A Chronicle of Blood & Sorrow: Chapter 1

[Nyarlathotep]

A Chronicle of Blood & Sorrow

Chapter 1:

Awakenings

The Cold stone embraces her with the promise of a betrothal that will not end until the mountains themselves fade into mist. A dark Count raises a crimson filled goblet in mocking salute while in a land far away crouched upon a haunted hill the hungry wolf howls a lonely challenge. All is bathed beneath the wan light of a forgotten moon. And so she dreams.


She had arisen but a handful of nights past. A foolish dwarf and his companion had managed to call forth the long dead guardians who protected her prison from any outside disturbance. It had been so long since any such intrusion had taken place that their restlessness had stirred her to wakefulness as well. Out of habit more than out of any consideration as to the possibility of success she stretched forth her awareness to test the wards that bound her. As she suspected the wards were still strong with the workings of the priests who had inverted the power of the Blood Gem against her and made it a seal against her return. Worse yet, ignorant of the true nature of the gem as they were, they had inadvertently succeeded in divorcing her from communion with her god. Bound and the birth of her glorious Kingdom of Blood now but a tragic miscarriage she sank into a bleak despair. In her ennui she allowed the dreamless sleep of the dead to fall upon her. Only on rare occasions did she stir from her slumber to futilely struggle against the metaphysical chains which held her and each time she found them to be as strong as the day they were forged.


Yet as she listlessly continued her probing she discovered that in one place the wards felt different. Intrigued she willed herself to full wakefulness and focused her awareness upon the anomaly. Upon closer inspection it was clear that the wards themselves had not weakened but rather that in a small spot the magical energies that fueled them had twisted in a most unusual way. She had never before encountered such a strange warping of the Art. It resembled nothing more than one of the strange fleshy growths and protuberances that the faithful of Talona liked to refer to as the Wombs of the Mother and that sages referred to as tumors. However unless much had changed in the century of her incarceration the Mother of Plagues domain was limited to the flesh not the eldritch energies of magic.


Despite the unusual nature of the anomaly it was clear that it had not weakened the wards in any significant fashion. However it did seem that it would be possible to use the strange warping as a doorway through which she could project her awareness beyond the walls of her tomb and perhaps work her will upon the world for the first time in over a century. Calling upon the workings of an arcane spell that had lingered in her undead mind for over a hundred years she projected a seeming of herself through the pustulant node and into field just outside the city of Selgaunt though she still fondly thought of the city as Chancelgaunt. For the first time in far too long she viewed the world that existed outside of the walls of her tomb. If she had yet lived it is possible her gaze may have lingered sentimentally upon the light of the moon or the canopy of stars above her. The dead conversely are no longer subject to such emotions and thus her gaze instead took cold measure of her surroundings.


It was abundantly clear that much had changed since her internment. A large cemetery had grown up around the mausoleum that served as her prison. Likely its growth had been encouraged by the devious priests of Oghma in an attempt to camouflage it amongst the many graves and thus conceal it from the greed filled eyes of that breed of sellsword and grave robber that styled themselves adventurers. She grudgingly conceded that it was indeed a clever stratagem. Covered in crawling ivy and hidden amongst a series of similar looking crypts there was little to call attention or suggest that anything of interest may lie within its marbled confines. During the brief periods of activity where she did not lay in insensible torpor she had thought it likely that just such an unwitting band of treasure hunters would be the source of her release. Apparently her hopes had mirrored their fears.


Now it seemed that such a scenario may very well come to pass despite their attempts to deny her salvation. At the gates of the cemetery a heavily armored dwarf and his roguish seeming companion were holding off a contingent of skeletal footmen garbed only in the tattered remnants of a now forgotten knightly order. The two were holding off her dead jailers quite ably and were near to escape. She assumed they were some sort of resurrection men who had chosen poorly as to where to dig and thus raised the ire of vigilant dead. Such men had served her well in the past and she intended that they would do so once more. Summoning forth from memory yet more eldritch energies she imbued her sending with the ability to cast spells. Thus girded all that remained was for her to disperse the bellicose bones before the grave robbers routed from the cemetery and then exploit her status as their savior to manipulate them into removing the Seal from its setting and thus releasing her from bondage.


It all should have been quite simple and it would have been save for one foolish miscalculation on her part. Calling forth her powers she rained wrath and ruin upon the heads of her undead keepers. She then strode out of the darkness to receive the accolades that were due her. Much to her consternation the dwarf and his companion did not shower her with praise or gratitude. Instead they quickly exchanged a look of dread and with weapons at the ready began to slowly back away towards the cemetery gates. Their reaction was beyond her comprehension. In times past men and women had gazed upon her with desire never with naked revulsion. She had anticipated the possibility of ingratitude or perhaps even indifference but certainly she had never imagined the disgust she saw reflected with their eyes. Regardless they would serve her purposes one way or another and if they would not look upon her with adoration she would shackle them with fear.


With a gesture she caused the rusted iron gates behind them to swing shut with an ill-omened clang. Cursing the dwarf and his equally unlucky companion spun around and she could not help but savor their mounting panic as the gate’s chains locked themselves of their own accord. The dwarf took a hold of the gate in a doomed attempt to force it open through his own brute strength but released them with an oath as its bars turned into biting serpents within his hands. Their shoulders drooping with the seeming hopelessness of their situation they turned to face her. Their previous disgust had now been replaced with the much more satisfying look of resignation. Her minor display of power had proven sufficient to cow their plebian spirits, which was fortunate for she had little more than a few charms and hexes left to call upon this night. However as she was instructing them as to the services she required from them in return for the continuance of their meager lives her words were interrupted by a most worrisome crowing.


Her soul quailed with the long unknown sensation that she dimly recalled as fear as a cock joyously proclaimed the coming of dawn. Though her flesh was yet safely ensconced within the confines of her tomb a deep primordial terror clawed at her soul as Lathander’s Face slowly crested the horizon and the night sky was burned away by the coming of dawn. Taking only enough time to cast a minor hex that would allow her to seek the two out if another opportunity were to present itself she quickly dispelled her sending fearful that Morninglord’s ban upon her kind could reach even through the veiled lenses of her magic. Possessed by dread she fled to her sarcophagus, pulling the cumbersome cover of black marble closed atop so that not even an imagining of the wicked rays of the sun could touch her. Once safely ensconced she weathered the passing of the day as dreams of burning scourged her psyche.


When night finally freed her from the dreams her first thought was of an adage dimly recalled from her youth, “Kissed by Tymora in the evening…Thrice held in Beshaba’s arms by the morn”. As a girl she had heard this saying on innumerable occasions while walking among the stalls of the fishmongers with her father but never before had she paused to consider the simple insight of these words. Conceivably when she was finally free of this place she could find one of these fishwives and see if their minds held any more hidden pearls of homespun wisdom. Such investigations would have to wait however as she had more than enough mysteries to solve than to squander precious time ruminating upon the platitudes of peasants no matter how insightful. Foremost among them was the bewildering behavior of the erstwhile grave robbers of the night before. Their bumbling excavations suggested that they were ignorant of the disaster that they had courted but their reactions to her arrival were only explicable if they had some knowledge as to her true nature. She was certain that she had played the role of savior with consummate skill so either the two were about some subtle machination of their own or as the fishwife proverb suggested Besheba turned jealous eyes upon her and pettily undid her bright sister’s blessing out of spite.


Just then her ponderings were interrupted by the squeaking of a rat as it scuttled about hunting spiders and other small vermin. It was unfortunate that the tiny insectivore had chosen this moment to explore the crypt for its movements called it to her attention, and a hunger that she had suppressed for so long that she had nearly forgotten it surged forth in all its ravenous intensity. Overwhelmed she pounced but the rodent was nimble and possessed of instincts born from generations of ancestors surviving among the hungry dead. Dodging her initial attack it scrambled madly towards a crack in the masonry. Held in thrall by her hunger she was nearly an animal herself and so flung herself bodily upon the floor in a desperate attempt to reach her prey. The rat again managed to avoid the grasp of her fingers but now found itself blocked from escape by the sprawling body of his huntress. Squeaking in terror it twisted out of her reach but far beyond any sense of pride or restraint she crawled after it, heedless of the injury done to her knees or of fingernails ripped from their beds. The macabre but absurd ballet of hunter and hunted lasted for nearly a minute before the rat’s doom was finally written and the woman’s clutching fingers clasped about its torso.


Instantly she stuffed the squirming rat into her mouth. Its tough hide was proof against her age dulled fangs but provided no such protection from the relentless pressure of her molars as it burst like an infected cyst inside her mouth and sent shivers of ecstasy coursing up and down her spine. The tang of warm blood as it slid down her throat reduced her to trembling and in her frantic need she desperately sucked at the ruined husk until all the fluids had been drained. Tossing the empty vessel aside she slowly ran her tongue across her lips assuring that not drop of blood remained unclaimed. Lowering herself to all fours she began to inch about the floor assiduously seeking any blood that may have fallen. When she discovered a splatter she would lap at it thirstily, her tongue greedily probing every crack and crevice until she assured herself that none of the precious liquid had been overlooked. Her craving far from satisfied but her supply exhausted she finally stood and reclaimed some semblance of humanity.


She had spent far too long in this prison. It was evident to her now that what the grave robbers had responded to was the evident signs of her malnourishment. Her skin was no longer the smooth alabaster masterpiece it had been. Time and lack of sustenance had left it dried and withered gracing her with a fearsome cadaverous mien. That she had not noticed it earlier was testament as to the strength of her hunger and how suppressing it had fogged her thoughts. Even now she could feel it pulling at her, threatening to degenerate her into a mindless blood ravening fiend. Torpor had held it at bay but now that she was awake she was defenseless against its onslaught. It could not be defeated, it could only be fed.


Even as she cursed her endless need she longed for the pleasures that satisfying her thirst would bring. Memories of the enthralling taste of debutantes who after imbibing of various herbs and the smoke of opiates so as to absolve themselves of responsibility would yield to their unspoken desires and slake their lusts with her body. The delightful songs they would sing as their moans of pleasure transformed into horrified gasps as they realized that is was not their bodies she ached for and finally faint sighs of bliss as they set aside their fears and surrendered to her kiss. She reminisced of pious knights who murdered their wives and children merely for the opportunity to grovel at her feet in the faint hope that she would find them vessels worthy of her hunger. She even allowed herself a withered smile at the recollection of the intoxicating aroma of a priest as he came to the realization that his faith would not save him. Sadly such delicacies were not at hand so she would be forced to make do or fall into madness.


Summoning the innate power of her tainted blood, causing some of the precious fluid to turn to dust within her veins, she called to the vermin that made this place home. Some of the rodents were able to instinctually recognize their peril and resist but most succumbed. First they entered the crypt in ones and twos but soon from every crack and crevice a great chittering river of rats poured into the small chamber. Opening her arms as if awaiting an embrace she stood motionless as the mass of vermin engulfed her. She took no notice of their grave damp pelts or of the scratches produced by their tiny but sharp claws. It did not bother her when they became tangled within her hair or when one forced itself into her mouth and attempted to crawl down her throat. It did not matter. When finally she judged their numbers sufficient she bit down on the rat that given up its quest to scurry down her throat and had instead decided to nest within her mouth. As her teeth snapped shut, neatly severing the rat’s head and spraying its fellows with its blood, the spell was broken. It was too late for the unfortunate creatures and though they were not lords or ladies their blood would be enough to quell the rising beast for now. Their sacrifice would restore her unearthly beauty and revitalize her powers. Flush with their blood she would be strong enough to engineer her escape and the land would weep once more at return of The Queen of Sorrows.

[Davlin]

You see this is why players are scared of you Nyarl....

It is very good though, I hope there'll be more than one chapter.

[Mord]

Nyar is my personal hero, or villain.. Whichever fits what kind of mood I am in.

[fade]

You got a ton more to write buddy. . get to it. . Kric is watching you