(note from the author)
Whelp. I hate waiting for Permission to do any sort of posting, so rather than involve any (n)PC's for my RP posts, I figure they'll be solo, and rather boring. Hope you enjoy anyways.
Anywhoo...
Isan looks about herself with disdain, noticing all of the sharp blades in the Unstoppable Forces shop. Too sharp. They would bleed for a few minutes, then die. Quickly. Painlessly. What kind of a joke was that? The sick, twisted end called 'mercy' by those of 'good heart'. They would throw away the Lady's gift in their birth, their whole life, for a quick end. No. Just, simply, no. A terrible thought, it wouldn't enter her mind. She looked through the rubbish bin beside the counter, the old, broken, dull and rusted blades. She picks out a few medium sized knives taht were dull, and a sword thats been broken in half, showing them to the shopkeeper. He grunts in acknowledgement and names a price. She pays it willingly, making the man smile. What a dupe he must take me for, paying for what he doesn't want.
Isan laughs to herself, exiting the shop with her new tools. Now only to find a nice dark corner to test them in. Sadly, the commoners didn't know anything of the Lady. They would be good to test these on. But, alas, their screams would draw the guards. Weak, every one of them, to give up the Lady's gift. It was the main thing that made her kin strong. What she thought of as her kin, anyways. The surface elves didn't have goddess that whispered in her ears. They didn't have anything that interested her.
She walks into the sewers, sitting on the steps and closing the door after herself. There is hardly enough light to see by, but she doesn't need light. She just needs to feel, to taste, to smell. This is what all those above missed, all the time. They ran and hid from it. They didn't welcome and look for such a feeling as this one lone elf did. She draws out one of the smaller blades, looking over the dull edge. The blade was a kitchen tool. Something probably used to butcher pigs, never used for such a different purpose. She slices it downward, and relishes the cut it cna still manage to make across her thigh. It also hurts. But the hurt isn't a bother. The blood trickles down her leg, shortly after. Drip. . It smells of iron, the cut feels jagged. Its not very deep, but it is wide. It will leave a wonderful scar. Drip. .
She takes out the sword, seeing as most of the knives are the same. The cutting edge of the blade is still sharp as a razor. She tests this, drawing it along one lock, slicing it off neatly. Drip. . The hair is discarded, as she looks over the broken point. It is still sharp, but it is also pitted and marred whee it has been shoved into the ground for some time. The priestess grins wide at seeing this, what luck! There couldn't be a better instrument for some fun. She spins the blade's handle between her hands, before letting it drop. Thunk. Drip. .Drip. .Drip. . It hits bone, right in her opposite thigh. Still sharp indeed. She relishes the hot flush as it rises up her body, the shock of barely missing the artery.
This is the feeling the cleric looks for. The heartbeat increasing, the adrenaline flowing to try and shut off the pain. The nerves sending shivers up and down her body, its so akin to its sister feeling. Drip. .Drip. .Drip. . It is rapture. The body knows that it is in danger. It tries to fight off what its feeling. And this scares people, the Lady's gift. Isan mutters a prayer, as she sits back, letting the blade slide out of her leg. With a clatter it hits the ground, rolling, and splashing in the growing puddle. Drip. .Drip. .
Lady, I thank you for this Gift, and I will share it, to others, to make them strong like your children. Let your arms take them, if they cannot accept such a marvelous thing. .
Drip. .Drip. .
Whelp. I hate waiting for Permission to do any sort of posting, so rather than involve any (n)PC's for my RP posts, I figure they'll be solo, and rather boring. Hope you enjoy anyways.
Anywhoo...
Isan looks about herself with disdain, noticing all of the sharp blades in the Unstoppable Forces shop. Too sharp. They would bleed for a few minutes, then die. Quickly. Painlessly. What kind of a joke was that? The sick, twisted end called 'mercy' by those of 'good heart'. They would throw away the Lady's gift in their birth, their whole life, for a quick end. No. Just, simply, no. A terrible thought, it wouldn't enter her mind. She looked through the rubbish bin beside the counter, the old, broken, dull and rusted blades. She picks out a few medium sized knives taht were dull, and a sword thats been broken in half, showing them to the shopkeeper. He grunts in acknowledgement and names a price. She pays it willingly, making the man smile. What a dupe he must take me for, paying for what he doesn't want.
Isan laughs to herself, exiting the shop with her new tools. Now only to find a nice dark corner to test them in. Sadly, the commoners didn't know anything of the Lady. They would be good to test these on. But, alas, their screams would draw the guards. Weak, every one of them, to give up the Lady's gift. It was the main thing that made her kin strong. What she thought of as her kin, anyways. The surface elves didn't have goddess that whispered in her ears. They didn't have anything that interested her.
She walks into the sewers, sitting on the steps and closing the door after herself. There is hardly enough light to see by, but she doesn't need light. She just needs to feel, to taste, to smell. This is what all those above missed, all the time. They ran and hid from it. They didn't welcome and look for such a feeling as this one lone elf did. She draws out one of the smaller blades, looking over the dull edge. The blade was a kitchen tool. Something probably used to butcher pigs, never used for such a different purpose. She slices it downward, and relishes the cut it cna still manage to make across her thigh. It also hurts. But the hurt isn't a bother. The blood trickles down her leg, shortly after. Drip. . It smells of iron, the cut feels jagged. Its not very deep, but it is wide. It will leave a wonderful scar. Drip. .
She takes out the sword, seeing as most of the knives are the same. The cutting edge of the blade is still sharp as a razor. She tests this, drawing it along one lock, slicing it off neatly. Drip. . The hair is discarded, as she looks over the broken point. It is still sharp, but it is also pitted and marred whee it has been shoved into the ground for some time. The priestess grins wide at seeing this, what luck! There couldn't be a better instrument for some fun. She spins the blade's handle between her hands, before letting it drop. Thunk. Drip. .Drip. .Drip. . It hits bone, right in her opposite thigh. Still sharp indeed. She relishes the hot flush as it rises up her body, the shock of barely missing the artery.
This is the feeling the cleric looks for. The heartbeat increasing, the adrenaline flowing to try and shut off the pain. The nerves sending shivers up and down her body, its so akin to its sister feeling. Drip. .Drip. .Drip. . It is rapture. The body knows that it is in danger. It tries to fight off what its feeling. And this scares people, the Lady's gift. Isan mutters a prayer, as she sits back, letting the blade slide out of her leg. With a clatter it hits the ground, rolling, and splashing in the growing puddle. Drip. .Drip. .
Lady, I thank you for this Gift, and I will share it, to others, to make them strong like your children. Let your arms take them, if they cannot accept such a marvelous thing. .
Drip. .Drip. .
Comment