Transgressions

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Nilan
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Joined: Fri Feb 02, 2001 6:01 am

Transgressions

Postby Nilan » Fri May 12, 2006 6:50 am

Transgressions


Nilan sat alone in the darkened tavern of Ilitree’s in the heart of Menzoberranzan. The goblet of wine was barely touched and the assassin ran his finger thoughtfully over its rim. His thoughts were elsewhere. It had been many moons since the Vhaeraunite had been able to enjoy the shadowed halls of the temple in his home city of Dobluth Kyor. At times he would sneak outside the gates of the City of Spiders, kneeling and praying to his god where none could see. He knew he was taking a risk, but it was Vhaeraun’s shadows that had protected him thus far and it was his faith that demanded his devotion. Thoughts flashed in his head as he tried to sort each one out. They wove around his brain in tangled webs, one entwining another which in turn wrapped around another that still yet ensnared another.

The drow grumbled to himself as he thought about past events. It was he who had made first contact with the Darklake Consortium, working his way inside through the handling of a few assignments. He had shown his prowess in acquiring items and his skill in doing so unseen. Where the Consortium had failed, he had succeeded in retrieving a valuable magical book. That book had been the beginning of his relationship with the merchants, and, according to most recent rumors, it had been well received by the Lady of Ashstone. He had introduced the priestess Itasha to the merchant known as Yezhes. A priestess of Menzoberranzan had been needed to act as a ‘figurehead’ to bolster the Consortium’s image, essential in making initial contact and then further in securing a trade agreement with Ashstone. Things were going well to a point…but then things started to get messy.

Nilan’s gaze remained fixed almost trancelike upon the rim of the goblet as he pondered the most recent of events. The Darklake Consortium’s leadership had changed hands suddenly. Its three head members were slain in the ruins of what was once House Do’Urden. Rumors spoke of a priestess held high in Lloth’s favor, the summoning of a demon from the abyss, and the grisly deaths of all those present that dared ‘test’ her power. Nilan shuddered involuntarily, breaking him from his meditative state. Only the merchant Yezhes had escaped death that day. Nilan grimaced and downed what was left of the wine in his goblet in one gulp. One thing was certain, however. The Darklake Consortium had a new leader. Priestess Itasha had indeed been busy.

Nilan slammed the goblet down and headed for the door, deciding the quicker he returned to Dobluth Kyor, the quicker he could inform Vhaeraun’s High Priest of the twisted happenings in Lloth’s city. His pace quickened as he moved toward the tavern door that opened into a darkened street. He rounded the corner only to find himself face to face with a familiar figure.

The assassin’s eyes instantly flashed crimson and he quickly lowered them, hoping his anger had gone unnoticed. He felt a burning gaze upon him. “Come, follow and see that you keep up,” Itasha commanded. Her hand rested ever so comfortably on the whip that writhed at her side, as she took a step toward him. With a mental curse for his own plans which must now be pushed aside for another day, Nilan swallowed his impatience, falling into step several paces behind as was appropriate, and the two soon found themselves outside of the city moving swiftly though the wilds of the Underdark.

After what seemed like an hour the priestess stopped and uttered a magical word that seemed to refresh her. Nilan leaned against the cavern wall, catching his breath, watching her carefully as she rummaged though her pack. “Priestess, where are we going? Is there some business to atten…”

“Silence!” she growled in his direction. Nilan narrowed his eyes suddenly before dropping his gaze to the cavern floor. He allowed his breathing to slow in an effort to recover his strength, as the priestess finished a prayer to her cruel goddess. The assassin gathered his pack, his hand checking to secure his sentient blade within the magical folds of his cloak. “Shadow” seemed to hum eerily as his ebon fingers drifted lightly over its hilt. Sensing Itasha’s gaze upon him once again, Nilan pushed all thoughts of the blade that seemed such a part of him from his mind. He nodded, his hands going toward the other two blades fastened at his waist, in an insincere gesture to indicate his readiness.

Again the two drow traveled for what seemed like hours before making their way past the ogre-magi sentinel and through the caverns to a narrow crevice cut into the jagged Underdark stone. The floor of the cleft was smooth, however, and Nilan watched as the priestess took a seat relaxing as she opened her pack. “We shall rest here,” Itasha stated curtly.

Nilan nodded, sitting across from the priestess. He watched as she brought out two goblets and a bottle of wine. Grinning, the assassin opened his backpack and eagerly grabbed at a piece of roasted peryton. He was hungry. It had been a day since he remembered actually eating anything of substance, so the meat tasted particularly good. Nilan glanced at Itasha who seemed to be painstakingly wiping out one of the goblets. She caught his eyes upon her and shrugged, muttering about dirty glasses. The assassin only smirked and held out his hand, offering her a piece of the roasted peryton. Itasha shook her head and indicated the stirge on the plate before her. She poured green wine into both of the goblets before handing him one.

They ate in silence, the assassin gazing about the area in an effort to determine their current location. He suspected they were near to the lava tubes that open into the surface region and was conscious of a longing to continue their travel until they reached the Night Above, where Vhaeraun’s power was strongest. Nibbling on the last piece of peryton, he pushed the thoughts aside, not wanting to give the priestess any chance opportunity to guess his desires. He downed the wine in the goblet before him, and leaned back against the cavern wall.

Seconds turned into minutes then seemed to stretch into hours until the assassin felt as if time had ceased altogether. Hands grew heavy, and a tingling sensation pricked at his finger tips. Groaning, he stared in confusion at Itasha, who sat but a few paces from him sipping from her goblet. The room began to spin, slowly at first, and the drow squinted, trying to focus. Nausea came upon him in waves as he struggled to keep his gaze on the deadly priestess. He heard her rise to her feet, but her image faded in and out of view, even as he clung to it with grim determination. Nilan lurched to his hands and knees panic consuming him as intensely as did the poison that stole his movements.

“Priestess…” he gasped, as he attempted to gain footing, pulling himself up the rocky wall. He sensed her movement, and blinked in an effort to clear the cloudy, drugged haze surrounding him. He heard a bottle being picked up and the light steps of the female’s agile feet. Sounds that would otherwise have been barely noticeable echoed loudly in the pounding of his head.

“Are you unwell?” asked the priestess. In his battle against the potent draught, her quiet voice sounded as if it were coming down a long tunnel.

Nilan glared in the direction of the voice, hatred showing plainly on his face as sweat beaded on his brow. His hand went to the stiletto at his waist and he struggled to tear the blade from its sheathe. Stumbling as the poison consumed him, he fell to his knees, groaning as the wicked blade skittered against the cavern floor with a clatter of noise that resonated within the ache of his head. Desperately he reached out for it, his fingertips briefly touching the onyx pommel before the blade was kicked aside. Itasha’s footsteps echoed around him, but he could no longer focus. Faster and faster the room spun as the assassin rolled onto his back. Gasping, he felt his breathing slow until darkness fell over him like a death shroud, stealing his consciousness.

Itasha sniffed the bottle with a satisfied smirk, pleased that the poison with which she had coated her ‘servant’s’ goblet had mixed sufficiently with the green wine. Carefully she wrapped the vessel with a silk cloth and returned it to her pack, her amused gaze upon the still form sprawled on the cavern floor before her. The assassin showed no signs of movement and his breathing seemed slow and shallow. Itasha silently stepped closer, prodding his ribs forcefully enough to get a response. Nilan gave no reaction beyond a soft groan. The priestess smiled smugly and knelt beside the unconscious male as she removed a pair of iron manacles from a velvet-lined pouch in her pack. Wasting no time, she roughly fastened them to his wrists and ankles, jerking on each cuff to ensure it was secure. Nilan stirred weakly with the sharp tugs but otherwise made no other movements.

Satisfied, Itasha hoisted the unconscious drow across her shoulders and carried him from the narrow crevice. A short time later, the priestess breathlessly arrived in an old ceremonial chamber. Approaching a shadowed alcove, Itasha turned and roughly dropped the assassin on top of a large, bloodstained block of roughly-cut stone. Nilan stirred groggily, groaning as his body impacted the cold slab, but offered no resistance. Pleased with the potency of the poison, she divested him of his weapons, cloak and armor, leaving his torso bare, and chained him chest down onto the stone slab. His arms were pulled over his head and the chain that bound the iron manacles to his wrists was fastened securely to a thick metal ring imbedded into the stone altar. Similarly, Itasha secured the chain that made up his leg irons in the same fashion at the opposite end of the slab. With a wicked little chuckle, the priestess pulled the chains tight, allowing just enough slack to permit minimal movement and Nilan stirred, his manacled wrists scraping lightly against the rough stone. With the assassin securely bound, Itasha changed from the armor she normally wore on the surface to her ceremonial robes, then circled the altar, whispering the words of a prayer to her dark goddess.

After completing her circuit she stopped, dropping to her knees to begin a soft chant as she anointed herself with jasmine perfume and withdrew her ritual implements from their velvet pouch. Reverently she placed the incense, ceremonial bowl, and dagger side by side. Lighting the incense, the priestess set it on the edge farthest from her captive’s head. Gently she cupped her hands, wafting the musky fragrance over herself and Nilan’s prone form.

She eyed the unconscious male calculatingly to estimate how much time she had before the poison released its hold upon him then retrieved a black leather skin containing blessed water of her goddess from her belongings. Her eyes glowed a deeper crimson, focus sharpening on the ritual, her prayer changed to a soft chant as she sprinkled the water over the altar to ask her goddess’s blessing. Nilan groaned with each drop of water that touched his bare back as the priestess came full circle around the stone altar. Placing the leather skin down, she knelt before the altar and closed her eyes in meditation.

The sound of metal scraping on stone drew the priestess from her reverie. Calmly she rose to her feet, retrieving the gold sacrificial dagger from its place upon the altar. She approached the assassin’s bound form and noticed his eyelids fluttering feebly as if he were struggling to regain the consciousness that the poison had stolen from him. She smiled with anticipation, lightly running her fingers over his bare arm, causing his muscles to twitch involuntarily as the drug continued to slowly wear off. Placing the blade carefully, she opened his flesh from mid forearm to elbow. Nilan groaned, pulling back his arm reflexively only to have his movement restricted by the iron manacles and chains that bound his wrists to the stone altar.

Ignoring his struggles, Itasha held the black ceremonial bowl up to the wound, catching the crimson blood as it flowed freely, chanting softly until the bowl was filled halfway. Satisfied she let his arm fall back upon the altar and raised the bloodstained dagger above her head. “Lloth, plynn nindol vlos ulu dumo nindol khaliizi orlenggin,” Itasha murmured as she dipped the blade into the bowl and flicked the crimson drops onto the altar to consecrate it.

Nilan moaned as blood continued to ooze from his slashed forearm, pooling around and into the grooves of the stone slab. A groan of pain was wrenched from his lips as the priestess pinched the wound in an effort to slow the flow of blood. Heavy eyelids fluttered weakly as the assassin tried to clear the dark, cloudy haze that surrounded him. Itasha patted his cheek softly at first, then repeated the action with increasing force until Nilan stirred, his eyes struggling to focus as he slowly regained consciousness. “Time to wake up, oh rebellious one, and learn the price for not knowing your place,” Itasha purred into his ear.

With a final flicker, Nilan’s eyes snapped open and he stared into Itasha’s obsidian visage. Instinctively he tried to rise to his hands and knees but the chains held him stretched chest down across the bloodstained slab. The Vhaeraunite struggled, pulling violently at the iron manacles that bound his wrists in an effort to tear the chains free of the metal ring imbedded in the altar. Panic consumed him as he realized where he was and the dire predicament he now found himself in. Raising his head to meet the priestess’s gaze, Nilan glared hatefully at her as he tugged against the restraints. Itasha smirked, seeing the assassin wince as the jagged metal cut into his wrists. Seductively she leaned over him, the enticing scent of jasmine wafting about her lithe form. She traced his cheek with her fingernail in a mockery of affection. “It’s no good little male,” she taunted, whispering into his ear as he continued to struggle, “I have thought of everything.”

Nilan twisted his cheek free of her repulsive touch and grimaced, clenching his teeth. “Priestess…” he groaned.

“Did you honestly think that all those times you could misbehave, and I would just pretend they never happened?” Itasha spoke each word slowly, her voice husky, allowing each word to sink in. “All the times you humiliated me in front of others…proved to them that I really had no control over you…Did you think I would let it pass?” Itasha sneered and grasped the snake whip writhing at her hip. Its three heads hissed in anticipation, sending a chill down the assassin’s spine.

Nilan turned back to glare at the priestess of Lloth. His hands clenched into tight fists around the chains attached to the manacles, while his eyes flashed crimson hatred. He did not lower his gaze, but instead met hers head on.

“I am no fool. I have seen your hatred of me.” Itasha met his defiant glare as she spoke. “Though I must admit it puzzles me,” she added, slowly walked around the bloodied altar, the heads of her whip sinuously wrapping around her other hand.

Nilan made no response beyond his futile attempts to free himself. Grimacing at the full realization of his situation, he whispered words of a silent prayer to Vhaeraun, hoping his god would grant him the strength he would surely need to endure the punishment that awaited him.

“By the customs of our people, I am actually quite kind,” Itasha continued, making her way in a circular path about the sacred altar. “There are those who think it weak of me.” She moved with a confident grace and stopped at the head of the stone slab. Smiling coyly she leaned in close to the prone male and whispered, “Though I have found of late one can draw more bats with insects, than bloodshed.”

Nilan turned his head to face the powerful priestess. Anger rose behind his crimson orbs as she leered at him with satisfaction. “What is it you want, Priestess?” he growled, his struggles and efforts to free himself ceasing suddenly.

Itasha began to laugh, the sound of her amusement echoing eerily off the walls of the chamber. “I want many things,” she responded once her mirth subsided.

“Is this what became of your first and only lover,” Nilan spat the words sarcastically, only to grimace in pain when the priestess roughly grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her.

Anger smoldered in the priestess’s eyes and she yanked the assassin’s chin upward in a sharp motion that brought a sudden gasp. “He was not given the benefit of speech before I started with him.” She retorted coldly. Nilan clenched his teeth, not wanting to give the wicked priestess the satisfaction of so much as a scream. The muscles in his neck strained painfully as she maintained her rough hold on his chin.

Taking a deep breath and forcing herself into calm, Itasha slowly released her grip and caressed the Vhaeraunite’s cheek mockingly. “Poor little male. If I wanted to give you to my Queen, it would be done.”

Smiling sardonically, she ran her fingers along his face. Nilan pulled away, loathing the touch of the Lloth priestess. Itasha took pleasure in the discomfort she brought her bound servant. He had spirit, she would give him that much. But such was a dangerous trait and one that she would take pleasure in breaking. The three heads of her whip writhed excitedly in harmony with the mind of their wielder.

Itasha gently trailed her fingernails over warm skin and slowly down the assassin’s spine as she made her way towards the foot of the altar. “There is no reason, however, that She may not enjoy your pain as much as I will.”

“To the Demon Web Pits with your Queen!” the Vhaeraunite spat, growling in anger.

His bold words were suddenly silenced as the priestess lashed out with the vile whip. All three heads bit deep into his unprotected flesh, infusing him with burning agony. Nilan gasped aloud, violently pulling against the chains that bound him to the bloodstained altar. Clenching his teeth tightly, he managed to suppress a cry as Itasha tore the whip free. His hands tightly gripped the chains that bound his manacles.

Itasha lashed out again. And again fangs ripped viciously across his back, biting deeply, sending shocking waves of excruciating pain stabbing at every nerve in his body. Nilan gasped, his breath was stolen from him. His hands shook and his body convulsed uncontrollably. Whispered words of a prayer to his god became only inaudible, muffled groans as pain consumed him.

Itasha wrenched back on the whip, tearing the fangs free. Droplets of blood splattered the altar as the snake heads hissed violently. “It’s that tongue of yours that gets you in trouble, fool,” the priestess growled as she picked up the ceremonial dagger upon the altar and stalked over to stand in front of the writhing male. “Perhaps I should remove it!” She took a step toward the assassin. Nilan gasped, his breathing irregular. His entire body convulsed in agony as Itasha approached him, dagger in hand. “Should I cut it out and offer it?” she purred.

Nilan shuddered, his lips trying to form words that his voice could not find. Pain lanced through his body. “No, prie…priestess,” came the muffled response.

Itasha grinned in satisfaction, placing the dagger upon the altar, as she moved off to his side. Nilan sensed her proximity and involuntarily gripped the chains that secured his iron manacles. His body tensed. Itasha lashed out twice in rapid succession. Each time, fangs sank deep into flesh before being viciously torn free of the wounds, drawing with them a ragged cry of agony that the proud male could no longer suppress. Nilan struggled against the chains that bound him but with his screams, his strength failed. His head fell against the cold stone altar and he gasped, barely clinging to the edge of consciousness.

Itasha smiled cruelly and lowered her whip, placing it on the altar and moving closer to inspect the wounds she had inflicted. Nilan groaned as the muscles in his body trembled beyond his control. Shock and lancing pain stole his breath, leaving him gasping in an effort to take air into his lungs. Too weak to even struggle, the assassin’s arms shook as hands involuntarily grasped at the chains that bound his manacles. Itasha lightly ran her fingers over the torn flesh stopping to poke roughly at one of the bites with her fingernail. Blood oozed from the deep puncture wound and trickled down the male’s side unto the altar, bringing with it an approving grin from the Llothite priestess. Suddenly, her strong hand closed around his long white braid, pulling his head back forcefully enough to bring him back to full consciousness. Nilan winced, a muffled cry escaping his lips.

“Where is it that you lived before returning to Menzoberranzan,” she interrogated him, still maintaining her painful hold on his braid. When he did not immediately answer she yanked harder, forcing a strangled cry from his parched lips.

“I..I lived all over, prie…priestess,” came the pained response. Nilan tried to keep his wits about him as he struggled with his words. He thought of his home in the surface city of Dobluth Kyor, the temple of Vhaeraun, and of his wife Deshana. Whatever happened, he vowed to himself he would not utter anything that would betray them. The Vhaeraunite buried his real thoughts deep, not wanting to give the Llothite priestess any opportunity to force them from him. He closed his eyes tightly against the pain that coursed through his body. Another sharp tug on his braid brought him back to reality and he gasped the answer to the question posed to him. “I lived all over priestess…where I could, in the Underdark…the surface…the outpost,” he lied.

“What outpost?” she demanded. “You have said yourself that many places on the surface do not accept our kind.”

“The outpost… the one called Viper’s Tongue. It…it accepts drow,” he replied through clenched teeth, his head and neck straining from her hold upon his hair. Glaring, Itasha pulled harder, eliciting a sudden cry as the assassin stammered “I…I told you of this, already.”

The priestess released her hold on the assassin’s braid. Nilan groaned as his head fell heavily upon the cold cement slab. Itasha tore the snake whip from the altar and viciously lashed out in a barrage of fury. Nilan screamed, struggling and tearing violently at the unyielding chains that bound him in a futile effort to pull himself free from the altar and out of the reach of the priestess’s vile whip. His wrists bled as he strained against his bonds and his body writhed in agony as all three heads stuck him again and again. Finally his strength gave way, and his cries diminished until he lay gasping weakly upon the stone slab, his vision clouding over on the verge of darkness. Only then did Itasha halt her well-placed strikes.

“Our deal is off. You now belong to me.” The murmured words of the priestess pierced the veil of consciousness in the assassin’s mind. Itasha leaned closer, brushing his white braid off the torn flesh of his back. Softly she whispered, “I gave you your chance at relative freedom.” Her fingers traced over the puncture marks then trailed down his side before she continued, “All you have done is taunt and humiliate me with it.”

Itasha straightened suddenly, loosening the chains that bound his hands and feet. She grabbed the assassin by the arm and leg, rolling him over causing him to gasp in pain as his bloodied back impacted with the stone altar. His eyes closed and his head lolled to one side. Satisfied, the priestess pulled the chains tightly once again, leaving virtually no room for movement. A sharp slap to his face brought him back to the fringes of reality. “Now now….none of that,” a amused voice whispered into his ear. “I’m not finished.” Itasha placed the whip on the altar, mere inches from his side. The scales of the heads rustled dryly as they gently continued to writhe. Grabbing her black leather skin, Itasha splashed water onto his face, preventing him from the soothing relief that unconsciousness surely held.

Nilan moaned as his eyes fluttered open. Water trickled over his cheek and down his neck. He found himself looking up at the cavern ceiling, his ankles still bound to the altar and both arms pulled tightly over his head, secured in a similar fashion. His wrists were torn from his struggles, and his hands and fingers tingled with a numbing sort of sensation. Nilan saw the priestess move towards him. Her hand no longer held the vile whip, but instead grasped a crude metal rod with a symbol of some sort affixed to the end. Nilan shuddered and turned his head away, loath to look upon his tormentor.

Angered by his defiance, Itasha jabbed his side painfully with her finger, and leaned toward him. Nilan flinched, groaning as the sudden movement caused his torn back to scrape against the stone altar. She forced him to look at her, and held the iron poker before his eyes. “I want you to see this,” she purred chillingly, leveling the image before his pain-clouded gaze for him to examine. Nilan glared, first at the despised object and then at her. Leaning closer, her free hand lightly traced over the scar that crossed over his heart, sending a chill down his spine. With a low growl she continued, “You will be seeing it for a very long time.”

Nilan spit at the implement, understanding all too well what she intended to do with it. Gathering her robes, the priestess gracefully climbed onto the altar, placing her knee on the assassin’s chest to hold him down. With a cruel smile, Itasha began a low chant, the male unable to discern its intent. The branding iron began to glow a furious crimson to his heat sensitive gaze, and before he could prepare himself, she placed the image directly over his heart, filling the chamber with an angry hiss that was immediately drowned out by Nilan’s agonized screams. The stench of burning flesh infused the area, adding to his torment as he fought back the urge to retch. His body thrashed, trying to dislodge the priestess who, with a growl, added her full weight behind the pressure on the branding iron, holding him still until his struggles ceased.

He screamed one final time as she ripped the branding iron from his chest, leaving behind blackened, charred flesh. Humming softly, the priestess carefully tossed aside the metal implement and watched as his moans subsided into ragged breathing. Moving to kneel beside him, she studied the image on his chest. Chanting softly, Itasha cupped her hand over the mark, focusing the power of a small healing spell to close the horrid burn. The priestess’s eyes widened slightly as the healed mark was outlined momentarily in lavender before fading to the silver tone of an old scar, displaying the perfect rendering of a delicate spider web overlaid with a simple full-face mask in the likeness of a female.

Nilan groaned as the priestess leaned over to look him in the eye, her hair creating a cloak that covered them both. In a voice filled with malice, Itasha whispered, “Little one…you are now mine. At least now you have a reason for your hatred.” She stroked his cheek mockingly. Though he offered little by way of a reaction, she felt him flinch at her touch. Satisfied that he was aware of of her presence, she slowly placed a hand on each side of his chest leaning even closer. Nilan’s eyelid fluttered open involuntarily, his vision barely more than a pain-filled haze. Itasha patted his cheek roughly, forcing him to look upon her as she whispered chillingly in his ear. “Never…ever…forget your place again. Sacrifice to my goddess will seem like a blessing compared to what I will do to you next time.” Resting all of her weight on her right hand, Itasha slowly traced the fingers of her other hand down the right side of his chest. Nilan winced, eliciting a purr of satisfaction from the priestess who moved in closer. “Remember that if you ever wish to enjoy the touch of a female again.”

“I would have your vow now,” she continued, her voice gaining in volume and infused with steel. “That you will serve me, that you will no longer make a mockery of me. That you will comport yourself as any other male of your station in the presence of any female…”

Nilan gasped suddenly, his lips painfully mouthing words, “Your…forgiveness…I…ask, prie…priestess.”

Itasha narrowed her eyes, watching as he struggled to speak the words she desired most to hear. She picked up her waterskin and trickled a small amount of the liquid into his mouth. He choked as the cool water bathed the back of his parched throat. Swallowing, the assassin turned his head away from her. The priestess sneered, roughly grasping his chin and giving him a forceful shake, forcing his agonized gaze to fall upon her. “I would hear your vow,” she demanded.

Delerious from the torture he had endured, Nilan muttered, “I…I know my place beside you, priestess…I…serv…,” his voice trailed off as his head lolled to one side, his breathing uneven and ragged.

Itasha glared angrily, sitting straight up as she straddled his stomach. “Your vow, male!”

A stinging slap forced a muffled cry from his lips. Itasha leaned forward menacingly, her weight against his chest forcing his shredded back into the rough stone of the altar. Nilan succumbed to his tormentor, his ragged voice barely above a whisper as he stammered the words the priestess demanded. “I…vow. I…I serve…serve you, priestess.”

Raising her hands beseechingly, sacrificial dagger held in hand, Itasha called down the power of her goddess. “I ask you my Queen to bear witness to the words of he who makes this vow.” The Llothite priestess struck with blinding speed, reopening the wound on the assassin’s forearm. The brand covering the assassin’s heart flared once more with lavendar fire in response. “May She witness your vow, and curse you if you do not follow it,” Itasha whispered in chilling tones before gracefully climbing off the altar.

The last thing the he heard as his blood flowed onto the sacred altar, was the soft chanting of the priestess as she prayed. Nilan’s eyes slowly closed and he drifted into the darkness his battered body had so longed for, not even noticing when his bonds were removed.
Last edited by Nilan on Wed Apr 16, 2008 3:49 am, edited 1 time in total.
Ezwar
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Postby Ezwar » Fri May 12, 2006 6:18 pm

Awsome story Nilan, Five Stars*****
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Postby Deshana » Fri May 12, 2006 8:49 pm

Long after the sounds of torment and the soft taunting of the Llothite faded to memory a silent form slipped from the shadows. Emerald eyes took in the state of the abandoned altar, and a soft curse slipped past the lips of the female. "Grek'esha." Eyes narrowed the female moved back down the tunnel, a slight trembling of slight shoulders the only outward indication of the conflict within. Belaying her surface calm a burning rage echo'd at her, distant and removed. Her twin felt her anguish, and Ash knew she'd have to contact him soon to try to explain her emotional surge. Distance made the sensations less intense but both twins could feel the emotional surges of the other. Her twin have moved his base to the southlands, feeling that their House needed to be united in location if not in fact. It increased the risk of discovery, but both felt it nessacery. Should Menzoberranzan learn of the two unbranded things could get messy. But the risks HE took far outwieghed the risks of discovery. Now those risks were comming home to roost, and she felt fear for the first time that their fragile House might be torn apart yet again. The trick now would be explaining to her m'aliel that she had heard what transpired. Somehow she didn't expect this meeting to go well.
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Postby Deshana » Fri May 12, 2006 9:01 pm

Kit was leaning against a tree in the heart of Tethir Forest when the distress surge first hit him. The fox he had been conversing with stiffened in fright at his impulsive yelp of pain and suprise. He pressed long fingers to his temples to relieve the pain he felt washing in waves from his normally impassive twin and felt a low snarl building in his chest. The wilding druid knew he was loosing it, the fox recognized the warning snarl of a dominant male protecting his pack and bolted, knowing whatever Kit felt wasn't anything it wanted to be involved in. Birds rose with alarmed haste from the surrounding woods as the druids enraged snarls increased. He could feel his pack being threatened. His twins distress radiated fear for family. whatever had happened was big, and he fought back the pain to sprint towards the southlands and the desert. He needed to reach the meeting point, knowing his twin would come as soon as she was able to explain what had happened. Teeth a hair too sharp and long to be elven were bared in a vicious snarl. Whatever this was it could change their fragile House forever.

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