10-30-2012, 04:58 PM
Even furled up on top of a bookcase, the shadowfiend named Siral did not truly sleep. He merely watched the room. He studied its intricacies, made notes of all movements, and remained otherwise alert. The center of his attention was always the altar in the center of the room, however. The dark-robed body lying on top of it could have passed for someone sleeping, but Siral knew better. Any true observation would reveal its nature as a corpse.
An elf entered the room. His name was Ralerian. Siral knew him well, though his personal interactions with him had been brief. His other part did the talking for him, as he was not typically allowed to speak; she forbade it. The elf named Ralerian with the long red hair, clad only in red trousers, set about drawing runes about the room. The symbols resonated within Siral’s being. He slowly climbed to his four legs and stretched his wings and tail.
Tonight was the night that his mistress returned to the realm of the living.
There was a negative space in Siral’s existence yearning to be filled again. The elf named Ralerian portrayed poise in all measures, save one: the trembling of his hands. Siral kicked off from the edge of the bookshelf and sailed down to the elf’s shoulder. His claws dug into the elf’s skin, but he did not falter for more than a moment. As Ralerian began to chant, the beast of shadow whispered to him.
“Are you sure you are ready for this?” The elf returned a furious glare. Siral continued his whispers. “I cannot afford for this to be ruined. Neither can my lady. You must understand this.” The shadowbeast fluttered off Ralerian's shoulder and landed on his mistress's chest. Several steps later, he faced the Ralerian again, and lay down in a comfortable ball. “My lady has placed considerable trust in you. Do not fail her.”
The elf’s ruined vocal chords resumed their chanting. They were not words Siral knew, but the power in them hung in the air all the same, awakening the runes inked on and around the altar. He closed his eyes and let their whispers slide over his skin.
“What do you see around you, Siral?” Ralerian’s broken voice jarred Siral from his trance. “Are these not your mother’s words?”
They were more than just words. “They are my lady’s runes. She has put considerable study into them.” Lit only by stolen candles, alone in a cave, she had sketched for months. “She did not know how to make them when she first started her own training.” It would be thousands of times before she finally found the perfect patterns. “They are creations of her own design, and she has imparted them to you. You have made them your own, as well. She would be proud to see this.”
Light spilled into the room, and an offering was made. The sickly elf on the floor would be fuel for his mistress’s return. It was time.
Deep pulses of sound filled the room, flattening Siral’s mind. His thoughts barely registered in the presence of what was to come. The sound engulfed him, cold in its embrace. It was a sound he had not heard for thousands of years.
The elves’ words blended together, inconsequential in the face of this shadow. A wordless hymn joined the pulses, heralding the tall, dark, robed figure, a scythe in its hands. Respect and awe commanded Siral. He could not look away from this shadow…even if he so desired. Every orbit of the scythe in its hands emitted another deep crash. Siral’s wings rose with the noise, and he could not help but grin.
Even so timeless as it seemed, it ended abruptly. Siral could not recall details, but Ralerian now held the sickly white light of his mistress’s soul. Only another moment passed before the elf thrust it into Therai Nightglade’s lifeless, waiting body.
Welcome home, my lady.
Killer: Faceless.
Resurrector: Ralerian.
Short term drawbacks: Muteness, inability to stand unaided, lack of sensation and coordination in limbs.
Long term/permanent drawbacks: Arrythmia, asthma, hypersensitive hearing, phobia of sudden bright flashes and loud noises.
An elf entered the room. His name was Ralerian. Siral knew him well, though his personal interactions with him had been brief. His other part did the talking for him, as he was not typically allowed to speak; she forbade it. The elf named Ralerian with the long red hair, clad only in red trousers, set about drawing runes about the room. The symbols resonated within Siral’s being. He slowly climbed to his four legs and stretched his wings and tail.
Tonight was the night that his mistress returned to the realm of the living.
There was a negative space in Siral’s existence yearning to be filled again. The elf named Ralerian portrayed poise in all measures, save one: the trembling of his hands. Siral kicked off from the edge of the bookshelf and sailed down to the elf’s shoulder. His claws dug into the elf’s skin, but he did not falter for more than a moment. As Ralerian began to chant, the beast of shadow whispered to him.
“Are you sure you are ready for this?” The elf returned a furious glare. Siral continued his whispers. “I cannot afford for this to be ruined. Neither can my lady. You must understand this.” The shadowbeast fluttered off Ralerian's shoulder and landed on his mistress's chest. Several steps later, he faced the Ralerian again, and lay down in a comfortable ball. “My lady has placed considerable trust in you. Do not fail her.”
The elf’s ruined vocal chords resumed their chanting. They were not words Siral knew, but the power in them hung in the air all the same, awakening the runes inked on and around the altar. He closed his eyes and let their whispers slide over his skin.
“What do you see around you, Siral?” Ralerian’s broken voice jarred Siral from his trance. “Are these not your mother’s words?”
They were more than just words. “They are my lady’s runes. She has put considerable study into them.” Lit only by stolen candles, alone in a cave, she had sketched for months. “She did not know how to make them when she first started her own training.” It would be thousands of times before she finally found the perfect patterns. “They are creations of her own design, and she has imparted them to you. You have made them your own, as well. She would be proud to see this.”
Light spilled into the room, and an offering was made. The sickly elf on the floor would be fuel for his mistress’s return. It was time.
Deep pulses of sound filled the room, flattening Siral’s mind. His thoughts barely registered in the presence of what was to come. The sound engulfed him, cold in its embrace. It was a sound he had not heard for thousands of years.
The elves’ words blended together, inconsequential in the face of this shadow. A wordless hymn joined the pulses, heralding the tall, dark, robed figure, a scythe in its hands. Respect and awe commanded Siral. He could not look away from this shadow…even if he so desired. Every orbit of the scythe in its hands emitted another deep crash. Siral’s wings rose with the noise, and he could not help but grin.
Even so timeless as it seemed, it ended abruptly. Siral could not recall details, but Ralerian now held the sickly white light of his mistress’s soul. Only another moment passed before the elf thrust it into Therai Nightglade’s lifeless, waiting body.
Welcome home, my lady.
Killer: Faceless.
Resurrector: Ralerian.
Short term drawbacks: Muteness, inability to stand unaided, lack of sensation and coordination in limbs.
Long term/permanent drawbacks: Arrythmia, asthma, hypersensitive hearing, phobia of sudden bright flashes and loud noises.