Beloved Marishka: Thunder rolled in the distance as Xyllan walked down the scorched path. It had felt like days sense he had tasted the cool life giving gift of water, and longer still since that last meal. Lighting flashed and he could make the faint outline of what appeared to be a castle, beautiful but foreboding. Briefly wondered were he was, or for that matter who he was, that old Mystic he had seen only told him the road and his name nothing more. Making way, finally reaching the castles gates and collapsed as exhaustion claimed his body. The Golden Geisha, as she was known stepped through the Keep doors and gazed at the form leaning on the gates. The Mistress would be arriving soon. Feeling her presence coming closer. And here was fresh blood for her Queen. Smiling softly walking towards the gate and opened the side he was not leaning on.
Beloved Marishka's garb was simple, her Lady wanted nothing in her way when she gazed on those beautiful to her sight or in the way when she fed. Strapless and wrapped almost like a second skin of golden silk around her breasts and the expanse between ribs and hips was bare where an ankle length spans of silk wrapped loosely around her then fell in panels no wider then 3 or 4 inches each. So each step, movement, bend showed flesh clear up to hips. It also showed there was nothing beneath the alluring panels. Kneeling down, touching the man's shoulders and whispered to his mind and ears. "Sir... are you all right?" If he bothered to look up, her eyes were the color of moon spun emeralds, seeming to shine even when the moon snuck behind the clouds. And her lips were plump as if hard kissed recently, though there was a permanence to their ripeness that may lead him to believe they were luscious all the time.
Xyllan did not look up his mind was being consumed by the thirst he had been feeling build in the last few weeks. Rising to his feet slowly staggering with the effort "I ...am..." his eyes were filled with hunger and hate.
Beloved Marishka's garb was simple, her Lady wanted nothing in her way when she gazed on those beautiful to her sight or in the way when she fed. Strapless and wrapped almost like a second skin of golden silk around her breasts and the expanse between ribs and hips was bare where an ankle length spans of silk wrapped loosely around her then fell in panels no wider then 3 or 4 inches each. So each step, movement, bend showed flesh clear up to hips. It also showed there was nothing beneath the alluring panels. Kneeling down, touching the man's shoulders and whispered to his mind and ears. "Sir... are you all right?" If he bothered to look up, her eyes were the color of moon spun emeralds, seeming to shine even when the moon snuck behind the clouds. And her lips were plump as if hard kissed recently, though there was a permanence to their ripeness that may lead him to believe they were luscious all the time.
Xyllan did not look up his mind was being consumed by the thirst he had been feeling build in the last few weeks. Rising to his feet slowly staggering with the effort "I ...am..." his eyes were filled with hunger and hate.
Marishka smiled. Good... he had spirit. "You are...???" She raised an eyebrow smiling almost seductively with her hands on her hips.
Xyllan rushed her throwing himself against to bring her down to the ground his fangs bared and the nails of his fingers grew to a more sharpened point slashing at what little clothing Marishka had, he was consumed by the hunger and desire, it overruled his sense of judgment. He was weakened, while she was fresh from feeding. Lading on her back and as he came down, her feet went into his gut and the momentum would flip him over her onto his back with their heads side by side. Shifting to her feet and spinning to face him, she growled. "That is no way to ask for a drink, stranger... now ASK or I will see to it you feed no longer!" Her voice was like silk, but had a biting edge to it. Bodice top was shredded and barely covered anything and the front left panel of her dress was torn off in the struggle leaving herself bare.
With eyes of blood red, he grunted, her aim was good but how good was she in a fight? Though the hunger griped him fiercely did not overthrow his fighting ability. "Try it." was all he said simply. Though he had been striped of his title as a lord he refused to be a beggar to this woman, a servant. Smiling evilly as he took note of her beauty which had become bare and exposed to his eyes. "I don't have too..." Without warning, as if stepping from the shadows themselves, five more people, large men, stepped out to flank her. She crossed her arms and grinned. "Now... play nice and I will see to it you feed well..."
Uncrossing her arms and tore the skirt and remnants of the top from her body. Nakedness gleaming now in the moonlight. Roaming hands danced over her body as she watched his eyes. "I will see to it you feed rather well and better than you have in a long time..." She stopped and her hands crossed once more as she glared at him. "Or I can see to it you spend eternity in a cross nailed coffin."
"Make your choice..." Smiling as she turned to go as if walking away.
At the word, cross, Xyllan charged, the other five men not intimidating him in the least. Kicking at the first man but as he did so the hunger turned to pain from lack of feeding and he came crashing down to weak to move or argue. He hissed and tried to rise but the pain was to great and his blackness took him.
Turning as he charged and the men in front stepped closer to protect and block her. Marishka smiled as the man fell and passed out. "Bring him." Without another word, two men would lift him by his arms and drag him, feet scraping on the stone floors, following the naked woman.
When Xyllan awoke, he would look up and see gauzes of blackest pitch and silver, almost like captured and bent moon rays. The larger than imaginable four poster bed, as he turned his head, would seem big enough to fit five or six comfortably. As he moved, he discovered his ankles and wrists bound in unbreakable black metal clasps. Laying on his back on the bed, head cradled comfortably on a pillow with his arms set so his hands could move a bit, but not come close together to touch one another. His ankles, the same way, stretched apart, but not uncomfortably so. Beyond the drapes of black and silver fabric, a soft humming could be heard and between candle light flickers, the form of a woman could be seen moving about.
Studying the bonds and tested their strength. Satisfied they would hold him regardless of how hard he might try to break them then looked around the room, whoever had chained him would pay for their insolence. "If you plan to torture me go ahead, others have tried."
The voice spoke softly. It sounded like the voice from earlier. It never came closer but continued to move around the room as it spoke. "No doubt with pain and torture. Am I right?"
Xyllan pondered this woman's statement and nodded once, choosing not to speak anymore until things became more clear.
Marishka smiled sweetly and stepped closer to the bed, her body outlined by the firelight of candles behind her as her voice softened. "You want to feed... don't you?" Again she moved her hands to dance over her body. The silhouette showing provocative poses through the draping mesh as she danced.
Satrina: Disturbed from perplexed thought, right hand fingers adorning black diamonds resting under her chin. Shapeless forms rising and heaving against the cold stone didn't sway Atra's attentions to study with Sciomancy, it was the soft whispers in the night which roused her awareness to perceive and listen. Not that the words were decipherable, it was merely the husky timbre that summoned her psyche as if calling to her from the womb of chaos. Restlessness plagued this eclipsed beauties features, had she not been pacing with feral madness, attention would be placed upon the pages of the darkest grimoires- seeking answers, none she would ever find. Some resolves were kept from her, and this only brought about the wrath and distain from the center of her heart- what other course was there to take, for it all seemed so empty. Why? Now those were the answers Atra couldn't find, regardless of all her searching reflectionless pits of black obsidian mirrors. For days now she had not sought the company of her beloved Marishka, instead remaining in the stone bowels of her beloved sanctuary, what else was there to achieve in lifetimes of triumphs and glories?
What little they had paved, what blackened paths they had carved through the pit of self, that she no longer even recognized herself, only the dark silhouette that stood in its place. Were there regrets? No, not entirely, only disappointments, but then who didn't have those in the millennia of enduring time itself and the events of history; like the churning tides. Nothing ever flows so mellifluously, and it was these forceful tides that fortified her nature, like mother nature itself she was both cruel and beautiful, treacherous and loyal. Nigrescent eyes shifting from the inscribed words, studiously peering through the smoky ethereal veils of midnight adorned with the libertine of moonlight and the symphony of wolven requiem. It seemed her little marionette had been busy this unholy blighted eve, the servant... and then that of Marishka's presence perfumed with that familiar scent that made Atra's apertures curve into a cruel simper; coercing her chiseled chin to lift and drink in fragrances of sweet musk and blood. Calling forth her precious lover to perhaps attend to meet within the obsidian chambers and bless her there, pale and natural in all her pale glory like Eve in the Garden of Eden.
But... there was another presence also lingering, male... bound and chained to the very bed of her chambers. Draped over the ebony silk, pallid skin of china adding the most delicious contrast against the shiny satin-sheen of the black linen; benedict by the ambered overture of candlelight. Flames flickering as the cold caress of wind teased the burning pyre with ethereal fingers, to trace and tease to the very lair of this objective desire... that was bared so obvious one could taste it. Even from scent alone, the information painted a visionary picture within her mind, conjured by demons... and the beautiful form of Marishka dancing naked before her. Revelation-inspired eyes, the feisty spirit arousing suppressed yearnings, hungers that Atra had chained from within, and yet without, that had always been the way. she no longer needed such things of blood, it cursed her exquisite palate. From the confines of her dungeon, the lust and thirst took hold, pink appendage licking across those sanguine stained lips, anticipating the sup of vitae to splash against them. Elegant hands moving from the parchment pages, to press palm flat against the desk only to push upwards, ebon lace and leather lengths exhibiting the shapely svelte figure of Marishka's dark decadent mistress.
Tones of alabaster, like white roses sprawled across the same black silk from whence he laid, teased and compelled by the man whom would soon learn his place, or perhaps she would be fed to Marishka. Rendering nothing but flayed ornament to peer wide eyed from the ceiling to reflect the carnal lust eventuating below? Fluidly turning from the waist, bringing her body into a turn and swiftly pacing through the ebony arches and damp, dimly lit chambers to seek that whom called so temptingly. Even without immediate words, for much can be said in the briefest flutters of immortal din. Gossamer sweeping against the bleak granite floors behind her, hips swinging in a lucrative pendulum voodoo sway that could arouse even the most chaste of men from vow of virtue. Face frozen of any emotion, only the pensive deliberations of just what exactly she would do not only to her Beloved Marishka, but also the banquet served upon her table. Voice from within soothingly whispering the name... "Mmmarrrrissssshka!" with baited breath, spectre-like to summon... to tempt... and seduce. Indeed, this evening they would drink their fill and relish in the wanton desires that was in their nature.es.
Beloved Marishka: Marishka stretched on the pillows before the fire listening to the rants and curses of Xyllan. She couldn't truly feel her blood warmed by it, but it kept the chill off her since she had been alone so much of late. Her sapphire blue orbs were rimmed in crimson as the flames danced in their reflection. Her hair, silver laced ebony, almost seemed alive as she shifted it over her shoulder. Sighing, she gazed at the servant laying beside her.
The long digits of her fingers caressed over the mans shoulder blades and back. Stroking down the line of his perfect porcelain and over his hip till the silken cover, yanked from the bed in the heat of the moment, covered in part his lower pelvic regions. The other leg, out of easy reach, was bent and languid in repose on the far side of the bed.
She closed her eyes and stretched like a large predatory cat. She missed Atra terribly. The woman had given her a gift the first night they had been together, but two nights later had brought her here, lavished and ravished, then left. She hadn't been back in....
Marishka sighed. She had lost track but knew at least one full moon had passed above. Though how long that cycle was here, even she didn't know.
She was just about asleep again, deciding to wait one more night before feeding. She had nothing to strain over, so waiting to feed from the ever present serving wretch at her side, wasn't a problem.
Just as the edge of unconsciousness reached her eyes, she felt the caress of steel and velvet in her mind and body. Sitting bolt upright even before the final syllable had left her Queens' lips... "Mmmmarrrrrrisssshhka"
The call was like honey to her parched lips. Rising, she strode to the door grasping a midnight pitch colored silken robe and pulled the double chamber doors open and began striding down the hallway. The leather and lace collar on her neck matching the robe she hastily slid her arms into as if part of a set. Upon closer inspection, one would see it was so. The color was leather of the most unnatural blackness. Not even the word 'black' would suffice for the unnatural material. The lace over the edges, easing the roughness against her fair colored skin, was echoed on the black silken coat she wore. The leather was echoed in two other places, though in thinner almost decorative manners... her ankles. The chain anklets she wore had the same black leather laced through them. Woven to look as though chain and material were the same. The metal also a black as night making it seem like a large eyelet lace encircled her feet. The leather making the tinkle of metal chain as silent as her gait.
She tied the robe loosely, not sure what her Lady desired, and closed her eyes a moment never breaking stride. "I come, my Queen, my Goddess... I am coming." She called back to the mistresses mind, then reached her mental hands out to 'find' where to go.
Turning this way and that in the unfamiliar Keep, she soon was only one corner away. Turning it and striding down the marble like hallway, she saw the opened door and the silhouette of her mistress just inside.
Her pace quickened as to the rush of fresh blood pumping to heart causing a false beat to its deadness. She wished to see pleasure in her Lady's eyes once more, even if just for a moment... she ached to ease the ache within Atra as she had once done in a time that seemed so very, very long ago.
Satrina: Thought swayed, shifting from the course of her servant and the new plaything lured into this wretched black abode. Another fly crawling into the web believing the gesture of rest was anything but a malevolent one. Why not permit them to bask in the darkness of their own desires, just a little longer? Atra had no 'feeling' not even her heart fluttered with an inch of apathy or compassion nor was she capable of love. By and by, all the instances of a slight remote chance of heart it had gone to wreck and ruin: now, the blizzards of eons past had built frozen spires imprisoning her heart. It had been sworn that she would never love another- not in the manner to melt the thaw of winter. Maybe there was an inkling of feigned sentiment portrayed over those statuesque features and the very movement revealing through tiered fabric those long. Smooth limbs shadowed by the mantle of gossamer over leather. A raven spent within the unkindness of a discordant fugue. Midnight strands of hair caressed by ethereal gnarled fingers, stroking back through the tapestry, tussling and billowing like black tendrils through the splotchy mitigations of both light and darkness applying the sleek silhouette of her figure passing through the erosion of the artic granite walls.
In silent minuet motion. Only passing by the gilded sculptured ebony door that rested slightly ajar, giving enough area in which to peak, not that she had to. Still, it was curious enough to see why this creature had come to this abandoned haven, and more important enough how he had managed to by pass all the defenses... something that had resulted in some of her closest comrades to perish. Left hand rising, forcefully pushing against the flat surface of the door to abruptly compel the doors to recoil open revealing that her presence was there, but not necessarily to greet anyone. It was not in her nature to play the gracious host or play to some wanderers fantasies. Instantly nigrescent eyes narrowed, pinning to his frame as if to perforate through the exterior and burrow deep down into his soul, should he possess one. Such a burning stare that rekindled the fires of not only hell but the celestial aurora of the highest of orders- like twin crescents of frankincense and myrrh and no longer kissed with the umbra. The void or even the most vile of debauched places. Halting just in the center of adjoined chambers, draped in the finery of molten midnight and wavering overtures of black musk candles along with all the other nefarious emanations creeping and slithering about her grandiose and imposing physique.
"Is it a customary habit of yours to be so easily captured, casually stride into another's domain without being formally, invited?" Right manicured brow arching in cynical twitch while the lustrous corners of sanguine arches mimicked the same curious expression, eyes glancing over the straps which pinned him there, and absent of Marishka. Head slowly tilting to the side studying him in close scrutiny, "So what do I owe the pleasure of this morsel, fly to the spider's web?" Facial canvas instantly evolving into that of non-expression as if frozen, revealing nothing of her self, soul or mind to be prodded with mild interest.
Beloved Marishka: She had spent these many years pleasuring her Queen and beloved Goddess and though she had been left to her own private devices in the last few, she knew the rage in Atra's voice all too well. It brought back memories of when Malice had thrown his heart to Atra's feet, Atrox with his conflicts and the Lady, caught in her dismay had fallen to the floor. How Marishka had wept and pleaded for them all to cease in their madness. Radu, another Vampire Lord had taken Atra away, and Marishka had not seen her since and until now, did not even know if she was still in the realms. It explained why Marishka was here in this world, having woken up in a strange place, not knowing where or who she was. Taking over this abandoned manor and claiming it as her home in the hope that someday her goddess would find her once again.
Finally that day had come.
Comeing down the hallway, she let her filmy robe fall open revealing her naked porcelain flesh beneath. It was honed to perfection as only those of her kind could manage. Add to the fact that she now carried Atra's own special kin blood within her, she was a vision of doll like perfection and beauty. There was also a grace to her step that made one think 'cat' or 'feline' when she took her nearly daintly though swift steps. She had been around some of the greatest and strongest women of the Ayenee age, amongst those of the Darkbane clan were amongst the most deadly and vicious. From Eden to Tenaria, she had followed Atra through many worlds, even to the wastes of the Nightside with Malagen, Vlad and Radu, the Wamphyre Lords. She even vaguely remembered the nameless void being that whispered seductively to her ears and even managed to influence his way through all their minds.
A tentacle shapeless embrace that reminded her of monsters in her nightmares as a child.
The golden robe billowed behind her like an ebony cloud, pearls dangling around her neck and swept across fresh mounds of lily. Marishka whispered as she approached. "I am here Atra, Mlady... I am here." When she approached, unable to contain the happiness she felt, after many cold and lonely years. Stroking a hand feather light down her Mistress' arm. It was one of the very limiting gestures she had been allowed to make before that hadn't landed her on her knees in pain from the grip of her Lady's wrath. Her ankles chiming ceased as she then took a step back and awaited the response.
She was smart enough now to not linger, to not hover and to know that she could stand there for an hour or longer if Atra willed it, before acknowledgement was given her. She set her mind to such a wait and watched her prisoner strewn on the bed as she waited for her mistresses reply. Would she be pleased or angered that Marishka had already fouled this one with her own sexual desires and hungers?
Satrina: Atra turned her mind away from the less savory of notions, it had been sometime now looking upon this wretch that something else danced from the dark thoughts of her desires and wills; something a little more mystifying and mysterious, perhaps even underhanded. Attention removed itself from the man casually splaying himself over a bed made of fine oriental silks, as if it was his very rule that dominated above all else here... and how wrong could this Xyllan be? With the though reaching out ethereal digits to caress the psyche of Marishka, from the dark vistas of these chambers, to the candlelit hallways of silence and decadence. Not even a motion of symphony granted to the morsel wishing to experience first-hand what indeed he had no means nor keys of satisfaction to aspire such, affections. Raising the grace of right hand as to allow her palm to face outwards in commanding stature, rubiescent lips murmuring some hidden incantation, or, perhaps curse... something unspeakable to cherish the coercing affections of flames and ebony hearts.
From the chilling stroke of wintry zephyr, spirits entwined to mourn that of souls lost to her fervor not to mention soft timbered limbs that whispered depraved fantasies undone. Never felt or experienced beyond that of flesh. Even the candlelight flickered to the strokes of ghostlike hands, drifting up along the flames only to dull them in azure blues with wicked hues of indigo then shadows. It was then that the temperature increased beyond that of the comfortable cool to that of cruel piquant kisses, heat waves wavering only to enwreathe his form in their intangible webs, to ensnare and welcome to hellish embraces. An evil smile displayed itself over those lips of wine and blood, it was the only expression permitted to unravel from the mystery that was her, and that of which she intended to do with this tainted meat sack not even mildly holding interest of desire or hunger. Atra's mind was occupied with other thoughts and instances of chance events.
With an abrupt force of will, and the already conflagrated heat unwrapping from the mid-section of her palm, causing it to spiral with controlled force, eyes narrowing with voidic vehemence only to relish in the ebony ash that now rested upon the velvet- blackened residue forming the piled essence of where his body once lay ever so seductively. Or so he had thought only to discover how incorrect his assumptions truly were. Giving the male not even a blink before turning to meet with Marishka with that same cold, cruel smile. Seduction bore its lusts to taste over those saccharine buds of death and demise. "Ah! My dearest Marishka, I had wondered where in the darkness you lingered. But my love, there is no desire left for you to call me Atra. It shall be our little treasure to hold to covertness simply because of our shared past, but only because of that! There are no old connections which remain between us, or that still connect us, and I have no desire to make new ones with those who still toil in their misery..." With that Atra seductively winked whilst right arms snaked around Marishka's waist and her eyes seductively glanced over her blood pet's lithe, graceful form "As beautiful as ever, my Beloved Marishka. Do not fret, for there is no need to despair for the past, what is done has been done and now written in the stars."
Beloved Marishka: The faithful servant wanted to hold her mistress, there was nothing she wanted more than to embrace and take that pain into herself but she knew Atra would never allow those things to be the disease of anothers burden. "As you wish mistress..." were the words which stuggled to the surface. It was not the place of a servant to question or ask why and how it had come to this. Marishka wondered if Blissful and Suun'aise were not far behind Atra, all three held a close bond and it caused Marishka to frown not hearing their footsteps echoing along the dark hallways and entering the room. Too many questions and not her place to ask them. Was her mistress upset with her? Bursting her offerings into flame that only burned Xyllan's flesh and not the bed where he layed, spread to the heated passions her and he had explored, just ashes now. "Do I displease you? Did my offering not bring you anything of hunger, desire or feeling? Are you that dead inside that you no longer, feel, anything. Not even for me?" A glimmer of hope filled her eyes, searching into Atra's for anything of love towards her.
It broke her heart that she saw, nothing.
A tear slid down her cheek.
And in those moments, she knew what being broken felt like.
Perhaps she would not love another, not like how she loved her mistress. With each victim Marishka dragged to her bed, was a knew and excited lover, each had their own pains and pleasures to bring her. It was this fire that she lived for the most, and it was the hunger Marishka's mistress had shown her, a world she did not want to let go. She cared for, worshipped and adored the sublime darkness standing before her with cold impressions of feeling and touch. "Why didn't you stay with me?" it broke from her wanting to keep it silent.
Always feeling second place to everyone, and she was terribly jealous of them, all. Adrin, Malice, Atrox, Tongra and Radu, any man who stood beside Atra and took her attention away from Marishka, they did not need to be lovers. Now she had a chance to keep Atra to herself, not wanting to share, not wanting to be second to everyone else. "I want you to stay with me! Only me, and to be with me! I want you to love me, and me only" Emotion boiled through the words, bitten and bitter through clenched teeth and a stomp of her foot.
Turning to face Atra, hands reaching to stroke along the slender lengths of her mistresses arms.
Declining to her knees while her hands drifted long to slim waist and thigh with tapers resting on the leather of her Queen's attire.
Not wanting to hear the words telling her to leave and not return.
Just wanting to pleasure her, without words of farewell or displeasure.
"Is it selfish of me that I do not want to share you with any man Atra? None are worthy of you, none have ever cared enough or loved you enough. The moment your back turned from giving them affection or you no longer noticed them. They ran, they ran Atra to the harlots who gladly opened their arms and legs. Then, they'd come crawling back like the maggots they are."
She knew she was speaking out of line, but did not care, if she was to die it would be in the arms of her mistress. "You wasted yourself away on them all, Pandora, all of them. Why do you think Suun'aise and Blissful left? They were eaten up, and spat out. I know Suun'aise tried looking for you but Pandora told her to get out, and not look back. I was glad when I heard Tongra was dead in the Temple with Kadasha, I was hiding behind a pillar and heard it all!" Marishka wasn't sure Atra even knew of Tongra's death, she didn't care, she just wanted Atra for herself.
"Do you hear me, they are all dead to you. But you need to live, again"
She laughed loudly, insane to the obsession her heart was poisoned with.
Mockingly celebrating the death of a man she knew Atra had at one time or still at this time, loved.
Did Atra even love? Or was it this game of eating hearts?
The blood doll wanted to cower, she knew the anger she was inciting with her provaction. A loathsome smile would peel away her mask of mock innocence, feeling Atra's burning anger already upon her she spoke, much softer this time "None are worthy of you, but I, have always been faithful and have always wanted for you" Those nerves began to hum with electronic impulse spreading throughout her form like a virus. Rising to her feet and taking a step towards Atra, hand brushing along her arm in feather-soft touch, lips seeking to soothe and not incite temper. Marishka wanted to prove her love, not just leave her heart hanging upon a sleeve no longer wanting to feel like chopped liver. "They have all just brought you nothing but pain. Do you not see it?"
Satrina: "You seek words of weapon to wound, Marishka...but you use the wrong blade which to strike or make me, bleed!"
A woman, who had bested some of the best, manipulated men who claimed to have an unshakeable, will of iron. A woman who had taken the worthless and turned them into something to be feared, taken them under her black wing only to have them spit back in her face. The lovers who swore a thousand deaths before they would leave her side? Was that so? Then where were they now? Perhaps death took them before they realized it? And now this woman before her wanted to confess the same? Vain words, vain love- none of it worth even a shattered heartbeat to someone like Atra. None of it mattered now... what did matter was what she saw before her eyes now, whose lips was before hers, what tender touch encompassed her slender form in a tourniquet of sensual embrace pleading for her to remain, here. The past held no significance to the psyche, and certainly not to the heart. It no longer drummed to the disharmony of affection and war; now it sought something of fire.
Take whatever pleasure was offered, but by no means hold it sacred, she was to be worshipped, why not let another get down on death kneel only to lick at her ankles and take whatever throes of lust and pain she was willing to lash upon their delicate skin. Atra could never remember a lonelier epitome than Pandora, but then there was no greater fool than Pandora. Atra remembered back to the fateful eve when her piceous eyes glanced upon the rapture of Pandora with the arms of formidable agents at her side. How Atra had wanted that power for herself, and at one point she had it as well, no one knew of Darkbane and its history as she did, they just seem to make it up as they strolled along. No one had created Pandora, she was just a mortal woman who had been tempted towards goodness and wickedness, of hope and death- a darkspirit who had come to her, merely tempted her towards choosing death and used the fiends collected to fill that chest with the souls of the fallen, and it was the fiends who killed for Pandora that elevated her to the status of a Goddess.
No greater poison than the void and hatred itself, if consumes a being and she wasn’t about to be defeated by a deceased Goddess or to consider its vital components of Pandora's demise; who had been full of belly, pregnant to Malice at the time of death- sweet still to the sleeps and gauntlet. The feeble sounds of Marishka quivering like a cowering wounded animal at her feet, couldn’t be more delicious. Brazen, callous and selfish in her own wantonness, though unfeeling and cold to the sentiment side of it. Chiselled chin with elegant descend to look down upon Marishka with a conceited and arrogant countenance, "Think of lovers gracing your body and one melts from the shadows with all their dreams held out on the palm of their hands, to offer them, negligent to the notion, that I no longer concern myself with them and their pitiful dreams. This is who you shall find yourself amongst, Marishka!" A low seductive growl rolling from her oesophagus and over the tip of her envenomed tongue.
She enjoyed watching Marishka writhe in torment, than offer her hand in an act of momentary compassion."Come now Marishka, you open the vaults of your fragility upon me, you demand much sentiment from me that I am awash with the submissiveness of your pledging." Atra did not look down towards this slave of the heart, instead they stared directly forwards unfeeling while Marishka lavished attention on her feet and caressed towards her form. Atra offered her nothing but the glib and provocation of her tongue. By no means was Atra imposing by size, it was that stare given by those menacing eyes that cooled the bravery of her foes, not animalistic frenzied attacks of an insane beast unlike others who boasted they had bested her, when in fact none of them had ever approached her in a manner of arms let alone rivalry. A raspy purr erupted through the fetid whispers plumed through ivory tiers, frosty gusts of ghostly vapors wafting to merge with the shadows which circled above her crest like a crown of ravens.
Right foot being lavished with all the divine affections, lips pursed as if to offer the most honeyed murmurs only to speak naught with words but that of pink-hued appendage. There was more means to a tongue than to wiggle it with useless phrases that would fall on deaf ears and Atra desired her to speak even less? For now she cared not of who had been lost and why? If that were so there was only one of three people who had the ability to taint and spit on her black parade, one was locked away behind his seal, 'The Adversary' was off on a tangent wild goose hunt seeking a relic that had long been deposed of and the third, Ballathor of Darkbane... his skull made such a lovely ornament on the mantle above her bed, mouth agape where her pet Basilisk serpent loved to frolic. Nothing was more endearing than befouling the dead of whatever innocence remained. The symbolism behind the action was simply divine, all rituals had their symbolism and release points, a focus and a means to direct, corrupt and disfigure.
Marishka's speech did bring a sense of nostalgia, a soothing voice and lovely disposition to exploit even further; Atra would not deny her, Marishka had served her well, but Atra's affections ceased when the sanguine need no longer plagued her. She just never found the cause to liberate such a rare and beautiful orchid; if she could not possess them they were always left somewhere to rot in misery or deep contemplation."Nay Marishka, I will not remain here with you, within this crypt you have made for yourself, Do not speak of weaknesses of heart and love for I possess no affection nor have any use for such mortal ideals." The dark muse sang in the ebony wreathes of her psyche, questioning intentions of confessed loyalty as if she would be found guilty, punished by death? It was a possible ending, though one not considered at this point in their reunion. A slave was only a slave to Atra when they chose to carry the heavy bonds of their damnation to her side. It was their own selfish greed that kept them chained, imprisoned to her charms.
Never caring, if they chose to fly free into the darkness she would much oblige them with the kiss of death, liberating them as per requested. Reddish tongue flicking over rosebuds craving to bloom, to give that fiery caress Marishka craved. The way she has slithered to the submission and the way she quivered at the taste of perfumed pelage."If none are worthy? What makes you think you are such, Marishka? You are no better than a paramount that laps at my thigh seeking a pat. But what dismays me the most, is that throughout these years, you still do not know me. It saddens me you throw these listless emotions upon a platter and think I am going to chew on the fruit despite its sour taste." Hearing the slave's thoughts on Malice, Atrox, Tongra and Radu, caused nothing but a slow shake of the head in disappointment, though black eyes flashing with a conflagration of warning.
"You know nothing of these, you judge by your own guilt and an instance of course between action and fate- be warned Marishka, great care should be taken for invoking their names even by thought could incite the greatest of wraths upon you, and I am sure you will not voice such things to their faces. You speak openly to me, because you think I shall accept your tantrum with grace. Your childishness, Marishka, only shows to me, how human you really are. It sickens me."
Beloved Marishka: Her bottom lip trembled, she wasn't used to these words spoken from her mistress so cruel and cold. Dark emerald eyes glaring at her as if she had been done some injustice. It was something more of heart than an injustice. A loathsome smile would peel away her mask of mock innocence, that she didn't hit a nerve as planned. The only truth that was spoken was her love for Atra'Lamia and that Marishka had always served and with best interest always presented forth. "I do not understand what you mean Mistress, you forget I am but a simple person and you speak of places where I find myself? I always just wanted to be near you, wherever it was, mattered nothing to me" , taking one step closer to Atra, hand seeking to touch her face if she would be happy to indulge her, "I have only ever had your interests to heart. But, I think they have damaged you beyond repair. I wish you could see how broken you are through my eyes." The sudden surge of power ripped through her form like fire blazing at the edge of each nerve causing her to hiss with the pleasure of it all, remembering well what it was like to be angry.
"You act like you don't care, but you do, you have to. I long to see those fires in your eyes again, like in the moments when we touched", stroking towards Atra's face affectionately, only if Atra remained standing where she was. "Submissive is what you taught me by the punishments of your gauntlets. But you also taught me to think for myself and never to be afraid to speak what I think", all of the Darkbane's were fools. Sheep who blindly followed whoever held the Sheppard staff, caring not who it was as long as they bore the symbol of authority or followed whatever harlot was in fashion at the time. The slave had no respect for none of them, not even one. Like mindless puppets they bent to knee at Atra's feet. All she could think of was ripping out hearts and painting the walls with a bloody mural by her hand. But, no, it was never the right time, "If you opened your heart and were clearly honest with yourself, you'd see" Marishka knew she was speaking out of turn but she didn't care, her stomach was a ball of frustration and anger. "So is Malice still clinging off your skirts or has he found some other whelp to suckle on? How many times has he walked out on you, to go chase a piece of ass?"
Immediately a knowing smirk would rise at the edge of her lips. A dainty hand would rise to muffle the sly chuckle escaping unbidden from betwixt plush rises. Yes, indeed not chords were struck. A single manicured brow popped up, "Where will you go? Who will love me when you're gone away?", she knew the love was not a mutual thing, but it was a true thing and she would never replace Atra with another unlike Colvin who she met in the Darkbane Castle in Ayenee who confessed to love Atra. Malice who threw his heart at her mistresses feet, knew nothing of love. Atrox who was all hot wind and piff, could never get it straight who he was, and that changed from one moment to the next. Radu who was so ungainly and was neither here nor there, and out of those would be suitors the only one who seemed to give a damn, was dead to this world? Did Atra loathe herself that much she had to keep these jokers around? Dare they try and deny it, let them come and speak their truths. Cowards locked away in their lie.
Oh yes, her mind was already envisioning the dark pleasures they would succumb to at a later time, she actually pushed the buttons to ensure it ended the way she wanted, a bit a gasp at being called childish a dark smirk enlightened her face throwing the shadows across the room, "My childish came because that is the only way I can gain attention from you, and you respond to it so well.", feet shuffling from side to side "I have nothing to be guilty about, but if there was one thing that I should be guilty of, is loving you more dearer than life and losing my own youth to a fantasy that was unappreciated and the sacrifices I made to give you my life at the expense of myself."
Satrina: "I crave a certain amount of affection. Perhaps you know of a way to ease this hunger that wroughts in my belly that so many ‘others’ you say are unworthy of its fires?"
Honeyed head bent towards the slender pale arches of Marishka's neck, drawing a path of lingering kisses and crafting a wayward path along a pallid shoulder before rising to press against the blood dolls lips. Atra cared not to respond to the pettiness or retort and digging to unearth old corpses—sojourn to breach inner tempers. There were games and then there were these kinds of games, and this was venturing into far more dangerous spheres than what Marishka could ever expect. Atra She subjected herself to the slave's sloppy kiss curling slender arms about that neck as she pried at the lips with her tongue seeking the sweet cavern beyond. Squashing the nagging thought of merely biting off her tongue as they meshed together as lovers for the last time; velvet serpent lashed out curling about Marishka's tongue, suckling, urging her into a higher frenzy of passion. Left hand descending to waltz down along slender arms, before pushing past to tapper fingers upon the hip. Feminine beauty drew her servant, like a moth to the flame... the undeniable pleasure to not deny the taste of her bounty and curvaceous landscapes. To make Marishka think that she would be all for this indulgence and to build on that intoxication and voracious appetite, to manipulate the strings of this puppet for her own perverse entertainment which was far beyond that of tender reaching.
{Bedevilled} {Enthralled} {Fevered}...
Teeth clamping down on her own tongue to bring forth the tiny globule of caustic vitae, the entwining it within Marishka's tongue as they lashed against the other as if fighting for dominancy. The poison mixing with saliva, to be drunk like wine though flavourless... sedation, intoxicated by the amphetamines to succumb the compliance of servitude; a prisoner, captivated and caught to her taints. Similar to ‘Tetraodontidae’ (the effects are the numbing of the lips, nausea, rapid heartbeat and lastly muscle paralysis). Marishka could avoid the poison at any given time prior to the interlacing of tongue, for that is when the tiny globule rolled to an egg-like shape and intended to be passed. Like a snake's venom to subdue its prey, so too her eyes expanded in hollow blackness—like staring through black mirrors into the void. Hypnotic in anattempt to grip her prey in an unaware state. While Marishka was busy discovering the passions she had asked to covet, instantly left hand began to change its structure. The Metamorphic Gauntlet... flesh melting away only to solidify at the plate of bone and blackening petrified muscle, activated by thought and will.
Forearm from elbow to the apex of finger tips transformed into a vile weapon. Since her hand had been behind the back of Marishka, scrapping along the length of spine leaving reddened welts, and pleasures unbound, the Blood Doll had no way of knowing this transformation was even occurring and certainly would be more caught in the ensnarement of her deepening embrace. It was totally up to Marishka if she was going to die with dignity or die like a pleading beggar seeking a salvation that was no longer there. The word 'salvation' not holding any merit or consideration; bargaining was not an option for there was nothing Marishka had that Atra could ever possibly want. Caught in the spiders web of proliferate cunning and slyness... satirical prongs stabbing inwards towards the pit of lower spine with an angular upright punch(from the left side hip inwards towards the latissimus dorsi and lumbar vertebrae) that easily would place her gauntlet into the crux of Marishka's being. Through the spine, seeking internal organs (kidney just beneath the ribcage, and the descending colon. Above the kidney, the adrenal gland, the spleen, and the splenic flexure of the colon) while slicing upwards in one single brutal swift motion, then applying strength of force and placement of legs side on to Marishka's form that if she stepped to the opposite side, she would bring herself into the full access of Atra's gauntlet.
Of course this was all a matter of natural physics and how quick Marishka reacted to her second attack because it was likely the first would go unnoticed (if the kiss continued with its hungry yearnings) and being that Marishka was only mortal it was hardly possible she would be able to move quick enough. And having that Atra gave no visible signs or warning that her kiss was anything but an exchange of ecstasy. An escape wasn't an available option if she accepted the decadence of ravening tongue-- the poison would finish its job, it would be ultimately Marishka's choice then to perish quickly by her hand, or perish slowly in the forsaken darkness of death; alone. Her Queen's arms would not cradle her in their last goodbye, or send her off to the sigh of angels... "Weep not sweet one, for my gauntlet shall bring you home!!" Atra did not care enough to reply to the pathetic statements that had been assailed upon her by her servant, she had no use of the sentiments attempted to demand emotion, instead only caused loathing. It showed Marishka's lack of understanding in regards to the relationships and connections within Atra’s life (that she spoke so lowly of) who never spoke of love or demanded love from any of these males mentioned. Atra still held some far off respect for a couple and a twisted affection for the others. What else was there to be said when all has been done, was done?
Beloved Marishka: Unsuspecting of the dark things lurking behind her mistress’s kiss.
She longed for those lips to brush against hers in a moment of bliss, when all her worlds were brought crumbling down around her, and all things reverted back to a time when Marishka felt like she was the only one who really mattered? What did she care of lies? Marishka had been a slave for all of her life, from youth to death. It was always known she would not die a free woman. That this bliss, poisoned, was the only freedom she was going to know and the lack of merciful heart shown was to be expected. If anyone knew Atra, it was Marishka and not all these other fools who came and went like the seasons. Words stung her as vipers, inflicting her heart with needle-like sensations not to mention the questions racing through her mind, confusion. Confusion ran hot throughout her system, not to mention the heat produced by her mistress’s fiery embrace. A forced reality.
A heated embrace, the moments that all lovers share when captivated by the flames of passion and love. Even if it was incredibly one-sided. Had the blood doll been wrong? No, she could not help the fact her Lady was terribly misinformed. She didn't want to die. She wanted to serve something worthy of BEING served, and that being, was Atra, but, she knew her words had served her doom and soon Death would be her master.
Warning hammered at her mind, screaming to return to healing, being pitied and hiding from what she truly was, was soon silenced as the nectar and copper tasting sweetness and something else that numbed her tongue filling her throat and the feeling of peace, rightness and belonging settled on her. Whimpers and mewls of decadence danced from her lips between passionate mouth bruising kisses and bites. She felt a small drop of something slide from the Lady's lips down her own silken moaning throat, but the notice was fleeting and ignored. It never truly registered that in the single moment of swallowing willingly, she had stepped over the final boundary that would have possibly allowed her to return to belovedness and continue her life as a meagre flower wilting in the hands of a Goddess. If this was her fate, she would be content.
Marishka pressed her feminine form against the slender body of her mistress, head leaning to the side to deepen the desire of whipping tongues and ardent lips. Lovingly further with the parting of lips, as if to whisper farewells, flinching at the bruising pressed silent demand of her Mistress and shared the succulent venoms she had been privy too. Their tongues dancing in ageless waltz, like courtiers silently whisking one another around a silent floor. She kissed Atra's lips with the same, if not more, fever and passion for it was a different reason the slave offered her mouth for the pleasure of her Goddess. Sucking, nipping and licking as the same was done to her, moaning softly with wanting at the deadness of her lips. The lack of sensation that came with a fever Marishka mistook for the rapture of being in the arms of the Dark Lady, the one who she had called Goddess, the one who she held value greater than life itself, especially her own.
As the kiss moved on her form Marishka melted into it purposely, as if to aid Atra in striking back at whomever or whatever it was that had roused her ire. The milky rises of her supple breast would flatten against the warmth of leather procured by her mistress’s own body heat that grew with passion? Growling against the intoxicating kiss, not in anger, but with dark pleasure, even whether or not she knew at accepting it, she was already dead.
Ending the kiss, tearing her lips away from those Marishka never wanted to be parted from. But certainly, all things must come to their ending. Stepping away only a step, for there was no more space which to break she began to feel her body seize up, bodily functions becoming interrupted. The paralysing toxin beginning to work faster as her heart strained to pump the blood through frozen flesh. Blinking, stunned by the deception.
It was almost like being lost amidst the darkness, all sight slowly withdrew from her sight and left hand reached for Atra looking for a salvation that was never going to be given. Staring blankly with the shock and horror she knew was dwindling away just as the sharpness of something dug painfully into her back. “All I ever did, was love you”, the only words that came to surface through the volumes of blood and acid that exploded within her throat. Drowning in a pain she had never experienced before, when not even a scream found capacity of sound, only a gurgled submission. There was love no colder, or hands as unforgiving and destructive as Atra’s. Marishka began to see things she knew wasn’t there, nightmares and dark things creeping up her legs and along her arms, ripping at her skin, digging their claws into her face, fire burning and melting her from the inside to the outside. Still no scream came, only a garbled splatter of blood and liquefied mass.
Incapable of speaking, though her mind cursed her mistress then nothing but the darkness gripping her and those claws dragging her down to the depths of oblivion. No heaven and no fires of hell greeted her, there was nothing, just like Atra had always promised her. In the final moments of Marishka’s memory, a splatter of murder and a cruel symbol of wicked jubilation, blood and gore pooling at Atra’s feet and whatever else that remained of her beloved in the last moments. Was her Lady going to find pity somewhere in that cold heart of hers, or would Marishka just be another forgotten in the vast darkness created by those murderous hands?
Satrina: The tiniest morsel of honey was never enough and the single pearlescent dew drop midst the soft folds of purloined flesh had been devoured for Marishka's soul was lost in lustful passions of damnations shadows and the fangs of the beast which greeted her there...
At the moment ire had been struck like a match, Marishka had sealed her own fate by taking the wrong direction at the crossroads. There were no tender or soft words given at the time of poisoned embrace and the dark kiss of gauntlet seeking the inner core of the slaves' essence. A frail petal, delicate to the preening of satirical eviscerations and caught in the web of proliferate cunning and slyness. The blood doll could not deny that she had chosen the wrong approach-- especially when the scalpel satirical prongs digging against the pit of her spine. A punch that easily placed her gauntlet into the crux of her being, through the spine. Fetching internal organs in brutal twists while slicing upwards in one cruel manipulation- slicing like a piece of buttered bread only to have them spill emancipated on the floor at Atra's feet with a mawkish 'dripping' sound. The accolade of internal gifts provided for the insects to devour at leisure, a sacrificial elocution of displeasure and abandonment.
Having shared many secrets and Atra's would die with the slave; plausibly... it was better this way, hypnotized by Atra's calamitous eyes and lulling songs of death and lust than to die from the atrophy of beauty to age. If immortality had been a goal then Marishka would have been better off chasing pipe-dreams in the embrace of one whom she discredited so, and spoke rather rashly of. Though it was likely too, he would have ended the handmaidens miserable existence. Discontentment was evident, by the haughtiness in tone and the command to be loved when love was a natural privilege from the heart not to be commanded by childish tantrums. When Marishka fell to the poisons and gauntlet, a vicious withdrawal brought back elbow freeing from the hollows of fleshy wound and the gulfs of blood that streamed like raging torrents.
Gauntlet reforming to that perfect unsoiled flesh and hand delicate of digits and not cleft serrations, entrails and bloody pulp reducing to sludge as Marishka's body would succumb to the acidic effects to liquefy and eventually dissolve including the bones. Nonentity remaining to grasp, stepping back away from the pooling gore lapping and flooding at Atra's feet. No glance even placed on its tar-like substance alternating in viscera hues of red and black. Spinning on the balls of her feet, to saunter towards the door that exited from the remains of a silly child who thought she held all the trumps but lacked the poker face to pull it off. Right shoulder pushing past the door but before fully leaving, head turning so that chiselled chin rested on the crest of shoulder blade, "You were only right about one thing Marishka.... but it is a shame you did not know me well enough to get 'his' name right!". Words trailed off, and the last of her secrets kept to herself, not even the winds knew what Marishka had said that was correct, or those which Atra clearly admitted to without stating the obvious, too stubborn and too proud.
Turning back, stepping from the room and into the hallway that danced with looming shadows cast by the overture of flickering torches, where they rose and fell like quiet sentinels. Hips taking to swayed voodoo motion, bringing her to descend the colossal marble stairs that was covered by plush cherry-red carpets, and mournful statues cast down their cold eyes to clandestine sorrows. Whoever wept for Marishka, wept too for corruption. Dialogue inflicted, had provided a massive turning point in the workings and personality of Atra'Lamia—just how love can be twisted to breed something so vile and spiteful. Leathered limbs purring from the kill, its satisfaction and remuneration for libel singing through her stride... she wasn't about to tolerate anyone speaking in such a manner of disparage in regards towards Malice. Just as well, this event would never dance over tongue.
Passing the threshold, opening the door that leaded into the arms of night... entertaining her presence here no longer as the plethora of shadow wreathe rose to coerce and twine around slender thighs. Stepping into their clasp of serpent-weavings while prying wide the gauntlet and stepping into the umbra, subtly. Walking sideways into periphery and creating a doorway while transmuting the corporeal form (one's flesh) into incorporeal (spirit) and straightforwardly slipping into the shadows casting away the appearance of mortal coil. Shifting like a ghost from substantial to the shades of the spiritual, Atra's 'Theurgy' so proficient that she did not require a reflective surface to pass into the Umbra, experiencing its crystalline like lattice map the way through the spheres and the silvery threads of the Weavers (an ability not available to most unless gifted or taught). Able to travel to and fro, knowing the way without becoming lost in the vastness of the scapes. Destination: the grand chambers of another yet to feel the sting of her sharp caresses, in the house of Qilrion'zu Lamon.
Like the cold touch of love destroyed, so too is winter found in the embrace of death.The tiniest morsel of honey was never enough and the single pearlescent dew drop midst the soft folds of purloined flesh had been devoured for Marishka's soul was lost in lustful passions of damnations shadows and the fangs of the beast which greeted her there...
At the moment ire had been struck like a match, Marishka had sealed her own fate by taking the wrong direction at the crossroads. There were no tender or soft words given at the time of poisoned embrace and the dark kiss of gauntlet seeking the inner core of the slaves' essence. A frail petal, delicate to the preening of satirical eviscerations and caught in the web of proliferate cunning and slyness. The blood doll could not deny that she had chosen the wrong approach-- especially when the scalpel satirical prongs digging against the pit of her spine. A punch that easily placed her gauntlet into the crux of her being, through the spine. Fetching internal organs in brutal twists while slicing upwards in one cruel manipulation- slicing like a piece of buttered bread only to have them spill emancipated on the floor at Atra's feet with a mawkish 'dripping' sound. The accolade of internal gifts provided for the insects to devour at leisure, a sacrificial elocution of displeasure and abandonment.
Having shared many secrets and Atra's would die with the slave; plausibly... it was better this way, hypnotized by Atra's calamitous eyes and lulling songs of death and lust than to die from the atrophy of beauty to age. If immortality had been a goal then Marishka would have been better off chasing pipe-dreams in the embrace of one whom she discredited so, and spoke rather rashly of. Though it was likely too, he would have ended the handmaidens miserable existence. Discontentment was evident, by the haughtiness in tone and the command to be loved when love was a natural privilege from the heart not to be commanded by childish tantrums. When Marishka fell to the poisons and gauntlet, a vicious withdrawal brought back elbow freeing from the hollows of fleshy wound and the gulfs of blood that streamed like raging torrents.
Gauntlet reforming to that perfect unsoiled flesh and hand delicate of digits and not cleft serrations, entrails and bloody pulp reducing to sludge as Marishka's body would succumb to the acidic effects to liquefy and eventually dissolve including the bones. Nonentity remaining to grasp, stepping back away from the pooling gore lapping and flooding at Atra's feet. No glance even placed on its tar-like substance alternating in viscera hues of red and black. Spinning on the balls of her feet, to saunter towards the door that exited from the remains of a silly child who thought she held all the trumps but lacked the poker face to pull it off. Right shoulder pushing past the door but before fully leaving, head turning so that chiselled chin rested on the crest of shoulder blade, "You were only right about one thing Marishka.... but it is a shame you did not know me well enough to get 'his' name right!". Words trailed off, and the last of her secrets kept to herself, not even the winds knew what Marishka had said that was correct, or those which Atra clearly admitted to without stating the obvious, too stubborn and too proud.
Turning back, stepping from the room and into the hallway that danced with looming shadows cast by the overture of flickering torches, where they rose and fell like quiet sentinels. Hips taking to swayed voodoo motion, bringing her to descend the colossal marble stairs that was covered by plush cherry-red carpets, and mournful statues cast down their cold eyes to clandestine sorrows. Whoever wept for Marishka, wept too for corruption. Dialogue inflicted, had provided a massive turning point in the workings and personality of Atra'Lamia—just how love can be twisted to breed something so vile and spiteful. Leathered limbs purring from the kill, its satisfaction and remuneration for libel singing through her stride... she wasn't about to tolerate anyone speaking in such a manner of disparage in regards towards Malice. Just as well, this event would never dance over tongue.
Passing the threshold, opening the door that leaded into the arms of night... entertaining her presence here no longer as the plethora of shadow wreathe rose to coerce and twine around slender thighs. Stepping into their clasp of serpent-weavings while prying wide the gauntlet and stepping into the umbra, subtly. Walking sideways into periphery and creating a doorway while transmuting the corporeal form (one's flesh) into incorporeal (spirit) and straightforwardly slipping into the shadows casting away the appearance of mortal coil. Shifting like a ghost from substantial to the shades of the spiritual, Atra's 'Theurgy' so proficient that she did not require a reflective surface to pass into the Umbra, experiencing its crystalline like lattice map the way through the spheres and the silvery threads of the Weavers (an ability not available to most unless gifted or taught). Able to travel to and fro, knowing the way without becoming lost in the vastness of the scapes. Destination: the grand chambers of another yet to feel the sting of her sharp caresses, in the house of Qilrion'zu Lamon.
At the word, cross, Xyllan charged, the other five men not intimidating him in the least. Kicking at the first man but as he did so the hunger turned to pain from lack of feeding and he came crashing down to weak to move or argue. He hissed and tried to rise but the pain was to great and his blackness took him.
Turning as he charged and the men in front stepped closer to protect and block her. Marishka smiled as the man fell and passed out. "Bring him." Without another word, two men would lift him by his arms and drag him, feet scraping on the stone floors, following the naked woman.
When Xyllan awoke, he would look up and see gauzes of blackest pitch and silver, almost like captured and bent moon rays. The larger than imaginable four poster bed, as he turned his head, would seem big enough to fit five or six comfortably. As he moved, he discovered his ankles and wrists bound in unbreakable black metal clasps. Laying on his back on the bed, head cradled comfortably on a pillow with his arms set so his hands could move a bit, but not come close together to touch one another. His ankles, the same way, stretched apart, but not uncomfortably so. Beyond the drapes of black and silver fabric, a soft humming could be heard and between candle light flickers, the form of a woman could be seen moving about.
Studying the bonds and tested their strength. Satisfied they would hold him regardless of how hard he might try to break them then looked around the room, whoever had chained him would pay for their insolence. "If you plan to torture me go ahead, others have tried."
The voice spoke softly. It sounded like the voice from earlier. It never came closer but continued to move around the room as it spoke. "No doubt with pain and torture. Am I right?"
Xyllan pondered this woman's statement and nodded once, choosing not to speak anymore until things became more clear.
Marishka smiled sweetly and stepped closer to the bed, her body outlined by the firelight of candles behind her as her voice softened. "You want to feed... don't you?" Again she moved her hands to dance over her body. The silhouette showing provocative poses through the draping mesh as she danced.
Satrina: Disturbed from perplexed thought, right hand fingers adorning black diamonds resting under her chin. Shapeless forms rising and heaving against the cold stone didn't sway Atra's attentions to study with Sciomancy, it was the soft whispers in the night which roused her awareness to perceive and listen. Not that the words were decipherable, it was merely the husky timbre that summoned her psyche as if calling to her from the womb of chaos. Restlessness plagued this eclipsed beauties features, had she not been pacing with feral madness, attention would be placed upon the pages of the darkest grimoires- seeking answers, none she would ever find. Some resolves were kept from her, and this only brought about the wrath and distain from the center of her heart- what other course was there to take, for it all seemed so empty. Why? Now those were the answers Atra couldn't find, regardless of all her searching reflectionless pits of black obsidian mirrors. For days now she had not sought the company of her beloved Marishka, instead remaining in the stone bowels of her beloved sanctuary, what else was there to achieve in lifetimes of triumphs and glories?
What little they had paved, what blackened paths they had carved through the pit of self, that she no longer even recognized herself, only the dark silhouette that stood in its place. Were there regrets? No, not entirely, only disappointments, but then who didn't have those in the millennia of enduring time itself and the events of history; like the churning tides. Nothing ever flows so mellifluously, and it was these forceful tides that fortified her nature, like mother nature itself she was both cruel and beautiful, treacherous and loyal. Nigrescent eyes shifting from the inscribed words, studiously peering through the smoky ethereal veils of midnight adorned with the libertine of moonlight and the symphony of wolven requiem. It seemed her little marionette had been busy this unholy blighted eve, the servant... and then that of Marishka's presence perfumed with that familiar scent that made Atra's apertures curve into a cruel simper; coercing her chiseled chin to lift and drink in fragrances of sweet musk and blood. Calling forth her precious lover to perhaps attend to meet within the obsidian chambers and bless her there, pale and natural in all her pale glory like Eve in the Garden of Eden.
But... there was another presence also lingering, male... bound and chained to the very bed of her chambers. Draped over the ebony silk, pallid skin of china adding the most delicious contrast against the shiny satin-sheen of the black linen; benedict by the ambered overture of candlelight. Flames flickering as the cold caress of wind teased the burning pyre with ethereal fingers, to trace and tease to the very lair of this objective desire... that was bared so obvious one could taste it. Even from scent alone, the information painted a visionary picture within her mind, conjured by demons... and the beautiful form of Marishka dancing naked before her. Revelation-inspired eyes, the feisty spirit arousing suppressed yearnings, hungers that Atra had chained from within, and yet without, that had always been the way. she no longer needed such things of blood, it cursed her exquisite palate. From the confines of her dungeon, the lust and thirst took hold, pink appendage licking across those sanguine stained lips, anticipating the sup of vitae to splash against them. Elegant hands moving from the parchment pages, to press palm flat against the desk only to push upwards, ebon lace and leather lengths exhibiting the shapely svelte figure of Marishka's dark decadent mistress.
Tones of alabaster, like white roses sprawled across the same black silk from whence he laid, teased and compelled by the man whom would soon learn his place, or perhaps she would be fed to Marishka. Rendering nothing but flayed ornament to peer wide eyed from the ceiling to reflect the carnal lust eventuating below? Fluidly turning from the waist, bringing her body into a turn and swiftly pacing through the ebony arches and damp, dimly lit chambers to seek that whom called so temptingly. Even without immediate words, for much can be said in the briefest flutters of immortal din. Gossamer sweeping against the bleak granite floors behind her, hips swinging in a lucrative pendulum voodoo sway that could arouse even the most chaste of men from vow of virtue. Face frozen of any emotion, only the pensive deliberations of just what exactly she would do not only to her Beloved Marishka, but also the banquet served upon her table. Voice from within soothingly whispering the name... "Mmmarrrrissssshka!" with baited breath, spectre-like to summon... to tempt... and seduce. Indeed, this evening they would drink their fill and relish in the wanton desires that was in their nature.es.
Beloved Marishka: Marishka stretched on the pillows before the fire listening to the rants and curses of Xyllan. She couldn't truly feel her blood warmed by it, but it kept the chill off her since she had been alone so much of late. Her sapphire blue orbs were rimmed in crimson as the flames danced in their reflection. Her hair, silver laced ebony, almost seemed alive as she shifted it over her shoulder. Sighing, she gazed at the servant laying beside her.
The long digits of her fingers caressed over the mans shoulder blades and back. Stroking down the line of his perfect porcelain and over his hip till the silken cover, yanked from the bed in the heat of the moment, covered in part his lower pelvic regions. The other leg, out of easy reach, was bent and languid in repose on the far side of the bed.
She closed her eyes and stretched like a large predatory cat. She missed Atra terribly. The woman had given her a gift the first night they had been together, but two nights later had brought her here, lavished and ravished, then left. She hadn't been back in....
Marishka sighed. She had lost track but knew at least one full moon had passed above. Though how long that cycle was here, even she didn't know.
She was just about asleep again, deciding to wait one more night before feeding. She had nothing to strain over, so waiting to feed from the ever present serving wretch at her side, wasn't a problem.
Just as the edge of unconsciousness reached her eyes, she felt the caress of steel and velvet in her mind and body. Sitting bolt upright even before the final syllable had left her Queens' lips... "Mmmmarrrrrrisssshhka"
The call was like honey to her parched lips. Rising, she strode to the door grasping a midnight pitch colored silken robe and pulled the double chamber doors open and began striding down the hallway. The leather and lace collar on her neck matching the robe she hastily slid her arms into as if part of a set. Upon closer inspection, one would see it was so. The color was leather of the most unnatural blackness. Not even the word 'black' would suffice for the unnatural material. The lace over the edges, easing the roughness against her fair colored skin, was echoed on the black silken coat she wore. The leather was echoed in two other places, though in thinner almost decorative manners... her ankles. The chain anklets she wore had the same black leather laced through them. Woven to look as though chain and material were the same. The metal also a black as night making it seem like a large eyelet lace encircled her feet. The leather making the tinkle of metal chain as silent as her gait.
She tied the robe loosely, not sure what her Lady desired, and closed her eyes a moment never breaking stride. "I come, my Queen, my Goddess... I am coming." She called back to the mistresses mind, then reached her mental hands out to 'find' where to go.
Turning this way and that in the unfamiliar Keep, she soon was only one corner away. Turning it and striding down the marble like hallway, she saw the opened door and the silhouette of her mistress just inside.
Her pace quickened as to the rush of fresh blood pumping to heart causing a false beat to its deadness. She wished to see pleasure in her Lady's eyes once more, even if just for a moment... she ached to ease the ache within Atra as she had once done in a time that seemed so very, very long ago.
Satrina: Thought swayed, shifting from the course of her servant and the new plaything lured into this wretched black abode. Another fly crawling into the web believing the gesture of rest was anything but a malevolent one. Why not permit them to bask in the darkness of their own desires, just a little longer? Atra had no 'feeling' not even her heart fluttered with an inch of apathy or compassion nor was she capable of love. By and by, all the instances of a slight remote chance of heart it had gone to wreck and ruin: now, the blizzards of eons past had built frozen spires imprisoning her heart. It had been sworn that she would never love another- not in the manner to melt the thaw of winter. Maybe there was an inkling of feigned sentiment portrayed over those statuesque features and the very movement revealing through tiered fabric those long. Smooth limbs shadowed by the mantle of gossamer over leather. A raven spent within the unkindness of a discordant fugue. Midnight strands of hair caressed by ethereal gnarled fingers, stroking back through the tapestry, tussling and billowing like black tendrils through the splotchy mitigations of both light and darkness applying the sleek silhouette of her figure passing through the erosion of the artic granite walls.
In silent minuet motion. Only passing by the gilded sculptured ebony door that rested slightly ajar, giving enough area in which to peak, not that she had to. Still, it was curious enough to see why this creature had come to this abandoned haven, and more important enough how he had managed to by pass all the defenses... something that had resulted in some of her closest comrades to perish. Left hand rising, forcefully pushing against the flat surface of the door to abruptly compel the doors to recoil open revealing that her presence was there, but not necessarily to greet anyone. It was not in her nature to play the gracious host or play to some wanderers fantasies. Instantly nigrescent eyes narrowed, pinning to his frame as if to perforate through the exterior and burrow deep down into his soul, should he possess one. Such a burning stare that rekindled the fires of not only hell but the celestial aurora of the highest of orders- like twin crescents of frankincense and myrrh and no longer kissed with the umbra. The void or even the most vile of debauched places. Halting just in the center of adjoined chambers, draped in the finery of molten midnight and wavering overtures of black musk candles along with all the other nefarious emanations creeping and slithering about her grandiose and imposing physique.
"Is it a customary habit of yours to be so easily captured, casually stride into another's domain without being formally, invited?" Right manicured brow arching in cynical twitch while the lustrous corners of sanguine arches mimicked the same curious expression, eyes glancing over the straps which pinned him there, and absent of Marishka. Head slowly tilting to the side studying him in close scrutiny, "So what do I owe the pleasure of this morsel, fly to the spider's web?" Facial canvas instantly evolving into that of non-expression as if frozen, revealing nothing of her self, soul or mind to be prodded with mild interest.
Beloved Marishka: She had spent these many years pleasuring her Queen and beloved Goddess and though she had been left to her own private devices in the last few, she knew the rage in Atra's voice all too well. It brought back memories of when Malice had thrown his heart to Atra's feet, Atrox with his conflicts and the Lady, caught in her dismay had fallen to the floor. How Marishka had wept and pleaded for them all to cease in their madness. Radu, another Vampire Lord had taken Atra away, and Marishka had not seen her since and until now, did not even know if she was still in the realms. It explained why Marishka was here in this world, having woken up in a strange place, not knowing where or who she was. Taking over this abandoned manor and claiming it as her home in the hope that someday her goddess would find her once again.
Finally that day had come.
Comeing down the hallway, she let her filmy robe fall open revealing her naked porcelain flesh beneath. It was honed to perfection as only those of her kind could manage. Add to the fact that she now carried Atra's own special kin blood within her, she was a vision of doll like perfection and beauty. There was also a grace to her step that made one think 'cat' or 'feline' when she took her nearly daintly though swift steps. She had been around some of the greatest and strongest women of the Ayenee age, amongst those of the Darkbane clan were amongst the most deadly and vicious. From Eden to Tenaria, she had followed Atra through many worlds, even to the wastes of the Nightside with Malagen, Vlad and Radu, the Wamphyre Lords. She even vaguely remembered the nameless void being that whispered seductively to her ears and even managed to influence his way through all their minds.
A tentacle shapeless embrace that reminded her of monsters in her nightmares as a child.
The golden robe billowed behind her like an ebony cloud, pearls dangling around her neck and swept across fresh mounds of lily. Marishka whispered as she approached. "I am here Atra, Mlady... I am here." When she approached, unable to contain the happiness she felt, after many cold and lonely years. Stroking a hand feather light down her Mistress' arm. It was one of the very limiting gestures she had been allowed to make before that hadn't landed her on her knees in pain from the grip of her Lady's wrath. Her ankles chiming ceased as she then took a step back and awaited the response.
She was smart enough now to not linger, to not hover and to know that she could stand there for an hour or longer if Atra willed it, before acknowledgement was given her. She set her mind to such a wait and watched her prisoner strewn on the bed as she waited for her mistresses reply. Would she be pleased or angered that Marishka had already fouled this one with her own sexual desires and hungers?
Satrina: Atra turned her mind away from the less savory of notions, it had been sometime now looking upon this wretch that something else danced from the dark thoughts of her desires and wills; something a little more mystifying and mysterious, perhaps even underhanded. Attention removed itself from the man casually splaying himself over a bed made of fine oriental silks, as if it was his very rule that dominated above all else here... and how wrong could this Xyllan be? With the though reaching out ethereal digits to caress the psyche of Marishka, from the dark vistas of these chambers, to the candlelit hallways of silence and decadence. Not even a motion of symphony granted to the morsel wishing to experience first-hand what indeed he had no means nor keys of satisfaction to aspire such, affections. Raising the grace of right hand as to allow her palm to face outwards in commanding stature, rubiescent lips murmuring some hidden incantation, or, perhaps curse... something unspeakable to cherish the coercing affections of flames and ebony hearts.
From the chilling stroke of wintry zephyr, spirits entwined to mourn that of souls lost to her fervor not to mention soft timbered limbs that whispered depraved fantasies undone. Never felt or experienced beyond that of flesh. Even the candlelight flickered to the strokes of ghostlike hands, drifting up along the flames only to dull them in azure blues with wicked hues of indigo then shadows. It was then that the temperature increased beyond that of the comfortable cool to that of cruel piquant kisses, heat waves wavering only to enwreathe his form in their intangible webs, to ensnare and welcome to hellish embraces. An evil smile displayed itself over those lips of wine and blood, it was the only expression permitted to unravel from the mystery that was her, and that of which she intended to do with this tainted meat sack not even mildly holding interest of desire or hunger. Atra's mind was occupied with other thoughts and instances of chance events.
With an abrupt force of will, and the already conflagrated heat unwrapping from the mid-section of her palm, causing it to spiral with controlled force, eyes narrowing with voidic vehemence only to relish in the ebony ash that now rested upon the velvet- blackened residue forming the piled essence of where his body once lay ever so seductively. Or so he had thought only to discover how incorrect his assumptions truly were. Giving the male not even a blink before turning to meet with Marishka with that same cold, cruel smile. Seduction bore its lusts to taste over those saccharine buds of death and demise. "Ah! My dearest Marishka, I had wondered where in the darkness you lingered. But my love, there is no desire left for you to call me Atra. It shall be our little treasure to hold to covertness simply because of our shared past, but only because of that! There are no old connections which remain between us, or that still connect us, and I have no desire to make new ones with those who still toil in their misery..." With that Atra seductively winked whilst right arms snaked around Marishka's waist and her eyes seductively glanced over her blood pet's lithe, graceful form "As beautiful as ever, my Beloved Marishka. Do not fret, for there is no need to despair for the past, what is done has been done and now written in the stars."
Beloved Marishka: The faithful servant wanted to hold her mistress, there was nothing she wanted more than to embrace and take that pain into herself but she knew Atra would never allow those things to be the disease of anothers burden. "As you wish mistress..." were the words which stuggled to the surface. It was not the place of a servant to question or ask why and how it had come to this. Marishka wondered if Blissful and Suun'aise were not far behind Atra, all three held a close bond and it caused Marishka to frown not hearing their footsteps echoing along the dark hallways and entering the room. Too many questions and not her place to ask them. Was her mistress upset with her? Bursting her offerings into flame that only burned Xyllan's flesh and not the bed where he layed, spread to the heated passions her and he had explored, just ashes now. "Do I displease you? Did my offering not bring you anything of hunger, desire or feeling? Are you that dead inside that you no longer, feel, anything. Not even for me?" A glimmer of hope filled her eyes, searching into Atra's for anything of love towards her.
It broke her heart that she saw, nothing.
A tear slid down her cheek.
And in those moments, she knew what being broken felt like.
Perhaps she would not love another, not like how she loved her mistress. With each victim Marishka dragged to her bed, was a knew and excited lover, each had their own pains and pleasures to bring her. It was this fire that she lived for the most, and it was the hunger Marishka's mistress had shown her, a world she did not want to let go. She cared for, worshipped and adored the sublime darkness standing before her with cold impressions of feeling and touch. "Why didn't you stay with me?" it broke from her wanting to keep it silent.
Always feeling second place to everyone, and she was terribly jealous of them, all. Adrin, Malice, Atrox, Tongra and Radu, any man who stood beside Atra and took her attention away from Marishka, they did not need to be lovers. Now she had a chance to keep Atra to herself, not wanting to share, not wanting to be second to everyone else. "I want you to stay with me! Only me, and to be with me! I want you to love me, and me only" Emotion boiled through the words, bitten and bitter through clenched teeth and a stomp of her foot.
Turning to face Atra, hands reaching to stroke along the slender lengths of her mistresses arms.
Declining to her knees while her hands drifted long to slim waist and thigh with tapers resting on the leather of her Queen's attire.
Not wanting to hear the words telling her to leave and not return.
Just wanting to pleasure her, without words of farewell or displeasure.
"Is it selfish of me that I do not want to share you with any man Atra? None are worthy of you, none have ever cared enough or loved you enough. The moment your back turned from giving them affection or you no longer noticed them. They ran, they ran Atra to the harlots who gladly opened their arms and legs. Then, they'd come crawling back like the maggots they are."
She knew she was speaking out of line, but did not care, if she was to die it would be in the arms of her mistress. "You wasted yourself away on them all, Pandora, all of them. Why do you think Suun'aise and Blissful left? They were eaten up, and spat out. I know Suun'aise tried looking for you but Pandora told her to get out, and not look back. I was glad when I heard Tongra was dead in the Temple with Kadasha, I was hiding behind a pillar and heard it all!" Marishka wasn't sure Atra even knew of Tongra's death, she didn't care, she just wanted Atra for herself.
"Do you hear me, they are all dead to you. But you need to live, again"
She laughed loudly, insane to the obsession her heart was poisoned with.
Mockingly celebrating the death of a man she knew Atra had at one time or still at this time, loved.
Did Atra even love? Or was it this game of eating hearts?
The blood doll wanted to cower, she knew the anger she was inciting with her provaction. A loathsome smile would peel away her mask of mock innocence, feeling Atra's burning anger already upon her she spoke, much softer this time "None are worthy of you, but I, have always been faithful and have always wanted for you" Those nerves began to hum with electronic impulse spreading throughout her form like a virus. Rising to her feet and taking a step towards Atra, hand brushing along her arm in feather-soft touch, lips seeking to soothe and not incite temper. Marishka wanted to prove her love, not just leave her heart hanging upon a sleeve no longer wanting to feel like chopped liver. "They have all just brought you nothing but pain. Do you not see it?"
Satrina: "You seek words of weapon to wound, Marishka...but you use the wrong blade which to strike or make me, bleed!"
A woman, who had bested some of the best, manipulated men who claimed to have an unshakeable, will of iron. A woman who had taken the worthless and turned them into something to be feared, taken them under her black wing only to have them spit back in her face. The lovers who swore a thousand deaths before they would leave her side? Was that so? Then where were they now? Perhaps death took them before they realized it? And now this woman before her wanted to confess the same? Vain words, vain love- none of it worth even a shattered heartbeat to someone like Atra. None of it mattered now... what did matter was what she saw before her eyes now, whose lips was before hers, what tender touch encompassed her slender form in a tourniquet of sensual embrace pleading for her to remain, here. The past held no significance to the psyche, and certainly not to the heart. It no longer drummed to the disharmony of affection and war; now it sought something of fire.
Take whatever pleasure was offered, but by no means hold it sacred, she was to be worshipped, why not let another get down on death kneel only to lick at her ankles and take whatever throes of lust and pain she was willing to lash upon their delicate skin. Atra could never remember a lonelier epitome than Pandora, but then there was no greater fool than Pandora. Atra remembered back to the fateful eve when her piceous eyes glanced upon the rapture of Pandora with the arms of formidable agents at her side. How Atra had wanted that power for herself, and at one point she had it as well, no one knew of Darkbane and its history as she did, they just seem to make it up as they strolled along. No one had created Pandora, she was just a mortal woman who had been tempted towards goodness and wickedness, of hope and death- a darkspirit who had come to her, merely tempted her towards choosing death and used the fiends collected to fill that chest with the souls of the fallen, and it was the fiends who killed for Pandora that elevated her to the status of a Goddess.
No greater poison than the void and hatred itself, if consumes a being and she wasn’t about to be defeated by a deceased Goddess or to consider its vital components of Pandora's demise; who had been full of belly, pregnant to Malice at the time of death- sweet still to the sleeps and gauntlet. The feeble sounds of Marishka quivering like a cowering wounded animal at her feet, couldn’t be more delicious. Brazen, callous and selfish in her own wantonness, though unfeeling and cold to the sentiment side of it. Chiselled chin with elegant descend to look down upon Marishka with a conceited and arrogant countenance, "Think of lovers gracing your body and one melts from the shadows with all their dreams held out on the palm of their hands, to offer them, negligent to the notion, that I no longer concern myself with them and their pitiful dreams. This is who you shall find yourself amongst, Marishka!" A low seductive growl rolling from her oesophagus and over the tip of her envenomed tongue.
She enjoyed watching Marishka writhe in torment, than offer her hand in an act of momentary compassion."Come now Marishka, you open the vaults of your fragility upon me, you demand much sentiment from me that I am awash with the submissiveness of your pledging." Atra did not look down towards this slave of the heart, instead they stared directly forwards unfeeling while Marishka lavished attention on her feet and caressed towards her form. Atra offered her nothing but the glib and provocation of her tongue. By no means was Atra imposing by size, it was that stare given by those menacing eyes that cooled the bravery of her foes, not animalistic frenzied attacks of an insane beast unlike others who boasted they had bested her, when in fact none of them had ever approached her in a manner of arms let alone rivalry. A raspy purr erupted through the fetid whispers plumed through ivory tiers, frosty gusts of ghostly vapors wafting to merge with the shadows which circled above her crest like a crown of ravens.
Right foot being lavished with all the divine affections, lips pursed as if to offer the most honeyed murmurs only to speak naught with words but that of pink-hued appendage. There was more means to a tongue than to wiggle it with useless phrases that would fall on deaf ears and Atra desired her to speak even less? For now she cared not of who had been lost and why? If that were so there was only one of three people who had the ability to taint and spit on her black parade, one was locked away behind his seal, 'The Adversary' was off on a tangent wild goose hunt seeking a relic that had long been deposed of and the third, Ballathor of Darkbane... his skull made such a lovely ornament on the mantle above her bed, mouth agape where her pet Basilisk serpent loved to frolic. Nothing was more endearing than befouling the dead of whatever innocence remained. The symbolism behind the action was simply divine, all rituals had their symbolism and release points, a focus and a means to direct, corrupt and disfigure.
Marishka's speech did bring a sense of nostalgia, a soothing voice and lovely disposition to exploit even further; Atra would not deny her, Marishka had served her well, but Atra's affections ceased when the sanguine need no longer plagued her. She just never found the cause to liberate such a rare and beautiful orchid; if she could not possess them they were always left somewhere to rot in misery or deep contemplation."Nay Marishka, I will not remain here with you, within this crypt you have made for yourself, Do not speak of weaknesses of heart and love for I possess no affection nor have any use for such mortal ideals." The dark muse sang in the ebony wreathes of her psyche, questioning intentions of confessed loyalty as if she would be found guilty, punished by death? It was a possible ending, though one not considered at this point in their reunion. A slave was only a slave to Atra when they chose to carry the heavy bonds of their damnation to her side. It was their own selfish greed that kept them chained, imprisoned to her charms.
Never caring, if they chose to fly free into the darkness she would much oblige them with the kiss of death, liberating them as per requested. Reddish tongue flicking over rosebuds craving to bloom, to give that fiery caress Marishka craved. The way she has slithered to the submission and the way she quivered at the taste of perfumed pelage."If none are worthy? What makes you think you are such, Marishka? You are no better than a paramount that laps at my thigh seeking a pat. But what dismays me the most, is that throughout these years, you still do not know me. It saddens me you throw these listless emotions upon a platter and think I am going to chew on the fruit despite its sour taste." Hearing the slave's thoughts on Malice, Atrox, Tongra and Radu, caused nothing but a slow shake of the head in disappointment, though black eyes flashing with a conflagration of warning.
"You know nothing of these, you judge by your own guilt and an instance of course between action and fate- be warned Marishka, great care should be taken for invoking their names even by thought could incite the greatest of wraths upon you, and I am sure you will not voice such things to their faces. You speak openly to me, because you think I shall accept your tantrum with grace. Your childishness, Marishka, only shows to me, how human you really are. It sickens me."
Beloved Marishka: Her bottom lip trembled, she wasn't used to these words spoken from her mistress so cruel and cold. Dark emerald eyes glaring at her as if she had been done some injustice. It was something more of heart than an injustice. A loathsome smile would peel away her mask of mock innocence, that she didn't hit a nerve as planned. The only truth that was spoken was her love for Atra'Lamia and that Marishka had always served and with best interest always presented forth. "I do not understand what you mean Mistress, you forget I am but a simple person and you speak of places where I find myself? I always just wanted to be near you, wherever it was, mattered nothing to me" , taking one step closer to Atra, hand seeking to touch her face if she would be happy to indulge her, "I have only ever had your interests to heart. But, I think they have damaged you beyond repair. I wish you could see how broken you are through my eyes." The sudden surge of power ripped through her form like fire blazing at the edge of each nerve causing her to hiss with the pleasure of it all, remembering well what it was like to be angry.
"You act like you don't care, but you do, you have to. I long to see those fires in your eyes again, like in the moments when we touched", stroking towards Atra's face affectionately, only if Atra remained standing where she was. "Submissive is what you taught me by the punishments of your gauntlets. But you also taught me to think for myself and never to be afraid to speak what I think", all of the Darkbane's were fools. Sheep who blindly followed whoever held the Sheppard staff, caring not who it was as long as they bore the symbol of authority or followed whatever harlot was in fashion at the time. The slave had no respect for none of them, not even one. Like mindless puppets they bent to knee at Atra's feet. All she could think of was ripping out hearts and painting the walls with a bloody mural by her hand. But, no, it was never the right time, "If you opened your heart and were clearly honest with yourself, you'd see" Marishka knew she was speaking out of turn but she didn't care, her stomach was a ball of frustration and anger. "So is Malice still clinging off your skirts or has he found some other whelp to suckle on? How many times has he walked out on you, to go chase a piece of ass?"
Immediately a knowing smirk would rise at the edge of her lips. A dainty hand would rise to muffle the sly chuckle escaping unbidden from betwixt plush rises. Yes, indeed not chords were struck. A single manicured brow popped up, "Where will you go? Who will love me when you're gone away?", she knew the love was not a mutual thing, but it was a true thing and she would never replace Atra with another unlike Colvin who she met in the Darkbane Castle in Ayenee who confessed to love Atra. Malice who threw his heart at her mistresses feet, knew nothing of love. Atrox who was all hot wind and piff, could never get it straight who he was, and that changed from one moment to the next. Radu who was so ungainly and was neither here nor there, and out of those would be suitors the only one who seemed to give a damn, was dead to this world? Did Atra loathe herself that much she had to keep these jokers around? Dare they try and deny it, let them come and speak their truths. Cowards locked away in their lie.
Oh yes, her mind was already envisioning the dark pleasures they would succumb to at a later time, she actually pushed the buttons to ensure it ended the way she wanted, a bit a gasp at being called childish a dark smirk enlightened her face throwing the shadows across the room, "My childish came because that is the only way I can gain attention from you, and you respond to it so well.", feet shuffling from side to side "I have nothing to be guilty about, but if there was one thing that I should be guilty of, is loving you more dearer than life and losing my own youth to a fantasy that was unappreciated and the sacrifices I made to give you my life at the expense of myself."
Satrina: "I crave a certain amount of affection. Perhaps you know of a way to ease this hunger that wroughts in my belly that so many ‘others’ you say are unworthy of its fires?"
Honeyed head bent towards the slender pale arches of Marishka's neck, drawing a path of lingering kisses and crafting a wayward path along a pallid shoulder before rising to press against the blood dolls lips. Atra cared not to respond to the pettiness or retort and digging to unearth old corpses—sojourn to breach inner tempers. There were games and then there were these kinds of games, and this was venturing into far more dangerous spheres than what Marishka could ever expect. Atra She subjected herself to the slave's sloppy kiss curling slender arms about that neck as she pried at the lips with her tongue seeking the sweet cavern beyond. Squashing the nagging thought of merely biting off her tongue as they meshed together as lovers for the last time; velvet serpent lashed out curling about Marishka's tongue, suckling, urging her into a higher frenzy of passion. Left hand descending to waltz down along slender arms, before pushing past to tapper fingers upon the hip. Feminine beauty drew her servant, like a moth to the flame... the undeniable pleasure to not deny the taste of her bounty and curvaceous landscapes. To make Marishka think that she would be all for this indulgence and to build on that intoxication and voracious appetite, to manipulate the strings of this puppet for her own perverse entertainment which was far beyond that of tender reaching.
{Bedevilled} {Enthralled} {Fevered}...
Teeth clamping down on her own tongue to bring forth the tiny globule of caustic vitae, the entwining it within Marishka's tongue as they lashed against the other as if fighting for dominancy. The poison mixing with saliva, to be drunk like wine though flavourless... sedation, intoxicated by the amphetamines to succumb the compliance of servitude; a prisoner, captivated and caught to her taints. Similar to ‘Tetraodontidae’ (the effects are the numbing of the lips, nausea, rapid heartbeat and lastly muscle paralysis). Marishka could avoid the poison at any given time prior to the interlacing of tongue, for that is when the tiny globule rolled to an egg-like shape and intended to be passed. Like a snake's venom to subdue its prey, so too her eyes expanded in hollow blackness—like staring through black mirrors into the void. Hypnotic in anattempt to grip her prey in an unaware state. While Marishka was busy discovering the passions she had asked to covet, instantly left hand began to change its structure. The Metamorphic Gauntlet... flesh melting away only to solidify at the plate of bone and blackening petrified muscle, activated by thought and will.
Forearm from elbow to the apex of finger tips transformed into a vile weapon. Since her hand had been behind the back of Marishka, scrapping along the length of spine leaving reddened welts, and pleasures unbound, the Blood Doll had no way of knowing this transformation was even occurring and certainly would be more caught in the ensnarement of her deepening embrace. It was totally up to Marishka if she was going to die with dignity or die like a pleading beggar seeking a salvation that was no longer there. The word 'salvation' not holding any merit or consideration; bargaining was not an option for there was nothing Marishka had that Atra could ever possibly want. Caught in the spiders web of proliferate cunning and slyness... satirical prongs stabbing inwards towards the pit of lower spine with an angular upright punch(from the left side hip inwards towards the latissimus dorsi and lumbar vertebrae) that easily would place her gauntlet into the crux of Marishka's being. Through the spine, seeking internal organs (kidney just beneath the ribcage, and the descending colon. Above the kidney, the adrenal gland, the spleen, and the splenic flexure of the colon) while slicing upwards in one single brutal swift motion, then applying strength of force and placement of legs side on to Marishka's form that if she stepped to the opposite side, she would bring herself into the full access of Atra's gauntlet.
Of course this was all a matter of natural physics and how quick Marishka reacted to her second attack because it was likely the first would go unnoticed (if the kiss continued with its hungry yearnings) and being that Marishka was only mortal it was hardly possible she would be able to move quick enough. And having that Atra gave no visible signs or warning that her kiss was anything but an exchange of ecstasy. An escape wasn't an available option if she accepted the decadence of ravening tongue-- the poison would finish its job, it would be ultimately Marishka's choice then to perish quickly by her hand, or perish slowly in the forsaken darkness of death; alone. Her Queen's arms would not cradle her in their last goodbye, or send her off to the sigh of angels... "Weep not sweet one, for my gauntlet shall bring you home!!" Atra did not care enough to reply to the pathetic statements that had been assailed upon her by her servant, she had no use of the sentiments attempted to demand emotion, instead only caused loathing. It showed Marishka's lack of understanding in regards to the relationships and connections within Atra’s life (that she spoke so lowly of) who never spoke of love or demanded love from any of these males mentioned. Atra still held some far off respect for a couple and a twisted affection for the others. What else was there to be said when all has been done, was done?
~ Memento mori... mortvi non mordant, nors ultima linea rerum est~
envy.is.a.deadly.sin
envy.is.a.deadly.sin
Beloved Marishka: Unsuspecting of the dark things lurking behind her mistress’s kiss.
She longed for those lips to brush against hers in a moment of bliss, when all her worlds were brought crumbling down around her, and all things reverted back to a time when Marishka felt like she was the only one who really mattered? What did she care of lies? Marishka had been a slave for all of her life, from youth to death. It was always known she would not die a free woman. That this bliss, poisoned, was the only freedom she was going to know and the lack of merciful heart shown was to be expected. If anyone knew Atra, it was Marishka and not all these other fools who came and went like the seasons. Words stung her as vipers, inflicting her heart with needle-like sensations not to mention the questions racing through her mind, confusion. Confusion ran hot throughout her system, not to mention the heat produced by her mistress’s fiery embrace. A forced reality.
A heated embrace, the moments that all lovers share when captivated by the flames of passion and love. Even if it was incredibly one-sided. Had the blood doll been wrong? No, she could not help the fact her Lady was terribly misinformed. She didn't want to die. She wanted to serve something worthy of BEING served, and that being, was Atra, but, she knew her words had served her doom and soon Death would be her master.
Warning hammered at her mind, screaming to return to healing, being pitied and hiding from what she truly was, was soon silenced as the nectar and copper tasting sweetness and something else that numbed her tongue filling her throat and the feeling of peace, rightness and belonging settled on her. Whimpers and mewls of decadence danced from her lips between passionate mouth bruising kisses and bites. She felt a small drop of something slide from the Lady's lips down her own silken moaning throat, but the notice was fleeting and ignored. It never truly registered that in the single moment of swallowing willingly, she had stepped over the final boundary that would have possibly allowed her to return to belovedness and continue her life as a meagre flower wilting in the hands of a Goddess. If this was her fate, she would be content.
Marishka pressed her feminine form against the slender body of her mistress, head leaning to the side to deepen the desire of whipping tongues and ardent lips. Lovingly further with the parting of lips, as if to whisper farewells, flinching at the bruising pressed silent demand of her Mistress and shared the succulent venoms she had been privy too. Their tongues dancing in ageless waltz, like courtiers silently whisking one another around a silent floor. She kissed Atra's lips with the same, if not more, fever and passion for it was a different reason the slave offered her mouth for the pleasure of her Goddess. Sucking, nipping and licking as the same was done to her, moaning softly with wanting at the deadness of her lips. The lack of sensation that came with a fever Marishka mistook for the rapture of being in the arms of the Dark Lady, the one who she had called Goddess, the one who she held value greater than life itself, especially her own.
As the kiss moved on her form Marishka melted into it purposely, as if to aid Atra in striking back at whomever or whatever it was that had roused her ire. The milky rises of her supple breast would flatten against the warmth of leather procured by her mistress’s own body heat that grew with passion? Growling against the intoxicating kiss, not in anger, but with dark pleasure, even whether or not she knew at accepting it, she was already dead.
Ending the kiss, tearing her lips away from those Marishka never wanted to be parted from. But certainly, all things must come to their ending. Stepping away only a step, for there was no more space which to break she began to feel her body seize up, bodily functions becoming interrupted. The paralysing toxin beginning to work faster as her heart strained to pump the blood through frozen flesh. Blinking, stunned by the deception.
It was almost like being lost amidst the darkness, all sight slowly withdrew from her sight and left hand reached for Atra looking for a salvation that was never going to be given. Staring blankly with the shock and horror she knew was dwindling away just as the sharpness of something dug painfully into her back. “All I ever did, was love you”, the only words that came to surface through the volumes of blood and acid that exploded within her throat. Drowning in a pain she had never experienced before, when not even a scream found capacity of sound, only a gurgled submission. There was love no colder, or hands as unforgiving and destructive as Atra’s. Marishka began to see things she knew wasn’t there, nightmares and dark things creeping up her legs and along her arms, ripping at her skin, digging their claws into her face, fire burning and melting her from the inside to the outside. Still no scream came, only a garbled splatter of blood and liquefied mass.
Incapable of speaking, though her mind cursed her mistress then nothing but the darkness gripping her and those claws dragging her down to the depths of oblivion. No heaven and no fires of hell greeted her, there was nothing, just like Atra had always promised her. In the final moments of Marishka’s memory, a splatter of murder and a cruel symbol of wicked jubilation, blood and gore pooling at Atra’s feet and whatever else that remained of her beloved in the last moments. Was her Lady going to find pity somewhere in that cold heart of hers, or would Marishka just be another forgotten in the vast darkness created by those murderous hands?
Satrina: The tiniest morsel of honey was never enough and the single pearlescent dew drop midst the soft folds of purloined flesh had been devoured for Marishka's soul was lost in lustful passions of damnations shadows and the fangs of the beast which greeted her there...
At the moment ire had been struck like a match, Marishka had sealed her own fate by taking the wrong direction at the crossroads. There were no tender or soft words given at the time of poisoned embrace and the dark kiss of gauntlet seeking the inner core of the slaves' essence. A frail petal, delicate to the preening of satirical eviscerations and caught in the web of proliferate cunning and slyness. The blood doll could not deny that she had chosen the wrong approach-- especially when the scalpel satirical prongs digging against the pit of her spine. A punch that easily placed her gauntlet into the crux of her being, through the spine. Fetching internal organs in brutal twists while slicing upwards in one cruel manipulation- slicing like a piece of buttered bread only to have them spill emancipated on the floor at Atra's feet with a mawkish 'dripping' sound. The accolade of internal gifts provided for the insects to devour at leisure, a sacrificial elocution of displeasure and abandonment.
Having shared many secrets and Atra's would die with the slave; plausibly... it was better this way, hypnotized by Atra's calamitous eyes and lulling songs of death and lust than to die from the atrophy of beauty to age. If immortality had been a goal then Marishka would have been better off chasing pipe-dreams in the embrace of one whom she discredited so, and spoke rather rashly of. Though it was likely too, he would have ended the handmaidens miserable existence. Discontentment was evident, by the haughtiness in tone and the command to be loved when love was a natural privilege from the heart not to be commanded by childish tantrums. When Marishka fell to the poisons and gauntlet, a vicious withdrawal brought back elbow freeing from the hollows of fleshy wound and the gulfs of blood that streamed like raging torrents.
Gauntlet reforming to that perfect unsoiled flesh and hand delicate of digits and not cleft serrations, entrails and bloody pulp reducing to sludge as Marishka's body would succumb to the acidic effects to liquefy and eventually dissolve including the bones. Nonentity remaining to grasp, stepping back away from the pooling gore lapping and flooding at Atra's feet. No glance even placed on its tar-like substance alternating in viscera hues of red and black. Spinning on the balls of her feet, to saunter towards the door that exited from the remains of a silly child who thought she held all the trumps but lacked the poker face to pull it off. Right shoulder pushing past the door but before fully leaving, head turning so that chiselled chin rested on the crest of shoulder blade, "You were only right about one thing Marishka.... but it is a shame you did not know me well enough to get 'his' name right!". Words trailed off, and the last of her secrets kept to herself, not even the winds knew what Marishka had said that was correct, or those which Atra clearly admitted to without stating the obvious, too stubborn and too proud.
Turning back, stepping from the room and into the hallway that danced with looming shadows cast by the overture of flickering torches, where they rose and fell like quiet sentinels. Hips taking to swayed voodoo motion, bringing her to descend the colossal marble stairs that was covered by plush cherry-red carpets, and mournful statues cast down their cold eyes to clandestine sorrows. Whoever wept for Marishka, wept too for corruption. Dialogue inflicted, had provided a massive turning point in the workings and personality of Atra'Lamia—just how love can be twisted to breed something so vile and spiteful. Leathered limbs purring from the kill, its satisfaction and remuneration for libel singing through her stride... she wasn't about to tolerate anyone speaking in such a manner of disparage in regards towards Malice. Just as well, this event would never dance over tongue.
Passing the threshold, opening the door that leaded into the arms of night... entertaining her presence here no longer as the plethora of shadow wreathe rose to coerce and twine around slender thighs. Stepping into their clasp of serpent-weavings while prying wide the gauntlet and stepping into the umbra, subtly. Walking sideways into periphery and creating a doorway while transmuting the corporeal form (one's flesh) into incorporeal (spirit) and straightforwardly slipping into the shadows casting away the appearance of mortal coil. Shifting like a ghost from substantial to the shades of the spiritual, Atra's 'Theurgy' so proficient that she did not require a reflective surface to pass into the Umbra, experiencing its crystalline like lattice map the way through the spheres and the silvery threads of the Weavers (an ability not available to most unless gifted or taught). Able to travel to and fro, knowing the way without becoming lost in the vastness of the scapes. Destination: the grand chambers of another yet to feel the sting of her sharp caresses, in the house of Qilrion'zu Lamon.
Like the cold touch of love destroyed, so too is winter found in the embrace of death.The tiniest morsel of honey was never enough and the single pearlescent dew drop midst the soft folds of purloined flesh had been devoured for Marishka's soul was lost in lustful passions of damnations shadows and the fangs of the beast which greeted her there...
At the moment ire had been struck like a match, Marishka had sealed her own fate by taking the wrong direction at the crossroads. There were no tender or soft words given at the time of poisoned embrace and the dark kiss of gauntlet seeking the inner core of the slaves' essence. A frail petal, delicate to the preening of satirical eviscerations and caught in the web of proliferate cunning and slyness. The blood doll could not deny that she had chosen the wrong approach-- especially when the scalpel satirical prongs digging against the pit of her spine. A punch that easily placed her gauntlet into the crux of her being, through the spine. Fetching internal organs in brutal twists while slicing upwards in one cruel manipulation- slicing like a piece of buttered bread only to have them spill emancipated on the floor at Atra's feet with a mawkish 'dripping' sound. The accolade of internal gifts provided for the insects to devour at leisure, a sacrificial elocution of displeasure and abandonment.
Having shared many secrets and Atra's would die with the slave; plausibly... it was better this way, hypnotized by Atra's calamitous eyes and lulling songs of death and lust than to die from the atrophy of beauty to age. If immortality had been a goal then Marishka would have been better off chasing pipe-dreams in the embrace of one whom she discredited so, and spoke rather rashly of. Though it was likely too, he would have ended the handmaidens miserable existence. Discontentment was evident, by the haughtiness in tone and the command to be loved when love was a natural privilege from the heart not to be commanded by childish tantrums. When Marishka fell to the poisons and gauntlet, a vicious withdrawal brought back elbow freeing from the hollows of fleshy wound and the gulfs of blood that streamed like raging torrents.
Gauntlet reforming to that perfect unsoiled flesh and hand delicate of digits and not cleft serrations, entrails and bloody pulp reducing to sludge as Marishka's body would succumb to the acidic effects to liquefy and eventually dissolve including the bones. Nonentity remaining to grasp, stepping back away from the pooling gore lapping and flooding at Atra's feet. No glance even placed on its tar-like substance alternating in viscera hues of red and black. Spinning on the balls of her feet, to saunter towards the door that exited from the remains of a silly child who thought she held all the trumps but lacked the poker face to pull it off. Right shoulder pushing past the door but before fully leaving, head turning so that chiselled chin rested on the crest of shoulder blade, "You were only right about one thing Marishka.... but it is a shame you did not know me well enough to get 'his' name right!". Words trailed off, and the last of her secrets kept to herself, not even the winds knew what Marishka had said that was correct, or those which Atra clearly admitted to without stating the obvious, too stubborn and too proud.
Turning back, stepping from the room and into the hallway that danced with looming shadows cast by the overture of flickering torches, where they rose and fell like quiet sentinels. Hips taking to swayed voodoo motion, bringing her to descend the colossal marble stairs that was covered by plush cherry-red carpets, and mournful statues cast down their cold eyes to clandestine sorrows. Whoever wept for Marishka, wept too for corruption. Dialogue inflicted, had provided a massive turning point in the workings and personality of Atra'Lamia—just how love can be twisted to breed something so vile and spiteful. Leathered limbs purring from the kill, its satisfaction and remuneration for libel singing through her stride... she wasn't about to tolerate anyone speaking in such a manner of disparage in regards towards Malice. Just as well, this event would never dance over tongue.
Passing the threshold, opening the door that leaded into the arms of night... entertaining her presence here no longer as the plethora of shadow wreathe rose to coerce and twine around slender thighs. Stepping into their clasp of serpent-weavings while prying wide the gauntlet and stepping into the umbra, subtly. Walking sideways into periphery and creating a doorway while transmuting the corporeal form (one's flesh) into incorporeal (spirit) and straightforwardly slipping into the shadows casting away the appearance of mortal coil. Shifting like a ghost from substantial to the shades of the spiritual, Atra's 'Theurgy' so proficient that she did not require a reflective surface to pass into the Umbra, experiencing its crystalline like lattice map the way through the spheres and the silvery threads of the Weavers (an ability not available to most unless gifted or taught). Able to travel to and fro, knowing the way without becoming lost in the vastness of the scapes. Destination: the grand chambers of another yet to feel the sting of her sharp caresses, in the house of Qilrion'zu Lamon.
Like the cold touch of love destroyed, so too is winter found in the embrace of death.
OOC
Credits:
Thank you to Beloved Marishka aka Carrie for this writing experience. It was a total pleasure as always to write with you as we have done so for many years. Thank you. <3
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