Desecration of the Soul: Defilement

[Crow]

Early-Mid Fall 516 A.V.
Deep within the confines of the Temple of the Black Sun, an exclusive meeting was underway. Skuld, perhaps one of the youngest agents of the Black Sun sat at a table sharing notes regarding a particularly devious Symnestra she came across during travel to Ravok. Her short hair and defined young face were deep into thought as she looked through one of her preciously treasured journals. Her eyes remained focused and determined. Her youthful voice finally broke the silence.

“To the individual in question, a bestial and problematic slave Symnestra. The vile creature was traveling by caravan to Ravok when I noticed him.” Her eyes glanced upwards to study the reaction of those she spoke. Among them a particularly special guest who tasked with holding the slave upon his arrival. Ematho, the Druvin warden of the Black Hole, sat inventively watching the official as she thumbed through her book. His armor was particularly menacing and as he sat the occasional scraping across the table could be heard as he moved his arms. Sitting across from the table on the other side was an entirely unknown member of the Black Sun. His stance was mostly focused, and as Skuld spoke, he took careful notes.

The youthful Skuld once again spoke. Her words were angelical compared to the two figures before her, yet she carefully placed words seemed to echo throughout the room. “Vladislov, a particularly invested study of mine, appears to possess qualities that would benefit the Black Sun and Rhysol.” The two figures seemed to change their stance almost immediately upon her words. They demanded attentions, but in the sense of respect, the two allowed the agent to continue.

“His overall qualities are questionable in nature and is extremely violent. Though, the beast would be able to be easily influenced and fit to serve Rhysol. A new before seen feat in that of The Black Sun. It is entirely possible for this individual to help the Black Sun and join our ranks eventually.” Her words were broken the unease of the two men before her. The Druvin reacted by standing up and turning his back to the table and grabbing hold of his sword. With a swift movement, he picked up his blade and directed it straight at Skuld’s throat. “You speak heresy.” Those were his only words to the woman. With the imitation the woman sunk back into her chair. Her head and neck fled backward. A silent gulp of air pushed its way down her throat. Despite her fear she still spoke without hesitation. “Vladislov shows abilities not too unrelated from my own. His overall status within the Black Hole has carefully been observed. Despite the state of his position, he showed resiliency. This quality is befitting of such a position, but it is not…” Her tone seemed to convey her beliefs “one taken without precaution.”

The shadowy figure across the table cleared his throat before finally choosing to speak. “A Symnestra in The Black Sun? Such has never occurred in our history. How do you find that Vladislov would eventually benefit our order and spread devotion to Rhysol?” His words were if anything unbiased, but he still held his doubt.

The warden retracted his blade reluctantly and placed his sword atop of the table. With a fluid movement, he took his chair in hand and sat back down. His white eyes were piercing towards the agent. “You are right that he has been resilient. I received word that most who have tortured him were unsuccessful in breaking him. What possible use would he have to Rhysol, then?” The warden spoke now staring at the woman as if he was piercing directly into her soul.

“Rhysol does not hold such prejudice. He would allow any and all to serve him. Vladislov is an empty canvas. He can be manipulated and broken he just needs a new purpose. Without guidance, he will be doomed to live a short life, as if that matters, but eventually I could see him being part of the grander scheme.” Her words no longer followed her notes in her journal, and it was clear that she was losing disposition within the meeting.

The Druvin turned his head menacingly to the shadowy Black Sun member. His demanding voice ordered the man. “Bring him forward. I shall decide for myself.” The warden handed a unique key to the Black Sun member. As he stood up and carefully took the key from the Druvin, his black cloak hid most of his features. “I will return with the prisoner.”

Skuld sat silently waiting awkwardly for the prisoner to be retrieved. She just hoped that his light fingers and bloodthirst didn’t cause a problem.

~Thanks to Aladari Coolwater for the template

[Vladislov]

Fall 10, 516 AV

Dreams were useless when one was being tortured. It was a pointless endeavor and one that ceased in its attempts after several days. Exhaustion was the biggest enemy of dreams. No food. Foul water. No light –well, that didn’t bother Vladislov as much as others. Unconscious, the Symenestra sat slumped into a heap against the corner of his cell. In the two opposite corners were men in the same position; physically and psychologically.

The woman had promised Vlad work. She had promised him acceptance but all he received was the vain attempts of fools to break his will. It seems they did not know his queen. Krysus inflicted the sort of pain that cannot be repeated. The intensity and depth of the feeling can only be described as immersion into a different reality. Vladislov craved to feel that elation again even at the cost that it had taken.

Yet here he was, passed out in a cell under the Temple of the Black Sun awaiting what only the gods could know. Suddenly, like seams of a stressed garment, his skin began to split open in long cracks and blood oozed out. Sleep, despite the cause, no longer held her sway over this abused creature. The Symenestra’s black eyes shot open in terror and his pale, cracked lips parted with a scream that was more beast than man. He shook in spasms as his body was racked with wound after grievous wound. As the torment persisted, the screams woke his cellmates but the tone seemed to shift. The first few were pure agony but by the sixth shout it could almost be questioned if the pale thief was laughing within the pain. Vladislov writhed as he bled onto the stones. After several chimes everything seemed to stop as the splits in his dermis scabbed over. An exhale through quivering lips brought him a moment’s piece despite the headache and he curled up on his side like a child then closed his empty eyes.

The two men awoken by the screams were soon joined by a third cellmate and two armed soldiers of Ebonstryfe. While one fiddled with the large keyring on his belt, the other shoved the bleeding man against the cold iron bars. The prisoner was thanking the gods for the cage because he lacked the strength to stand on his own. Without warning, Vlad began to scream in pain once more. This caused the guard to drop his keyring.

“Petch! What in Rhysol’s name is wrong with that useless piece of ghost shyke?!” He stooped and gathered his keys then set about the tedious task of finding the right skeleton key. All the while, Vlad twitched on the ground as his wounds reopened. Each peel and pop of a scab loosed a choked cry from the fiend’s throat that ended in a chuckle or giggle. The soldier maintaining control of the prisoner outside the cell soon found himself annoyed.

“Stupid petching freak!” He bounced the man in his grasp against the vertical bars then pulled him back by his hair so he could see his face. “If you kill him, I’ll see you get a proper meal.” He then shoved the lanky mouse of a man to the ground and put an armored toe to his gut. The soldier leaned over and took hold of the man’s hair once more then screamed, “Can you handle that, shyke breath?”

Click. Clank. The key turned and the pins tripped the tumblers which freed the lock. The first guard swung the door open and the second tossed his charge into the middle of the cell. Vlad was writhing in pain on the ground but still managed a gurgled sound of enjoyment here and there. The man looked back as the guards closed the door and locked it again. He then turned his half-swollen gaze back to the pale creature suffering from some ungodly affliction.

“A proper meal for his black eyes, worm!” The guard shouted as he rattled his scabbard against his mailed leg.

The haggard human crawled on his hands and feet towards the dark corner where the suffering and screaming person was chained. He hovered at the edge of Vladislov’s space, out of reach and trembled. It was apparent to both guards and the other prisoners that this man had never killed before. The Symenestra continued to struggle with his burden seemingly unaware of what was said and what was about to transpire. The black eyes fluttered and rolled back into his head before being clamped shut with tightly squeezed eyelids. The cries continued but slowly dwindled as it seemed this round had passed. In the brief respite from his curse, Vlad caught a glimpse of the man as he drew ever closer and so he went limp as if his body had succumb to his torment.

Shocked, the stalking prisoner paused with not a clue what to do next. He sighed and with the exhale his frail-looking shoulders slumped. The man scooted forward inches at a time making sure to break in between each movement. It was very clear that he was trying to give himself as much of a chance to escape should something go wrong. Finally within arm’s reach, the man poked Vlad gently on his elbow.

The chained prisoner did not move. He did not appear to be breathing. The Symenestra was on his side with his knees curled up against his stomach and his arms draped around his legs. This hid the miniscule movements of his abdomen as he took short, shallow breaths to perpetuate the ruse. The loose and torn rags that he had been given for clothes certainly helping to disguise his actions.

The man moved a little closer and pinched one of the weeping sores on the pale man’s arm then scooted back quickly. Again, there was no response. One of the guards kicked the cell’s frame which caused a rattle to echo along the corridor. “Move it along before I come in there and kill you both!”
words.

[Vladislov]

That seemed to be enough motivation. The man shut his eyes and held still for a few ticks –perhaps, he was praying. Then he dove on Vladislov and snaked his hands down around the pale throat then squeezed with all his might. The Symenestra remained still for a few ticks and allowed the man to get right on top of him. The gradual deprivation of oxygen gave him a strange euphoria and he wanted to enjoy it for a while. Like all good things, it was short-lived as the wounds tore themselves asunder once more. Vlad opened his mouth to scream but bit down into the arm that was near his face. His fangs sunk into the soft flesh and the warm, sticky blood; metallic and sweet coursed against his lips and ran down his chin. The mark on his hand flared a bright red and the choking instantly stopped.

Vladislov’s screams were replaced by those of the other prisoner who now flailed in an attempt to free himself from the spiderkin’s bite. Venom poured into the man from the Symenestra’s fangs but he would not feel the numbing effects until much later…until it was too late. The guards reacted a bit slowly to the reversal of fortune and knocked the key out of the lock. Vladislov relinquished his bite and took hold of the man by his frantically waving limbs and flung him back against the near wall. The body thudded but the screaming never stopped. Instead of agonizing pain, the prisoner was shouting for help.

The vexed man turned and lashed out with his long arms and clawed fingers slashing the prisoner across his midsection. Vlad nearly got his hand stuck for his reach exceeded that of the space between the two. This backed the man up and he went to stand but the Symenestra was already feeling the pain of his wounds recede and knew he had to continue…he must finish. His hands alternated blows tearing bits of the man away. Each laceration, each chunk of flesh removed by an onyx claw unleashed a torrent of screams that soon began to a wave of concerned or enthusiastic calls from the other cells.

Vladislov swung his right arm and the man lunged forward. This caught the pale beast by surprise and he was bowled over. Fortunately, the bleeding man was not graceful and he fell on top of the Symenestra. After a tick or three of wasted wriggling, Vladislov regained his focus and plunged his clawed hand into the man’s throat. Blood rained down on his dingy white skin and hair but it did not bother the killer. He hadn’t been warm in weeks until now. The wrestling stopped and Vladislov used his grip to move the man to his side. He then rolled over on top of the dying soul and leaned down closer and closer and closer until his black eyes could see the fading light in the man’s gaze which seemed to see something far away.

When the squeaking gate swung open, Vlad tore his hand free but did not release his grip so there was a sick sound of air sucking into the gaping hole combined with the snapping of tissue and sinew. The roar of one of the soldiers told Vlad to brace for his punishment. Instead, he flung the piece of throat at the first charger. It hit the man in the face with a splat and an array of blood which disoriented him enough to cease his action. “Ha!” Vlad shouted and he began to laugh. Though his wounds still showed, the pain they caused had fled in lieu of his service to the goddess. Vlad bowed his head, still tired and hungry.

A mailed fast caught him on the forehead and flipped him over into the bloody mess. The blow knocked him out which allowed the guards to gather themselves and drag the villain out by his feet. It was then that the agent approached and demanded an explanation. Upon receiving the story, he nodded and gave the order to take Vlad to the private council meeting. When the soldiers arrived, they drug the lanky specimen over to a wall opposite the tables.

An iron hoop was anchored deep into the damp stones and the guards used this to anchor a set of shackles that bound the bruised wrists of the fiend. Arms suspended out and over his head, his hands drooped forward revealing his left hand’s crimson veins. His wounds had healed substantially but there were still a few that seemed to seal up right before their eyes. The only thing that didn’t heal was the leaking gash and surrounding bruise that covered a third of his forehead. It was so visible that even amidst all of the blood and hair, one could plainly see it.

Vlad had been chained for nearly fifteen chimes before he started to come around. Moaning at first but those high, off-key giggles chirped in. Vlad let his head raise and then fall back with a thud against the cool stone. He had dried blood running from his mouth and hands as well as splatter over most of his chest and torso. He looked around the room and took time to stud each face. The only time his smile faded was when he saw the darkened pale stare of the warden. There was a certain…thing…about this man that caused Vlad to stop smiling and quickly look away.

Finally, he rested his pitch black gaze upon the fair skin and fiery hair of Skuld. He ran his tongue over his fangs. “You…” The black orbs narrowed but the smile never faded. “I knew you’d miss me.” He chuckled some and looked to the robed man but was careful to avoid his gaze going anywhere near the Druvin. “Can you tell the guards in my cell not to throw away that body? It should be ready to eat in a few hours.”