Solo Poison v.

[ KRI ] I mean no harm. Part V of a series set in the Kelvic Research Institute.

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A city floating in the center of a lake, Ravok is a place of dark beauty, romance and culture. Behind it all though is the presence of Rhysol, God of Evil and Betrayal. The city is controlled by The Black Sun, a religious organization devoted to Rhysol. [Lore]

Poison v.

Postby Maore on February 26th, 2020, 3:12 am

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    58th Winter 519 AV
Days passed. Days and days. Ciraaci was hardly alone for any of it during the sunlight hours, spending that time with Ennoia and having Common words and basic phrases hammered into her skull.

Ennoia had run Ciraaci through several different phrases, terms, basic verbs and their even more basic conjugations. She learned more about Rhysol and why he wouldn’t have minded her lying about love; the god of Ravok presided over lies in particular, and as she understood it, he grew in power with every lie told, whether it be the lie of her love for him or the lie a mother tells her least favourite child about loving him. He thrived on lies and Ennoia had seemed proud of her for having lied so much--even though she’d wondered if it counted as a lie when she was saying it at his request. He’d waved that off, of course. Intention mattered with the gods, but even an unintentional, instructed lie must have some benefit.

That seemed fair, in Ciraaci’s estimation of how divine beings worked. Considering her relationship with many, from Dira to Semele and Zulrav, were neutral bordering on positive and others, such as Leth and Syna, were on the lean towards negative, she couldn’t begin to comprehend what did and did not count as useful energy.

Today, about ten days after they’d started, Ciraaci was sitting in her cell, bubbling with foreign excitement in anticipation of the lesson Ennoia would be treating her to today. The day before, he had promised her something exciting, something a long time in the coming, and she’d had it in her head to get her hopes up on what that might entail. New verbs? They’d covered To Go, To Own, To See, To Hear, To Sleep. New nouns? She’d learned hay and Drykas and Ethaefal and Human and a handful of other things that she could use to string into a basic sentence. Perhaps something new?

The door opened and Ciraaci felt her hopeful flame die in her hands.

If she was going to be learning something today, it was not going to be with Ennoia.

The guards pushed into her cell as she rose to her feet, already intending to make this easier on herself having learned in the past that resistance was futile and would result only in pain pain pain pain pain. She held still as they looped a coarse rope around her wrists behind her back and, seemingly unnecessarily, dropped a cloth sack over her head that left her world a blackened void.

She was almost lifted out of her cell by two arms, one at either side of her body, and was quick to participate in walking so she wouldn’t bleed on the soles of her feet by the time they’d set her down. Words were said around her and, with her recent lessons in Common, she thought she understood a few and could pick out her name and the harsh intonation of a command. Was she being led to a breeding room again? They were usually not this rough whenever they took her there, seeming to value her physical health remaining at a reasonable high.

“What’s happening?” She asked. Her fingers clenched into her palms and her voice was muffled behind the fabric of the mask. They didn’t hear her. She was speaking Pavi anyway, so it wouldn’t have mattered. It wouldn’t have mattered. Ciraaci would have liked it to matter for once.

The clanging opening and closing of doors ahead of the procession alerted her to their destination. She started forward more eagerly, desperate to be free of these bindings and to see what new punishment these Ravokians had constructed for her. The man on her left laughed. The guard on her right, a woman by the sound of her own laughter, said something that sounded absolutely terrible, and withdrew her arm in order to push the ethaefal forward.

The man let her go and the ethaefal stumbled forward, sprawling forward onto her knees and ending up on her stomach, her nose to the stone, her entire body aching with fresh agony settling into her bones like an old woman settles into her deathbed. She might be bleeding. She was certainly crying.

Ciraaci was then hefted back up by a laughing person and pushed against a stone wall. She was left there then and was wise enough not to move, using the time to catch her breath and stop the tears before the blind was removed from her head. She refused to be seen crying anymore. She refused to seem weak.

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Maore
the void behind my teeth.
 
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Poison v.

Postby Maore on March 18th, 2020, 12:52 am

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Ciraaci was blind to what was going on around her but she was not deaf. She was able to hear people talking, the coarse laughter of a woman, rustling fabric and the shivering clinking of tools as they were laid out onto a hard surface, like metal on glass.

With a sinking feeling, the ethaefal put two and two together and came to a frightening, terrible realization about what she was here for today. Although the memories were hard to grasp, like fragile whisps of smoke that slipped through her fingers, she strove to collect them and weather the stormy difficulty of their thorns.

She began to shake, the first signs of imminent surrender to the upswell of emotional distress. Her limbs felt impossibly light and she began to drop down onto her backside rather than force her boneless legs to support her weight. She flushed with the terrible realization of what she was about to be subjected to and solemnly acknowledged that there was no way out of it, there was no escape. Ennoia might still come to her cell for their Common lesson, but he would not find her if she were here, restrained and subjected to another form of torture--this torture which was worse than the beatings and the neglect.

The ethaefal slumped in her place and gathered her legs close to her body, wrapping up into a significantly smaller shape than she had while standing. She thought there was laughter and ghostly hands dancing over her bare forearms and exposed calves, brushing through her hair and drifting over the nape of her neck. Her cringe was an instinctive reaction to protect the vital point but with her arms restrained behind her back she couldn’t reach up and block the imminent clasping of her neck.

Ciraaci began to hyperventilate as she was pulled back to her feet but under the mask she was just breathing in too-warm air and not catching her breath. It kicked her mounting panic into a frantic state; being unable to breathe and feeling surrounded by ghosting hands and laughing observers was too much for her exposed nerves. The ethaefal’s breathing became harder, slower, sounding like sucking it in was torment on her lungs. Her limbs locked up tight as the fight or flight instinct kicked in.

Blind, breathless, surrounded by people and with a hand grasping the back of her neck like a cat does a kitten, Ciraaci subconsciously chose fight and began to pull, push, thrash, writhe, away from her handlers and the direction they were taking her--the direction where she’d heard sharps rattle on a pristine tray and imagined a secured chair with coarse leather cuffs and old blood stains.

The person holding her barked out a command, something that sounded a lot like ‘stop’ but was garbled behind a layer of cloth and panic. Her arms ached to strike out at them with slapping fists but the ethaefal settled for a clumsy kick that hurt her foot and jarred a path up her leg.

The cloth covering her face was suddenly ripped off.

As Ciraaci inhaled a deep breath in preparation to scream, a heavy hand slapped it all away. Thought, panic, breath, the scream, and briefly her vision.


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Maore
the void behind my teeth.
 
Posts: 190
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