Mystere's Stories:
teej
/ooc WARNING!!! This post is NOT rated G, PG, or even PG-13. It's rated R.
Some don't like these kinds of posts, and this is your opportunity to get
out now while you can. Just realize the two people involved are NOT nice,
happy-go-lucky forest faeries. They are mean, nasty Teir'Dal. Thank you and
I hope you enjoy. ?
The door closed with an audible click. Looking around, Mystere saw the room
was small, but sparse, giving it the illusion of being larger than it really
was. The ceiling was dominated by the unHoly visage of Innoruuk, his leering
smile seeming to penetrate her very being. There was a small altar, just
large enough for a ritual sacrifice. Very near the altar was a large table,
its surface almost as large as the altar itself. Upon it was an open book,
which the Prophet was currently engrossed in. His lips moved soundlessly as
he practiced the proper incantations.
From a hidden corner, a servant's door opened, and several robed figures
walked in. They moved soundlessly, and each bore a necklace with a symbol of
Innoruuk on it. With surreal gracefulness, they glided over the stone floor.
They brought burning incense, and one carried a tray full of steel surgical
tools, light from the candles mirroring off their surface. These were all
placed carefully, almost lovingly, in their proper positions around the
room. A pair of seeming identical twin robed figures broke off and
approached the necromancer. They carefully helped her out of her robes and
other equipment.
When one of them reached for her sacrificial dagger, she pulled it out of
reach. Hesitating only a moment, the nameless acolyte reached for it again.
"This is my instrument to work with," she stated flatly. "Unless ye wish to
personally experience it in action, I suggest ye back off." There was
another hesitation, and the pair looked over to Pravdameer, who had his own
pair of nameless twins helping him.
"Leave it," he said without looking over, "she will have need of her
instruments soon." The pair bowed and left the room.
Mystere waited impassively as the priest finished his own ministrations. She
looked up at the leering visage of the God of the Teir'Dal people and
shivered. Even the thought of Him gazing down on her while she was so
vulnerable sent goose bumps over her body. To pass the time, she began
twirling her blade in her hands as Morrigu had taught her. Although fairly
dexterous, the necromancer wasn't practiced in the maneuver, and nearly cut
off her own finger.
"Easy with that weapon," the Prophet said suddenly. "This is a Holy place.
It is vital that the participants do not spill their own blood, lest they
too become sacrifices." She merely nodded in response. The priest came over
with a paintbrush and a small bottle of ink. While another man would have
stopped and admired the body before him, Pravdameer had no such interfering
thoughts. He sat on the ground before her and began to trace the ritualistic
runes on her body. While he worked he talked idly. "These are protective
runes. They are to protect our essences from being infected along with the
Lightdwellers," she noted that he spat out the last word with as much venom
as he could muster. "The paint itself is relatively mundane, being a
combination of Teir'Dal blood and phosphorus."
The process took hours, and through it all she was silent. When he had
finally finished, her body was covered in the paint. Though the bottle was
small, it never seemed to run out of ink. Obviously a minor enchantment.
When the priest had finished, another cleric, of relative power she noted,
entered and began to do the same with Pravdameer. Save for the Prophet's
idle chatter, the process was silent.
"Our cleansing requires a blood sacrifice to The Father," he said when his
own painting was finished. Mystere nodded numbly. "The text indicates that
The Father must be appeased in a greater amount than normal for this
ritual," he continued. "There are some indications that only the most
blessed are allowed to perform this. As a result, I have called for Mrimm
Jiv'elgg."
Mystere raised an eyebrow. It was almost unheard of to perform the Mrimm
Jiv'elgg, roughly translated to Common as ritual sacrifice. But the words
meant so much more than that. More along the lines of divinely inspirational
torture.
The Prophet eyed Mystere carefully. "Is there a problem?" he stated flatly.
"Nay, none at all," she replied coldly.
"Very well, let us begin."
The servant's door opened again, and a pair of Koada'Dal were shoved in
roughly. One male and female. By custom, they would be a married couple,
with one or both being a cleric to Tunare. The necromancer's blood turned to
ice in her stomach. She wanted to call out against the injustice about to be
done. To scream at Innrouuk for this cruelty, this sin against the Dark
Goddess. But to do so would fail in that same Goddess' wishes. She could
only trust that for some reason, these two were worth destroying to keep
Lanneth alive.
She looked at the two lovers. The male was bravely hiding the female behind
him, calling to Tunare to protect them both. The woman, as was her way,
huddled in terror, screaming against the injustice of the Teir'Dal nation.
Mystere called upon her magics, surrounding the male's mind in abject
terror. He screamed and raged, clawing at his own face to hide from his
innermost terror.
The Prohpet looked impressed. "An interesting way to hold him still," he
said with a grin. "Most would have merely rooted them to the spot."
With the male out of the way, he grabbed the woman and firmly shackled her
to the altar. Once she was firmly in place, Pravdameer grabbed two scalpels
from the surgical tray brought in earlier. Mystere sensed her spell was
about to fall, so she switched to the more traditional root spell, so the
male could be immobilized, but fully aware of what was about to occur. The
Prophet nodded. He bent over the woman and placed the wicked looking blades
in front of her eyes. "See this?" he said, his voice dripping with malice.
"As ye can see, there are two blades. One has been sharpened to the finest
point possible, using magics to temper the blade. The other," he said,
indicating the second instrument, "was one of my first works as a smith. As
you can see, I wasn't able to sharpen it much, and the blade itself is
pitted and dull. Your behavior from here on in will determine which of these
blades I use. Either of you struggle or cause me trouble, I use the blade I
made. Cooperate and accept your fate, and I'll be merciful and use the
sharper one. Your fate lies in your own hands."
Mystere watched as the eyes of the Koada'Dal shot up, mad terror filling
their vision. "Excellent!" said the Prophet. "Now, I shall give you a brief
description of what lies ahead. The deadly beauty beside me is a
necromancer, well respected with The Dead. The honor you are about to
receive through myself, her, and indeed this ritual is something you shall
grow to appreciate. I understand that your primitive, bestial minds cannot
fathom the greatness of Innoruuk," at this the priest's eyes glinted with
religious fervor, "but suffice it to say that this is an honor your
worthless hides are ill-fit to receive."
"Now, as for you my hairless dog-bitch," he said, indicating the woman, "I
am going to carefully remove each of your organs from your ivory skin," at
this, the female began to cry silently, shaking her head as if to deny what
was coming. "Oh yes," he said continuing. "But do not seek solace in the
confines of death, for it is my assistant's job to ensure that you stay
alive and conscious through the process. She will do this by feeding you her
very own life essence. You will keep alive through the strength of a
Teir'Dal noble."
The cleric stood back and began pacing the floor, wrapped up in his speech.
He looked like an impassioned scholar trying to explain magic theory to his
idiot student. "You may well wonder how long she can keep this up without
killing herself," he stated. "I'm glad you asked that question!" he said, as
if rewarding an animal with good behavior. "She is going to use your husband
as fuel for her own life force. So I suppose, in a way, your own husband
will be the driving force behind the pain that will befall you soon," he
cackled at his own irony.
"Now then, are there any questions?" The male responded by bellowing with
rage and struggling against his magical bonds. Mystere merely sent another
wave of terror surrounding him. "Aw, that's too bad," Pravdameer said,
feigning disappointment. "For that little outburst, I shall begin with the
scalpel I made. Just think," he said with a gleam in his eye, "if we do
this -really- well, we'll reach your brain before death approaches you!"
Turning to the necromancer, he said, "We shall begin with her kidneys,
moving on from there to her bladder and womb." Mystere merely nodded.
It was a complicated, agonizing process. Discounting the atrocity that was
occurring, it took great skill to accomplish the task. Pravdameer had to
work at exactly the right pace, not too fast, or the subject would die, nor
too slow, or the healing would close the wounds he was working on currently.
For Mystere's part, she had to chain cast, complicated spells, alternately
slowly drawing out the life of the male, while sending her own life into the
female. All the while, she had to ensure the magical bonds that held him
would hold.
Three hours later, Pravdameer removed the woman's skull, finally allowing
her to expire. She uttered no sound, for both her lungs and her voice box
had been removed, and her eyes did not close, for they too had been removed.
The priest smiled widely. "We have done well."
Mystere staggered under the weight of what she had just accomplished. Both
her and the male fell to their knees, drained of most of their energies.
Summoning the last of her mana, she channeled it into the Koada'Dal,
draining him of the last of his life, and healing herself. She stood wearily
and looked to the cleric. "It is done," she intoned formally.
The Prophet placed the organs and blood he had collected and placed them
into a specially prepared container. After securing the top, he rotated the
lever on the side, setting in motion the mechanism inside. Within minutes,
the organs that had until recently kept the woman alive, were transformed
into a thick paste. Pravdameer offered up the paste to the visage of
Innoruuk and blessed it in ritual prayer.
After bathing in the mixture, the pair were rinsed and thoroughly washed in
water brought in by more servants. The corpses were removed by more silent
robed acolytes. After the servants had finished bathing the pair, Pravdameer
took Mystere aside and showed her the tome and its contents....
....to be continued
SECOND STORY
/ooc WARNING! The following story contains explicit scenes. Please, if you
are underage or offended by graphic description, please avoid this story.
That said...I've no idea where this story came from. It just sorta popped
into my head and refused to go away until written. I think the idea started
out better than the ensuing story, but you shall judge for yourselves....
--------------------------
Xyth stalked into his bedchambers, a permanent scowl on his face. The room
was as he had left it. The immense oak desk in the corner held little in the
way of clutter. Being a warrior, the desk was merely there to show his
wealth, not his penchant for studies. The bed dominated the center of the
room, raised on a small dais to attract attention. It was a large, round
affair, with pillows of soft griffin down. It was easily large enough for an
entire orgy of orgres, with room to spare.
And his prized possession chained next to it. She froze when she saw him,
large eyes already wet with tears. Her skin was dark and rich. Xyth could
already feel the burning need in his crotch. He grabbed on end of the chain
and tugged sharply. The needle-sharp spikes on the collar dug into his pet.
The bottle she had been painting her nails with fell over and stained the
white carpet like blood. "Look at the mess!" he shrieked at her. "What is
the meaning of this?!" His voice rose to a crescendo, shaking the very stone
around them.
The pitiful Teir'Dal girl, barely into her 14th season didn't even try to
resist. Xyth had bought her flesh 13 seasons ago, and long ago she had
learned the pain associated with even the appearance of resistance. Though
she had been willful in the past, the warrior knew that she had given over
winning her independence and instead sought only to please him. It was all
the more delicious knowing that she willingly defiled her own body just to
continue at his side.
"I wished to make myself more attractive to m'Lordship," she whispered,
taking care to avoid eye contact. She showed him her freshly painted nails.
Xyth grinned wickedly, then back-handed her with his mailed fist. There was
a loud crunch as the side of her face restructured itself. Still, she
emitted not a sound of pain, just merely removed the rags he allowed her for
covering. Her once soft, perfect flesh was a chaotic pattern of burns,
welts, and scars. Brands of a dozen House names (all those she had been
"lent" out to, and those who owed him favors) were burned in various parts
of her anatomy. The picture arouse the warrior all the more, and he motioned
for her to disrobe him and continue to service him.
He allowed her to lay him down, not moving as she struggled to remove his
clothing. When she had trouble removing some articles, she bent to retrieve
a knife. It was a wicked looking sacrificial dagger that curved back on
itself. Like most of his prized possessions (like the slave-girl herself),
it was illegal to have, but that made it all the more worthwhile to him.
There was a brief moment of suspense as she held the knife above his heart,
and Xyth felt his heart skip a beat. Then she was moving on, removing the
last stubborn pieces of cloth from his well-muscled body. He knew she would
never willingly harm him, he had her too frightened and too well-trained.
Still, it was the thrill that he got off on.
When she had finished, he threw her down onto the bed and mounted her. He
took her savagely, and when she had trouble getting lubricated, he used a
knife to cut her labia, using the blood as lubricant. She seemed to enjoy it
all the more, and soon she was screaming in ecstasy and clawing at his back.
Xyth found the pain a surprising addition, and found himself in the grip of
orgasm sooner than he had expected. His muscles in his abdomen contracted
even as his back and neck muscles did so. He arched back, and moaned in
pleasure as his semen burned into his victim.
But something was wrong. His muscles continued to contract and pull,
twisting his mouth into a rictus snarl. His heart pounded in his temple, and
his eyes saw nothing but red. His last vision was that of his beloved slave
smiling wickedly.
She easily threw him off of her and stood for the first time on her own.
Xyth's mind raced, searching for an answer to such inexplicable actions. And
then, as his back arched to near breaking, he saw it. Lying on the floor,
the paint his treacherous woman had used. Poisoned!
Without a word, his unnamed slave claimed possession of the key and unlocked
the chain around her neck. With and audible click, she was free at last. She
stayed long enough to gather a decent set of leather armor before closing
the door behind her. There was a sharp cracking of bone as she did so. She
never looked back to see her former master hewn in half by his own muscle
spasms.
Thus was the Nameless Rogue born unto Neriak. May Innoruuk save you all.
Jeremy Music
Just going to point out that the "intellectual property" in the second story
consists of three words. That's right. Three words. Total.
J
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http://wyld.qx.net/~rezo/Sterling
re...@lords.com
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Olaf
rip off.
olaf
Jeremy Music <re...@darkstar.qx.net> wrote in message
news:slrn8trr5...@darkstar.qx.net...
Dark Tyger
>I noticed that too. Not to mention that the Teir'Dal are an obvious Drow
>rip off.
...Of course, nevermind that a large portion of AD&D is an obvious
Tolkein ripoff... Noooo, they're not Hobbits! They're Halflings! (Yes,
I know EQ uses Halflings too...)
--
Dark Tyger, railgun-toting, slightly eccentric kitty kat =^..^=
Change "Tyger" to "half" to email me.
Tallah, 17th level Human Monk | Tanvyn, 16th level DE Enchanter
Zimmer, 4th level Gnome Necro | Liria, 8th level Dwarf Cleric
Rashim, 5th level Halfling Druid | (All on Luclin)
Lokari
>I noticed that too. Not to mention that the Teir'Dal are an obvious Drow
>rip off.
Heck, most of EQ is a ripoff of previous high fantasy works.
--
www.enteract.com/~lokari
"No one of consequence"