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Trager the Blind
Emelle
DreamshaperTecpatl's Cradle
(In last week's episode, @Trager took a bite out of Emelle, who decided she wasn't about to take it lying down. Disclaimer: Slightly graphic.)
Pipe Dreams
Dim lighting, rich fabrics, and a low ceiling combine to give this shop an intimate appeal. The walls have been unevenly stained in warm shades of ochre and hung with swathes of patterned brocade fabric in a variety of jewel tones. Throughout the room, low wooden tables are ringed by plush cushions and pillows, each area just large enough to seat three or four people. The tall windows flanking the door are covered by heavy curtains such that the room's lighting is provided only by hanging bronze lamps, their candles glowing softly behind panes of colored glass. A few wooden display cases stand at the rear of the shop, showcasing items for sale. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. Resting on the ground is a cube-shaped silver sigil. Spread out on the floor is a large rug embroidered in gold. A tall brass hookah has been placed here, decorated with indigo silk. A deposit box rests on a stand near the door.
You see exits leading east (open pine door) and down (closed pine door).
An amorphous mass of shadow slides in from the east before solidifying into a vaguely humanoid shape.
A spectral figure resembling Emelle says to you, "Seer. It is time."
Emelle nods her head once at a spectral figure resembling Emelle, joining her in silence.
A spectral figure resembling Emelle falls in line behind you with little else said. A dagger-wielding hand lifts to indicate the shop's exit.
A spectral figure resembling Emelle says, "You will go where you wish it to be done. We will set a trap. We will bring him to you."
A spectral figure resembling Emelle begins to follow you.
Emelle thinks: Where, where?
Emelle sucks on the inside of her cheek as she glances around the shop, thinking.
Emelle thinks: Some place in the Cradle.
A skeleton-wreathed ziggurat
You find the weather around you imperceptible. Four tall staircases converge at what is almost the peak of this structure, wind scouring freely through the air. The ziggurat's roof is unreachable, elevated as it is over this vantage point. The surrounding countryside is remarkable: forests with branches so thickly laden with charms that they glitter; soaring cliffs marked by great torches and lanterns; a crumbled temple of obsidian, vaulting into the sky; the Sea of Sonn, its quicksilver surface dominating the southern horizon, with no sign of the Liruma or Aureliana to be seen. Each side of the ziggurat is laden with old skeletons, laid out respectfully, so that one could envision they must have died in peace, quilted beneath the overflow of years of candle wax. The platform rises upward in the form of a ziggurat, each of its tiers caked in skeletons.
You see exits leading north, east, south, and west.
With certainty, you say, "Here."
A spectral figure resembling Emelle offers a nod of affirmation. "Wait here," it instructs.
A spectral figure resembling Emelle bursts into a myriad of motes of shadowy hues that slither away to the west.
Your pose is now set as:
Wreathed in the flickering candlelight of the ziggurat, Emelle stands here with her hands clasped before her.
Some time passes.
Solidifying into the air before you, a spectral figure resembling Emelle says, "He comes."
You say, "Good."
With that, the figure disappears.
Trager arrives from the west.
Trager takes the final steps at a run, stopping immediately at the top, nostrils flaring at some invisible scent. His eyes find you, and a hoarse laugh rips free from the confines of his throat. "Waiting for me to take you again, girl?" His steps slowly begin to take him towards you.
The ground shudders and groans beneath you as bits and pieces of it drop away at the west into a spanning abyss.
Emelle smiles wryly. "No," she answers. Despite Trager's advance, she doesn't move. She is still, standing her ground with an easy sort of confidence. "It is my turn."
A dark figure rises from this growing abyss that separates you from the rest of the Cradle. Slowly but surely you begin to see its humanoid shape through the light the moon shines upon it. "Trager the Blind, Trager the Blind," comes a feminine voice that lilts upon the air. "We'll take his eyes," the song goes on as the figure steps onto the solid ground just a foot or so away from you.
Her gaze narrowing, @Omei, the Nightmare says, "And then. He dies."
Emelle feels: Your heart pounds, driven by excitement twisted with something like fear.
Trager snorts raucously, the sound laden with disbelief. His hand drops to one side, canting at a slight angle as he walks. "As if you can harm m-.." His words are cut short, and for but a moment the man appears to gain a semblance of his wit about him once more. He whirls, turning to balance the joining form of Omei with the already stationary one of you. "Of course," he spits out, derision slipping into his voice.
"I am not a warrior. Not like you," Emelle concedes, unlacing her fingers as she begins to cross what distance remains between her and Trager. "But I have other talents, aye?" A grin streaks across her face, there and gone in a flash. "You thought you could take something from me. That I could not fight back," she accuses, her single eye narrowing at him. "You are wrong."
It takes no time whatsoever for Omei to close the distance between Her and Trager, Her movements a blur as Her body seems to split through the air around you at breakneck speed. "Oh you poor little thing," She coos as a clawed hand settles itself upon Trager's shoulder that then squeezes with the bone-snapping force of a vice. She says nothing more, instead electing to allow you the proverbial spotlight as She waits.
Trager only manages an attempt to move away, to skirt the edge of the ziggurat, but both Omei's presence and grip quickly cuts off the plan. He gasps, and a momentary flicker of pain is written across his face before it is replaced a fraction of a second later. A smile begins to break at the corners of his lips, and the man begins to revel in the sensation.
Leveling flat eyes onto you, Dominus Trager Nebre'seir says, "You couldn't find my brother's [redacted] if it weren't dangling before your face - what makes you think you can take anything from me?"
In a single, deliberate movement, Emelle arrives before Trager, followed a split second later by one of her hands as it forcefully smacks his cheek. "You are a bastard," she snarls, the words dripping with venom. Her lip curls, as do her fingers at her sides, but she collects herself with a measured inhale of breath.
@Malcanthet tells you, "What are you doing with Trager?"
You whisper psychically into Malcanthet's mind, "You will see."
You whisper psychically into Malcanthet's mind, "But he won't."
Malcanthet tells you, "So fixated on eyes, there are far more ways to see than with those measly organs."
You whisper psychically into Malcanthet's mind, "Sh."
Malcanthet tells you, "Oh, am I distracting you?"
Thoughts dripping with sarcasm, Malcanthet tells you, " I suppose if he's weak enough to fall in with you deceivers, perhaps he deserves whatever it is you have planned."
You whisper psychically into Malcanthet's mind, "You think you know what you speak of, but you do not."
Malcanthet tells you, "That's the best response you have? I'm disappointed."
You whisper psychically into Malcanthet's mind, "If you are seeking to spar with words, I am the wrong person."
Malcanthet tells you, "So I see."
"Mind the spittle, Seer," Omei hisses through gritted teeth as She swoops a leg underneath Trager's to send him sprawling to the ground. Her body contorts as She shifts into a sitting position on Trager's abdomen to effectively pin him down as each of Her hands mimics the notion with each of his so that he is left laying before you. A low chuckle pushes forth from Her lips as She glances down to stare at Trager's face, Her head tilting. "You are a bastard too, aren't you?" She regards.
Laughter bubbles forth from Trager as the blow lands, derisive and demeaning, broken only momentarily by the shift of events that leave him flat upon his back, and Omei atop his chest. Aside from the low grunt of impact, the laughter continues. "Oh-ho!," he sneers to the faces now above him. "Going to tickle my mind now, [redacted]?"
"Perhaps I will pick something from this one as well," Omei muses as She dips Her head down beside Trager's to take in a deep inhalation through Her nostrils. "He sure has a mouth on him," She concludes as She lifts Her head once more, gaze flicking to land upon you. "Get it done with, Seer," She lowly instructs.
Emelle leans over Trager, her eye searching his face. "Do you enjoy this?" she wonders in earnest. "Or are you acting?" She slips her hands into her coat pockets as she examines him, a vague sort of frown settling on her face. At Omei's bidding, she settles down to kneel beside Trager. "Show me."
You focus your mind, and begin to concentrate on forming a mind lock with Trager.
Your telepathic efforts are successful, and the mind of Trager is locked with your own.
Trager's thoughts: The further you delve, the darker the confines of his mind become. Each layer reveals another piece, easily peeled away, as nothing attempts to inhibit your search. Memories flood the mind, of brighter times, family, friends, love. Each figment is blurred, hazy, gray and bland and dead.
Another layer. Resentment, anger, hatred - these things ebb and flow within the confines of this deeper, darker space. It fills him, intoxicating his very being. He lives upon it now, sustaining what could only be called his spirit, or what remains of it. Pain and power, power and pain, he THRIVES upon this, now.
A final image - the man kneeling within a graveyard, a golden dagger held loosely in one hand.
Shakily he brings the blade to his wrist, and through the memory you feel the cold steel pressing its thin line against his warm flesh. This moment, where he surrendered it all, pouring what remained of what made him... HIM, from his mind. The blade jerks once, twice and finally once more, then there is blackness.
Emelle feels: Inexplicably, pain supersedes anger and bitterness as you realize that he has already lost all that matters.
Omei's hand shifts to grab hold of Trager's chin, Her gaze narrowing as She studies the Azudim carefully. The starry constellations that make themselves evident in the midsts of Her pupils sparkle and glow as She remains quiet for but a moment. "Pity," She concludes with a shake of Her head. "It was at that point you damned yourself to this fate." Her fingers curl tightly around the chin as She pushes it upwards, angling Trager's face so that it stares directly at you. "Do it," She hisses once more through gritted teeth to you, Her tone clipped.
"It's all me," Trager whispers up at you, his crooked smile only just baring the pointed incisors within his mouth. "And I am going to destroy you. You will beg." His gaze shifts to the Divinity atop him. "Both of You."
For a long moment, Emelle is silent and still, her eye unfocused as she is engrossed in seeing beyond the present moment. Her expression is transparent: sadness, pulling at the corner of her eye, her mouth. And then, as she brings herself back to focus on Trager, it becomes pity, and finally resolution. "You took from me, Trager. My blood. Mine. Like it belonged to you," she says in an undertone. "So I am taking, now." The apparent gentleness with which she leans over him, like a nurse attending a wounded man, clashes obscenely with what follows, as she inserts her fingers into the inner corners of Trager's eye sockets.
A sinister grin begins to curl its way into existence upon Omei's lips as She watches the display like a proud parent, Her chin jutting upwards as your fingers plunge into Trager's eye sockets. "Trager the Blind, Trager the Blind," She sings forth, Her words hanging ominously upon the air as you dig. "She's got his eyes - next he dies."
Trager's crooked smile remains through your speech, but tightens as your fingers begin their probing. His lips tighten and his teeth grit, his own form of resolution showing only briefly before the thought occurs to him.
Trager's thought: "N-.. NO. NO!"
All semblance of fortitude abandons Trager, and his mouth opens wide, silent for but a fraction of a second before a bloodcurdling scream rips free from the man, echoing beyond anything he has ever uttered. "NOOOO!" The pain in his words shows only a brief testament to the literal pain ripping through his body as he thrashes helplessly, pinned beneath the weight of Omei.
"No?" Emelle's fingers pause at the first knuckle, and she tilts her head at Trager. "What if I had said no to you? Would you have stopped?" she wonders. "I suppose we will not know that, since you had made sure I could not." There's a sickening squelch as she pries further into his skull. "And you will call me weak no matter what I do, won't you?"
Emelle thinks: For a moment, you consider mercy.
You could still stop.
But for what?
"He will spit in your face, Seer Mine, spit lies of your weakness," Omei hisses as Her hands tighten around Trager's chin to hold him more firmly in place. "But that is not weakness, no, THIS is not weakness," She roars as She leans down to stare fully upon Trager. "THIS," She seethes, "is what weakness looks like."
Trager's thrashing continues, the words going either unheard or unnoticed - maybe even both. The iron grip that traps him succeeds in preventing him from looking away, and he is left only to stare wildly above into your own gaze.
Slowly, cruelly, Omei, the Nightmare says, "A shame he will not be able to SEE real weakness when it stands before him anymore."
Each word of the song practically spit from Her lips, Omei begins to sing that haunting melody once more, "Trager the Blind. Trager the Blind. She'll take his eyes, and then," She trails off, attention shifting to level direly upon you as if an insinuation to finish where She left off.
You see Trager shout, "M-m.. my EYES. NO!"
Trager's thought: Pain. Pain encompasses his body now. A soft voice echoes in the back of his mind. "You should be used to this, no?" His own consciousness brings back memories of fire, of burnt flesh.
Emelle has paused again, as though she hasn't fully committed herself to this action, despite that her fingers are now wedged into Trager's face to the second knuckle. "He cannot see already," she murmurs to Omei. And as his cry rips across the continent, she grits her teeth, and commits, and with both care and violence, she tears both eyes from his skull.
With one eye in each hand, Emelle drags herself to stand and stalks off, her back to Trager.
Your preparation is complete, and with a piercing cry you hurl an almighty blast of mental energy at Trager. In your mind's eye you see him let out a shriek of agony, stifled speedily as his entire body bursts into flames and disintegrates into smouldering ashes.
You have slain Trager.
Soldier @Draiman D'baen yells, "Figures. Did You steal his eyes too?"
You yell, "I did."
Soldier Draiman D'baen yells, "Only fitting I guess. She and Hers have a habit of taking things that don't belong to them."
Soldier Draiman D'baen yells, "Goddess of Thieves is a more fitting title."
You yell, "No, no. This is not stealing. It is the price."
As the flames that engulf Trager's body lick upwards at Omei's form, She rises slowly to Her feet. "It is done," She concludes with a nod. "I am proud of you."
Omei gives you a peck on the cheek.
And with that, Omei is gone.
---
You are holding:
"eyes3059" a pair of bloodied eyeballs.
Bloodied from where the eyeballs were ripped mercilessly from their host, these eyes have now since started to gray over in the irises. They are squishy to the touch, each bearing a string of nerves that still cling to the eyeball itself.
It weighs 1 ounce(s).
It bears the distinctive mark of Dominus Trager Nebre'seir.
Dim lighting, rich fabrics, and a low ceiling combine to give this shop an intimate appeal. The walls have been unevenly stained in warm shades of ochre and hung with swathes of patterned brocade fabric in a variety of jewel tones. Throughout the room, low wooden tables are ringed by plush cushions and pillows, each area just large enough to seat three or four people. The tall windows flanking the door are covered by heavy curtains such that the room's lighting is provided only by hanging bronze lamps, their candles glowing softly behind panes of colored glass. A few wooden display cases stand at the rear of the shop, showcasing items for sale. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. Resting on the ground is a cube-shaped silver sigil. Spread out on the floor is a large rug embroidered in gold. A tall brass hookah has been placed here, decorated with indigo silk. A deposit box rests on a stand near the door.
You see exits leading east (open pine door) and down (closed pine door).
An amorphous mass of shadow slides in from the east before solidifying into a vaguely humanoid shape.
A spectral figure resembling Emelle says to you, "Seer. It is time."
Emelle nods her head once at a spectral figure resembling Emelle, joining her in silence.
A spectral figure resembling Emelle falls in line behind you with little else said. A dagger-wielding hand lifts to indicate the shop's exit.
A spectral figure resembling Emelle says, "You will go where you wish it to be done. We will set a trap. We will bring him to you."
A spectral figure resembling Emelle begins to follow you.
Emelle thinks: Where, where?
Emelle sucks on the inside of her cheek as she glances around the shop, thinking.
Emelle thinks: Some place in the Cradle.
A skeleton-wreathed ziggurat
You find the weather around you imperceptible. Four tall staircases converge at what is almost the peak of this structure, wind scouring freely through the air. The ziggurat's roof is unreachable, elevated as it is over this vantage point. The surrounding countryside is remarkable: forests with branches so thickly laden with charms that they glitter; soaring cliffs marked by great torches and lanterns; a crumbled temple of obsidian, vaulting into the sky; the Sea of Sonn, its quicksilver surface dominating the southern horizon, with no sign of the Liruma or Aureliana to be seen. Each side of the ziggurat is laden with old skeletons, laid out respectfully, so that one could envision they must have died in peace, quilted beneath the overflow of years of candle wax. The platform rises upward in the form of a ziggurat, each of its tiers caked in skeletons.
You see exits leading north, east, south, and west.
With certainty, you say, "Here."
A spectral figure resembling Emelle offers a nod of affirmation. "Wait here," it instructs.
A spectral figure resembling Emelle bursts into a myriad of motes of shadowy hues that slither away to the west.
Your pose is now set as:
Wreathed in the flickering candlelight of the ziggurat, Emelle stands here with her hands clasped before her.
Some time passes.
Solidifying into the air before you, a spectral figure resembling Emelle says, "He comes."
You say, "Good."
With that, the figure disappears.
Trager arrives from the west.
Trager takes the final steps at a run, stopping immediately at the top, nostrils flaring at some invisible scent. His eyes find you, and a hoarse laugh rips free from the confines of his throat. "Waiting for me to take you again, girl?" His steps slowly begin to take him towards you.
The ground shudders and groans beneath you as bits and pieces of it drop away at the west into a spanning abyss.
Emelle smiles wryly. "No," she answers. Despite Trager's advance, she doesn't move. She is still, standing her ground with an easy sort of confidence. "It is my turn."
A dark figure rises from this growing abyss that separates you from the rest of the Cradle. Slowly but surely you begin to see its humanoid shape through the light the moon shines upon it. "Trager the Blind, Trager the Blind," comes a feminine voice that lilts upon the air. "We'll take his eyes," the song goes on as the figure steps onto the solid ground just a foot or so away from you.
Her gaze narrowing, @Omei, the Nightmare says, "And then. He dies."
Emelle feels: Your heart pounds, driven by excitement twisted with something like fear.
Trager snorts raucously, the sound laden with disbelief. His hand drops to one side, canting at a slight angle as he walks. "As if you can harm m-.." His words are cut short, and for but a moment the man appears to gain a semblance of his wit about him once more. He whirls, turning to balance the joining form of Omei with the already stationary one of you. "Of course," he spits out, derision slipping into his voice.
"I am not a warrior. Not like you," Emelle concedes, unlacing her fingers as she begins to cross what distance remains between her and Trager. "But I have other talents, aye?" A grin streaks across her face, there and gone in a flash. "You thought you could take something from me. That I could not fight back," she accuses, her single eye narrowing at him. "You are wrong."
It takes no time whatsoever for Omei to close the distance between Her and Trager, Her movements a blur as Her body seems to split through the air around you at breakneck speed. "Oh you poor little thing," She coos as a clawed hand settles itself upon Trager's shoulder that then squeezes with the bone-snapping force of a vice. She says nothing more, instead electing to allow you the proverbial spotlight as She waits.
Trager only manages an attempt to move away, to skirt the edge of the ziggurat, but both Omei's presence and grip quickly cuts off the plan. He gasps, and a momentary flicker of pain is written across his face before it is replaced a fraction of a second later. A smile begins to break at the corners of his lips, and the man begins to revel in the sensation.
Leveling flat eyes onto you, Dominus Trager Nebre'seir says, "You couldn't find my brother's [redacted] if it weren't dangling before your face - what makes you think you can take anything from me?"
In a single, deliberate movement, Emelle arrives before Trager, followed a split second later by one of her hands as it forcefully smacks his cheek. "You are a bastard," she snarls, the words dripping with venom. Her lip curls, as do her fingers at her sides, but she collects herself with a measured inhale of breath.
@Malcanthet tells you, "What are you doing with Trager?"
You whisper psychically into Malcanthet's mind, "You will see."
You whisper psychically into Malcanthet's mind, "But he won't."
Malcanthet tells you, "So fixated on eyes, there are far more ways to see than with those measly organs."
You whisper psychically into Malcanthet's mind, "Sh."
Malcanthet tells you, "Oh, am I distracting you?"
Thoughts dripping with sarcasm, Malcanthet tells you, " I suppose if he's weak enough to fall in with you deceivers, perhaps he deserves whatever it is you have planned."
You whisper psychically into Malcanthet's mind, "You think you know what you speak of, but you do not."
Malcanthet tells you, "That's the best response you have? I'm disappointed."
You whisper psychically into Malcanthet's mind, "If you are seeking to spar with words, I am the wrong person."
Malcanthet tells you, "So I see."
"Mind the spittle, Seer," Omei hisses through gritted teeth as She swoops a leg underneath Trager's to send him sprawling to the ground. Her body contorts as She shifts into a sitting position on Trager's abdomen to effectively pin him down as each of Her hands mimics the notion with each of his so that he is left laying before you. A low chuckle pushes forth from Her lips as She glances down to stare at Trager's face, Her head tilting. "You are a bastard too, aren't you?" She regards.
Laughter bubbles forth from Trager as the blow lands, derisive and demeaning, broken only momentarily by the shift of events that leave him flat upon his back, and Omei atop his chest. Aside from the low grunt of impact, the laughter continues. "Oh-ho!," he sneers to the faces now above him. "Going to tickle my mind now, [redacted]?"
"Perhaps I will pick something from this one as well," Omei muses as She dips Her head down beside Trager's to take in a deep inhalation through Her nostrils. "He sure has a mouth on him," She concludes as She lifts Her head once more, gaze flicking to land upon you. "Get it done with, Seer," She lowly instructs.
Emelle leans over Trager, her eye searching his face. "Do you enjoy this?" she wonders in earnest. "Or are you acting?" She slips her hands into her coat pockets as she examines him, a vague sort of frown settling on her face. At Omei's bidding, she settles down to kneel beside Trager. "Show me."
You focus your mind, and begin to concentrate on forming a mind lock with Trager.
Your telepathic efforts are successful, and the mind of Trager is locked with your own.
Trager's thoughts: The further you delve, the darker the confines of his mind become. Each layer reveals another piece, easily peeled away, as nothing attempts to inhibit your search. Memories flood the mind, of brighter times, family, friends, love. Each figment is blurred, hazy, gray and bland and dead.
Another layer. Resentment, anger, hatred - these things ebb and flow within the confines of this deeper, darker space. It fills him, intoxicating his very being. He lives upon it now, sustaining what could only be called his spirit, or what remains of it. Pain and power, power and pain, he THRIVES upon this, now.
A final image - the man kneeling within a graveyard, a golden dagger held loosely in one hand.
Shakily he brings the blade to his wrist, and through the memory you feel the cold steel pressing its thin line against his warm flesh. This moment, where he surrendered it all, pouring what remained of what made him... HIM, from his mind. The blade jerks once, twice and finally once more, then there is blackness.
Emelle feels: Inexplicably, pain supersedes anger and bitterness as you realize that he has already lost all that matters.
Omei's hand shifts to grab hold of Trager's chin, Her gaze narrowing as She studies the Azudim carefully. The starry constellations that make themselves evident in the midsts of Her pupils sparkle and glow as She remains quiet for but a moment. "Pity," She concludes with a shake of Her head. "It was at that point you damned yourself to this fate." Her fingers curl tightly around the chin as She pushes it upwards, angling Trager's face so that it stares directly at you. "Do it," She hisses once more through gritted teeth to you, Her tone clipped.
"It's all me," Trager whispers up at you, his crooked smile only just baring the pointed incisors within his mouth. "And I am going to destroy you. You will beg." His gaze shifts to the Divinity atop him. "Both of You."
For a long moment, Emelle is silent and still, her eye unfocused as she is engrossed in seeing beyond the present moment. Her expression is transparent: sadness, pulling at the corner of her eye, her mouth. And then, as she brings herself back to focus on Trager, it becomes pity, and finally resolution. "You took from me, Trager. My blood. Mine. Like it belonged to you," she says in an undertone. "So I am taking, now." The apparent gentleness with which she leans over him, like a nurse attending a wounded man, clashes obscenely with what follows, as she inserts her fingers into the inner corners of Trager's eye sockets.
A sinister grin begins to curl its way into existence upon Omei's lips as She watches the display like a proud parent, Her chin jutting upwards as your fingers plunge into Trager's eye sockets. "Trager the Blind, Trager the Blind," She sings forth, Her words hanging ominously upon the air as you dig. "She's got his eyes - next he dies."
Trager's crooked smile remains through your speech, but tightens as your fingers begin their probing. His lips tighten and his teeth grit, his own form of resolution showing only briefly before the thought occurs to him.
Trager's thought: "N-.. NO. NO!"
All semblance of fortitude abandons Trager, and his mouth opens wide, silent for but a fraction of a second before a bloodcurdling scream rips free from the man, echoing beyond anything he has ever uttered. "NOOOO!" The pain in his words shows only a brief testament to the literal pain ripping through his body as he thrashes helplessly, pinned beneath the weight of Omei.
"No?" Emelle's fingers pause at the first knuckle, and she tilts her head at Trager. "What if I had said no to you? Would you have stopped?" she wonders. "I suppose we will not know that, since you had made sure I could not." There's a sickening squelch as she pries further into his skull. "And you will call me weak no matter what I do, won't you?"
Emelle thinks: For a moment, you consider mercy.
You could still stop.
But for what?
"He will spit in your face, Seer Mine, spit lies of your weakness," Omei hisses as Her hands tighten around Trager's chin to hold him more firmly in place. "But that is not weakness, no, THIS is not weakness," She roars as She leans down to stare fully upon Trager. "THIS," She seethes, "is what weakness looks like."
Trager's thrashing continues, the words going either unheard or unnoticed - maybe even both. The iron grip that traps him succeeds in preventing him from looking away, and he is left only to stare wildly above into your own gaze.
Slowly, cruelly, Omei, the Nightmare says, "A shame he will not be able to SEE real weakness when it stands before him anymore."
Each word of the song practically spit from Her lips, Omei begins to sing that haunting melody once more, "Trager the Blind. Trager the Blind. She'll take his eyes, and then," She trails off, attention shifting to level direly upon you as if an insinuation to finish where She left off.
You see Trager shout, "M-m.. my EYES. NO!"
Trager's thought: Pain. Pain encompasses his body now. A soft voice echoes in the back of his mind. "You should be used to this, no?" His own consciousness brings back memories of fire, of burnt flesh.
Emelle has paused again, as though she hasn't fully committed herself to this action, despite that her fingers are now wedged into Trager's face to the second knuckle. "He cannot see already," she murmurs to Omei. And as his cry rips across the continent, she grits her teeth, and commits, and with both care and violence, she tears both eyes from his skull.
With one eye in each hand, Emelle drags herself to stand and stalks off, her back to Trager.
Your preparation is complete, and with a piercing cry you hurl an almighty blast of mental energy at Trager. In your mind's eye you see him let out a shriek of agony, stifled speedily as his entire body bursts into flames and disintegrates into smouldering ashes.
You have slain Trager.
Soldier @Draiman D'baen yells, "Figures. Did You steal his eyes too?"
You yell, "I did."
Soldier Draiman D'baen yells, "Only fitting I guess. She and Hers have a habit of taking things that don't belong to them."
Soldier Draiman D'baen yells, "Goddess of Thieves is a more fitting title."
You yell, "No, no. This is not stealing. It is the price."
As the flames that engulf Trager's body lick upwards at Omei's form, She rises slowly to Her feet. "It is done," She concludes with a nod. "I am proud of you."
Omei gives you a peck on the cheek.
And with that, Omei is gone.
---
You are holding:
"eyes3059" a pair of bloodied eyeballs.
Bloodied from where the eyeballs were ripped mercilessly from their host, these eyes have now since started to gray over in the irises. They are squishy to the touch, each bearing a string of nerves that still cling to the eyeball itself.
It weighs 1 ounce(s).
It bears the distinctive mark of Dominus Trager Nebre'seir.
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Comments
Really, though, well done to all involved.
Cute-Kelli by @Sessizlik.
Omei remains my favorite God conceptually and in practice across Iron Realms. She would be a Goddess that you'd expect to be on whatever "dark side" that the game has, but nope. She is a Spirit-aligned Goddess who tortures Her followers out of "love", rips out the OH's eyes and gives them Her own, horrendously tortures Her Claw (Order Champion) and shapes them into the weapon that She desires (speaking from personal experience there). There's just... so much good stuff to Omei. Kudos to whoever is playing Her. It's not an easy role. I'm glad they went back to the Unfettered Nightmare Omei though. Beast Queen was okay, but Nightmare Omei has always been truly unique, engaging, and interesting as the log demonstrates.