Bloodstain

[Evil-Neko-Marine]

(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. .

[Evil-Neko-Marine]

(Anyone who wants to have a part here/wants to add their comments, feel free to. The main story continues.)

"And so, my child, this is why you must embrace My blessing. What others call a curse, when I give them a gift that would last their whole life. Be there with them. Forever. You are grateful, the only one so far away. You should come find us. Join your sisters and brothers. They are eager to meet you..."

These whispers. They come along every few nights. There is no apparent source. They simply are there. A female voice, whispering in old elven. Her tone is twisted, some of her words almost impossible to understand, being a different language entirely. Slowly, little by little, she was putting the meanings together. The context made the strange, gutteral, bare, yet beautiful language almost understandable.

These whispers. They assaulted her ears, whether she held them shut or was sleeping. She could be in the middle of a fight. They would come. She was sure they were the Dark Lady. They couldn't be anyone else. They spoke to her of the Brothers. The Sisters. The ones that Pol'Shoath has given her gift to, for all of eternity. She whispers dark things, urges the cleric to do odd things. All in the name of herself, of her Gift.

And the cleric did them.

Unthinkingly, unquestioning, she did what this whisper in the night spoke ot her of. She goes searching in dark caves and holes in the ground, looking for something, anything, to take her down to visit those she shares the Lady with. To no avail. The valley doesn't seem to have a single hole in it deep enough for her mind to enjoy. Nothing goes deep enough for her to explore down to the Sisters.

They sit in their places, and make not a word. Maybe the Lady doesn't speak to them in the same way. Maybe they don't know of Her as much. Maybe. Maybe. . Maybe doesn't cut it. She has to know, somehow. She has been asking questions. Wondering what her Sisters are like. How to get down to them. But nobody seems to know. It is a shame, as much as other races dislike her Sisters and Brothers, none of them have a clue where they lay.

These people that look at her like shes insane, look at the scars across her body in disgust, frown when she disembowels a goblin rather than slit its throat. They would learn. Every one of them should know who the Lady is. Who prevails over their life,

"From birth to death, dawn till dusk, The Dark Lady take her place.."

~From the notes of one Isan Liandoin, Cleric of Pol'Shoath~

~EnM

[Evil-Neko-Marine]

*NfTa* I am triyng to make this portion slightly longer, to explain exactly who Pol'Shoath is. It is not in the voice of our humble little psychosadomasochist, but it is in the voice she hears, the whispers of the Dark Lady. Once mysteriously known as the Mistress of Agony by the Drow (Tome of Drow Lore)<- Since most people haven't ever read this, I am putting it down here, basically, but with a more personal tone attached. This is what every cleric of Pol'Shoath is told, nothing unique or metagamed.



Listen, my child, for you will hear how your brothers and sisters came to be under my reign. The Dark Mother. . .Not to be confused with myself. She has taken the unrightful rule of birth into her own hands. I offer the gift of pain. It is -MY- right to rule over this aspect of life. When a mother screams out in agony, when the child first wails, it is my doing, to cause them their pain, and make them stronger. It is a cruel, and murderous, painful world you live in. It is only my gift that keeps you alive long enough to grow strong, and strive in it. Yes. I let my children die. I let them lose limb, lose their blood, lose their strength, in order to feel the pains that will make them grow. A strong man is not coddled and expected to stay strong. No. He is to be beaten down, so that he may rise again to be strong. In this, my children have failed miserably, believing that only the sex that gives birth should rule. The strongest shall take their place!

Up in your place, my child, they have been my greatest tool to bring the Gift to others. The Betrayal was marvelous. Many of my Children gained their strength that day. And yet, I even gave my gift to those unintended, those that roam the sunlight and forests still. My Children may hunt them, but it only makes both sides stronger.My gift spreads farther than any think. I even have a. . counterpart, to help spread my gift. Even she herself denies it. I believe you know the name of this accomplice. It believes she it a goddess in its own right. That their own realm is different than my own. Next time you see one of the clerics, don't be afraid to pass my Gift on to them.

I would ask you to make hte Offering, where you are. But there are no acceptable canidates. No temple, no proper way to bring a child in the world if one is concieved, there being no altar around. You also have no slaves to sacrifice. Therefore, your duty shall be to grow strong. You know the way, my Child.


The elf awakens, in a jerk, sitting up. It is not a pleasant way to wake. She can taste blood, iron mixed with the terible tang of sugars not spat out before sleep. She does this now, getting id of the blood. The taste remains. Her tongue throbs hotly, seeping more blood into her mouth. Not the most pleasany way to wake, indeed. She seems to have bitten her tongue trying to not scream as she wakes. The elf sighs, wiping her mouth with the back of one hand. It comes away with a sickening dark red, near a black, color. This means she didn't bite her tongue too hard. This is something deeper, with oxygen-depleted blood bieng a very dark color.

Isan groans and rolls over in her bedroll, looking out into the forgotten trees. Nobody, for days now. She has been trying to look at the mountains that rim the valley, looking into the deepest holes she could find. There has to be some way down. Deep. Into the cold, where the sunlight doesn't greet every morning. Where weather and rain isn't a pain. Where other people couldn't be found for days if you take a wrong turn, or want to be alone. But nothing, yet. She will keep searching for days. Maybe weeks, at the least. There has to be something. She hopes, desperately. Her Mistress was impatient, she wanted the cleric to feel something than her own pain. She wanted a sacrifice. But there was nobody around to help with that. Maybe. Maybe there would be a dwarf wandering, looking for rocks.

All hopes. All dreams. Nothing meaningful. Not yet, anyways. It would come, with time. Someone always did. And then she could smell that iron, without feeling the heightening, wonderful throbs of a cut or a bruise. Is that a cave ahead..? She keeps stepping, looking, hoping, dreaming.

~EnM

[Evil-Neko-Marine]

((As a way of saying "I'm back" I am going to write a little post here. Something from the past.))

A book lies open on a table. It is rather thick, with an old, cracked leather cover. The book is a musty tome, browned with age and use. The spidery script on its' pages is harsh. A hand taps the edge of the page, the finger is delicate, elven, although incredibly dark-skinned for one who has grown up under the trees. The nail on the fingers taps against the wood of the table, the sound echoing in the emptiness, joining a soft sigh from barely-parted lips. A heartbeat is almost heard. Almost.

Dark eyes look over the page, taking in its contents. Its not a very sophisticated book. Simple prayers to Ellistrae, with a few of the others in the elven pantheon. The elf reading them flips the page with another sigh, staring blankly at the drawing of a large glade, with wisps floating around. A magnificent bit of work, but it does not phaze or amaze the dark-skinned elf. Two hands grasp the edge of the book and slam it shut. She walks over to the side of the room, and casually tosses the valuable tome out of the window. It is not heard for many moments, before a thud announces its meeting with the ground. A shout rings out in the air, somewhere far below. The elf seems to ignore this and goes to sit back at the table.

"Why must I dredge through all this useless garbage? Every elf in existance prays for the flowers to grow, for the trees to sing to them, all that pap. Where has it gotten them? One step below a race thats a hundreth their age!"

The door to the room bangs open as the priestess wanders in, clutching the book to her chest. She looks aghast, hurt, almost. She eyes the dark skinned elf sitting at the table, taking a closer step towards her.

"Is this your doing, Isan? Do you want to ruin one of our most prized books?"

"What does it matter? You would simply re-write it. You've read it so many times that it is mush."

The priestess takes a step back, before she slips foreward, about to argue offensively in favor of the tome, which shows no real damage, besides some dust on the dark leather on the back. The sitting elf stands, and takes a few steps foreward. She places two fingers over the priestess's lips, leaning in close to her,

"If you want another devout, I would suggest you find someone who is fascinated by meaningless chanting. Dont waste my time, El'vua. Ellistrae cursed my parents with me, but I'm still clean of her influence."

She lowers her hand, although the priestess doesn't speak, still, her mouth slightly open, her eyes wide. A blush rises on her cheeks, of pure ire. How dare this..dark elf! Blaspheme! Isan presses the book against the priestess's chest, as she slips by towards the door.

"I'm not going to come back here. There isn't anything that is interesting. Goodbye, El'vua. Tell my parents that, too."

Isan steps out the door, and heads down to the ground. She doesnt take more than she had with herself, some gold in a pouch on her belt. A small knife for collecting brush.


-A few days later-

"My child, awaken. Heed my words."

Isan wakes with a start, gritting her teeth. It feels as if a spear has pierced her at one hip, pinning her to the ground. It is hard to move, either from just being asleep, or the nerves in her body screaming out in protest. The voice seems to be a harsh whisper. Its quiet, far away, but everywhere. This is confusing. It should not be so. The elf simply lays back in the tall grasses, several handfuls of miles out of the protective trees. The whisper comes back again, insistent,

"You are destined to be one of my Children. One of the many who are strong. Follow My path, the Lady will show you the path to becoming strong. . ."


The elf closes her eyes and tries to listen, nodding her head ever so slightly, thankful that it is nighttime. Noone can see the tears that run down her cheeks from the pains. The voice- the first she has heard since she left home, is comforting, even as it is harsh, rough, a sore to hear. She memorizes the next words, unable to do much more than listen to this, the new promise. . .




~Kitty~

[Evil-Neko-Marine]

((I apologize for not posting on this for a while, for anyone that cares. There has been a request made to write a single post, that hasn't really been answered..along with starting a -lot- more work a few days ago, now you'll mostly see me online during the weekends, if I'm lucky enough to get to come home. This is a little attempt at stream-of-conciousness writing, as she would think in her head, but from a third person sort of view.))


Isan looks around herself, wondering, what in the world was going on with the world. There isn't much she can hear. Most people don't spread rumors to the scary, strange elf girl that sits in the corner of bars, asking for drinks that most bartenders would blanch at making. Most people don't even make eye contact. Her wandering doesn't lead far, and not a single guild had looked interesting. Maybe she should find some other job. The way most people work, not the adventurers she likes to tease.

Thats it, a job. Maybe something that would work with anatomies, so she doesn't look like a total dunce. Not at first, anyways. Surgeon(sp?) for the guards...? No, that doesn't work. Too much order and discipline required, as well as a possible background check. A barber? No, people bothered them too often with sore teeth and other little maladies that didn't need much attention. Maybe a midwife? That would work. Not too many people would ask for assisstance. The services are somewhat expensive. The. . .complications of such work are beneficial to her worship of the Lady. Thats it, then. Now to find a customer, or more than one? That is a lot of work. Maybe signs would be good. How much would a sign cost? Not more than a few coins, surely. But where to put them? Residential areas.

Now how to actually do the job. Can't be that hard. Its usually only a few times during a life where one gets to birth a child. So neither parent would have much experience with it. They wouldn't know if something went awry. Especially if they were told to go in the other room and wait. Can't be too hard.

But not too easy, either. What if they know. . .Thats a destructive path of thought. It won't happen. Nothing could go wrong. Especially with Pol'Shoath's aid. It is her domain afterall. Every child that is aided in their path to this world through her is another that the other gods and goddesses couldn't say they were a part of.

Now what was she going to do again..? Oh, thats right. She was going to go back to the blacksmith, later, and see if her blade was finished being sharpened. He said something about re-tempering the blade and adding some steel, too, from its frequent chipping and losing small bits of it. She would have to go search for one with a better enchantment. Maybe one of those mythical blades that were said to heal the user. But there wouldn't be anywhere to get that kind of a thing. Not that she knows of. Maybe the Big Man would know. She'll ask, next time she sees him. Or maybe Vigo would know. But probably not. Spells were his thing, not blades.


//Will probably finish this later, have to go get something done. Till next time, folks!\\

~KitKatKitty



By the way. If anyone is interested in helping with a certain event I wanted to do, please PM me. This has to do with what is written above, and has quite a bit of graphic content. I will explain my idea in a PM, if you're curious.