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The Blade of Phoee (Updated 12/08/08)
- Thread starter Funeris
- Start date
TheYeti1775
Adventurer
Just got a network notify here,Funeris said:
our incoming internet email is down.
Ugh
Just when I wanted to be lazy.
And Email back and forth.
I swear the Gods are against me in all forms today.
Yeti
Funeris
First Post
Ah...well...if you go here you'll see what my email was about. I was requesting input from both you and Mike.
Once our connection went back online...I went ahead and posted it...but its not drawing any views as yet.
~Fune
Once our connection went back online...I went ahead and posted it...but its not drawing any views as yet.
~Fune
Grrr...
I suppose I despise Rhynos so much because his humanity (and vampirism) hit very close to home. I can believe that evil such as him exists. End-Bringer, on the other hand, is an alien form of evil - one that my mind can always write off as a fiction (he/she/it is very real within the context of the story, mind you, it's just that I can safely put it aside when i remove myself from reading). Rhynos, to me, represents the evil that can and does well up from within each of us, as opposed to an otherworldly, external End-Bringer (from my POV/given what little I know about it as has been revealed in the SH so far).
I guess the only way I'll get satisfaction with the character is to level up my PCs a bit and throw a vampire spawn named Rhynos at them and let them beat on him for a few dozen rounds before granting him final death in as gruesome and just a manner as possible.
Excellent writing as ever, Funeris. Admittedly, some of it goes beyond some of my comfort levels, but I keep reading it regardless. I'm not exactly all sunshine and rainbows, but your story has challenged me to allow it to take me places that I'd rather not go. Follow your muse no matter what pathways it takes you down! We'll still be along for the ride.
I suppose I despise Rhynos so much because his humanity (and vampirism) hit very close to home. I can believe that evil such as him exists. End-Bringer, on the other hand, is an alien form of evil - one that my mind can always write off as a fiction (he/she/it is very real within the context of the story, mind you, it's just that I can safely put it aside when i remove myself from reading). Rhynos, to me, represents the evil that can and does well up from within each of us, as opposed to an otherworldly, external End-Bringer (from my POV/given what little I know about it as has been revealed in the SH so far).
I guess the only way I'll get satisfaction with the character is to level up my PCs a bit and throw a vampire spawn named Rhynos at them and let them beat on him for a few dozen rounds before granting him final death in as gruesome and just a manner as possible.
Excellent writing as ever, Funeris. Admittedly, some of it goes beyond some of my comfort levels, but I keep reading it regardless. I'm not exactly all sunshine and rainbows, but your story has challenged me to allow it to take me places that I'd rather not go. Follow your muse no matter what pathways it takes you down! We'll still be along for the ride.
Funeris
First Post
Thanks Anti-Sean
That made me all warm and tingly inside. And you're dead on (so to speak) with the comparison of evils between Rhynos and End-Bringer. End-Bringer...does at least seem alien (you don't know his whole past...so maybe that'll come into play...and I can make you feel for him as well...cuz I'm evil like that). End-Bringer...is what Aliens...or Demons/Devils...Angels...Gods...should be...an unknown entity. You don't know what drives him truly (aside from his god/king). Does he enjoy the death/pain/suffering he causes? Is he truly evil...or is he more like a machine??
Rhynos on the other hand...here you have a guy that was obviously abused as a child (and often even though you only get one true glimpse of it). He's been forced to feel inferior all his life...as compared to the brother that was truly inferior and was to inherit the father's business. He had a loving mother...that was forced to keep a safe distance or be "punished". His father neglected him. He suffered injustice.
So...he did what most second children from Midloth did...he enlisted into the King's army (seeing as how it is the capital of Norum da Salaex...the King has a very strong and constant presence in his own city). And he quickly rose through the ranks...taking lead of these inferior creatures (orcs, half-orcs, goblins, half-goblins) in an undeclared war. The power...for one constantly forced into an inferior position...was overwhelming. So he reacts the way he was taught those in power act: he abuses his troops, his "friends"...everyone.
Then of course...he's pushed even further from his humanity with the vampirism. Its a constant downhill slide with his intentions and soul...that began at his birth. Hell, it may have even began before that--but now I get ahead of myself, the story hour, and even the game
Rhynos is what every human can be. That's why I like humans in roleplaying games. They have this great ability of being Angels or Devils...and the getting to that point is delicious. That is probably why I studied Psychology & Criminal Justice in college too Besides...we as humans can relate more to human characters...at least initially.
Well, I'll stop boring you with my rambling. I have to get prepared for a meeting. Ugh.
~Fune
That made me all warm and tingly inside. And you're dead on (so to speak) with the comparison of evils between Rhynos and End-Bringer. End-Bringer...does at least seem alien (you don't know his whole past...so maybe that'll come into play...and I can make you feel for him as well...cuz I'm evil like that). End-Bringer...is what Aliens...or Demons/Devils...Angels...Gods...should be...an unknown entity. You don't know what drives him truly (aside from his god/king). Does he enjoy the death/pain/suffering he causes? Is he truly evil...or is he more like a machine??
Rhynos on the other hand...here you have a guy that was obviously abused as a child (and often even though you only get one true glimpse of it). He's been forced to feel inferior all his life...as compared to the brother that was truly inferior and was to inherit the father's business. He had a loving mother...that was forced to keep a safe distance or be "punished". His father neglected him. He suffered injustice.
So...he did what most second children from Midloth did...he enlisted into the King's army (seeing as how it is the capital of Norum da Salaex...the King has a very strong and constant presence in his own city). And he quickly rose through the ranks...taking lead of these inferior creatures (orcs, half-orcs, goblins, half-goblins) in an undeclared war. The power...for one constantly forced into an inferior position...was overwhelming. So he reacts the way he was taught those in power act: he abuses his troops, his "friends"...everyone.
Then of course...he's pushed even further from his humanity with the vampirism. Its a constant downhill slide with his intentions and soul...that began at his birth. Hell, it may have even began before that--but now I get ahead of myself, the story hour, and even the game
Rhynos is what every human can be. That's why I like humans in roleplaying games. They have this great ability of being Angels or Devils...and the getting to that point is delicious. That is probably why I studied Psychology & Criminal Justice in college too
Besides...we as humans can relate more to human characters...at least initially.Well, I'll stop boring you with my rambling. I have to get prepared for a meeting. Ugh.
~Fune
TheYeti1775
Adventurer
Funeris said:Thanks Anti-Sean
That made me all warm and tingly inside. And you're dead on (so to speak) with the comparison of evils between Rhynos and End-Bringer. End-Bringer...does at least seem alien (you don't know his whole past...so maybe that'll come into play...and I can make you feel for him as well...cuz I'm evil like that). End-Bringer...is what Aliens...or Demons/Devils...Angels...Gods...should be...an unknown entity. You don't know what drives him truly (aside from his god/king). Does he enjoy the death/pain/suffering he causes? Is he truly evil...or is he more like a machine??
Rhynos on the other hand...here you have a guy that was obviously abused as a child (and often even though you only get one true glimpse of it). He's been forced to feel inferior all his life...as compared to the brother that was truly inferior and was to inherit the father's business. He had a loving mother...that was forced to keep a safe distance or be "punished". His father neglected him. He suffered injustice.
So...he did what most second children from Midloth did...he enlisted into the King's army (seeing as how it is the capital of Norum da Salaex...the King has a very strong and constant presence in his own city). And he quickly rose through the ranks...taking lead of these inferior creatures (orcs, half-orcs, goblins, half-goblins) in an undeclared war. The power...for one constantly forced into an inferior position...was overwhelming. So he reacts the way he was taught those in power act: he abuses his troops, his "friends"...everyone.
Then of course...he's pushed even further from his humanity with the vampirism. Its a constant downhill slide with his intentions and soul...that began at his birth. Hell, it may have even began before that--but now I get ahead of myself, the story hour, and even the game
Rhynos is what every human can be. That's why I like humans in roleplaying games. They have this great ability of being Angels or Devils...and the getting to that point is delicious. That is probably why I studied Psychology & Criminal Justice in college too
Well, I'll stop boring you with my rambling. I have to get prepared for a meeting. Ugh.
~Fune
To sum it up in a few words.
Rhynos makes Cassock look like a Saint.
Funeris
First Post
Chapter 5: Nightfall - Part V.
“Now, priest!” Rhynos’ arm snapped out, shattering the Cael worshipper’s jaw. The human slumped to the floor. His hands grasped at the broken bones, trying to staunch the flow of blood and spit. The beast flared with the scent of fresh blood.
A soft, smooth humming filled the room; a soft, inky darkness spread between the priest’s fingers. He removed his hands—the wounds were gone.
“Not until I have my wife.”
“Because of the two of you I could tear my own hair out in frustration!” The cleric of Cael smiled inside from the response—his face kept its unwavering glare. “You will get your wife when—And only when—I have received the blood wine. And I mean all of the blood wine.”
The vampire stomped toward the first of only two windows in the small domicile. He threw the shutters open. Outside, the pristine, velvet sky warmed to a beautiful rose red along the verdant horizon—the ancient trees of the Draeul Forest. To the west, the towering giants of the Matz range twinkled in the dawning sun—their white-capped peaks bounced the light rays into the valley. If the vampire had glanced south and west, he could’ve watched those giants stoop and crouch until they disappeared into the vacant, flat horizon formed by the Dead Sea. But he had seen enough. It was time to push the priest.
“I gave you until the last few moments before daybreak. Day is now breaking. Your wife’s life is forfeit. Tomorrow night, I will return for you, coward. Get you as far away from here as possible under the light of the sun; offer me at least some sport—although, one as lazy, fat and cowardly as yourself will be an easy slaughter anyway. Until tomorrow.” Rhynos stepped away from the window, sliding the door open a sliver.
“WAIT!” The vampire grinned without turning. “I have your bloodwine.”
“All of it?”
“Yes. Here.” The priest flew from the entry and into the small kitchen. Rhynos heard the clatter of dishes and other rummaging noises. He turned to the kitchen and the cleric poured through the cramped doorway with a large box in his hands. “It’s all here,” he huffed as he set the box down cautiously.
“All fifty vials?”
“Yes. Each and every last vial you requested.”
“You wouldn’t try to betray me, would you priest?” Rhynos’ left eyebrow arched with a measuring movement.
“Not when my wife's life hangs in the balance,” the cleric replied—fingering the holy symbol in his pocket.
“Good.” The vampire knelt and transferred the vials into his satchel.
“And my wife?” The priest cautiously queried, his hand gripped tight about the symbol now. Outside the doorway, the first true rays of sunlight were slithering across the dirt.
“I have one more task for—”
“The deal was the vials for my wife!” The holy symbol had leapt from the cleric’s pocket still embraced between the shocked-white fingers.
“Don’t do anything hasty,” hissed the Grimhand. He finished shoveling the vials into the leather satchel and secured its straps. Inside, the vials quivered and clinked—glass against glass. “Your last task for me,” the vampire stated as soothingly as possible, “is to remove your wife from her prison. I have no more need of her; she is wasting valuable enough space as it is.”
The priest blurted, “She’s alive then?!” He sighed, releasing a breath full of worry.
“Yes,” and here Rhynos chuckled, “although she is tired—positively drained. That’s no real surprise though, is it?” His face broke into a cruel smirk. “You’re not even half the man I am, or was.” Frowning, the holy man shuffled his feet nervously; to say anything could jeopardize his wife’s rescue. “Of course she wants something of me that I cannot give. And she has more in common with you—a weak, sack of flesh. So, come with me and I will take you to her. Then you both can be rid of me.”
Taking steady strides, the vampire crossed the threshold and into the bright morning rays.
“NO! Wait!” The priest of Cael threw himself at the vampire; a vain attempt to protect the demon from the damaging rays of the sun. Rhynos sidestepped, allowing the minister to fall gracelessly onto the earth. His body took the brunt of his weight; his robes absorbed the brunt of the moist earth. Onto his back he spun, horrified to see the vampire, a creature unable to tolerate the light of day, standing calmly within its bright grasp.
“But—the sun’s—its light—”
“It will take effect soon enough, priest. Have faith.” A sizzling pop echoed the truth of his statement. His flesh began to singe and blaze. It sagged and then just as quickly drew tight across the bones beneath. Wide holes tore into being; boils that burst and spread a pale ash into the drifting winds.
“Get out of the light!”
“Grab my hand, priest.” Rhynos stretched his arm out and down. His flesh peeled back from the tips; muscle separated; his bones pushed into the warming air—the jagged barbs were at the very edge of the white.
The priest hesitated then reached up to clasp the bone. Rhynos’ arm darted back. A crackling green energy engulfed the bones and the forearm surged forward. The bare fist slammed into the priest’s head fracturing his skull and pushing the holy man into a deep, tumbling darkness.
“Now, priest!” Rhynos’ arm snapped out, shattering the Cael worshipper’s jaw. The human slumped to the floor. His hands grasped at the broken bones, trying to staunch the flow of blood and spit. The beast flared with the scent of fresh blood.
A soft, smooth humming filled the room; a soft, inky darkness spread between the priest’s fingers. He removed his hands—the wounds were gone.
“Not until I have my wife.”
“Because of the two of you I could tear my own hair out in frustration!” The cleric of Cael smiled inside from the response—his face kept its unwavering glare. “You will get your wife when—And only when—I have received the blood wine. And I mean all of the blood wine.”
The vampire stomped toward the first of only two windows in the small domicile. He threw the shutters open. Outside, the pristine, velvet sky warmed to a beautiful rose red along the verdant horizon—the ancient trees of the Draeul Forest. To the west, the towering giants of the Matz range twinkled in the dawning sun—their white-capped peaks bounced the light rays into the valley. If the vampire had glanced south and west, he could’ve watched those giants stoop and crouch until they disappeared into the vacant, flat horizon formed by the Dead Sea. But he had seen enough. It was time to push the priest.
“I gave you until the last few moments before daybreak. Day is now breaking. Your wife’s life is forfeit. Tomorrow night, I will return for you, coward. Get you as far away from here as possible under the light of the sun; offer me at least some sport—although, one as lazy, fat and cowardly as yourself will be an easy slaughter anyway. Until tomorrow.” Rhynos stepped away from the window, sliding the door open a sliver.
“WAIT!” The vampire grinned without turning. “I have your bloodwine.”
“All of it?”
“Yes. Here.” The priest flew from the entry and into the small kitchen. Rhynos heard the clatter of dishes and other rummaging noises. He turned to the kitchen and the cleric poured through the cramped doorway with a large box in his hands. “It’s all here,” he huffed as he set the box down cautiously.
“All fifty vials?”
“Yes. Each and every last vial you requested.”
“You wouldn’t try to betray me, would you priest?” Rhynos’ left eyebrow arched with a measuring movement.
“Not when my wife's life hangs in the balance,” the cleric replied—fingering the holy symbol in his pocket.
“Good.” The vampire knelt and transferred the vials into his satchel.
“And my wife?” The priest cautiously queried, his hand gripped tight about the symbol now. Outside the doorway, the first true rays of sunlight were slithering across the dirt.
“I have one more task for—”
“The deal was the vials for my wife!” The holy symbol had leapt from the cleric’s pocket still embraced between the shocked-white fingers.
“Don’t do anything hasty,” hissed the Grimhand. He finished shoveling the vials into the leather satchel and secured its straps. Inside, the vials quivered and clinked—glass against glass. “Your last task for me,” the vampire stated as soothingly as possible, “is to remove your wife from her prison. I have no more need of her; she is wasting valuable enough space as it is.”
The priest blurted, “She’s alive then?!” He sighed, releasing a breath full of worry.
“Yes,” and here Rhynos chuckled, “although she is tired—positively drained. That’s no real surprise though, is it?” His face broke into a cruel smirk. “You’re not even half the man I am, or was.” Frowning, the holy man shuffled his feet nervously; to say anything could jeopardize his wife’s rescue. “Of course she wants something of me that I cannot give. And she has more in common with you—a weak, sack of flesh. So, come with me and I will take you to her. Then you both can be rid of me.”
Taking steady strides, the vampire crossed the threshold and into the bright morning rays.
“NO! Wait!” The priest of Cael threw himself at the vampire; a vain attempt to protect the demon from the damaging rays of the sun. Rhynos sidestepped, allowing the minister to fall gracelessly onto the earth. His body took the brunt of his weight; his robes absorbed the brunt of the moist earth. Onto his back he spun, horrified to see the vampire, a creature unable to tolerate the light of day, standing calmly within its bright grasp.
“But—the sun’s—its light—”
“It will take effect soon enough, priest. Have faith.” A sizzling pop echoed the truth of his statement. His flesh began to singe and blaze. It sagged and then just as quickly drew tight across the bones beneath. Wide holes tore into being; boils that burst and spread a pale ash into the drifting winds.
“Get out of the light!”
“Grab my hand, priest.” Rhynos stretched his arm out and down. His flesh peeled back from the tips; muscle separated; his bones pushed into the warming air—the jagged barbs were at the very edge of the white.
The priest hesitated then reached up to clasp the bone. Rhynos’ arm darted back. A crackling green energy engulfed the bones and the forearm surged forward. The bare fist slammed into the priest’s head fracturing his skull and pushing the holy man into a deep, tumbling darkness.
Funeris
First Post
Chapter 5: Nightfall - Part VI (Chapter Done)
“What, please say, is this?” The sexual, sinful, and naked form of Lillith slid its lithe, long arms up and around Rhynos’ body. Her cold, lifeless touch caressed his body lovingly but her eyes stared hungrily over the warlock’s shoulder. The warlock, Rhynos, knew the loving touch was false—all loving touches were. The world was cold, dark, and hateful. It was full of spite, wickedness and injustice; love was a concept some fool poet dreamt in an earlier, perhaps kinder age.
No, Lillith cared nothing for her once precious dark child. She used him constantly as a guard, as a slave, as a sexual tool. And in the very earliest of days, a fulfillment of her lustful hunger was his only purpose. Afterward, the demoness would drain his body of its sustaining blood—leaving him in a state of torpor until the next night. Then she would wet his lips with some blood; usually from a child or some other pitiful creature; stirring him from sleep, awakening the beast, obliterating what little humanity the Grimhand had.
But how quickly she had grown tired of him. Did those blissful, thoughtless, eternal nights of lust even last a year? He often wondered. Time was irrelevant, meaningless in the darkness. Soon, she no longer drained him of his blood. She still used him to sate the ungodly lust that burned within her breast, but always she left him awake and restless. Once he had dared question why. Her cold response had been: Because you amuse me. I am tired of you. But still, you amuse me. The feeling had become mutual.
Tonight it will all end, the warlock thought. “And how was the gathering, my goddess?”
“It is unimportant, slave. What is this?” She moved around him, shifting silently across the damp earth. She knelt in front of the gift he had prepared, examining each individual piece separately. Slowly, she traveled along the line. Often she would grip one piece, examine the details closely; she sniffed, touched, and even rubbed her soft tongue across a few. “They still live? And what are all these holy symbols doing in my cave?” the vampiress demanded. She spun to her child.
Rhynos stood unmoving, cold and now nude. “My goddess,” he knelt to one knee and bowed his head in deference. “I know how these meetings with the council starve and bore you. The food cannot be of the best, most delectable morsels. I have prepared a feast worthy of your divinity.” His black, shaggy-haired head bowed ever lower.
“The religious symbols?!”
“I have gathered all of the priests, each and every single one from within our—I mean your,” he corrected, “territory. With them eliminated, your grip will be ever more powerful.” Rhynos raised his head, his sharp fangs black in the lightless cave, “And a goddess should only eat the best.
“I placed their symbols out in front of their bodies so that you may know of which god or goddess you drink from. I know, from experience, that each tastes unique when compared to the next.”
Lillith laid her pale hand against one of the minister’s chests. “His heart still beats! You said you tasted from each?”
“Only enough to assure their compliance until you returned, my lady. I did not wish such a gathering to awake. Together, they may have been able to best me, your weak subject. I wanted everything perfect for your return.” Quietly, the warlock stood and moved to stand beside his mother.
“You have done well in my absence, slave.” She looked at the warlock, taking notice of the red spots that marred the perfect, white flesh of his face. “Have you been playing in the light of day, fool?”
Rhynos smiled, seemingly abashed. “No, my goddess. The priest of Cael was exceedingly difficult to gather—even though I already had his wife, the cleric of Myr. He fought me well into the bitter light of morn, where I sustained these wounds.” With a quivering motion, Rhynos brought her attention again to the scars upon his face and also to the still-healing flesh and sinew of his arm. “In the end, I did succeed however. And your feast is complete.”
“Well done. Yes, very well done.”
Rhynos gripped Lillith’s arms, pulling their naked forms together; grinding against her cool body in exquisite pleasure. “Please, my goddess, my love. Take me as you did when first I was turned. I long for your caress.” His cry was lustful and altogether true. It elicited only a seductive smile from the demoness.
“My dear, sweet child.” With the patronizing words, her right arm snaked upward and grasped his hair solidly. She wrenched his head back, tugged his body from the softness of her own. Lillith hissed, “You are not fit to touch the flesh you so desire.” She spit in his face and smirked. “But do not despair for you have done well in my absence. Perhaps another night you will be worthy.” She batted him away with her left; he tumbled through the air and slammed against the stone wall.
“Just now though,” she licked her lips, “I am famished.” She tore into Rhynos’ gifts with ravenous greed, savoring each delectable drop.
Against the stone wall, the warlock smiled.
Lillith’s body twisted in agony. She mouthed words but they were silent and replaced with regurgitated blood and, more importantly, potent blood wine.
“My dear, sweet mother,” Rhynos whispered. He crouched on one knee again but she was not standing. Now he was above her, he had the advantage. The warlock looked at her as an evil god might glance at a human, as a large beast preparing to crush an annoying fly. “I believe you are weakened. I hear blood wine does that.” He smirked and then stood.
“And what is that tingling in my blood, sweet, loving mother? Is that the first sign of the coming sun? Of course it is. In this lightless, dirty and dank pit you were once safe. This is no longer the case. You should have killed me when you had the chance.” Rhynos’ leg kicked straight out, slamming Lillith’s head with brute force. Her neck snapped causing her head to twitch ever more violently.
Slowly, more slowly than usual, the bones cracked and popped—resetting their selves and healing.
“I do believe that sun is going to hurt you more than me, Mother.” His tone was biting and sarcastic. Her eyes opened wider in fear before she was forced to close them with another rush of vomited fluid. “Yes, yes it will. And all you had to do was love me, mother. That was all.
“You could’ve prevented this. But you chose to ignore me. Always, always ignoring me.” Insanity crept into the warlock’s mind, twisting the long years of painful memory. “Was I not good enough for your love? Was I not good enough for your protection? Was my life not worth the cost of your own?
“It must not have been. I have endured it all: the pain, the scarring—I must never forget the constant reminders—, the physical abuse, the rape, the beatings, and torture. And I have ignored, ignored, ignored it all away into nonexistence. Just like you, Mother.
“But no more. Those days are done and gone. Now, I embrace my immortality. I embrace my freedom. I embrace my right to give back the glorious existence this world has given to me.” The warlock tightened the last of his old armor that still bore the King’s crest and the Church’s icon.
[/b]“My last act, Mother, is truly an act of love and compassion—if such emotions actually exist.”[/b] He knelt to whisper into her ear: “I will spare you the suffering of life. This morning, I kill you.” The warlock’s arm burst into green flame as he drove it through Lillith’s chest. She clawed frantically at him, but his grasp was too tight with his claws lodged delicately around her black heart and her poisoned body was too weak.
He lifted her easily—she was still vomiting, twitching, and trying to fight back—and carried her through the solid earthen wall into the bright light of early morning.
The light assaulted both of their bodies but the warlock had been practicing. Every morning of her absence, he had basked in the morning light for as long as his body could take the harsh rays. Eventually, the periods of time stretched longer and longer. And now, the results of his experimenting paid off.
Lillith’s body quickly began to ash while his held its pale, pureness stoically. His skin reddened a bit but refused to burst into flame or ash. He brought Lillith close to his mouth to whisper, “I love you, sweet mother.” He closed his grip upon her heart—oh, how she convulsed. “I hope you burn in the strongest fires of hell”.
With two quick motions, the warlock ripped the black heart from Lillith’s body and decapitated her with his other taloned-hand. The heart burst into flame setting his scarred-hand, the grim hand, ablaze. Her head also turned to ash, along with the rest of her body.
The sun ripped across his own corpse, destroying it. But before the bright light could completely consume his body, before the world could demand its true justice, Rhynos the Grimhand, sunk through the earth to sleep a long, restful, and healing sleep.
“What, please say, is this?” The sexual, sinful, and naked form of Lillith slid its lithe, long arms up and around Rhynos’ body. Her cold, lifeless touch caressed his body lovingly but her eyes stared hungrily over the warlock’s shoulder. The warlock, Rhynos, knew the loving touch was false—all loving touches were. The world was cold, dark, and hateful. It was full of spite, wickedness and injustice; love was a concept some fool poet dreamt in an earlier, perhaps kinder age.
No, Lillith cared nothing for her once precious dark child. She used him constantly as a guard, as a slave, as a sexual tool. And in the very earliest of days, a fulfillment of her lustful hunger was his only purpose. Afterward, the demoness would drain his body of its sustaining blood—leaving him in a state of torpor until the next night. Then she would wet his lips with some blood; usually from a child or some other pitiful creature; stirring him from sleep, awakening the beast, obliterating what little humanity the Grimhand had.
But how quickly she had grown tired of him. Did those blissful, thoughtless, eternal nights of lust even last a year? He often wondered. Time was irrelevant, meaningless in the darkness. Soon, she no longer drained him of his blood. She still used him to sate the ungodly lust that burned within her breast, but always she left him awake and restless. Once he had dared question why. Her cold response had been: Because you amuse me. I am tired of you. But still, you amuse me. The feeling had become mutual.
Tonight it will all end, the warlock thought. “And how was the gathering, my goddess?”
“It is unimportant, slave. What is this?” She moved around him, shifting silently across the damp earth. She knelt in front of the gift he had prepared, examining each individual piece separately. Slowly, she traveled along the line. Often she would grip one piece, examine the details closely; she sniffed, touched, and even rubbed her soft tongue across a few. “They still live? And what are all these holy symbols doing in my cave?” the vampiress demanded. She spun to her child.
Rhynos stood unmoving, cold and now nude. “My goddess,” he knelt to one knee and bowed his head in deference. “I know how these meetings with the council starve and bore you. The food cannot be of the best, most delectable morsels. I have prepared a feast worthy of your divinity.” His black, shaggy-haired head bowed ever lower.
“The religious symbols?!”
“I have gathered all of the priests, each and every single one from within our—I mean your,” he corrected, “territory. With them eliminated, your grip will be ever more powerful.” Rhynos raised his head, his sharp fangs black in the lightless cave, “And a goddess should only eat the best.
“I placed their symbols out in front of their bodies so that you may know of which god or goddess you drink from. I know, from experience, that each tastes unique when compared to the next.”
Lillith laid her pale hand against one of the minister’s chests. “His heart still beats! You said you tasted from each?”
“Only enough to assure their compliance until you returned, my lady. I did not wish such a gathering to awake. Together, they may have been able to best me, your weak subject. I wanted everything perfect for your return.” Quietly, the warlock stood and moved to stand beside his mother.
“You have done well in my absence, slave.” She looked at the warlock, taking notice of the red spots that marred the perfect, white flesh of his face. “Have you been playing in the light of day, fool?”
Rhynos smiled, seemingly abashed. “No, my goddess. The priest of Cael was exceedingly difficult to gather—even though I already had his wife, the cleric of Myr. He fought me well into the bitter light of morn, where I sustained these wounds.” With a quivering motion, Rhynos brought her attention again to the scars upon his face and also to the still-healing flesh and sinew of his arm. “In the end, I did succeed however. And your feast is complete.”
“Well done. Yes, very well done.”
Rhynos gripped Lillith’s arms, pulling their naked forms together; grinding against her cool body in exquisite pleasure. “Please, my goddess, my love. Take me as you did when first I was turned. I long for your caress.” His cry was lustful and altogether true. It elicited only a seductive smile from the demoness.
“My dear, sweet child.” With the patronizing words, her right arm snaked upward and grasped his hair solidly. She wrenched his head back, tugged his body from the softness of her own. Lillith hissed, “You are not fit to touch the flesh you so desire.” She spit in his face and smirked. “But do not despair for you have done well in my absence. Perhaps another night you will be worthy.” She batted him away with her left; he tumbled through the air and slammed against the stone wall.
“Just now though,” she licked her lips, “I am famished.” She tore into Rhynos’ gifts with ravenous greed, savoring each delectable drop.
Against the stone wall, the warlock smiled.
* * *
Lillith’s body twisted in agony. She mouthed words but they were silent and replaced with regurgitated blood and, more importantly, potent blood wine.
“My dear, sweet mother,” Rhynos whispered. He crouched on one knee again but she was not standing. Now he was above her, he had the advantage. The warlock looked at her as an evil god might glance at a human, as a large beast preparing to crush an annoying fly. “I believe you are weakened. I hear blood wine does that.” He smirked and then stood.
“And what is that tingling in my blood, sweet, loving mother? Is that the first sign of the coming sun? Of course it is. In this lightless, dirty and dank pit you were once safe. This is no longer the case. You should have killed me when you had the chance.” Rhynos’ leg kicked straight out, slamming Lillith’s head with brute force. Her neck snapped causing her head to twitch ever more violently.
Slowly, more slowly than usual, the bones cracked and popped—resetting their selves and healing.
“I do believe that sun is going to hurt you more than me, Mother.” His tone was biting and sarcastic. Her eyes opened wider in fear before she was forced to close them with another rush of vomited fluid. “Yes, yes it will. And all you had to do was love me, mother. That was all.
“You could’ve prevented this. But you chose to ignore me. Always, always ignoring me.” Insanity crept into the warlock’s mind, twisting the long years of painful memory. “Was I not good enough for your love? Was I not good enough for your protection? Was my life not worth the cost of your own?
“It must not have been. I have endured it all: the pain, the scarring—I must never forget the constant reminders—, the physical abuse, the rape, the beatings, and torture. And I have ignored, ignored, ignored it all away into nonexistence. Just like you, Mother.
“But no more. Those days are done and gone. Now, I embrace my immortality. I embrace my freedom. I embrace my right to give back the glorious existence this world has given to me.” The warlock tightened the last of his old armor that still bore the King’s crest and the Church’s icon.
[/b]“My last act, Mother, is truly an act of love and compassion—if such emotions actually exist.”[/b] He knelt to whisper into her ear: “I will spare you the suffering of life. This morning, I kill you.” The warlock’s arm burst into green flame as he drove it through Lillith’s chest. She clawed frantically at him, but his grasp was too tight with his claws lodged delicately around her black heart and her poisoned body was too weak.
He lifted her easily—she was still vomiting, twitching, and trying to fight back—and carried her through the solid earthen wall into the bright light of early morning.
The light assaulted both of their bodies but the warlock had been practicing. Every morning of her absence, he had basked in the morning light for as long as his body could take the harsh rays. Eventually, the periods of time stretched longer and longer. And now, the results of his experimenting paid off.
Lillith’s body quickly began to ash while his held its pale, pureness stoically. His skin reddened a bit but refused to burst into flame or ash. He brought Lillith close to his mouth to whisper, “I love you, sweet mother.” He closed his grip upon her heart—oh, how she convulsed. “I hope you burn in the strongest fires of hell”.
With two quick motions, the warlock ripped the black heart from Lillith’s body and decapitated her with his other taloned-hand. The heart burst into flame setting his scarred-hand, the grim hand, ablaze. Her head also turned to ash, along with the rest of her body.
The sun ripped across his own corpse, destroying it. But before the bright light could completely consume his body, before the world could demand its true justice, Rhynos the Grimhand, sunk through the earth to sleep a long, restful, and healing sleep.
Funeris
First Post
Chapter 6: Fata Viam Invenient - Part I
Fata Viam Invenient: Latin for “The Fates will find a way”
—oo—oo—
“Mother, I have news!” Lady Llewyllyn burst into her private chambers. Her golden hair swung lightly left and right, creating a shimmer of light in the darkened room. She carelessly tossed her candle onto the oak bureau. It landed awkwardly, skidding a few inches, before stopping precariously close to the edge.
The lady shifted her curling, golden mane away from her face and peered intently into the mirror. Her piercing green eyes stirred the reflection until her image disappeared; replaced by the frail and aged image of her mother.
“And what news is so important to wake me from my comfortable slumber?”
“Oh, don’t lie. You’ve been listening—at least part of the time!” Lady Llewyllyn, the younger, crossed her arms defiantly like a child during a temper tantrum.
“I have been listening in—now and again. But, I just can’t keep up with you daughter. You’re always rushing about. And your last excursion was thoroughly exhausting. I don’t think my shoulders will ever feel right again.”
“A little exercise won’t hurt your frail body. Besides, I bore the brunt of it. All you had to do was sit back and enjoy.”
“Yes, yes. Anyway...what’s your news?” The old woman sat down upon the reflected bed. She reached for the mirror image of the brush and lovingly stroked her straight, silver hair.
“A traveler just stopped in—a bounty hunter.”
“Oh?” Lady Llewyllyn, the elder, paused her delicate brushing. She leaned forward to hang onto each word and detail.
“This bounty hunter is looking for one of our soon-to-be-guests.” The elder resumed her brushing, but looked utterly distracted. “A woman by the name of Anastrianna Rowen.”
“Yes,” the elder chimed in, “I know the name. A Gabe Rowen is mayor of a small town about a month’s march south of our manor. I seem to remember him having a daughter…”
“One and the same. Well, it seems there is a bounty out on her head for a theft she made within Nordaa Saam.”
“Are you sure it is truly wise to allow these common thieves and brigands within our walls?”
“Mother,” the younger sighed. “They’re not common thieves or brigands. Anastrianna has stolen the key!”
Shock registered across the reflection’s wrinkled brow. “Oh, dear. We must—oh, well—we need to—” she stuttered incompletely. She began wringing her shriveled hands together.
“I’ve already sent the bounty hunter along his way. And I truly doubt he’ll remember telling me everything he did.” The younger smiled proudly. “I charmed him with more than just my womanly wiles.”
The elder grimaced, the worry pushed momentarily away. “That was a waste. But, it is true then: the time draws near. Daughter please let me out. I should be the first to meet this band.”
The younger sighed, “Fine. But first there is one more thing you should know about these common thieves and brigands.”
“And what could that possibly be?”
“Cassock of Cael, the son of Morrick the Bringer of Cael, travels with Anastrianna Rowen.” Lady Llewyllyn the younger smiled as her mother’s face turned deathly pale.
“We’ll need to take down that portrait! And…and…”
“Mother, I’ve already taken care of it.” Then she commanded, “Now, come out of there this instant.”
With a ripple, the mirror shifted about. Within a few seconds, the younger was confined within the mirror and the elder stood within reality. She hurriedly finished the brushing of her hair, pulled out a fresh, white dress, changed equally as quick, and hurried to meet her guests.
Fata Viam Invenient: Latin for “The Fates will find a way”
—oo—oo—
“Mother, I have news!” Lady Llewyllyn burst into her private chambers. Her golden hair swung lightly left and right, creating a shimmer of light in the darkened room. She carelessly tossed her candle onto the oak bureau. It landed awkwardly, skidding a few inches, before stopping precariously close to the edge.
The lady shifted her curling, golden mane away from her face and peered intently into the mirror. Her piercing green eyes stirred the reflection until her image disappeared; replaced by the frail and aged image of her mother.
“And what news is so important to wake me from my comfortable slumber?”
“Oh, don’t lie. You’ve been listening—at least part of the time!” Lady Llewyllyn, the younger, crossed her arms defiantly like a child during a temper tantrum.
“I have been listening in—now and again. But, I just can’t keep up with you daughter. You’re always rushing about. And your last excursion was thoroughly exhausting. I don’t think my shoulders will ever feel right again.”
“A little exercise won’t hurt your frail body. Besides, I bore the brunt of it. All you had to do was sit back and enjoy.”
“Yes, yes. Anyway...what’s your news?” The old woman sat down upon the reflected bed. She reached for the mirror image of the brush and lovingly stroked her straight, silver hair.
“A traveler just stopped in—a bounty hunter.”
“Oh?” Lady Llewyllyn, the elder, paused her delicate brushing. She leaned forward to hang onto each word and detail.
“This bounty hunter is looking for one of our soon-to-be-guests.” The elder resumed her brushing, but looked utterly distracted. “A woman by the name of Anastrianna Rowen.”
“Yes,” the elder chimed in, “I know the name. A Gabe Rowen is mayor of a small town about a month’s march south of our manor. I seem to remember him having a daughter…”
“One and the same. Well, it seems there is a bounty out on her head for a theft she made within Nordaa Saam.”
“Are you sure it is truly wise to allow these common thieves and brigands within our walls?”
“Mother,” the younger sighed. “They’re not common thieves or brigands. Anastrianna has stolen the key!”
Shock registered across the reflection’s wrinkled brow. “Oh, dear. We must—oh, well—we need to—” she stuttered incompletely. She began wringing her shriveled hands together.
“I’ve already sent the bounty hunter along his way. And I truly doubt he’ll remember telling me everything he did.” The younger smiled proudly. “I charmed him with more than just my womanly wiles.”
The elder grimaced, the worry pushed momentarily away. “That was a waste. But, it is true then: the time draws near. Daughter please let me out. I should be the first to meet this band.”
The younger sighed, “Fine. But first there is one more thing you should know about these common thieves and brigands.”
“And what could that possibly be?”
“Cassock of Cael, the son of Morrick the Bringer of Cael, travels with Anastrianna Rowen.” Lady Llewyllyn the younger smiled as her mother’s face turned deathly pale.
“We’ll need to take down that portrait! And…and…”
“Mother, I’ve already taken care of it.” Then she commanded, “Now, come out of there this instant.”
With a ripple, the mirror shifted about. Within a few seconds, the younger was confined within the mirror and the elder stood within reality. She hurriedly finished the brushing of her hair, pulled out a fresh, white dress, changed equally as quick, and hurried to meet her guests.
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