Date: 5/18/2001 8:38 AM Central Daylight Time
From: Baghiira
Sonder was not pleased.
The woman/child's skin was smooth and pale—not fair but pale, the unhealthy pallor of a person kept too long indoors. Her eyes were hardly the famed, brilliant golden-green; instead, all the sallow shades of nausea and envy swam in that pantherine gaze, toxic and murky. She walked upright when she moved. She spoke correctly, if listlessly.
She did what she was told.
She did only what she was told.
The lab was dim; the ceiling lost in dark shadows, the only light cast by a glass sphere of captured pixies. The woman/child was sprawled in a cage, sleeping off the latest infusion of drugs—Sonder's own signature blend of science and arcane magicks. For a moment, disgust curled his lips—she had been awake this time, unsedated, and still had accepted the beetle that crawled down her throat, delivering its bounty of altered genes and binding
spells into her system. What sort of creature so blithely accepted that kind of intrusion?
Death had changed his creations and—perhaps most frustrating—he didn't like the changes.
A perfectly tractable familiar. That had been the intent, so many years ago, when he began his tutelage under Amharus. He had sucked the man dry of his magical knowledge, drained him and then destroyed him when the soft old fool let his prize project escape. He had failed in his goal then; that had been proven when Baghiira later attempted to kill him. She had failed in that attempt, but had succeeded in leaving him sealed in a wall of
solid rock for several years.
Now he had molded her, re-created her into the being he had intended—and he was bored with her. There was no challenge here; she was nothing more than a pet. If he had wanted a pet, he could have gotten a golden retriever.
The Inferior Vessel
-
DoF Archive
- Archivist
- Posts: 2684
- Joined: Mon Feb 16, 2004 8:28 am
-
DoF Archive
- Archivist
- Posts: 2684
- Joined: Mon Feb 16, 2004 8:28 am
Re: The Inferior Vessel
Date: 5/18/2001 7:59 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Baghiira
A concise and rational mind demands that all possible avenues of research be explored before throwing in the proverbial towel—but Sonder was beyond pretending that this was for the intent of research. Sonder was beyond concise and rational thought. For a while, he had enjoyed tweaking this particular subject on a more subtle level and watching the
results—but there was always a level of distaste when it came to restraining himself.
He had all he was going to get from her; she didn't know where Kaelen was, but he had raked several starting points from the tender, mutable flesh of her buried memories. That, in fact, had been one of the few interesting discoveries: many of her memories had, in fact, survived her near-death experience. They weren't there for the asking or her remembering, but other methods of probing had uncovered details.
No longer pondering those details, Sonder shifted the limp form roughly from the cage to a stainless steel table—one she might recognize, if she was awake, if only she was aware of the memories that he had sifted from her and watched like a private movie. Now he bound her down with cables at wrists and ankles and stepped back, collecting a well-worn and familiar tome. He hardly needed to look at it—but opening its pages to the particular spell
he wanted awakened a lovely sense of irony: an incident well-remembered by him, which she would never have even the chance of unearthing.
From: Baghiira
A concise and rational mind demands that all possible avenues of research be explored before throwing in the proverbial towel—but Sonder was beyond pretending that this was for the intent of research. Sonder was beyond concise and rational thought. For a while, he had enjoyed tweaking this particular subject on a more subtle level and watching the
results—but there was always a level of distaste when it came to restraining himself.
He had all he was going to get from her; she didn't know where Kaelen was, but he had raked several starting points from the tender, mutable flesh of her buried memories. That, in fact, had been one of the few interesting discoveries: many of her memories had, in fact, survived her near-death experience. They weren't there for the asking or her remembering, but other methods of probing had uncovered details.
No longer pondering those details, Sonder shifted the limp form roughly from the cage to a stainless steel table—one she might recognize, if she was awake, if only she was aware of the memories that he had sifted from her and watched like a private movie. Now he bound her down with cables at wrists and ankles and stepped back, collecting a well-worn and familiar tome. He hardly needed to look at it—but opening its pages to the particular spell
he wanted awakened a lovely sense of irony: an incident well-remembered by him, which she would never have even the chance of unearthing.
-
DoF Archive
- Archivist
- Posts: 2684
- Joined: Mon Feb 16, 2004 8:28 am
Re: The Inferior Vessel
Date: 5/18/2001 8:04 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Baghiira
An hour later, the red mage straightened from the side of the steel table and ran his hands back through his hair (there were times he almost missed the monk's tonsure he had worn so very long ago). A smirk twisted his lips and the last lights of the magicks he'd employed died from emerald eyes as he turned away from the table, brushing his hands together.
Sparks struck between his palms with the contact and he brushed them away, until each contact of his hands was cooler.
"Clean it up," he ordered harshly, not looking to see who or what would obey. He wanted a drink, and was already on his way out the door.
Behind him, Baghiira's body was nothing but a charred mass—almost exactly like it was when he found her in a smoking pit of timber beneath the ruined floor of the Outback. Who would have thought that the Healing with Fire entry could have such potential—and that her body would react so violently? He had, after all, healed her once using the same exact set of instructions—in fact, once upon a time she had seemed to exhibit some
sort of affinity for fire.
Of course, all it took was the right mind to take a spell to the next level.
From: Baghiira
An hour later, the red mage straightened from the side of the steel table and ran his hands back through his hair (there were times he almost missed the monk's tonsure he had worn so very long ago). A smirk twisted his lips and the last lights of the magicks he'd employed died from emerald eyes as he turned away from the table, brushing his hands together.
Sparks struck between his palms with the contact and he brushed them away, until each contact of his hands was cooler.
"Clean it up," he ordered harshly, not looking to see who or what would obey. He wanted a drink, and was already on his way out the door.
Behind him, Baghiira's body was nothing but a charred mass—almost exactly like it was when he found her in a smoking pit of timber beneath the ruined floor of the Outback. Who would have thought that the Healing with Fire entry could have such potential—and that her body would react so violently? He had, after all, healed her once using the same exact set of instructions—in fact, once upon a time she had seemed to exhibit some
sort of affinity for fire.
Of course, all it took was the right mind to take a spell to the next level.
-
DoF Archive
- Archivist
- Posts: 2684
- Joined: Mon Feb 16, 2004 8:28 am
Re: The Inferior Vessel
Date: 5/21/2001 8:23 AM Central Daylight Time
From: Baghiira
Jonathen deWulf was a native of Rhydin: the son of preternaturally beautiful parents, born right in one of the infamous inns [the good old days, his mother frequently referred to the time before his—and four of his brothers' and sisters'—birth]. One of quintuplets, Jonathen was raised with all the hopes of a native family: he watched one of his sisters
[a beautiful lass with piercing blue eyes and gleaming golden curls; a girl of elfin grace but human ... er ... endowments] go on to marry a vampire; another sister, match to the first, was 'taken in' by a powerful slaver. His two brothers grew up strong and tall, like their father, and became swordsmen. One earned nobility for himself with his sword; the other was a mercenary, fighting in guild wars.
In the family, no one really talked about Jon's occupation. Jonathen called it "collection," but his mother called him the garbage-man, with disdain in her voice as she nursed yet another babe[Jonathen stopped keeping track of the siblings outside of his set of quintuplets]. Jonathen couldn't deny that, basically, he was the garbage-man, but he was proud to quickly point out the differences between the men who collected the refuse from downtown
Rhydin and himself.
Jonathen offered a highly specialized service to a highly specialized clientele. Frequently, the wizards, mages, mad scientists and sorcerers that were as populous in Rhydin as rats at the town dump, had more delicate cargo of which to dispose. Things that couldn't simply be dumped out. Jonathen had always promised his clientele to find a safe and discreet way to dispose of the results of their experimentation, and they paid him—perhaps not
well, but adequately.
He'd long ago found out that the best way to maximize profit and minimize cost was to sell whatever he could, and dump the rest at Rhydin town dump. After all, what his clients didn't know wouldn't hurt him—and so what if most of what he was supposed to dump was dead? Rhydin was as overrun with necromancers as it was with any other type of magic-user.
From: Baghiira
Jonathen deWulf was a native of Rhydin: the son of preternaturally beautiful parents, born right in one of the infamous inns [the good old days, his mother frequently referred to the time before his—and four of his brothers' and sisters'—birth]. One of quintuplets, Jonathen was raised with all the hopes of a native family: he watched one of his sisters
[a beautiful lass with piercing blue eyes and gleaming golden curls; a girl of elfin grace but human ... er ... endowments] go on to marry a vampire; another sister, match to the first, was 'taken in' by a powerful slaver. His two brothers grew up strong and tall, like their father, and became swordsmen. One earned nobility for himself with his sword; the other was a mercenary, fighting in guild wars.
In the family, no one really talked about Jon's occupation. Jonathen called it "collection," but his mother called him the garbage-man, with disdain in her voice as she nursed yet another babe[Jonathen stopped keeping track of the siblings outside of his set of quintuplets]. Jonathen couldn't deny that, basically, he was the garbage-man, but he was proud to quickly point out the differences between the men who collected the refuse from downtown
Rhydin and himself.
Jonathen offered a highly specialized service to a highly specialized clientele. Frequently, the wizards, mages, mad scientists and sorcerers that were as populous in Rhydin as rats at the town dump, had more delicate cargo of which to dispose. Things that couldn't simply be dumped out. Jonathen had always promised his clientele to find a safe and discreet way to dispose of the results of their experimentation, and they paid him—perhaps not
well, but adequately.
He'd long ago found out that the best way to maximize profit and minimize cost was to sell whatever he could, and dump the rest at Rhydin town dump. After all, what his clients didn't know wouldn't hurt him—and so what if most of what he was supposed to dump was dead? Rhydin was as overrun with necromancers as it was with any other type of magic-user.
-
DoF Archive
- Archivist
- Posts: 2684
- Joined: Mon Feb 16, 2004 8:28 am
Re: The Inferior Vessel
Date: 5/21/2001 8:39 AM Central Daylight Time
From: Baghiira
Of all of his customers, Jonathen's least favorite was Sonder deDefendu. It wasn't that Jonathen was afraid of Sonder; no, no—he was terrified of Sonder. No matter how long he'd been doing this job, Sonder could still make his skin crawl with the things he left out for collection. In fact, Jonathen was almost certain that it was some of Sonder's
left-overs that were now responsible for whatever creature it was that lived beneath the mounds of refuse at the Rhydin town dump.
He was relieved to arrive at Sonder's lab—way off his normal route, out at the Cynric—to find only a small, ordinary garbage bag and something larger, but compact and light, wrapped in heavy canvas. Sonder was his last pick-up for this particular day; he'd already ascertained that there was nothing worth selling in the rest of his load [he couldn't imagine how the medical school would react to the single complete cadaver he'd picked up; he
didn't want to think about what it had looked like alive] and didn't even check what he picked up from Sonder.
He tossed the garbage bag into his cart and lifted the canvas-wrapped object in more carefully, trying not to think about all the possibilities. With the movement, air sighed out of the canvas, carrying all the smells of charred flesh and burnt ozone. He simply turned his face away, secured the object and went back to the front of the cart, picking up the poles and moving on again [he'd never been able to keep a horse for this job; too frequently,
they panicked and kicked the cart to bits].
Heaving the cart into motion, Jonathen started on his usual path to the dump—right down the center of town, so people could see the advertising on the sides of his cart.
deWulf Collections & Disposal
Qwik, Compleet and Discreet.
From: Baghiira
Of all of his customers, Jonathen's least favorite was Sonder deDefendu. It wasn't that Jonathen was afraid of Sonder; no, no—he was terrified of Sonder. No matter how long he'd been doing this job, Sonder could still make his skin crawl with the things he left out for collection. In fact, Jonathen was almost certain that it was some of Sonder's
left-overs that were now responsible for whatever creature it was that lived beneath the mounds of refuse at the Rhydin town dump.
He was relieved to arrive at Sonder's lab—way off his normal route, out at the Cynric—to find only a small, ordinary garbage bag and something larger, but compact and light, wrapped in heavy canvas. Sonder was his last pick-up for this particular day; he'd already ascertained that there was nothing worth selling in the rest of his load [he couldn't imagine how the medical school would react to the single complete cadaver he'd picked up; he
didn't want to think about what it had looked like alive] and didn't even check what he picked up from Sonder.
He tossed the garbage bag into his cart and lifted the canvas-wrapped object in more carefully, trying not to think about all the possibilities. With the movement, air sighed out of the canvas, carrying all the smells of charred flesh and burnt ozone. He simply turned his face away, secured the object and went back to the front of the cart, picking up the poles and moving on again [he'd never been able to keep a horse for this job; too frequently,
they panicked and kicked the cart to bits].
Heaving the cart into motion, Jonathen started on his usual path to the dump—right down the center of town, so people could see the advertising on the sides of his cart.
deWulf Collections & Disposal
Qwik, Compleet and Discreet.
-
DoF Archive
- Archivist
- Posts: 2684
- Joined: Mon Feb 16, 2004 8:28 am
Re: The Inferior Vessel
Date: 5/22/2001 8:28 AM Central Daylight Time
From: Baghiira
Just down the street from the Red Dragon Inn, Jonathen paused to wipe his brow. The roads here were roughly cobbled, and his shoulders were already getting sore from the jolting and bouncing of the cart. He gazed wistfully up at the big inn; even though he had started his collections before dawn, it was long past daybreak now and the day was beginning to warm up
quickly. So much for spring, he grumped, and decided that it was never too early for a cool drink. He pulled the cart into the alley and left it behind the building, throwing a tarp over the contents just to be on the safe side.
It was high noon by the time he re-emerged, casting a glare and yet another grumble toward the sun—nevermind that he could have been done with this hours ago. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his arms up over his head and lifted the poles with an abrupt jerk, leaning forward and heaving the cart into motion. He never heard the slither of loose canvas from the rear of the cart; for now, the cart was making too much noise on those cobbles.
He never saw the charred body slip out of the canvas; didn't hear the quiet thud as it tumbled over the edge of the cart, another bounce sending it sprawling limply against the rear of the building, black on black in the shadows at the building's base.
From: Baghiira
Just down the street from the Red Dragon Inn, Jonathen paused to wipe his brow. The roads here were roughly cobbled, and his shoulders were already getting sore from the jolting and bouncing of the cart. He gazed wistfully up at the big inn; even though he had started his collections before dawn, it was long past daybreak now and the day was beginning to warm up
quickly. So much for spring, he grumped, and decided that it was never too early for a cool drink. He pulled the cart into the alley and left it behind the building, throwing a tarp over the contents just to be on the safe side.
It was high noon by the time he re-emerged, casting a glare and yet another grumble toward the sun—nevermind that he could have been done with this hours ago. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his arms up over his head and lifted the poles with an abrupt jerk, leaning forward and heaving the cart into motion. He never heard the slither of loose canvas from the rear of the cart; for now, the cart was making too much noise on those cobbles.
He never saw the charred body slip out of the canvas; didn't hear the quiet thud as it tumbled over the edge of the cart, another bounce sending it sprawling limply against the rear of the building, black on black in the shadows at the building's base.
-
DoF Archive
- Archivist
- Posts: 2684
- Joined: Mon Feb 16, 2004 8:28 am
Re: The Inferior Vessel
Date: 5/25/2001 11:04 AM Central Daylight Time
From: Jinn Kiko
"You know, even thought I just met you, I feel like I've known you for years." The overt beauty of the woman clinging desperately to the muscular perfect form of the man leading them down the alley was more than a target for the multi faceted gaze. Flesh as abundant as that was always nice to sink ones teeth in.
The leftover moisture in the air from yesterday's rainfall was cold enough to slap on the still warm cobblestones, creating the perfect mist for him to hide in. Slick black skin slides forward in the growing darkness, pantherine gaze locked on his targets. He wasn't hungry, just bored.
A heavy paw sinks forward followed very slowly by a hind leg with his tail following low and close behind for added balance. Whiskers twitch the slightest with the shifting of the wind. His other paw sets forward, lightly setting it down before pulling it back up to change to more solid ground. Normally it wouldn't bother him to sift through the trash in order to remain innocuous, however, something catches his attention. Namely the
squishiness of his previous foothold. Holding that paw back in the air as if it were wounded, he vacates his newest target to sniff down at the charred remains.
"Well then, next time, You do it!" The voice snaps as the door near him flings open, momentarily blinding him. He ducks to lay as low as possible, not even daring to breathe as the trash was chucked out to land very near him. He couldn't hear exactly what they were arguing about, but apparently it was a heated discussion, leaving him to his hiding place.
"The trashman will pick it up tomorrow, shut your trap and get to work!" The door slams again leaving him to the darkness he had grown accustomed to. Muscles tense for a moment to sniff forward to the position of the newest alley member.
Uninterested in the newest addition, he sniffs back at his current curiousity, there was a faint smell of blood. His tongue flicks out to lick his chops before teeth gain purchase on the object to drag it backwards. He would take it back to the cabin where the rest of his food from the previous night still rested. It would make a nice midnight snack.
From: Jinn Kiko
"You know, even thought I just met you, I feel like I've known you for years." The overt beauty of the woman clinging desperately to the muscular perfect form of the man leading them down the alley was more than a target for the multi faceted gaze. Flesh as abundant as that was always nice to sink ones teeth in.
The leftover moisture in the air from yesterday's rainfall was cold enough to slap on the still warm cobblestones, creating the perfect mist for him to hide in. Slick black skin slides forward in the growing darkness, pantherine gaze locked on his targets. He wasn't hungry, just bored.
A heavy paw sinks forward followed very slowly by a hind leg with his tail following low and close behind for added balance. Whiskers twitch the slightest with the shifting of the wind. His other paw sets forward, lightly setting it down before pulling it back up to change to more solid ground. Normally it wouldn't bother him to sift through the trash in order to remain innocuous, however, something catches his attention. Namely the
squishiness of his previous foothold. Holding that paw back in the air as if it were wounded, he vacates his newest target to sniff down at the charred remains.
"Well then, next time, You do it!" The voice snaps as the door near him flings open, momentarily blinding him. He ducks to lay as low as possible, not even daring to breathe as the trash was chucked out to land very near him. He couldn't hear exactly what they were arguing about, but apparently it was a heated discussion, leaving him to his hiding place.
"The trashman will pick it up tomorrow, shut your trap and get to work!" The door slams again leaving him to the darkness he had grown accustomed to. Muscles tense for a moment to sniff forward to the position of the newest alley member.
Uninterested in the newest addition, he sniffs back at his current curiousity, there was a faint smell of blood. His tongue flicks out to lick his chops before teeth gain purchase on the object to drag it backwards. He would take it back to the cabin where the rest of his food from the previous night still rested. It would make a nice midnight snack.
-
DoF Archive
- Archivist
- Posts: 2684
- Joined: Mon Feb 16, 2004 8:28 am
Re: The Inferior Vessel
Date: 5/26/2001 12:02 AM Central Daylight Time
From: Baghiira
With the puncturing grip of teeth, blackened skin crumbles to ash, coating muzzle and sensitive whiskers. Beneath that, still more seared layers crackle in the grip, releasing the cloying scents of charred flesh and burnt ozone to penetrate mouth and nose.
Beneath that, blood pumps warmly, if sluggishly; fresh, it slowly fills the new wounds, seeping across flesh that still seems to hiss with heat. It trickles onto the rough tongue and paints the teeth that grip.
The friction of being dragged wears at the outer layers of dry, seared skin, rubbs them away until the newborn-soft skin below is raw and bloodied. By the time he had dragged his new prize free of the buildings and into the sheltering wood, only that part of the body not suffering the torment of the rough ground still exhibited signs of its scorching; below, the new skin was flayed as well.
His midnight snack was leaving a wide trail of blood that only slowly began to dwindle.
Drink to the dead, all you still alive-
we shall join them in good time.
Should you go crossin' that silvery brook,
it's best to leap before you look.
[Clutch]
From: Baghiira
With the puncturing grip of teeth, blackened skin crumbles to ash, coating muzzle and sensitive whiskers. Beneath that, still more seared layers crackle in the grip, releasing the cloying scents of charred flesh and burnt ozone to penetrate mouth and nose.
Beneath that, blood pumps warmly, if sluggishly; fresh, it slowly fills the new wounds, seeping across flesh that still seems to hiss with heat. It trickles onto the rough tongue and paints the teeth that grip.
The friction of being dragged wears at the outer layers of dry, seared skin, rubbs them away until the newborn-soft skin below is raw and bloodied. By the time he had dragged his new prize free of the buildings and into the sheltering wood, only that part of the body not suffering the torment of the rough ground still exhibited signs of its scorching; below, the new skin was flayed as well.
His midnight snack was leaving a wide trail of blood that only slowly began to dwindle.
Drink to the dead, all you still alive-
we shall join them in good time.
Should you go crossin' that silvery brook,
it's best to leap before you look.
[Clutch]
-
DoF Archive
- Archivist
- Posts: 2684
- Joined: Mon Feb 16, 2004 8:28 am
Re: The Inferior Vessel
Date: 5/28/2001 2:42 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Jinn Kiko
Setting his hard earned treasure down for a moment, he chuffs, trying to clear the clinging grasps of ash tendrils. The taste of blood was invigorating, but the smells that lingered were almost too much to bear for such sensitive senses.
There was another reason he'd set the body down a moment, it seems something had caught along a rock on the ground, causing his backwards decent to the back of the Outback to halt in a series of jerks. Finally giving in, he'd set the body down to stalk around and sniff, sneezing as more ash and decayed materials broke loose with each inquiring inhalation.
Finally he places a paw on the soft belly, returning his teeth to their previous hold and he pulls towards himself while using his back paws to anchor himself. Several jerks later with the unused front paw as a fulcrum point and digging further with his teeth to ensure he wouldn't tear skin further, he manages somehow to pull the body up and over to the other side.
Different colored pupils search the newly revealed skin a moment before licking a bit of the blood off as a snack before finishing his trek.
From: Jinn Kiko
Setting his hard earned treasure down for a moment, he chuffs, trying to clear the clinging grasps of ash tendrils. The taste of blood was invigorating, but the smells that lingered were almost too much to bear for such sensitive senses.
There was another reason he'd set the body down a moment, it seems something had caught along a rock on the ground, causing his backwards decent to the back of the Outback to halt in a series of jerks. Finally giving in, he'd set the body down to stalk around and sniff, sneezing as more ash and decayed materials broke loose with each inquiring inhalation.
Finally he places a paw on the soft belly, returning his teeth to their previous hold and he pulls towards himself while using his back paws to anchor himself. Several jerks later with the unused front paw as a fulcrum point and digging further with his teeth to ensure he wouldn't tear skin further, he manages somehow to pull the body up and over to the other side.
Different colored pupils search the newly revealed skin a moment before licking a bit of the blood off as a snack before finishing his trek.