The area swam back into focus at the sound of nearing footsteps, after several days within this... place, whatever it was... the hard-soled boots of her captor easily identifiable. Ysbethael had been... not sleeping, no. That was one thing that had not been allowed, but perhaps she had found a form of the elven reverie, or the lowered form of consciousness that many outsiders took as rest, simply something to take her mind from the surroundings, the ordeal. The slow, dull burning sensations where the manacles clasped about her limbs, the tightness of the chains holding her dangling immoble causing unending aching within the joints of shoulder and hip, even the heavy nail driven through the blade at her tail's end were a continuous agony, but a life spent in hazardous conditions, a life risked scores of times, made these mere pains secondary to the true terror of her confinement. The tiny cell, one among dozens she'd seen at her time of capture. The hideous patchwork creature, Argantha's "abomination", sharing it with her. She'd never done well with confinement, and the days dragged on endlessly. Not to mention the nagging suspicion that those words the Shaper had spoken at her taking were truth; this was not some simple plot using her to wrest some concession from Maelfina, or to pump her for information regarding the Signers' plans. No, there would be no surcease, no end to this until she had become something... else.
As the heavy, diminutive woman opened and entered the cage, her eyes focused upon the glimmering form, the encasing spellshield, gore-spattered apron, and thick rubber gloves of this so-called "genius". As the syringe plunged into the meat of her thigh, filled this time with something silvery in color that glowed faintly, she still gave a faint jerk, although this had to have been the twentieth of the injections, each different from the others. Some had made her feverish with heat, others shivering with cold, another provoking violent nausea whose end result still crusted the floor beneath her helpless form, as well as giving the reason for the nourishing tubes stuck into her arm. This one... Ysbeth had no idea what it might do, and no choice but to await it.
Argantha's gaze flicked up, holding its usual dose of insanity paired with an almost manic smile. "Leonal today, pet. We'll perfect you soon enough, don't worry... Yes, yes, I agree. You would look fabulous with a mane, let's hope for a positive result today."
The sensation of jagged shards flowing through her veins came quickly, wrenching... not a scream, but a whimper from the half-yugoloth girl. And a single tear, tracing down the curve of her cheek, was captured by Argantha's reaching finger as she spoke again. "Butterflies cannot fly without breaking their coccoons, pet...."
A Huntress Made Prey
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*DM_Duke
- Posts: 125
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
The Shaper was a figure that few could ever comprihend with book, action or even verbal word. The Shaper was an enigma who watched the evolution of a new species, the creation of unnatural beings made birth. From The Ashen to Huntress, everything was just a new means to an end, a new... acceleration of the process.
The figure's majoriative interest though was always in a sharp blade he always carried in his possession. The Ashenblade, it was known as once, now, it has a new title, Aeonian, The Blade Of Dreams. The sword was growing to become the finest weapon in the multiverse, and like the subjects it was the evolution of progress that made this weapon so valueable to him. But a perfect blade needed a perfect wielder. This was yet another test in the infinite web of creation.
Huntress..., there was so much they had to study on this new specimine, Argantha was nothing less than a sadist when she treated her lab-rat with new, horrifying tourtures. Her eyeballs swelled like two orbs of sickening dementia, her unhealthy palid and lightless skin made her look as warped outside as she was inside.
The woman was of dwarven heratidge, of which subspecies was unclear. One might initally "mistake" her for a Dreugar, but there was more to it than that. Her personality reflected the more excited races of the Primes and soon enough it had become clear when she had claimed it herself amoungst her ramblings to her pet.
"You know they never think that the most holy creature is capable of the most twisted acts. Granted, my race is hardly the most virtious or noble kind but being a Gold Dwarf..., I believe ive earned my right to say once again, I defied nature as I defied you my pet. Yes... ..yes..... oh you make the perfect sounds, like the orchestra of pain that runs through us all. This now is your nectar, little larvae, grow into something beautiful and make me proud to have built you."
Her bloodshot red iris rippled madly with constant new strands of veins threatening to cause her eyeballs to just explode with excitement and tension. But they did not, instead, she simply calmed suddenly, becomming almost as stiff as a stone.
While her experiment shuddered and shook against her slab, she tried everything she could, psionic, genetic, anything that could be done to 'Modify' The Huntress, into something that more fittingly suited her name. Something that made her, a predator.
Over time the produce would be like the growing of a fruit. The first "signs" of her change were begining to take form after being horridly subjected to so many various failed batches of experimental concauctions.
She would make something perfect for The Shaper. Where her other experiments had failed...
The Huntress...
...Would not.
The figure's majoriative interest though was always in a sharp blade he always carried in his possession. The Ashenblade, it was known as once, now, it has a new title, Aeonian, The Blade Of Dreams. The sword was growing to become the finest weapon in the multiverse, and like the subjects it was the evolution of progress that made this weapon so valueable to him. But a perfect blade needed a perfect wielder. This was yet another test in the infinite web of creation.
Huntress..., there was so much they had to study on this new specimine, Argantha was nothing less than a sadist when she treated her lab-rat with new, horrifying tourtures. Her eyeballs swelled like two orbs of sickening dementia, her unhealthy palid and lightless skin made her look as warped outside as she was inside.
The woman was of dwarven heratidge, of which subspecies was unclear. One might initally "mistake" her for a Dreugar, but there was more to it than that. Her personality reflected the more excited races of the Primes and soon enough it had become clear when she had claimed it herself amoungst her ramblings to her pet.
"You know they never think that the most holy creature is capable of the most twisted acts. Granted, my race is hardly the most virtious or noble kind but being a Gold Dwarf..., I believe ive earned my right to say once again, I defied nature as I defied you my pet. Yes... ..yes..... oh you make the perfect sounds, like the orchestra of pain that runs through us all. This now is your nectar, little larvae, grow into something beautiful and make me proud to have built you."
Her bloodshot red iris rippled madly with constant new strands of veins threatening to cause her eyeballs to just explode with excitement and tension. But they did not, instead, she simply calmed suddenly, becomming almost as stiff as a stone.
While her experiment shuddered and shook against her slab, she tried everything she could, psionic, genetic, anything that could be done to 'Modify' The Huntress, into something that more fittingly suited her name. Something that made her, a predator.
Over time the produce would be like the growing of a fruit. The first "signs" of her change were begining to take form after being horridly subjected to so many various failed batches of experimental concauctions.
She would make something perfect for The Shaper. Where her other experiments had failed...
The Huntress...
...Would not.
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*sstiletto
- Posts: 0
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
The human woman's face was a rictus of fury, a snarl baring teeth stained yellow by years of devilweed use, spoiling what otherwise could have been rather pleasant features. This, of course, was nothing new to her half-yugoloth daughter; it simply meant that an "uncle" was coming to visit, one whose questionable gifts would be far less forthcoming with a preteen tiefling underfoot. The screaming, the imprecations, even the occasional beatings were not the problem; they brought a sense of the life and color missing from one whose entire nine years of life were spent in the gate town of Hopeless. The problem was what came next.
The rough hands of a washerwoman gripped the black skin of the girl's arms, lifting and shoving her towards the rear of the tenement room. To the dark mouth of a small doorway, little more than a cupboard within. Pushed harshly within the confined space, heedless of crying, begging, or her body's capacity to actually fit inside. Followed by the inevitable slamming of the door, the slight click of a latch fastening. The darkness, the utter stillness enveloping her entirely, recuding her world to a crushing, lightless existence, her chest unable to fill enough to do more than whimper....
...whimpers coming from the onyx-skinned figure bound motionless upon the granite slab, close to a dozen tubes extending from its limbs. Today's injection had accomplished something, thought Argantha, although it would take some time to figure what. Or perhaps it was the continous psionic assault. Whichever, the subject seemed to be becoming more tractable as time went by. Perhaps it was time for a dose of Styxwater, enough to wipe the last few days' experiences away. It was, after all, so much more enjoyable to do the work she loved when they fought the change...
The rough hands of a washerwoman gripped the black skin of the girl's arms, lifting and shoving her towards the rear of the tenement room. To the dark mouth of a small doorway, little more than a cupboard within. Pushed harshly within the confined space, heedless of crying, begging, or her body's capacity to actually fit inside. Followed by the inevitable slamming of the door, the slight click of a latch fastening. The darkness, the utter stillness enveloping her entirely, recuding her world to a crushing, lightless existence, her chest unable to fill enough to do more than whimper....
...whimpers coming from the onyx-skinned figure bound motionless upon the granite slab, close to a dozen tubes extending from its limbs. Today's injection had accomplished something, thought Argantha, although it would take some time to figure what. Or perhaps it was the continous psionic assault. Whichever, the subject seemed to be becoming more tractable as time went by. Perhaps it was time for a dose of Styxwater, enough to wipe the last few days' experiences away. It was, after all, so much more enjoyable to do the work she loved when they fought the change...
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*DM_Duke
- Posts: 125
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Progress had slowed and one required an explination. As such, The Shaper summoned one of his perhaps most subtle agents to the field. By his permission, Argantha was reluctantly forced aside for a smaller figure still who would no doubt be professional at inspecting the innards and organs of a being to determine just why the progress was only happening so quickly. They wanted the evolution to accelerate!
Why did humanoids have to be so physically stubborn? The Mental torment was acceptable and ressiliance through mental determination could easily be broken down over time... but the body was fighting back, at least for now. They needed biological answers and a means to prevent it.
So she was summoned...
Why did humanoids have to be so physically stubborn? The Mental torment was acceptable and ressiliance through mental determination could easily be broken down over time... but the body was fighting back, at least for now. They needed biological answers and a means to prevent it.
So she was summoned...
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*DM_Duke
- Posts: 125
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Training Session Begins.
Those words would haunt the Tiefling perhaps for the rest of her life. Much like the rest of this place, there was something about the nature of this very atmosphere, it changed people.
Weather she pitied Ashen or understood it now, she could genuinley relate to what her former "rival slash foe" went through. This was an experience, an experience that left scars of a far different nature all together. Neither mental, physical or pscological, this tore into ones very soul and spat them back out.
The training sessions intensified, each time they probed her mind. Searching for things that appealed, gradually, the progress was working. The subject was becoming too docile to realise her atmosphere, it was becomming her world, she was living in a box, more than she was in reality.
Argantha, now abbandoned by her former employer "depended" on Huntress to be her last line of defence. Failure here would spell the end of everything she'd worked for, the end of The Shadowsworn? NO! It cannot be!
She would work so very hard, a taxing amount of labour would be needed to make this one function for her correctly, but soon enough, she would.
Argantha's lips trembled...
...with anticipation of that moment.
Elsewhere, The Shaper began giving his most trusted comrade all the details she would need to keep up-to-date with events. Progression of Ashen's revival, Huntress capture, Maelfina made pray. Everything was working as intended, the informat would continue to feed him vital data needed to damage Sigil as he felt necessary.
Little did those clueless berks realise what was going on...
...But soon enough, they would.
When it is too late to react to it.
Those words would haunt the Tiefling perhaps for the rest of her life. Much like the rest of this place, there was something about the nature of this very atmosphere, it changed people.
Weather she pitied Ashen or understood it now, she could genuinley relate to what her former "rival slash foe" went through. This was an experience, an experience that left scars of a far different nature all together. Neither mental, physical or pscological, this tore into ones very soul and spat them back out.
The training sessions intensified, each time they probed her mind. Searching for things that appealed, gradually, the progress was working. The subject was becoming too docile to realise her atmosphere, it was becomming her world, she was living in a box, more than she was in reality.
Argantha, now abbandoned by her former employer "depended" on Huntress to be her last line of defence. Failure here would spell the end of everything she'd worked for, the end of The Shadowsworn? NO! It cannot be!
She would work so very hard, a taxing amount of labour would be needed to make this one function for her correctly, but soon enough, she would.
Argantha's lips trembled...
...with anticipation of that moment.
Elsewhere, The Shaper began giving his most trusted comrade all the details she would need to keep up-to-date with events. Progression of Ashen's revival, Huntress capture, Maelfina made pray. Everything was working as intended, the informat would continue to feed him vital data needed to damage Sigil as he felt necessary.
Little did those clueless berks realise what was going on...
...But soon enough, they would.
When it is too late to react to it.
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*sstiletto
- Posts: 0
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Huntress sat cross-legged upon the sandy shore, motionless, unblinking black eyes focused on the horizon. Of course, something in her subconscious realized that such was not true, that this entire existence was false, but her awake mind did not seem to need or care to process this information. The voices that often boomed from the air, speaking nonsense but always presaging some "test", whether it would be a battle against foes or confrontations with people she thought she knew well, but always seemed to disapprove of her current state, were simply accepted as a part of the world around her. The fact that climbing the cliffs and trekking through the thick jungle there always seemed to lead her back to this same beach, this same spot, was simply an aberrant feature, and no stranger than many of the planes she had visited seeking bounties.
Perhaps that's what this was. Another level of the Abyss she'd not visited before, or a pocket dimension. The memories were there... time dangling from chains or fastened to a slab, the injections and incisions and manipulations, but they had a strange distance to them, even the pain and terror seeming to have happenned to someone else, a different Huntress. Perhaps it had been that quailing version of herself she had confronted last night, after the cruelties she had perpetrated. A grim smile crossed her lips at the thought, warm memories of a net-enwrapped figure's eyes widening in fear as the holding sack covered their face, screams and pleading from inside a crate, a shrieking form whose carnal fate had been outlined to it, and even the other, snarling defiance until the arrow crushed its skull.
Those were all lovely, yes. Visions to be treasured in the times ahead. But they did not compare to the sight of that vision of herself... a weaker, softer version of herself. This was the girl who shrieked from within the cabinet, the woman who turned away from the inevitable horrors that her work had allowed to happen and desperately tried to make amends in other ways, the weaker, softer being that had fallen prey to the Shaper's machinations, the broken thing that whimpered from atop the slab. Still a part of her, yes... but serving now, simply allowing her to remember that earlier stage of development, a Huntress in name and deed but not in soul.
But now greater desires had arisen, and she had a purpose. Perhaps not a purpose that softer self would have wanted... but even that part now agreed with what had to happen. Sooner or later, this idyllic place with its tests and voices would be left behind. And at that time, the Mistress of the Hunt would begin to move forward with the next stage of her life.
Perhaps that's what this was. Another level of the Abyss she'd not visited before, or a pocket dimension. The memories were there... time dangling from chains or fastened to a slab, the injections and incisions and manipulations, but they had a strange distance to them, even the pain and terror seeming to have happenned to someone else, a different Huntress. Perhaps it had been that quailing version of herself she had confronted last night, after the cruelties she had perpetrated. A grim smile crossed her lips at the thought, warm memories of a net-enwrapped figure's eyes widening in fear as the holding sack covered their face, screams and pleading from inside a crate, a shrieking form whose carnal fate had been outlined to it, and even the other, snarling defiance until the arrow crushed its skull.
Those were all lovely, yes. Visions to be treasured in the times ahead. But they did not compare to the sight of that vision of herself... a weaker, softer version of herself. This was the girl who shrieked from within the cabinet, the woman who turned away from the inevitable horrors that her work had allowed to happen and desperately tried to make amends in other ways, the weaker, softer being that had fallen prey to the Shaper's machinations, the broken thing that whimpered from atop the slab. Still a part of her, yes... but serving now, simply allowing her to remember that earlier stage of development, a Huntress in name and deed but not in soul.
But now greater desires had arisen, and she had a purpose. Perhaps not a purpose that softer self would have wanted... but even that part now agreed with what had to happen. Sooner or later, this idyllic place with its tests and voices would be left behind. And at that time, the Mistress of the Hunt would begin to move forward with the next stage of her life.