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(( Note: This is a dream sequence, and as such represents Tam's perception of characters, not their actual selves. This is not controlling their actions. Also, some parts may be a little disturbing. Thanks! ))
Tamryn pressed into the body beside her, trying to lose herself in the feel and smell of another. Thin wooden slats that made up the bench pressed into the thin fabric of her tunic; she could feel the tingle in her legs from too much sitting, as though from a great distance, but cared not for the discomfort. She wasn't alone... wasn't alone...
"You know what must be done, sister."
The view turned without her eyes; she could now see the form that gave her comfort. Slight, pale blue in the skin that showed under the skimpy garments that barely preserved the elf's decency. Elongated fangs hung over her lips in a teasing smirk that held too much wolf and not enough woman.
"...Sylloven? You're... you're dead!"
"Mmm, yes." Pale yellow eyes met her. A quiet giggle filled the room, otherwise oppressive with its silence "Dead, but the Master gives me... mmm, better, doesn't he?"
Sylloven's face moved towards her neck... pale, gleaming, exposed, and Tamryn couldn't move. Her muscles were frozen. She wanted to scream, run, but ... no, she wanted this, didn't she?
Companionship. Eternal companionship. Never alone again.
"Just kill Hano. Kill him... bring me his corpse," and Sylloven's voice dropped into a low hiss. The vampire's face rested against her neck, a tiny nose pressing into her skin. "...and I shall reward you... Colibrus will make you one of his own."
"...but... nnggaah." Tamryn found her tongue suddenly weighed like lead. A sharp pain from the side of her neck, followed by a surge of pleasure, blissful pleasure... and as Sylloven fed, the colors of the mansion around her bled away until all was shadow, and grey, falling into darkness...
--
"Defender Tamryn Jorandur, step forward!"
A voice, clear and crisp -- male. The voice of a man used to command, and Tamryn found her feet compelled forward.
On two raised platforms to each side, a score of men in red armor stared ahead. Their swords rested in their hands with ease, as though they'd grown so accustomed to the weight that they no longer felt the seperatio nbetween arm and blade.
Before her, a man... close brown hair, pulled back into a tail... piercing eyes... a sword that flickered and danced with shadow.
She felt herself go down on a knee before him. No will was involved; her body was beyond her control, playing a set part.
"Through dedication to the defense of Sundren, the study of strategy and tactics, and the pursuit of prowess with sharpened steel, you have earned the right to the title of Avenger... and the use of the greatsword." Vaer Vitori's eyes weighed her as he stepped forward, presenting her with a sheathed sword. It flickered with the light of captive souls, even in its scabbard.
"Draw your weapon, Avenger."
As her hand closed around the hilt, voices thundered in her head -- all noise but the voices died away, and ghostly images of the undead Blades flickered in front of her.
"...UNWORTHY..."
"...TRAITOR..."
"...WHORE!"
"DECEIVER..."
"...YOU WOULD BRING US TO RUIN..."
The apparition of the Dead Saint appeared before her, and his skeletal jaw set in a grin.
"...you are not worthy."
Something cold and sharp bit into her neck, and the room tumbled around her... and in the final moments, she could see her body, headless, still crouched before Vitori. The Sundrite blade she had drawn, dancing with dead souls, lay next to her head, slick with her own blood.
--
"...do you, Hano Fetten, take Tamryn Jorandur as your wife... to have and to hold..."
The gathering hall in the temple behind her was packed solid. Friends and enemies alike sat in respectful silence before the three of them... Balthasar, in a jester's suit, Hano wearing her armor, and she in Eira's gold and white robe. The mostly naked Eira sat on the front row, grinning as though at some hillarious private joke. There was Karthus, a few rows back, juggling daggers... Elric sat in the back, with a pair of identical blond wenches snuggling up to him. Nulnius stared at her accusingly, his face skeletal and parched.
"...until death do you part?"
"I do."
She squeezed Hano's hand, and got hers squeezed in response, holding for just a moment the sensation that somewhere, he was doing the same thing in another reality.
"And do you, Tamryn Jorandur--"
"I OBJECT!"
With angry, clanking footsteps, a tiny figure stormed up the aisle. Sol, in Kharhaz's armor sans helmet, clattered forward with her eyes blazing. The scythe of Judgment was in her hands, humming softly as it crackled with positive and negative energy in turn.
"That woman is a harlot! Loudmouth! Ill-informed bitch who only hurts!" Sol's pronoucement boomed in the hall, far louder than one would have expected from such a tiny frame. "She is mean! She will hurt Hano!"
Tamryn turned... opened her mouth to protest... no words came.
The entire crowd stood up in an uproar, shouting -- all echoing Sol's sentiments, and the wave of sound bore her to--
--
--wake up.
The room was soft and dark in the hours of the early morning, and warmth pressed against her side -- comforting warmth, solid, all muscle and skin and devotion. She shifted against Hano's body, for a moment unable to tell where she began and he ended; the feeling was glorious. A light kiss to his cheek now, too light to wake him, and...
The door burst open, in a shower of splinters. A man stood there, scimitar drawn, a partial mask that matched his leathers lending him a similar appearance in the dim light from the hallway.
"...K-Karthus?"
"I warned you, Tamryn... I sent him the letter, but it was for you... and you ignored it..."
In an instant he was by her side. Cold hands grabbed her, tumbling her to the floor. She felt the impact of the boards against her shoulderblades, staring up at him as he crouched over her. Exposed... vulnerable... helpless.
"Please, wait...! Don't do this, Karthus! You're--"
"It doesn't matter." Regret tinged Karthus' voice. "An example... you are to be an example... I don't enjoy this, Tamryn, but when they find you... no one will stand in my way again."
And the scimitar's flat pressed into her side, cold and metal, jolting her to--
--
...wake up.
She quietly slithered away from the warmth that was no longer so comforting, rose to her feet, and padded on bare feet over to the door.
...a crack, to stare into the hallway, Ethereal Jaunt readied...
No Karthus. No judging Sol. No Sylloven.
Hano shifted on the bed, and she turned back to look at him... she oddly couldn't remember getting into bed with him, just lying down on his lap. Had he...?
Yes... he probably had.
She mustered a small smile and approached the bed again, slipping in next to him. Both arms wrapped around him as she sought comfort in his presence.
Sleep would not come again for another hour.
Tamryn pressed into the body beside her, trying to lose herself in the feel and smell of another. Thin wooden slats that made up the bench pressed into the thin fabric of her tunic; she could feel the tingle in her legs from too much sitting, as though from a great distance, but cared not for the discomfort. She wasn't alone... wasn't alone...
"You know what must be done, sister."
The view turned without her eyes; she could now see the form that gave her comfort. Slight, pale blue in the skin that showed under the skimpy garments that barely preserved the elf's decency. Elongated fangs hung over her lips in a teasing smirk that held too much wolf and not enough woman.
"...Sylloven? You're... you're dead!"
"Mmm, yes." Pale yellow eyes met her. A quiet giggle filled the room, otherwise oppressive with its silence "Dead, but the Master gives me... mmm, better, doesn't he?"
Sylloven's face moved towards her neck... pale, gleaming, exposed, and Tamryn couldn't move. Her muscles were frozen. She wanted to scream, run, but ... no, she wanted this, didn't she?
Companionship. Eternal companionship. Never alone again.
"Just kill Hano. Kill him... bring me his corpse," and Sylloven's voice dropped into a low hiss. The vampire's face rested against her neck, a tiny nose pressing into her skin. "...and I shall reward you... Colibrus will make you one of his own."
"...but... nnggaah." Tamryn found her tongue suddenly weighed like lead. A sharp pain from the side of her neck, followed by a surge of pleasure, blissful pleasure... and as Sylloven fed, the colors of the mansion around her bled away until all was shadow, and grey, falling into darkness...
--
"Defender Tamryn Jorandur, step forward!"
A voice, clear and crisp -- male. The voice of a man used to command, and Tamryn found her feet compelled forward.
On two raised platforms to each side, a score of men in red armor stared ahead. Their swords rested in their hands with ease, as though they'd grown so accustomed to the weight that they no longer felt the seperatio nbetween arm and blade.
Before her, a man... close brown hair, pulled back into a tail... piercing eyes... a sword that flickered and danced with shadow.
She felt herself go down on a knee before him. No will was involved; her body was beyond her control, playing a set part.
"Through dedication to the defense of Sundren, the study of strategy and tactics, and the pursuit of prowess with sharpened steel, you have earned the right to the title of Avenger... and the use of the greatsword." Vaer Vitori's eyes weighed her as he stepped forward, presenting her with a sheathed sword. It flickered with the light of captive souls, even in its scabbard.
"Draw your weapon, Avenger."
As her hand closed around the hilt, voices thundered in her head -- all noise but the voices died away, and ghostly images of the undead Blades flickered in front of her.
"...UNWORTHY..."
"...TRAITOR..."
"...WHORE!"
"DECEIVER..."
"...YOU WOULD BRING US TO RUIN..."
The apparition of the Dead Saint appeared before her, and his skeletal jaw set in a grin.
"...you are not worthy."
Something cold and sharp bit into her neck, and the room tumbled around her... and in the final moments, she could see her body, headless, still crouched before Vitori. The Sundrite blade she had drawn, dancing with dead souls, lay next to her head, slick with her own blood.
--
"...do you, Hano Fetten, take Tamryn Jorandur as your wife... to have and to hold..."
The gathering hall in the temple behind her was packed solid. Friends and enemies alike sat in respectful silence before the three of them... Balthasar, in a jester's suit, Hano wearing her armor, and she in Eira's gold and white robe. The mostly naked Eira sat on the front row, grinning as though at some hillarious private joke. There was Karthus, a few rows back, juggling daggers... Elric sat in the back, with a pair of identical blond wenches snuggling up to him. Nulnius stared at her accusingly, his face skeletal and parched.
"...until death do you part?"
"I do."
She squeezed Hano's hand, and got hers squeezed in response, holding for just a moment the sensation that somewhere, he was doing the same thing in another reality.
"And do you, Tamryn Jorandur--"
"I OBJECT!"
With angry, clanking footsteps, a tiny figure stormed up the aisle. Sol, in Kharhaz's armor sans helmet, clattered forward with her eyes blazing. The scythe of Judgment was in her hands, humming softly as it crackled with positive and negative energy in turn.
"That woman is a harlot! Loudmouth! Ill-informed bitch who only hurts!" Sol's pronoucement boomed in the hall, far louder than one would have expected from such a tiny frame. "She is mean! She will hurt Hano!"
Tamryn turned... opened her mouth to protest... no words came.
The entire crowd stood up in an uproar, shouting -- all echoing Sol's sentiments, and the wave of sound bore her to--
--
--wake up.
The room was soft and dark in the hours of the early morning, and warmth pressed against her side -- comforting warmth, solid, all muscle and skin and devotion. She shifted against Hano's body, for a moment unable to tell where she began and he ended; the feeling was glorious. A light kiss to his cheek now, too light to wake him, and...
The door burst open, in a shower of splinters. A man stood there, scimitar drawn, a partial mask that matched his leathers lending him a similar appearance in the dim light from the hallway.
"...K-Karthus?"
"I warned you, Tamryn... I sent him the letter, but it was for you... and you ignored it..."
In an instant he was by her side. Cold hands grabbed her, tumbling her to the floor. She felt the impact of the boards against her shoulderblades, staring up at him as he crouched over her. Exposed... vulnerable... helpless.
"Please, wait...! Don't do this, Karthus! You're--"
"It doesn't matter." Regret tinged Karthus' voice. "An example... you are to be an example... I don't enjoy this, Tamryn, but when they find you... no one will stand in my way again."
And the scimitar's flat pressed into her side, cold and metal, jolting her to--
--
...wake up.
She quietly slithered away from the warmth that was no longer so comforting, rose to her feet, and padded on bare feet over to the door.
...a crack, to stare into the hallway, Ethereal Jaunt readied...
No Karthus. No judging Sol. No Sylloven.
Hano shifted on the bed, and she turned back to look at him... she oddly couldn't remember getting into bed with him, just lying down on his lap. Had he...?
Yes... he probably had.
She mustered a small smile and approached the bed again, slipping in next to him. Both arms wrapped around him as she sought comfort in his presence.
Sleep would not come again for another hour.