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In this Discussion
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Memories that Serve
Summary: A sentimental young woman presents her sacrifice to the Throne of Corruption
Participants: @Maeve , Reave, & Chakrasul (Surprised us!)
Note: Also want to thank @Elene for the initial idea! And the players who contributed to the memories.
--- The throne room -------------- 0:11:2 ---
This cavernous chamber opens wide with a high ceiling and circular walls, and a
dust-ridden atmosphere clinging low to the floor and close to the walls. The
walls are aged with cracked paint that must have once been a whitish hue but
greyed through time. Thick pillars of marble are scattered throughout the room
reaching from floor to ceiling. The floor has a dark red carpet thick with dust
extending from the throne to the doorway to the south. To the eastern edges of
the throne, a small wooden hatch can be seen - leading to some unknown place
below. Beyond the throne to the north is another doorway, standing ajar. On
either side of the doorway are two large stained windows, one depicting the
kingly figure of a man, the other depicting a woman as beautiful as the moon. A
large, black-marble altar rests here. Beautiful and repulsive, a tapestry of
Corruption's conquests hangs here. The Throne of Corruption stands here, its
obsidian magnificence a shadowed praise to the Dark Lady. A delicate, spiral-
etched athame has been cast aside here. A large book sits on a wrought iron
stand. There are 2 flame-shaped sigils here. A well of despair sits here,
offering the liquid within. Resting here is a pale rose letter streaked with
filaments of red, its form bulging with some item contained within. Creeping
crystalline vines cluster upon pillars, floor, and walls, every hue of green
reflecting prisms in those same shades. A magnificent statue of Chakrasul is
placed carefully within the room. A large mural is hung on display above the
southern doorway. Abandoned, a platinum chain with jade and onyx prayer beads
lies here, gathering dust. Laid out in an extravagant display, a feast of ninety-
nine hearts is here, displayed upon jade serving platters. An endless onyx
spiral creates a monument here. A jade sculpture of Corruption gazes outward at
its surroundings. A worn prayer mat woven in hues of jade occupies a space on
the ground. Spilling from a gilded frame, a lavish tapestry hangs here. A cherry
wood carousel statuette of duskywings turns idly in the breeze here.
Reave stands at the threshold of this cavernous chamber, seemingly struck by sudden hesitance. The seeping chill of her atmosphere far from a concern to her active mind. Tugging a fur-trimmed cloak with gilded adornments closer to her form with a fist, her grey eyes consider the steps one must traverse to the foot of the throne. In her peripheral, dust swirls and glimmers in the air, moving in a current around the dark environment. It felt much too big and daunting as she leaves her position and exchanges it for lively motion. Her time and energy spent closing the distance.
A cerise memory crackles across the surface of her mind: Gentling her hold upon the young woman's collar, then releasing it altogether, Redolence continues to murmur in her ear. "I understand that disguise is part of your armor - I know this well. However, ensure that you are doing everything you possibly can, and not shirking your own descent simply because it is -inconvenient-".
Heels clicking loudly along the frigid stone floor, Maeve strolls into the room, halting just to the right of you as if awaiting a cue. Her blue-gold eye roams over the familiarity of your pale side profile, then drops to take in your garments and the way in which you hesitate here on the threshold. Expression bereft of smile, for once, but as intense as you've perhaps ever seen it. She moves as you move, a step behind, trailing along behind like a glittering, malevolent shadow. Nothing is said.
Maeve's right eye gleams hungrily, shifting from gold-laced cerulean to an eerily glowing red. The cavern that is her left socket is suddenly lit from within, sparking briefly with echoes of ghostly green flame that slither through the tiny crystals housed there.
Dark red carpet masks the sound of Reave's movement as dust eddies around her boots. Breathing deeply and rallying herself, she continues forward until something catches her eye. Something shadowing her. The familiar click of heels and sway of fabrics. "Viyveti," Her murmurs spill forward, portraying an unusual reverence in the unfamiliar territory, "I almost did not sense you." Acknowledging Maeve with a slight incline of her head, her last statement follows in a louder, crystaline voice as if to conceal the uncertainty she feels.
A silvery memory levitates across the surface of her mind: Fishing out an obsidian, emerald-ribboned gift box and briefly examining the jade hues on the front, Havoc adds, "A way out of Despair is Might...you could be angry, sure, but I think...acceptance is also a different kind of Might. A reclamation of your own reins to transcend the issue, rather than confront it..."
Attention not on you, but upon Corruption's Throne now as you both move forward - you with the paced steps befitting the moment, Maeve to the casual, aggressive beat of tapered heels. Her dusk-laden purr breaks the silence just after your acknowledgement, and finally those lips curl briefly upward. "Temiyti." A solitary eye shifts back in your direction, studying you keenly with much unveiled interest as the Consanguine runs a slim hand along a length of jade and onyx prayer beads. "You look as though you walk to a guillotine."
The tension which lingers seems almost suffocating, creating a desire within Reave to dematerialize into phase. "I've never done this before," She directs towards Maeve with a cant of her tousled head, raven curls falling into her frame of vision, "If I am a touch serious, I assure you it is only because I wish to show my steps are steady and my intent is pure." Her words were short and concise as her gloved hand pats a delicate, spiral-etched athame secured in her weaponbelt, betraying the bevvy of nerves she was experiencing. After that, there was a lingering silence as her posture takes on an aloofness.
A silvery memory levitates across the surface of her mind: "Too much focus on a ghost..." A slightly sad flicker ripples across Havoc's mein, though perhaps toned just slightly more towards something sympathetic, before he murmurs quietly, "The past is the past, and the shades therein can often serve as weights that weigh us down, fill us with Despair at the loss. Fear at the possibility of it happening again. Sometimes even Avarice, for something to fill the wound in our psyche and help us forget about it."
Stepping around the many offerings littering the floor, Maeve nears a magnificent statue of Chakrasul, that admiring eye roving slowly up the effigy of the Goddess, fair. A murmur trickles from her mouth, "As you should." Strangely subdued, reverent, even, the Consanguine turns upon a heel, dust stirred by the sweep of a silken hem across the sea of red that sprawls over the seat of sovereignty. Glittering hungrily, the crystals of Corruption set within her left socket seem to react to something - be it a presence, latent energies in the atmosphere, or the poignancy of the moment. She then becomes still as the statue she stands near, countenance set in a patient expression whilst she waits.
A thought enters your mind:
[Whorls of jade bloom in your mind. Coiling. "You are endless", a voice
croons.].
Something flashes in Reave's grey eyes, much too quick to read. Though, for some reason, the response from Maeve left the young woman feeling cold. She sets her lips to a firm nothingness as the colours around her filter in a lifeless manner, the details becoming less clear, "The other week you asked about my intentions," She states slowly, gaze never leaving Maeve, "I do admit I have often failed in my sincerity as many of my actions stem from self preservation. However, I wish to prove to Her that She has all of my passion in my service to Her. I wish to show Her that I'll continue to descend and be pushed to my own limits," Her hand drifts to her heart, pressing firmly, "With this heart, I have coveted, indulged in my weaknesses, deferred my love, and enacted malice on those I hold dear." She gives Maeve a chime or two to absorb her words before continuing, "It has been broken and rebuilt many times over. And while I cannot offer Her it permanently, as I have an oath to not embrace undeath, I wish to give it to Her symbolically." Inhaling slowly, her doubt flees from her vision, "I beseech Her to accept this," A pause, "Regardless, my blood and my memories will spill here today."
An azurite memory sparkles across the surface of her mind: Vesper crosses her arms over her chest, tipping her chin back to stare at the ceiling as some of her anger dissipates, leaving behind a cooler sort of speculation. Her foot still bounces, the pensive cast to her face giving a thoughtful edge to the motion. "I think that.. you should always expect your bluffs to be called, and your offers to be taken at face value..."
A subtle shift, her head cocks to listen, and Maeve observes your wavering figure with an expression that has grown intense. Your admissions, confessions, come as no surprise to the woman, it seems, as she merely bears witness to their telling with the staidness of a priest within a confessional. That blue-gold eye follows the path of your hand as it drifts to your heart and presses firmly upon the chest beneath, then flicks back upward to rest upon your solemn grey eyes - the depth of emotion and sincerity found there apparently finding approval as she dips her chin in acknowledgement.
Pivoting as she moves, Reave walks towards the empty throne in a purposeful manner as exhilaration rises in the inevitability of death. Thud. Thud. Thud. Her heart was all she could sense in the somber atmosphere as anxiety causes her mind to fray at the edges. At some point she stops moving forward, instead sits down and crosses her legs beneath her. Her pale features appear ghostly beneath the dim light as she reaches for a Selunic weaponbelt and removes a delicate, spiral-etched athame from its confines. As she sits there in meditative silence, she turns the blade within her right hand. The edge was sharp and shiny, without the scratches and rust of an older make. Rarely used one could say. With her left hand, she grips a length of jade and onyx prayer beads, unfurling its length as her slender fingers march effortlessly downwards. She takes a moment to breathe in deeply and then out again as her eyes close and she sinks completely into the state she was pursuing.
A cerise memory crackles across the surface of her mind: Stepping away slowly, Redolence only has eyes for the young woman, the emerald in her left socket igniting with emerald fire as her right eye, half crimson, slowly fades back to its ordinary gold-traced blue. "You have to want it, Reave. None can -make- you go."
An azurite memory sparkles across the surface of her mind: "...then I don't think there's anything else I can say."
Her queer half gaze following your movements, your descent, Maeve tracks you with eye only - leaving you alone as you take the final necessary steps in this surrendering to Lady Chakrasul. She, like everything else in the room, fades into the shadows surrounding Corruption's Throne, becoming naught but a shade at the edge of perception.
Something deep within Reave's chest grows tight and continues to wind itself 'round and 'round, garroting until her breath escapes her. Her knuckles push white as she clenches a delicate, spiral-etched athame by its handle, "As this blade takes my sacrifice," Her tone was soft, but seemingly still reaching every corner of the cavernous throne room, "And these cherised memories which have defined me spill to the floor. May You know all I have done was in pursuit of You. May You know my adoration." As this promise leaves the young woman, her left hand falls from a length of jade and onyx prayer beads and conjoins with her right on a delicate, spiral-etched athame's handle while threat reflects itself on the sharpened edge. Raising it purposefully, She drives a delicate, spiral-etched athame through her heart in a forceful manner, plunging to the hilt while sharp lights of white explode into her vision and her surroundings burn away into a scream.
A jade memory strikes across the surface of her mind: "As if you won't be screaming, Love..."
Deciding to end your own existence, you concentrate on relaxing your musculature
permanently.
You have been slain by misadventure.
(I return from the mirror to find Chakrasul has taken the Throne)
--- The throne room -------------- 0:11:2 ---
A large, black-marble altar rests here. Beautiful and repulsive, a tapestry of
Corruption's conquests hangs here. The Throne of Corruption stands here, its
obsidian magnificence a shadowed praise to the Dark Lady. A delicate, spiral-
etched athame has been cast aside here. A large book sits on a wrought iron
stand. There are 2 flame-shaped sigils here. A well of despair sits here,
offering the liquid within. Resting here is a pale rose letter streaked with
filaments of red, its form bulging with some item contained within. Creeping
crystalline vines cluster upon pillars, floor, and walls, every hue of green
reflecting prisms in those same shades. A magnificent statue of Chakrasul is
placed carefully within the room. A large mural is hung on display above the
southern doorway. Abandoned, a platinum chain with jade and onyx prayer beads
lies here, gathering dust. Laid out in an extravagant display, a feast of ninety-
nine hearts is here, displayed upon jade serving platters. An endless onyx
spiral creates a monument here. A jade sculpture of Corruption gazes outward at
its surroundings. A worn prayer mat woven in hues of jade occupies a space on
the ground. Spilling from a gilded frame, a lavish tapestry hangs here. A cherry
wood carousel statuette of duskywings turns idly in the breeze here.
Maeve kneels gracefully before Chakrasul here, eyes downcast.
Duskywing butterflies flit lazily around the form of Chakrasul, Goddess of
Corruption as She sits imperiously on Her throne.
Slowly fading into view, Chakrasul sits imperiously upon Corruption's Throne, Her eyes intent upon Maeve as the smallest of smiles curves at Her lips.
You incline your head politely to Chakrasul.
After lifting her head from a reverent incline, Reave stands in attention of the throne and its occupant.
In a soft, throaty purr, Chakrasul utters to Maeve, "What I have heard so far agrees with that." She does not elaborate further, merely watching with a focus that is almost physically uncomfortable.
Reave drops her glance, aware of the conversation she had disrupted from her return from the mirror. She settles into a state of a spectator, clasping her hands in front of her as a length of jade and onyx prayer beads clatter together. She appears quite disheveled and exhausted as her dark curls frame her vision.
An uneasy sense of emotion hedges into your mind as the throaty whisper of Maeve imparts, "Oh no, darling Temiyti, our Lady has graced you with Her Presence after so sweet a sacrifice. You have the floor."
"Lady Chakrasul, I have offered my sacrifice to You. Whether or not You are pleased is the question, but it is not mine to ask or demand," Reave speaks to her surroundings, though her grey eyes do eventually lift themselves to gaze upon Chakrasul.
A savage gleam enters Maeve's eyes, lips curling up slightly in a fleetingly
malicious smile.
A pointed tongue emerging from her mouth, Maeve licks her lips, single eye flush
with red again as something beyond perception incites the Consanguine.
The smile playing upon Chakrasul's lips holds a definite suggestion of menace, of malice, though She remains motionless upon Corruption's Throne. Her silence is palpable, thickening the air about you, though after what might have been an eternity, She says simply, "I am pleased."
Crossing her fingers over each other, Reave almost began to believe there might be something wrong, but a smooth voice of acceptance encircles her, "And finally, if I may also be bold enough to ask, what did you think of my carousel?" She observes Chakrasul for a moment longer before her grey gaze drops to the miniature carousel spinning idly as if a current caught it. Her curiousity holding fast behind the halo of dark curls. It gave her some reprieve as she was not too eager to say much more in the presence of Chakrasul.
A dark hand lifting to stroke along a length of jade and onyx prayer beads, Maeve's mouth is beset with a queer half-smile that reveals a fang. Strolling to your side, she takes pause beside the small Syssin, free hand reaching out with avaricious fingers to play along a black curl. "She is pleased, but we must move ever downward, denza. Do not let your progress halt here, hm? Pleasure can so quickly turn to displeasure in the wake of idleness." A tug upon that curl. "I
trust you have already begun considering just which of Her Gifts you will drink with a greedy heart next?"
(LOOK CAROUSEL)
Standing taller than it is wide, this scaled down wooden sculpture depicts a
carousel. One spiraling ring of exquisitely detailed butterfly figurines is
housed within the hexagonal shelter structure. The canopy, core, and base source
themselves have been meticulously whittled from a single piece of polished
cherry wood, additional sections fashioning the figurines affixed to the core
rather than the base. Swathed with delicacy as well as realism, pale white
painted feminine arms extend outward and form the supporting members for six
duskywing butterflies. Tapered off at the elbow, each arm is elegantly poised in
a raised arc and positioned along a helical course rather than a level plane -
allowing for each butterfly to surmount themselves on the tip of the offered
forefinger. While soft in its creation, the detail of the arm is precisely
finished with expert attention paid to the carefully manicured fingernails and
lifelike lines mapped along the palm of the hands. Light grey pigments, followed
closely by darker greys that blend in a gradient into iridescent greens cover
the spread wings of the elaborately carved butterflies as they alight themselves
on their perch. Soaring above, the carousel's canopy unites the composition with
a meticulously painted landscape of dark vinery wrapped in pink and jade
blossoms. The centermost beam in the midpoint of the carousel has been carved
sturdy, but hollowed out at its core. The hollow core fits soundly upon a
larger, solid cherry wood base to allow the top fixture to be spun to display
the full effect of its every pristine detailing.
Standing to descend from Corruption's Throne, Chakrasul takes one deliberate step after another until She approaches a cherry wood carousel statuette of duskywings. Running a finger lightly across one butterfly, She gives you one brilliant, blinding smile, though the malice that emanates from Her remains as a crawling sensation upon flesh. She repeats simply, "I am pleased," in that same husky murmur as Her previous statement, and graces Maeve with the slightest nod of approval before She simply vanishes from where She had stood.
Expression mirroring that of her Lady's briefly, the Consanguine's eye hungrily laps up every inch of the Goddess as She approaches the carousel. There is an edge in the way she holds herself, her regal bearing faltering ever so slightly. When the Goddess simply vanishes, Maeve turns to you, reaching out to cup you cheek in a short-lived caress. "Well done, denza."
Participants: @Maeve , Reave, & Chakrasul (Surprised us!)
Note: Also want to thank @Elene for the initial idea! And the players who contributed to the memories.
--- The throne room -------------- 0:11:2 ---
This cavernous chamber opens wide with a high ceiling and circular walls, and a
dust-ridden atmosphere clinging low to the floor and close to the walls. The
walls are aged with cracked paint that must have once been a whitish hue but
greyed through time. Thick pillars of marble are scattered throughout the room
reaching from floor to ceiling. The floor has a dark red carpet thick with dust
extending from the throne to the doorway to the south. To the eastern edges of
the throne, a small wooden hatch can be seen - leading to some unknown place
below. Beyond the throne to the north is another doorway, standing ajar. On
either side of the doorway are two large stained windows, one depicting the
kingly figure of a man, the other depicting a woman as beautiful as the moon. A
large, black-marble altar rests here. Beautiful and repulsive, a tapestry of
Corruption's conquests hangs here. The Throne of Corruption stands here, its
obsidian magnificence a shadowed praise to the Dark Lady. A delicate, spiral-
etched athame has been cast aside here. A large book sits on a wrought iron
stand. There are 2 flame-shaped sigils here. A well of despair sits here,
offering the liquid within. Resting here is a pale rose letter streaked with
filaments of red, its form bulging with some item contained within. Creeping
crystalline vines cluster upon pillars, floor, and walls, every hue of green
reflecting prisms in those same shades. A magnificent statue of Chakrasul is
placed carefully within the room. A large mural is hung on display above the
southern doorway. Abandoned, a platinum chain with jade and onyx prayer beads
lies here, gathering dust. Laid out in an extravagant display, a feast of ninety-
nine hearts is here, displayed upon jade serving platters. An endless onyx
spiral creates a monument here. A jade sculpture of Corruption gazes outward at
its surroundings. A worn prayer mat woven in hues of jade occupies a space on
the ground. Spilling from a gilded frame, a lavish tapestry hangs here. A cherry
wood carousel statuette of duskywings turns idly in the breeze here.
Reave stands at the threshold of this cavernous chamber, seemingly struck by sudden hesitance. The seeping chill of her atmosphere far from a concern to her active mind. Tugging a fur-trimmed cloak with gilded adornments closer to her form with a fist, her grey eyes consider the steps one must traverse to the foot of the throne. In her peripheral, dust swirls and glimmers in the air, moving in a current around the dark environment. It felt much too big and daunting as she leaves her position and exchanges it for lively motion. Her time and energy spent closing the distance.
A cerise memory crackles across the surface of her mind: Gentling her hold upon the young woman's collar, then releasing it altogether, Redolence continues to murmur in her ear. "I understand that disguise is part of your armor - I know this well. However, ensure that you are doing everything you possibly can, and not shirking your own descent simply because it is -inconvenient-".
Heels clicking loudly along the frigid stone floor, Maeve strolls into the room, halting just to the right of you as if awaiting a cue. Her blue-gold eye roams over the familiarity of your pale side profile, then drops to take in your garments and the way in which you hesitate here on the threshold. Expression bereft of smile, for once, but as intense as you've perhaps ever seen it. She moves as you move, a step behind, trailing along behind like a glittering, malevolent shadow. Nothing is said.
Maeve's right eye gleams hungrily, shifting from gold-laced cerulean to an eerily glowing red. The cavern that is her left socket is suddenly lit from within, sparking briefly with echoes of ghostly green flame that slither through the tiny crystals housed there.
Dark red carpet masks the sound of Reave's movement as dust eddies around her boots. Breathing deeply and rallying herself, she continues forward until something catches her eye. Something shadowing her. The familiar click of heels and sway of fabrics. "Viyveti," Her murmurs spill forward, portraying an unusual reverence in the unfamiliar territory, "I almost did not sense you." Acknowledging Maeve with a slight incline of her head, her last statement follows in a louder, crystaline voice as if to conceal the uncertainty she feels.
A silvery memory levitates across the surface of her mind: Fishing out an obsidian, emerald-ribboned gift box and briefly examining the jade hues on the front, Havoc adds, "A way out of Despair is Might...you could be angry, sure, but I think...acceptance is also a different kind of Might. A reclamation of your own reins to transcend the issue, rather than confront it..."
Attention not on you, but upon Corruption's Throne now as you both move forward - you with the paced steps befitting the moment, Maeve to the casual, aggressive beat of tapered heels. Her dusk-laden purr breaks the silence just after your acknowledgement, and finally those lips curl briefly upward. "Temiyti." A solitary eye shifts back in your direction, studying you keenly with much unveiled interest as the Consanguine runs a slim hand along a length of jade and onyx prayer beads. "You look as though you walk to a guillotine."
The tension which lingers seems almost suffocating, creating a desire within Reave to dematerialize into phase. "I've never done this before," She directs towards Maeve with a cant of her tousled head, raven curls falling into her frame of vision, "If I am a touch serious, I assure you it is only because I wish to show my steps are steady and my intent is pure." Her words were short and concise as her gloved hand pats a delicate, spiral-etched athame secured in her weaponbelt, betraying the bevvy of nerves she was experiencing. After that, there was a lingering silence as her posture takes on an aloofness.
A silvery memory levitates across the surface of her mind: "Too much focus on a ghost..." A slightly sad flicker ripples across Havoc's mein, though perhaps toned just slightly more towards something sympathetic, before he murmurs quietly, "The past is the past, and the shades therein can often serve as weights that weigh us down, fill us with Despair at the loss. Fear at the possibility of it happening again. Sometimes even Avarice, for something to fill the wound in our psyche and help us forget about it."
Stepping around the many offerings littering the floor, Maeve nears a magnificent statue of Chakrasul, that admiring eye roving slowly up the effigy of the Goddess, fair. A murmur trickles from her mouth, "As you should." Strangely subdued, reverent, even, the Consanguine turns upon a heel, dust stirred by the sweep of a silken hem across the sea of red that sprawls over the seat of sovereignty. Glittering hungrily, the crystals of Corruption set within her left socket seem to react to something - be it a presence, latent energies in the atmosphere, or the poignancy of the moment. She then becomes still as the statue she stands near, countenance set in a patient expression whilst she waits.
A thought enters your mind:
[Whorls of jade bloom in your mind. Coiling. "You are endless", a voice
croons.].
Something flashes in Reave's grey eyes, much too quick to read. Though, for some reason, the response from Maeve left the young woman feeling cold. She sets her lips to a firm nothingness as the colours around her filter in a lifeless manner, the details becoming less clear, "The other week you asked about my intentions," She states slowly, gaze never leaving Maeve, "I do admit I have often failed in my sincerity as many of my actions stem from self preservation. However, I wish to prove to Her that She has all of my passion in my service to Her. I wish to show Her that I'll continue to descend and be pushed to my own limits," Her hand drifts to her heart, pressing firmly, "With this heart, I have coveted, indulged in my weaknesses, deferred my love, and enacted malice on those I hold dear." She gives Maeve a chime or two to absorb her words before continuing, "It has been broken and rebuilt many times over. And while I cannot offer Her it permanently, as I have an oath to not embrace undeath, I wish to give it to Her symbolically." Inhaling slowly, her doubt flees from her vision, "I beseech Her to accept this," A pause, "Regardless, my blood and my memories will spill here today."
An azurite memory sparkles across the surface of her mind: Vesper crosses her arms over her chest, tipping her chin back to stare at the ceiling as some of her anger dissipates, leaving behind a cooler sort of speculation. Her foot still bounces, the pensive cast to her face giving a thoughtful edge to the motion. "I think that.. you should always expect your bluffs to be called, and your offers to be taken at face value..."
A subtle shift, her head cocks to listen, and Maeve observes your wavering figure with an expression that has grown intense. Your admissions, confessions, come as no surprise to the woman, it seems, as she merely bears witness to their telling with the staidness of a priest within a confessional. That blue-gold eye follows the path of your hand as it drifts to your heart and presses firmly upon the chest beneath, then flicks back upward to rest upon your solemn grey eyes - the depth of emotion and sincerity found there apparently finding approval as she dips her chin in acknowledgement.
Pivoting as she moves, Reave walks towards the empty throne in a purposeful manner as exhilaration rises in the inevitability of death. Thud. Thud. Thud. Her heart was all she could sense in the somber atmosphere as anxiety causes her mind to fray at the edges. At some point she stops moving forward, instead sits down and crosses her legs beneath her. Her pale features appear ghostly beneath the dim light as she reaches for a Selunic weaponbelt and removes a delicate, spiral-etched athame from its confines. As she sits there in meditative silence, she turns the blade within her right hand. The edge was sharp and shiny, without the scratches and rust of an older make. Rarely used one could say. With her left hand, she grips a length of jade and onyx prayer beads, unfurling its length as her slender fingers march effortlessly downwards. She takes a moment to breathe in deeply and then out again as her eyes close and she sinks completely into the state she was pursuing.
A cerise memory crackles across the surface of her mind: Stepping away slowly, Redolence only has eyes for the young woman, the emerald in her left socket igniting with emerald fire as her right eye, half crimson, slowly fades back to its ordinary gold-traced blue. "You have to want it, Reave. None can -make- you go."
An azurite memory sparkles across the surface of her mind: "...then I don't think there's anything else I can say."
Her queer half gaze following your movements, your descent, Maeve tracks you with eye only - leaving you alone as you take the final necessary steps in this surrendering to Lady Chakrasul. She, like everything else in the room, fades into the shadows surrounding Corruption's Throne, becoming naught but a shade at the edge of perception.
Something deep within Reave's chest grows tight and continues to wind itself 'round and 'round, garroting until her breath escapes her. Her knuckles push white as she clenches a delicate, spiral-etched athame by its handle, "As this blade takes my sacrifice," Her tone was soft, but seemingly still reaching every corner of the cavernous throne room, "And these cherised memories which have defined me spill to the floor. May You know all I have done was in pursuit of You. May You know my adoration." As this promise leaves the young woman, her left hand falls from a length of jade and onyx prayer beads and conjoins with her right on a delicate, spiral-etched athame's handle while threat reflects itself on the sharpened edge. Raising it purposefully, She drives a delicate, spiral-etched athame through her heart in a forceful manner, plunging to the hilt while sharp lights of white explode into her vision and her surroundings burn away into a scream.
A jade memory strikes across the surface of her mind: "As if you won't be screaming, Love..."
Deciding to end your own existence, you concentrate on relaxing your musculature
permanently.
You have been slain by misadventure.
(I return from the mirror to find Chakrasul has taken the Throne)
--- The throne room -------------- 0:11:2 ---
A large, black-marble altar rests here. Beautiful and repulsive, a tapestry of
Corruption's conquests hangs here. The Throne of Corruption stands here, its
obsidian magnificence a shadowed praise to the Dark Lady. A delicate, spiral-
etched athame has been cast aside here. A large book sits on a wrought iron
stand. There are 2 flame-shaped sigils here. A well of despair sits here,
offering the liquid within. Resting here is a pale rose letter streaked with
filaments of red, its form bulging with some item contained within. Creeping
crystalline vines cluster upon pillars, floor, and walls, every hue of green
reflecting prisms in those same shades. A magnificent statue of Chakrasul is
placed carefully within the room. A large mural is hung on display above the
southern doorway. Abandoned, a platinum chain with jade and onyx prayer beads
lies here, gathering dust. Laid out in an extravagant display, a feast of ninety-
nine hearts is here, displayed upon jade serving platters. An endless onyx
spiral creates a monument here. A jade sculpture of Corruption gazes outward at
its surroundings. A worn prayer mat woven in hues of jade occupies a space on
the ground. Spilling from a gilded frame, a lavish tapestry hangs here. A cherry
wood carousel statuette of duskywings turns idly in the breeze here.
Maeve kneels gracefully before Chakrasul here, eyes downcast.
Duskywing butterflies flit lazily around the form of Chakrasul, Goddess of
Corruption as She sits imperiously on Her throne.
Slowly fading into view, Chakrasul sits imperiously upon Corruption's Throne, Her eyes intent upon Maeve as the smallest of smiles curves at Her lips.
You incline your head politely to Chakrasul.
After lifting her head from a reverent incline, Reave stands in attention of the throne and its occupant.
In a soft, throaty purr, Chakrasul utters to Maeve, "What I have heard so far agrees with that." She does not elaborate further, merely watching with a focus that is almost physically uncomfortable.
Reave drops her glance, aware of the conversation she had disrupted from her return from the mirror. She settles into a state of a spectator, clasping her hands in front of her as a length of jade and onyx prayer beads clatter together. She appears quite disheveled and exhausted as her dark curls frame her vision.
An uneasy sense of emotion hedges into your mind as the throaty whisper of Maeve imparts, "Oh no, darling Temiyti, our Lady has graced you with Her Presence after so sweet a sacrifice. You have the floor."
"Lady Chakrasul, I have offered my sacrifice to You. Whether or not You are pleased is the question, but it is not mine to ask or demand," Reave speaks to her surroundings, though her grey eyes do eventually lift themselves to gaze upon Chakrasul.
A savage gleam enters Maeve's eyes, lips curling up slightly in a fleetingly
malicious smile.
A pointed tongue emerging from her mouth, Maeve licks her lips, single eye flush
with red again as something beyond perception incites the Consanguine.
The smile playing upon Chakrasul's lips holds a definite suggestion of menace, of malice, though She remains motionless upon Corruption's Throne. Her silence is palpable, thickening the air about you, though after what might have been an eternity, She says simply, "I am pleased."
Crossing her fingers over each other, Reave almost began to believe there might be something wrong, but a smooth voice of acceptance encircles her, "And finally, if I may also be bold enough to ask, what did you think of my carousel?" She observes Chakrasul for a moment longer before her grey gaze drops to the miniature carousel spinning idly as if a current caught it. Her curiousity holding fast behind the halo of dark curls. It gave her some reprieve as she was not too eager to say much more in the presence of Chakrasul.
A dark hand lifting to stroke along a length of jade and onyx prayer beads, Maeve's mouth is beset with a queer half-smile that reveals a fang. Strolling to your side, she takes pause beside the small Syssin, free hand reaching out with avaricious fingers to play along a black curl. "She is pleased, but we must move ever downward, denza. Do not let your progress halt here, hm? Pleasure can so quickly turn to displeasure in the wake of idleness." A tug upon that curl. "I
trust you have already begun considering just which of Her Gifts you will drink with a greedy heart next?"
(LOOK CAROUSEL)
Standing taller than it is wide, this scaled down wooden sculpture depicts a
carousel. One spiraling ring of exquisitely detailed butterfly figurines is
housed within the hexagonal shelter structure. The canopy, core, and base source
themselves have been meticulously whittled from a single piece of polished
cherry wood, additional sections fashioning the figurines affixed to the core
rather than the base. Swathed with delicacy as well as realism, pale white
painted feminine arms extend outward and form the supporting members for six
duskywing butterflies. Tapered off at the elbow, each arm is elegantly poised in
a raised arc and positioned along a helical course rather than a level plane -
allowing for each butterfly to surmount themselves on the tip of the offered
forefinger. While soft in its creation, the detail of the arm is precisely
finished with expert attention paid to the carefully manicured fingernails and
lifelike lines mapped along the palm of the hands. Light grey pigments, followed
closely by darker greys that blend in a gradient into iridescent greens cover
the spread wings of the elaborately carved butterflies as they alight themselves
on their perch. Soaring above, the carousel's canopy unites the composition with
a meticulously painted landscape of dark vinery wrapped in pink and jade
blossoms. The centermost beam in the midpoint of the carousel has been carved
sturdy, but hollowed out at its core. The hollow core fits soundly upon a
larger, solid cherry wood base to allow the top fixture to be spun to display
the full effect of its every pristine detailing.
Standing to descend from Corruption's Throne, Chakrasul takes one deliberate step after another until She approaches a cherry wood carousel statuette of duskywings. Running a finger lightly across one butterfly, She gives you one brilliant, blinding smile, though the malice that emanates from Her remains as a crawling sensation upon flesh. She repeats simply, "I am pleased," in that same husky murmur as Her previous statement, and graces Maeve with the slightest nod of approval before She simply vanishes from where She had stood.
Expression mirroring that of her Lady's briefly, the Consanguine's eye hungrily laps up every inch of the Goddess as She approaches the carousel. There is an edge in the way she holds herself, her regal bearing faltering ever so slightly. When the Goddess simply vanishes, Maeve turns to you, reaching out to cup you cheek in a short-lived caress. "Well done, denza."
Feirenz Ourborian tells you, "Kids these days...nobody talks face to face anymore! You're all buried nose deep in your telepathy!"
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