Post by Malkate Rose Sedi on Dec 20, 2007 8:37:47 GMT -5
A ripple of worlds, and the destroyer, the executioner came back to the place she had left so long ago. She didn’t know why – she had run the risk of running from the same captor that had turned the once life-filled woman into something of an empty shell. Long sanguine curls fell across a porcelain face, framed only by the pale glow of the fire-red gaze that stared empty at the building that had once been a place built by her own hands for solitude. Her face was uncloaked, and she wore a simple red gown that fell to her ankles, dipped against her neck, and fell in soft waves just across the tops of her shoulders. Her feet were bare, sliding against the damp blades of grass. A necklace glittered against her chest, held only by a single ring that had once lain upon her finger, it dangled beneath the dress - so close to her heart.
Within her right hand she held a staff – an oaken gnarled wood staff with crystals embedded into the front of it – a greedy dragon’s claw clutching a singular quartz crystal the size of a small melon. A wind caught at the dark curls and she felt the shift as a large black body pressed a familiar weight against her legs – the body slightly larger than the exotic cats she’d met upon another world. Black silk fur covered it’s entire body, small tufts sticking up from it’s ears, long whiskers framing the feline face that was lined in what could best be described as a feline scowl. A deep rumbling purr that easily shook a mortal body to the bone vibrated against her skin – but it was a faint and unthoughtful feeling.
Long crimson nails slid through the fur, absently, the free hand using that familiar touch as if the years had not passed and cast vines across the panels that needed to be repaired. The faint outline of a burn against the wood where those hands had clutched at her and drained more than simply her life – that took more from her. She could smell the blood not to far from here; her sense heightened that even the years couldn’t steal it away. Her eyes closed, soft lashes batting against the pale flesh as the sensory of the world engulfed her. She could feel the cry the pulse and pull – but it was faint now as if somehow the landscape had accepted its fate now. Unlike the world she’d left most recently that threatened to collapse upon itself.
Old anger bubbled up, and her once pleasant stroke became a hard fist that caused an outraged snarl from the feline that she had been so absently petting. A slight pause, and Malkate turned those oddly colored eyes down to the anima before her hand released him. Sighing, she placed one bare foot upon the wood that would step her up into the dojo, her feet aware of how the earth had seemingly tried to swallow her precious building – though her wards had somehow kept it protected from the wear and tear too much of centuries passing. How much time had passed here she didn’t understand – years were but as minutes to some – and her mind felt the power that had tied her to Sever filling her now more than ever that she was back in the place of it’s source.
How long now had she avoided and lived on nothing but the simple powers of a Magus trained? Even as the door slid open – revealing the bare walls where she’d once placed the various weapons she’d never used – the staff rested from her hand against the wall. The bamboo floor shifted slightly under the padding that covered the dojo floor, but she paid no heed to it as the memories built into wood flooded into her. Even as her knee’s hit the floor hard, she felt the very magic of her body pulling it up through her, and she slammed her fists down – pulling those memories from the floorboard and erasing them as one might burn old things to rid them. Each time she erased the memory from the board – it fell away from her mind.
Like a dirty little secret she slowly locked them away, pulling them out of her mind and sending them adrift to whatever what would have them. From this place she’d deny him – from her body – she’d break the bond that tied her to the destroyer of worlds. She didn’t want it anymore – this immortality; this hatred that always burned below the core of her heart. Everything she’d ever wanted was destroyed, and she still felt the dampness of mortal tears upon her hands as she saw the image of blood rushing down them even still when she rested. She didn’t want these memories – these blasted things that were her only excuse for wandering.
She burned them, sent them adrift in the wind and as she pulled the memories from wood she so too set forth the task of doing things less magically. She pulled from her body the gown in which she wore, tossed it aside and rummaged through the drawers to find the old things, clothes so long forgotten; long pants that were almost like skirts with the oriental styled shirts that fell to her knee’s loose yet tight. The waves of her red curls which she managed to swirl and pin as a bun upon her head, minus the few adrift strands that refused to yield – the slippers that were almost reluctant to slide upon her semi-damp feet.
Then she set about cleaning the earth from the Dojo that had lain upon it for years. She wasn’t sure why now it mattered so much – why she returned to this place or why she felt the need to hide not only her memories from herself – but change the appearance of the Dojo as if it would matter….. As if someone would see it other than her. It took minutes – hours – seconds to her as her body sweated with the physical exertion of it all. She didn’t call forth any weapons, float anything, and cut it, if it wasn’t by hand. Her perfect nails were broken, chipped, and dirty – and she loved it. The sweat stung her eyes, and she still moved forth as if with every root she were somehow magically pulling… something… away that she couldn’t quite grasp.
Thus, she severed her bond to the God-killer. It wasn’t so much a physical removal, but the memories – they were washed away with the water that scrubbed the boards – the powers that bound them to her; lost to the pages of a diary that burned. Dust that settled upon clothes and cloth were beaten out, washed; dried, as the rains came and went. Of course, to the rest of the world mere hours had passed – she worked fast enough and the spells had worn back most of the damage.
Then she moved to a corner of the dojo that had previously held a weapons rack – and she kneeled. Her hands moved out, and she sang, softly, calling to the earth beneath her fingers. She called the wood up, the tangled roots of trees, and shaped them as she did. As her hands moved, she pulled and twisted; bent and carved the wood with thought – and upon completion, a semi-alter stood made from the very earth itself. She lay a cloth that was abandoned in the corner across it, lit the incense and the candles. She took one of the crystals that had lain upon her room, and with the enchantment of a simple spell contained the natural lightning storm within it, and set it upon the alter.
Then she knelt, and placing her palms flat upon her legs, she started to breathe, emptying her mind of anything and everything, until she could feel the ebb and flow of her own magic, her own life. Her mind went deep into the central of her energy, and she began to separate the threads within she saw. Painfully pulling forth the bonds set upon her that were reforming. She was not created originally to be some tool – she had been born once too. Memories of her childhood, she replaced those with the memories of long nights spent foolishly devoted to the pleasures of the flesh.
She felt her heart flutter in her chest, knew it wanted to stop beating as she tried to separate her essence from the being it had become. She kept it beating, focused on her life-force – the extended life of one who was intimately tied to the ways of creation. So she focused, passing the hours as her body stood as a statute, and every time her heart wavered – every time she wondered why she did it – as the memories faded of the times passing – she would look into that crystal storm and realize why she did it.
She was no ones puppet.
Within her right hand she held a staff – an oaken gnarled wood staff with crystals embedded into the front of it – a greedy dragon’s claw clutching a singular quartz crystal the size of a small melon. A wind caught at the dark curls and she felt the shift as a large black body pressed a familiar weight against her legs – the body slightly larger than the exotic cats she’d met upon another world. Black silk fur covered it’s entire body, small tufts sticking up from it’s ears, long whiskers framing the feline face that was lined in what could best be described as a feline scowl. A deep rumbling purr that easily shook a mortal body to the bone vibrated against her skin – but it was a faint and unthoughtful feeling.
Long crimson nails slid through the fur, absently, the free hand using that familiar touch as if the years had not passed and cast vines across the panels that needed to be repaired. The faint outline of a burn against the wood where those hands had clutched at her and drained more than simply her life – that took more from her. She could smell the blood not to far from here; her sense heightened that even the years couldn’t steal it away. Her eyes closed, soft lashes batting against the pale flesh as the sensory of the world engulfed her. She could feel the cry the pulse and pull – but it was faint now as if somehow the landscape had accepted its fate now. Unlike the world she’d left most recently that threatened to collapse upon itself.
Old anger bubbled up, and her once pleasant stroke became a hard fist that caused an outraged snarl from the feline that she had been so absently petting. A slight pause, and Malkate turned those oddly colored eyes down to the anima before her hand released him. Sighing, she placed one bare foot upon the wood that would step her up into the dojo, her feet aware of how the earth had seemingly tried to swallow her precious building – though her wards had somehow kept it protected from the wear and tear too much of centuries passing. How much time had passed here she didn’t understand – years were but as minutes to some – and her mind felt the power that had tied her to Sever filling her now more than ever that she was back in the place of it’s source.
How long now had she avoided and lived on nothing but the simple powers of a Magus trained? Even as the door slid open – revealing the bare walls where she’d once placed the various weapons she’d never used – the staff rested from her hand against the wall. The bamboo floor shifted slightly under the padding that covered the dojo floor, but she paid no heed to it as the memories built into wood flooded into her. Even as her knee’s hit the floor hard, she felt the very magic of her body pulling it up through her, and she slammed her fists down – pulling those memories from the floorboard and erasing them as one might burn old things to rid them. Each time she erased the memory from the board – it fell away from her mind.
Like a dirty little secret she slowly locked them away, pulling them out of her mind and sending them adrift to whatever what would have them. From this place she’d deny him – from her body – she’d break the bond that tied her to the destroyer of worlds. She didn’t want it anymore – this immortality; this hatred that always burned below the core of her heart. Everything she’d ever wanted was destroyed, and she still felt the dampness of mortal tears upon her hands as she saw the image of blood rushing down them even still when she rested. She didn’t want these memories – these blasted things that were her only excuse for wandering.
She burned them, sent them adrift in the wind and as she pulled the memories from wood she so too set forth the task of doing things less magically. She pulled from her body the gown in which she wore, tossed it aside and rummaged through the drawers to find the old things, clothes so long forgotten; long pants that were almost like skirts with the oriental styled shirts that fell to her knee’s loose yet tight. The waves of her red curls which she managed to swirl and pin as a bun upon her head, minus the few adrift strands that refused to yield – the slippers that were almost reluctant to slide upon her semi-damp feet.
Then she set about cleaning the earth from the Dojo that had lain upon it for years. She wasn’t sure why now it mattered so much – why she returned to this place or why she felt the need to hide not only her memories from herself – but change the appearance of the Dojo as if it would matter….. As if someone would see it other than her. It took minutes – hours – seconds to her as her body sweated with the physical exertion of it all. She didn’t call forth any weapons, float anything, and cut it, if it wasn’t by hand. Her perfect nails were broken, chipped, and dirty – and she loved it. The sweat stung her eyes, and she still moved forth as if with every root she were somehow magically pulling… something… away that she couldn’t quite grasp.
Thus, she severed her bond to the God-killer. It wasn’t so much a physical removal, but the memories – they were washed away with the water that scrubbed the boards – the powers that bound them to her; lost to the pages of a diary that burned. Dust that settled upon clothes and cloth were beaten out, washed; dried, as the rains came and went. Of course, to the rest of the world mere hours had passed – she worked fast enough and the spells had worn back most of the damage.
Then she moved to a corner of the dojo that had previously held a weapons rack – and she kneeled. Her hands moved out, and she sang, softly, calling to the earth beneath her fingers. She called the wood up, the tangled roots of trees, and shaped them as she did. As her hands moved, she pulled and twisted; bent and carved the wood with thought – and upon completion, a semi-alter stood made from the very earth itself. She lay a cloth that was abandoned in the corner across it, lit the incense and the candles. She took one of the crystals that had lain upon her room, and with the enchantment of a simple spell contained the natural lightning storm within it, and set it upon the alter.
Then she knelt, and placing her palms flat upon her legs, she started to breathe, emptying her mind of anything and everything, until she could feel the ebb and flow of her own magic, her own life. Her mind went deep into the central of her energy, and she began to separate the threads within she saw. Painfully pulling forth the bonds set upon her that were reforming. She was not created originally to be some tool – she had been born once too. Memories of her childhood, she replaced those with the memories of long nights spent foolishly devoted to the pleasures of the flesh.
She felt her heart flutter in her chest, knew it wanted to stop beating as she tried to separate her essence from the being it had become. She kept it beating, focused on her life-force – the extended life of one who was intimately tied to the ways of creation. So she focused, passing the hours as her body stood as a statute, and every time her heart wavered – every time she wondered why she did it – as the memories faded of the times passing – she would look into that crystal storm and realize why she did it.
She was no ones puppet.