. Her desire to take control of summoned creatures of others burns bright within her. </p><p></p><p>Afterward, the group mingles. Delilah drinks tasteless wine, sitting pensively, thinking again about Dexter.</p><p></p><p>Dexter- now worshiped as a deity by many of the masses- was Delilah’s arch-foe when she was alive, and then when she first turned undead. She remembers him vividly: an acne-faced snot-nosed kid, branded and scarred by the Inquisition. She and her friends attacked him- attempted to slay him- but failed. Only she survived, at least to the best of her knowledge, and only by virtue of being undead and not needing to breathe. She fled into the sea that day, staying under water until she had walked for miles and the danger had passed.</p><p></p><p>Ah, how bitter she was! Delilah thinks back.....</p><p></p><p>****</p><p></p><p><em><strong>4/18/97 O.L.G., 11: 30 p.m., the shores of Forinthia</strong></em></p><p></p><p>Once she reached shore, Delilah had already determined that it was time to lay low. <em>Dexter and Malford and their crew might come after me at any time!</em> she seethed. Fear raced through her; if she had a pulse, it would have pounded. </p><p></p><p>Already, in her mind, she was working on the outlines of a spell to defend her and any allies she might seek from Dexter’s mental powers. <em>The accursed psionicist,</em> she thought bitterly. <em>Chanti- you should have attacked him directly, without stopping to engage their stupid paladin and that brute fighter!</em> Grief welled up in her momentarily, but it was half-artificial. </p><p></p><p><em>I am cold now,</em> she realized. <em>My undead flesh will never kindle as it once did. Passions require the flowing of blood. And I must be very, very careful or I will be destroyed.</em></p><p></p><p>Slowly, she began moving inland.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="the Jester, post: 2329347, member: 1210"] [b]Delilah's Tale- part I[/b] [i][b]8/1/371 O.L.G., the astral fortress Hiktakka Getsch[/b][/i][b][/b] Delilah the Damned strips the beautiful dress she was wearing off. With a contented sigh, she runs her hands over the naked curves of the body she wears. She loves feeling [i]warm[/i] again. Delilah smiles languidly as she steps into a cage of adamant bars, taking only her spell component pouch with her. Outside, the githyanki jailers close the locks, and then Delilah releases her hold, returning to the [i]magic jar[/i] that holds the woman’s soul. The switch takes only an instant, and the naked woman collapses, sobbing, in her cage. Delilah transfers back to her true, undead body, and [i]teleports[/i] to her boudoir. It is always slightly depressing to be in her real body. The spark of life, the [i]verve[/i] of living flesh is something she cannot match as an undead. She has tried, Bleak knows; even hundreds of years ago, not so long after the fight with Dexter, she had tried, crafting the spell [i]inner warmth[/i] to aid in her seductions. Delilah’s Cheshire grin spreads across her face. She has always been an intensely sensual creature, and she has always needed to be gratified. The utter inability to achieve satisfaction as an undead was torment for years, until she achieved the mastery necessary to control a herd of women (and, later, men) who she could possess at will. Of course, allying with Dzaram the Lich, and thus gaining access to an astral fortress run by githyanki, didn’t hurt either. *** Later they come together for the first time since the end of the caster’s conference. Delilah and her close allies, a cabal of villains of incredible power and uncertain desires, together represent an immense arcane power. In fact, ironically, even Delilah does not know their goals. Only Dzaram understands the schemes they are perpetrating. Only Dzaram knows why they have aided the Forinthian Empire, servants of Galador, god of the Light, so much over the centuries. Well, one piece of the picture became clear when Dzaram put Prayzose on the throne. Nonetheless, Delilah glances sideways at her master, Dzaram. He is a short, dark-haired man. No one could tell by looking that he is a lich. Indeed, to look upon him, one sees only a man garbed in respectable green clothes. He looks wholly unremarkable. Delilah knows better. After all, Dzaram carries a tarrasque in his pocket. Nydroth- “Grisly” to many- is there as well, stinking of unwashed flesh and the taint of dead meat. His clothing crawls with vermin. He cackles frequently, his vulture clutching his bony shoulder. His recently-constructed [i]staff of necromancy[/i] is clutched in his hand. Behind him is his newest quickling crossbreed- merged with spider eaters, he raves, and they can paralyze enemies with incredible speed. Zazou is looking out the window, strumming his lute. The Yellow Bard, as he calls himself these days, seems uncomfortable near the death knight Ominous, an undead githyanki blackguard of unfriendly aspect with the orichalcum teeth of the devourer in his belly. For a moment, Delilah thinks of Jerakai Ilmixie, tiefling ally from long ago, long dead. She is feeling quite reflective. The group discusses the outcome of the caster’s conference; Dzaram feels that it is a constructive engagement. The others, naturally, concur. If there was something wrong with Dzaram’s opinion, they would feel free to voice it, but there usually isn’t. He’s brilliant, after all. After Nydroth’s report on his current experiments- he’s trying to replicate some of Felenga’s more interesting constructions- Ominous tells them of the progress he is making on conquering some rather far-flung islands. Apparently, the locals are able to duck and hide fairly well, forcing the combat into poor terrain and giving themselves all the advantages. Despite the challenges, however, he obviously relishes the level of slaughter he is allowed to perpetrate. Then Delilah rattles off a report about her newest research; unfortunately, one avenue she was researching has reached a dead end, but another shows promise. Her desire to take control of summoned creatures of others burns bright within her. Afterward, the group mingles. Delilah drinks tasteless wine, sitting pensively, thinking again about Dexter. Dexter- now worshiped as a deity by many of the masses- was Delilah’s arch-foe when she was alive, and then when she first turned undead. She remembers him vividly: an acne-faced snot-nosed kid, branded and scarred by the Inquisition. She and her friends attacked him- attempted to slay him- but failed. Only she survived, at least to the best of her knowledge, and only by virtue of being undead and not needing to breathe. She fled into the sea that day, staying under water until she had walked for miles and the danger had passed. Ah, how bitter she was! Delilah thinks back..... **** [i][b]4/18/97 O.L.G., 11: 30 p.m., the shores of Forinthia[/b][/i][b][/b] Once she reached shore, Delilah had already determined that it was time to lay low. [i]Dexter and Malford and their crew might come after me at any time![/i] she seethed. Fear raced through her; if she had a pulse, it would have pounded. Already, in her mind, she was working on the outlines of a spell to defend her and any allies she might seek from Dexter’s mental powers. [i]The accursed psionicist,[/i] she thought bitterly. [i]Chanti- you should have attacked him directly, without stopping to engage their stupid paladin and that brute fighter![/i] Grief welled up in her momentarily, but it was half-artificial. [i]I am cold now,[/i] she realized. [i]My undead flesh will never kindle as it once did. Passions require the flowing of blood. And I must be very, very careful or I will be destroyed.[/i] Slowly, she began moving inland. [/QUOTE]
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