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Post by EtherealNoire on Sept 20, 2019 16:48:00 GMT -8
A chill pickled down her spine like the tiny touch of spiders and the bitter sting of ice as the world compelled her with its whims. Talea could not fight it. Nor could her sight and senses resist the ringing in her mind as the realm beyond the gilded panel claimed her.
Nay, she faced the carnage of her ire, separate though they were by sudden glass, yet as her gaze lifted, brimming with fire, she found not the fallen gaze of blood and remains, but the frozen visage of a man.
She withdrew from the mirror as though inflamed, and whirled to face the mortal who dared chime melodies against her own. And amidst her graceful motions, ebony petals fell like ashes about a flame, a captivating fury as deadly as she were beautiful. A rose arrayed with thorns
"Name thyself. Whom art thou, and to what purpose dost thou serve?"
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Post by EloHim on Sept 22, 2019 14:25:34 GMT -8
The man's head assumed its original position, black eyes gleaming in through the holes in the mask... -Inhuman.-The nose of the mask upon closer inspection seems to not one of those clown noses or bird beaks...no it was more straight and narrow, its end sharp...-like a sting-.
"Ahhh, straight to the point, quite like it. Count Barnaby Mordre - most humble owner of this here Art Gallery."[VoiceClip] - the man bowed with grace and preciseness of movement as if each and every muscle done this endlessly on the daily basis. The harpsicord played the very same melody, never stopping.-"And may I know the name of the uninvited lady?"- he looks upon his guest with interest. -Thirst is under control, he didnt need to shed more...-
Alas the mirrored world seemed to be the embellishment upon the thing left behind. No twitching, no blood...everything...perfectly...normal. Except the man. He felt...out of place, and at the same time there was no other places he could ever be. Like an unmended crack on the thousand-year old mirror - it tarnished the view long enough to become part of it and yet a few careless touches could bring about millenia of bad luck.
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Post by EtherealNoire on Sept 23, 2019 6:35:03 GMT -8
Talea's gaze drifted about the gilded hall, from polished wood and flecks of light, to jewels like dewdrops cascading eternal from the ceiling, she viewed naught but finery. So too did the man afore her bathe in its golden glow. Ne'er had she encountered such trappings and wealth as adorned him, yet in their communion, secrets also lurked beneath his visage, as inhuman as her own.
Yea, though her array was ebony to his gold and tattered to his new, Talea faced him equal, her eyes concealed in parallel to his face shrouded behind a mask.
Twas her name all he inquired? The thorns laced across her figure tightened, warned in earnest of the being's thirst, though quenched it were for but a moment. Yet she knew her queries could not be answered with a payment forged from silence alone.
"Noir. My vengeance resides not with thee, yea though thy nature is plain."
She drew away from the mirror, fearless as twilight encroaching on the day as she spoke. "Dost thou not care to leave when so few partake of this place?"
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Post by EloHim on Sept 24, 2019 15:27:48 GMT -8
"My nature?"-he chuckles politely,-"Pardonne-moi, Mademoiselle Noir, but i don't think we know each other that well to share thoughts and opinions about such topics. We all hide our true faces under masks, so it's only fit for us to put the judgmental remarks away for now, don't you think?"- he seemed...peaceful. Genuinely interested in avoiding conflict, at least an open one. Alas the true motives were yet to be revealed. Count puts the bell away into the pocket of his waistcoat, finding no reason to use it for now.
"Oh but that is precisely the point. I'm havent been a social butterfly for a good decade so this place is perfect for me. Secluded, left alone by the general populous... Then again - while an occasional visitor is still welcomed,the recent set of major vistations put me into quite an agitated mood. And now this... too much attention... Maybe its time to transport my humble possessions elsewhere...Though would there be a point?..."- he seemed to trail off, thinking out loud, freed left hand on his masked chin. - So many. Too many. He never should've allowed it... No. Benefits outweigh the risks. The Ruins will provide. -
He shakes off this pause,and focuses again on his guest.
"Oh, I apologise, had one of my usual episodes... Now, the question is...what are you looking for? Just browsing through? Or are you looking for some special rare pieces? My collection is quite broad, rarities and curiosities abundant.”- he starts walkng to the left of the T-section, gesturing Talea to follow.
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Post by EtherealNoire on Sept 24, 2019 16:47:19 GMT -8
Thorns drew her back, gathered at her wrist to bring her fingers but a breath away from the ever shifting glass, yet Talea resisted such commands. Amidst carnage flecked with power's lust, the realm presented solace? A harbor for creatures as he whom gestured her to follow?
Though lithe in motion, some internal struggle shone through the bindings at her limbs, like nails against skin they clawed, yet not deep enough to bite, not enough to draw crimson streaks for possession of a knowledge she did not herself hold.
Retreat. I shall not accompany thee hence into this lair.
His voice echoed deep within her mind and her heartbeat thundered with his power, yet she drifted from the mirror's shelter while her thoughts parried his own.
Shall we not seek enigma's answer and weigh the depths of sin within this realm?
Such sins need not be weighed but burned. He hissed, unraveling the thorns from her body.
I can traverse no further within this mirrored domain. Its light corrodes us. If thou journeys onward, thou ventures alone.
Like a light had risen on her form, the shadows melted away, vanishing beneath each step she took after the man till naught but a single ebony rose at her collar remained.
"I seek only an end to the depravities of this heinous realm."
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Post by Kidney on Sept 25, 2019 23:16:32 GMT -8
He was perplexed beyond comprehension. Gates. Red.
Semyon aimed a look to Talea, and cocked his head to Sarak and Ven behind them, nodding slowly. Thoughtfully. He knew Talea, he thought, he knew that he had to save those who were injured, and save himself. In all his years, Semyon thought, nothing could prepare him for the fear he felt now. He shook now, trembling before the might beyond himself, the red light that filtered into the room around them.
Fuck this.
Semyon took to the two behind him, grasping them both up and against each other, more or less guiding them out of the door. "We have to go. Now!" He yelled. The voice of a man unmovable. He looked to Taas then, "Boogeywoman! Move!" He yelled, pointing with the knife to the entrance of the room, and ushering Ven and Sarak out of the room, and on towards the surface.
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Post by EloHim on Sept 27, 2019 9:06:08 GMT -8
“A lofty goal, to say the least.”- the Count says with condescending tone. - I’ve heard that phrase many times before, said differently, yet meaning was always the same. Always was an entertaining thing - watching those suicidal maniacs move towards something they couldn't fathom and then burn out like moths in the flame. No offence meant, Mademoiselle, just...shame, really. Too many people die here with little to no point in those deaths.” - No point to us. To...that THING...it's just more food.-
As the paced through the gilded halls the paintings shift and change as reproductions of famous pieces change to those of unknown authors, replacing simple portraits with more story-telling bits and adding obscure and abstract pieces that either had some hidden meaning or had none. But all of them - drawn in different styles, some of them were even signed while others stayed nameless.
“I do have a question about your head-dress though, if you wouldn't mind… Goat skull? Ram skull? I'm not oft perturbed by someone’s fashion choices, trust me, I've seen many variations but this…” - He eyed the skull with curiocity...what it was even holding on, he wondered. How was it balanced on her head like that?
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Post by EtherealNoire on Oct 6, 2019 10:12:14 GMT -8
Her hidden gaze glided o'er each painting, lingering on the last as though a familiar sight lurked within the woman's plight and the pointed maw of they that hunted her. Fire burned at her throat, just below her collar and the darkened rose, and silently Talea lifted her hand to trace the punctured scars of his bite across her ivory skin. It was his mark. Reminding her even in his absence that her life belonged to him.
Scarcely had she turned away after the creature when the being's words ensnared her. Twas a natural query, one she pondered as they traversed the halls. Yet his words shook the certainty within her core. Long had Night ventured with her, assured her steps. In absence dost those feelings ebb as though a tide?
"I am the Sibyl of death, persisting through this mortal realm to bear the weight of souls. Thus thou questions the sacrifice I carry."
Talea's touch lifted to her ivory crown, her fingers near as pale as the bone when she drew it from her head. It was then he could glimpse the thorns that wove about her hair withdrawing, retreating back into the bone before vanishing into darkness as if a trick of sight. Yet her hair cascaded down about her shoulders and waist in sudden crimson waves, longer now as it was freed at last from the bindings of briars that kept the skull upon her.
She gazed down at its hollow eyes, her sight equal in darkness. Yea though it were near inperceivable to the man afore her, amidst the absence of Night, her hands shook.
"Tis sign of whom my life belongs."
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Post by EloHim on Oct 6, 2019 11:47:41 GMT -8
Count stood in place observing her motions and taking in her words. Her beauty was unquestionable and her speech as intricate as the art around them. In the past he would've fallen for her head over heels. But now he only could appreciate the beauty and the novelty... But that is how far he could go with... his nature.
-As she spoke, the gears of fate shifted as if her words and actions were missing pieces of the unfinished mosaic that finally found their place. -
"- But He's not here now, is He? He left as soon as you decided to go with me, angry yet powerless."- he simply stated, not questioning the truthfulness of those words. His voice carried a hint of...compassion? Understanding? - "That's the beauty of the Mirror. Those who could claim our lives for their own are unable to reach us on this Side, no matter how hard they may try...Funny that you ended up here, of all the places.The strings of Fate are truly inconspicuous in their weavings... until the very last moment. Come. I thought we would walk here for a few hours and then say our farewells but now...I think I actually have a piece that would be interesting for you."- he becondes her once more and this time the world around them shifts, the paintings becoming either completely blank or covered with curtains, the corridor around them becoming smaller and the golden opulence of the walls shifted to the more...decrepit side, dust and spiderwebs filling the corners of the floor and the few lit lanterns.
"Forgive me for the state of this place, never thought I’d bring another guest here. I rarely pay a visit to this part of the Gallery. Too many...unpleasant memories and pieces that give preference to their own solitude."
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Post by EtherealNoire on Oct 6, 2019 13:27:48 GMT -8
She neither questioned nor resisted his command, content to follow in her own reverie. For what words could she offer him that had not already been imparted? Night ventured with her no further, tis sincere, leaving in his departure a thing more fearful than death. The memory of life.
Though the vulnerability of mortality laced through her thoughts, Talea eyed the darkened halls with ease, as though the caress of shadows had smoothed away her fears. The skull return to her brow as if ne'er removed, and she winced where the thorns grazed her, but in the spiderwebs and flaming lanterns' dying throes, she found her peace. Away from the malice of gilded corridors and light's assault at her forbidden presence. Nay, in the shadows, her figured glowed, her skin awash with a silver sheen that might have been a newborn star in the gloom. For though she wore the shell of a mortal and her blood colored as crimson as her hair, deep within her being abided a gift far from that earthly realm. The voice of spirits and a heart of the realm beyond.
"The passage of time is nay more stranger to me than it is to thou. In this way, I find solace here amidst the forgotten." Her footsteps imposed not a sound against the stillness. Twas only her voice that rang on into the quiet, filling those silent halls with a melody too ethereal to claim. "Verily I inquiry thee, what evocations dost thou refer within this place?"
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Post by EloHim on Oct 7, 2019 15:52:25 GMT -8
Count's shadow grew more twisted and monstrous the deeper they went, sprouting insect-like wings and increasing in stature...or was it merely a trick of the light?...
"These halls that we know walk is where my past life ended and a new one began. My title - Count, was more than just a word back in the day. A child of noble parentage, beholden to a significant patch of land and people who lived on it... and a hereditary seat in the court of law. I grew up in a good family, moderately strict father and kinder-than-anyone mother.”
As they passed the darkened halls, the portrait of the family on the left wall was burning. It ate away whatever faces were there, leaving only figures of noble family. Edges of the painting also were not spared. Even the colour itself seemed drained out. Flame didn't consume it in full, seemingly content to just burn where it already was, everlasting in its hunger to conseal the past.
“I was a patron of the arts, whatever they may be. Whilst city snobs buzzed among the classics and those who chose to hinder themselves in following the Old, I gathered most obscure and unknown artists, those shunned and unconsidered, outcasts of their craft. My Gallery is filled with their creations, and my own Mansion served as a pedestal from which all those nobles may see the creations they refused to accept. Such a position combined with my title garnered fame - or some may say infamy - yet money was flowing into the Mansion like a river. No artist trusting their creations into my hands was going away unsatisfied with their choice. Alas the only downside to it all was that my land was neighboring with this sodden border county."
On the wall nearby - almost lifelike painting of the Estate everyone knew and feared...the one above Talea's head.
"The local nobleman was blessed with insumornable riches left by his dead parents and blew them on parties filled with decadence, sin and depravity. And my neighbors were happy to attend those, wanting to denigrate themselves to the level of mere beasts. My father warned me enough... I didn't accept his invitations, though they were aplenty. Alas as it is with nobility, i couldn't run forever. On one social outing he all but forced me to accept his invitation. To refuse it then would be...an offence, considering my previous refusals. An offence that would surely be blown out of proportion by gossiping sycophants. I should've done it anyway. I regret it even now. But then... I felt myself cornered. "It's just one party" - i thought. What a joke. That one party was the end of everything."
The paintings nearby depicted the things as they happened as if going along with the story.“My father didn't tell me even half of it. The Host was a monster in human flesh. Once I saw and experienced the extent of that party’s depravity with my own eyes and ears I wanted to vomit. Even more than that I wanted to run away from there. As fast as I could. And never come back. But alas...my self-preservation instincts...were silenced by my desire to be a good guest, the idiocy... The only thing I thought I could do… is to find a suitable moment to leave… Then, I thought it presented itself… the Host disappeared somewhere with Countess De La Fer. A classic black widow, that one. Attained a lot of her fortune by marrying and losing multiple husbands to some “mysterious illness”. She tried to approach me, but...I was not interested to become one more name on her list. If only I knew… Host came back with his servants bringing a lot of bottles…”Home vintage” he said. But he didn't have any vineyards here, ever!...I decided to excuse myself after I taste it under some excuse...”
Suddenly the mask of the Count cracked from the inside as he bent over himself, his hands draped around his belly, his body hit with tremors as the walls around him cracked with the sound of breaking glass...behind which...was buzzing of insects. His voice grew monstrous as the words spewed from his mouth over that cacophony.
-A SIP OF THE CURSED WINE WAS ALL IT TOOK. I TASTED THE BLOOD OF THE COUNTESS IN IT. THE MONSTER MIXED IT WITH UNLABELED WINE. AND THEN THERE WAS NOTHING. NOTHING BUT THIRST FOR BLOOD NOTHING BUT DESIRE TO PLUNGE MY TEETH INTO SOMEONE’S FLESH AND BLEED THEM ALL DRY ALL FOR HER… NOTHING BUT THE CURSE-
The crackling and buzzing suddenly stopped...and so did the tremors. The Count straightened himself up a large crack through the porcelain, almost splitting the mask in two.
“Forgive me for that outburst… In this place it's harder to forget what happened… Usually once you start talking you can't stop… especially when you recited that story to yourself a thousand times over...when you remembered it each and every cursed day.”
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Post by EtherealNoire on Oct 8, 2019 8:31:25 GMT -8
Talea withdrew for but a moment, her glow flickering as though she were a specter in the dark when his travesties and sins assailed her. Yet twas not fear that riddled her solemn expression nor widened her eyes to emerald orbs beneath her tangled tresses. Nay, she knew the taste to which he had referred. How oft had she partaken in the macabre and crimson cup? All sacrifices to sustain their joint and darkened heart.
No.. Twas his pain that alarmed her and brought her careful steps to his side, to face his shadows and his shattered visage with naught but curiosity. A malison afflicted him, twisted him to a creature fueled only by hunger and thirst.
Still she could taste the acid notes of copper on her tongue as she breathed. Endless in her memories as the twilight when Night first called her to drink.
Talea seemed unmoved by the tremors, as though the throes were naught compared to what persisted in her mind, in the darkness ever watching. However only when it ceased and the man regained his equanimity did she speak.
"Many malisons persist within this land, thus it remains my calling to venture below these forsaken haunts and amend the sins that have been wrought. Yet thou spoke of a memory for me in this mirrored realm?"
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Post by EloHim on Oct 13, 2019 18:32:43 GMT -8
"- Too many for one person to amend.Even with the backing of a spirit such as He. Too many for those without. Yet they still try. Alone you have only so much strength to go about... It's only a matter of time before He'll get expunged from this land again...before His skull will be crushed by the fleshy hand of a Cursed God... and yours will crack with it."- the darkness engulfed them completely, last candles dying out. In it...something familiar to Talea stirred ahead of them on the walls, floor and ceiling.
"I've said that you are not the first to come here with such a task."- the only thing remaining from the Count was his voice, guiding her ever forward. Slight gust of wind brushed along her hair as she moved. -"Like any coin tossed to the slavemasters - this statement had two sides. One is seen to all, but only turning it you could see the face. You know you are not the first vessel. You know you're not the perfect one He seeks. But how do I, some noble turned ageless monstrosity, know that, you may ask... My grandmother was the one who nurtured my desire to collect art with her last painting. Long before you were born to this world, another walked the same path as you. A fair maiden, born to a single mother...sent away at birth to the nunnery to live a cloistered life for she was "afflicted". Her hair was as long as yours...but where yours is beautiful shade of red and soft to touch, hers was pitch black...and made of sharp thorns. No matter how her parents cutted it or braided it - it found a way to grow back and maim the maiden's spine to blood... To be afflicted so and be closed away for it was too much for a woman...so she found her way out. She traveled far and wide to find a way to cure herself, to stop the pain, to find its source... Yet nothing was in sight. She accepted her fate of an outcast. She found her purpose in helping those who couldn't help themselves.To heal and to nurture those abandoned, shunned, dregs of society,abandoned by Light...familiar story... is it not? And eventually just like you...she met the Night, the source of her "Blessing", already being harbored by some unlucky fellow - unfit for him. Yet when the Night reached out to her - she spurned him, his demands and offerings... For even as her purpose was changed by his gift, she was not willing to surrender he fate to someone who in her mind condemned her to this life. And she was successful in that... She told my grandmother that she took something from him even... I know not the truth of that...only what i've seen. Only what I see right now..."
The walls, the ceiling, the floor… they were covered in thorns. THE thorns. HER thorns. HIS thorns. NO-ONE’s thorns. The nature of this fenomena was seemingly overwhelming this part of the mirror. Ruling it. Guarding it.
Darkness was here. But it had a man-made taste. The thorns did not discriminate against anyone. Everyone had to walk the path of thorns to get what one may desire.
“She had a knack for mending and weaving. Her thorns were repurposed to mend her clothes...and more often - people’s bodies. Sometimes it helped...sometimes it hurt. Yet she was the only one who tried, so who were the low to judge?”
At the end of a tunnel made from writhing thorns, locked in the golden painting frame was an awl. While blade seemed to be made of iron, the handle was made from the bone… Was it human or someone else’s?
A strand of hair, its colour akin to Talea’s own, was weaved around a few vines of thorns.
“It never was that agitated...Feel free to take it. Its of no use to me here after all.” - Count said, leaving her be for a moment.
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Post by EtherealNoire on Oct 30, 2019 16:49:10 GMT -8
Amidst his vows and sonnet words, Talea found her own story shattered. Twas she not the first Night had chosen, born from malisons dark and styigan? Yet though her heart had ne'er reflected upon his knowing embrace, a portion of her mind dared to imagine. Dared to feel alone.
Many a mortal males had fallen to the depths of his anguish, and further in the clutches of illness had many women been bred or devoured. But none had she found marked yonder eons foregone. None save for she. And the contemptuous woman of thorns.
Her hand lifted towards the briars as though a specter called to war. For the dagger remained a testament of his calling, while its bitter presence was a harsh elixir to renew her bondage formed at his command.
No fear lapped at her tender digits as she dared to caress the hilt. Though trapped in the foul clutches of ruins and carnage, she knew the dagger had awaited no one else but her.
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Post by EloHim on Nov 1, 2019 17:04:00 GMT -8
As her digits caressed the bone...a peculiar feeling entered her brain. There was something...wrong with the thing she dared to grasp. The skull on her head shivered on its own. And then - darkness. Complete and utter darkness enveloped Talea's mind, her eyes and ears. She was completely and utterly alone, cut off from the physical world.
"WELL WELL WELL WELL WELL, LOOK WHAT THE BRAMBLES DRAGGED INTO MY GARDEN."
The voice.It sounded female...dusty...old...with a cackle grown into it.
"MY MY, RAVEL, A PECULIAR VISITOR INDEED AND ALL FOR YOU, MY SWEET RAVEL. HMM...THERE IS SOMETHING ABOUT YOU... A FAMILIAR SCENT OF... NO... TIS IMPPOSSIBLE! LET RAVEL GET A GOOD LOOK AT YOU!"
Female voice carries within itself nearly the same familiar commanding power as the voice of the Night himself.
|Strong sensation is forcing Talea to "open her eyes", so to speak. Its possible to fight against such a commandment...|
|...but would it be wise?|
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