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Dracolypse, Matriarch Vanguard.

 
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5/4/2013 3:32:58   
Dracolypse
Member

I'd like to regale you with a tale of my legend. One of evil, good, deception, forgiveness, blood and battle. My story starts on the island of Inale. I was but merely a teenager in this current life of mine. Since my younger years I have been significantly attuned to the arts of the Arcane, nature, fire, water, earth, void, dark and light. The elements before me were used nicely, if they were in my grasp. I was 14, still a little girl, barely getting my legs in the harsh world around me, but I was already an assassin. After being cast out of my home by my vampire father, I was alone. I had nowhere to go, no one to turn to, and no use in life. I was nearly dead when I was taken in by an old man, his face weathered and his hair, greasy and shiny like silver. His voice was raspy when he spoke, offering me a warm home, and friends. The sickness in my lungs forced me in a state unable to speak, and useless to walk. I shook my head yes, and he gathered himself, judging me as he scooped me up in his strong arms, holding me tight as the rags I called clothes drooped in the space between them, drenched from the storm of which he was pulling me out of. Over the next few weeks, then months, I was fed, cared for, groomed, and taught the ways of the Lotus. They were fearless assassins, readied for any threat that may come face them, and willing to give their lives for the people of Inale. One night as I sat on the wooden windowsill of my room, my eyes watching the night of the city before me, listening to the wolves howl in the distance, my savior came through my door, closing it quietly behind him. "Greetings child of solitude, I bring you a task sent to me from the mainland. It seems as though Lord Vantrec must die tonight, and you have been summoned to kill him." He spoke quietly, his voice still raspy. I merely glared at him for a few seconds before sliding off the windowsill and down the side of the building, jumping off halfway down on onto the far rooftop across the street. I continued to run, pondering on why this man or woman would want Vantrec dead, then again, I dared not question myself, that would get me killed or outcast by the last family I had, so I begrudgingly shook off my thoughts and headed towards the Sky district of the city, where Vantrec's castle was located. A loud boom of thunder shook the ground as lightning crashed into the sea far in the distance. I hopped down from the the rooftops and stealthily made my way to the castle wall. I saw no way in but the front door, and the high windows. I decided to go with the latter of the group and flips my silver daggers from my hip, pulling my cowl down and my mask up, virtually covering my face entirely. I began to climb the side of the stone building, shoving my daggers into the cracks of it as I climbed up the the high window, my arms tiring from the exhaustion of hauling myself up the vertical wall. I thrust myself inside, looking around for anyone or anything keeping watch. There was no one in the room so I proceeded onward, stalking my way through the shadows of the walls as I had been taught. I came to a balcony-hallway, of which viewed the main throne room, with the pompous, fat Lord Vantrec sitting in his plush, red-velvet golden gilded chair. He was stuffing his face with who-knows what, thrusting food down his swollen gullet one chunk at a time. For once I decided to slow down. I slowly climbed on top of the railing and jumped onto the low chandelier. The lit candles only shook slightly as I silently made my way across them to the far end of the room, only taking a few minutes before I was sitting almost virtually on top of him.The sickening sounds of his hog-like feast made me want to vomit in my mask, the stench of his unwashed body making me gag. Whoever wanted him dead wasn't a fool, he needed to perish. I reached to my waist again and fumbled around, searching for poison. My plan I had assembled was to drop liquefied nightshade into his food, having him die slowly from the thing he apparently loved most, a feast for one man that could have fed half an army. I found my vial of the purple liquid, bringing it into sight as I marveled at its beautiful color. I unscrewed the cap off the vial, readying to pour the poison in his food as the sound of loud metal boots clanking to my right, it had startled me and the vial had slipped from my hand. I turned quickly and watched it fall in slow motion, the agony of failure already looming over my head. The vial slowly crashed and spilled all over Vantrec's uncovered, greasy head, and the guards from below looked dead at me, paralyzed with the sight of an assassin. In an instant I heard a man scream "ASSASSIN, PROTECT VANTREC!" from far away. I nearly cried at my discovery, but I had a mission to accomplish. I dropped down from the chandelier, and landed hard on my hands and knees next to the pig-king. I stood erect quickly, completing my mission as I ruthlessly silenced the man for once and for all. I stood and admired what quick work I had made of him, the pained expressions in his beady brown eyes, the gurgling sound of curdled blood and food in his throat, and the hard gasp as I relieved my weapon from his body. He slumped immediately, the crimson liquid draining from the orifice in his throat of which I had created. I took too long for my own good, as I figured out, because on of the guard pierced my my body with his steel long-sword, rending my own body inert and cold as the sharpened blade pierced my heart. My first success, then my first failure. I had won then lost in the same minute. I was a failure, and I was dead. I saw the sword being pulled from my ravaged body, my lifeless corpse smashing into the ground, pooling in my own tainted gathering of crimson sin. Not every legend starts off with a death, but mine has. But just because my life has ended, doesn't mean my story has.
Post #: 1
7/27/2013 9:29:39   
Dracolypse
Member

As I said, my story hasn't ended just because I wound up dead on the point of a royal guardsman's sword. It goes on much, much further. One thing you wont know until it's happened to you, is that when you fall down into the abyss of Death, if they don't close your eyes, you see everything. And I did. I couldn't move, my body wouldn't respond, I was utterly and truly lifeless. I saw my body being dragged away with my own eyes, watching the room pass me by as on of the royal guards eventually picked my body up and slump me over his shoulder. He carried me from the break of dawn 'till mid afternoon, hauling my corpse. After that lengthy period of time I felt that we would never stop going, but we had. Being forced to watch, I saw him throw me down a large, spider-web infested well, and onto a large stack of any number of other similar beings. All dead, all rotting. I was to be next, to be another among the already tortured souls forever cursed to watch themselves fall apart. But my imminent end, the final stroke was to come, as the roaring sound of toxic fumes rumbled into the deep chasm abyss of this underground cremation chamber. In the not-quite-so-far distance, I could see deep flames approaching, roaring closer and closer with each coat of the toxic fume sprayed into the room. If I could have felt anything, it would have been fear. The kind of fear that gets you when you feel like you have to throw up, and there ain't nowhere to throw up and you gotta force it down, but it just wont go down, and you end up spewing your lunch monkeys on a berserker's lap, and then wonder if your gonna have your arms in ten minutes or not, THAT kind of fear. The fire roared close, as it began to light me aflame, my body was being moved. Carried away from the cremation of the other tortured men and women forced to feel the pain of never having a body to come back to. Whoever had grabbed me was fast, ridiculously fast. He sped through pile after pile and corridor after corridor, carrying my body to safety. He ran faster and faster until we reached a metal gate, which he kicked open I presumed, and ran out until we reached the near distance of the city of Inale. My body was heaved onto the ground, facing skyward. It was a beautiful blue, clear as crystal, not a cloud in the sky to deter you from seeing it. Then this man had begun laughing, spewing some unintelligible gibberish about magic and such and so forth. I could not see him but I could hear his frantic, insane happiness and her began to, what sounded like, carving and drawing with chalk on the stony ground. I could see his face as he went around me a few times, it was badly scared, darkened with dirt and miscellaneous filth. He had a yellowed toothy smile about him, the kind that would make your stomach twist. He stopped moving and looked me in my eyes, these failed devices of my body that couldn't look away from his horrid form. He breathed heavy, touching my face with his dirtied hands. I felt a spark in my heart, a hard shock. I felt my nerves again. MY body was being reanimated, saved by this man. Just as I was about to take my first breath I felt the cold come back again. It latched onto my body as I could breathe again. I was being brought back from the dead, as an undead slave for this mans sick twisted deeds. He laughed and laughed as my body took a mind of its own, ignoring my every command, standing up onto the stony floor. He finally quieted down, coming into my view again and once more looking me in the eye. "My name is Cardillon, your Master. I, am going to make GOOD use of you. HEHAAHAHAHA!" laughed the maniacal man, and I was sure that these uses he had planned, were not going to be very well intended for me as well as the rest of the island either.

Post edited. Please refrain from using signatures, as they are not allowed in the Archives. -Faerdin

< Message edited by Faerdin -- 7/27/2013 16:16:46 >
Post #: 2
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