And Blessed Be the Gods

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Daniella_Belli, Nov 24, 2013.

  1. world/AdultAgatha2.jpg.html

    Thick, inky tendrils fell coiled about her face like writhing serpents. The frigid fingers of November rustled the ebony locks that docked at her lower back, dots of snow placing kisses upon her ghostly palor.Agatha knew that the Reverends would say that it was the glacial breath of the Gods, just another pox upon a community that was rife with sin. However the gelid weather may have crippled the other people and stunted the harvests, it did not even induce a shiver within her waifish form. Her acromatic eyes had caused great fear and rumor amongst the townsfolk, and would have earned her a death shortly following a birth that extiguished the life of her forebearer if the wrath of the deities themselves hadn't wrought the land in terrible hardship.

    Agatha was borne of great purpose, but even as she walked the cobblestone path toward the townsquare in contemplation, she had not a theory to this higher calling, her destiny was unclear as her milky irises. So why did the Gods intervene? She beheld the impoverished peoples, humble stores that were halted in construction because of a lack of materials and workers. The path most traveled led to a tiny fane, which was located at the furthest outreaches of the town almost like a shameful secret. A community stifled of will and expression, the peoples journied the briared path, paying no mind of how the thorns ravaged their church attire, clutching but the last fraying threads of hope to their bosom. For most, optimism was dead and interred in a Beggar's grave. Upon arriving to their seats, the people would ask forgiveness of their transgressions, and pray for freedom from the shackles of sin. They hoped that their earnest confessions would not fall upon deaf ear, and grant them favor with the Gods so that nothing more would befall their families.Agatha showed disdain for her fellow townspeople for her heart was black and besmirched of the Devil's paw, and it was her namesake afterall.

    The start of a wicked grin played upon her black laquered lips, whilst she mused of malicious acts that would further torment those who were unfortunate enough to dwell within the flimsy walls. Agatha Disdain delighted in the sufferings of the people, it was like a drug that gave her a high unmatched by anything else in her ordinary life. She was but an ever devouring maw for this drug, greedily taking within herself the pain and sorrows of those around her. She would eavesdrop at the tavern, where most had been given false courage off of the drinks they sipped, and divulged their problems for the world to hear. Even now as she stood over the noxious contents of her bubbling brew, she found it within herself to let a scornful cackle surge up her throat.Agatha had weakened them, and for some she had severed their faith in the Gods. This brought her unparalleled joy, if one as cold as her was capable of that emotion. She had squashed all but dreams of children, their innocence as noxious as the poisons that seeped through her own malignant veins.

    Agatha beheld Aingeal then, watching her quiver under the intensity of her colorless stare. She felt a secret pleasure in witnessing her actions under close scrutiny, especially upon hearing the whispers of the townsfolk. If only she had the sheer power she had beseeched the most vile of beings for, the pacts and pledges which required her to surrender her immortal soul in binding vow so that she may be granted even a fraction of a favor. She would perform these nightly rituals, supplicating herself outside of the prying eyes of others. A flexation of forefinger, a sharp cackle rolling off of her tongue only resulted in the stunned silence of the public. "How dost thy day fare thee?" Agatha could only utter. She reveled in the girl's misfortune, it was well known that she had come from one of the most poverty stricken families of the entire countryside. Their harvests withered under HER finger, the accursed beasts they own made sterile by HER wish. In a rustling of skirts which seemed to be sown of the darkness itself, she approached the intimidated female. Her lips adopted a fleeting sneer, a contortion of her lips so swift, that it would be lost in a blink of an eye.

    People had started past Agatha, as she was but an obstacle between them and the holy edifice, and she momentarily became lost in the tide of those that didn't seem to notice her presence at all. She bumbled this way and that, before sending a strong shove through the blockade. What was with everyone lately? Was it that upon every visit to the place most sacrosanct, that something had coveted their minds, a greedy maw suckling upon their freedom? Then all footsteps halted, and heads were turned toward the man whose voice had contended against the roaring winds that threatened to drown him out, as if the unruly weather was summoned of Hell's consorts. His book brandished before both sinner and saint, his stern gaze fell upon the crowd. "Dost thy tongue lie still within thee, like a serpent in wait? Hearts ladden of iniquity, dost thy know that not one soul among us can hide our corruption from the Gods? Thy tell tale heart cannot lie! Borne of secret rendezvous with harlots, one cannot hide this truth forever. It is but a blackened stain upon thy soul! Recant! Recant, thy heathen heart, and perchance the holy light shall be shed upon thee." His tongue was quelled then, and it was uncertain by body language to whom his rant was directed. Agatha's attention never wavered from Aingeal.

    Suddenly, she felt something stir within her, something she had conjured in herself of intaking her foul elixer. A caustic spore upon her tongue, her body had suddenly radiated such heat that the snow flurries around her had dissolved to steam with a sizzle. Her eyes blanched of hue would glow like burning coals for a mere moment, until it was blinked away. It seemed as if her humanly form was too weak a structure to for the pestilentious, atramental gall the Devil to roil within, and she fell upon her knees. As she purged it, a sulfurous stench was lifted of the stygian ooze. Although she felt no pain of the cauterized wound of a most delicate flesh, she would forever bear the mark of her ordeal. A voice wholly foreign of her flowed from its borrowed tongue. "From the molten fires I dwell, I smelt thine tongue of of all dialects, so that you can be a herald of me, to plant within every soul the seeds of sin."
    #1 Daniella_Belli, Nov 24, 2013
    Last edited: Nov 24, 2013
  2. A regal looking man and his younger brother paced the pews of a humble and newly built cathedral in Boston, Massachusetts. It was empty all for some workers who bustled about preparing for the ceremony in a few hours. Tobias watched his brother fuss nervously with his cuff links, and mumble to himself as if trying to convince himself in a muted chant that today would set off without a hitch, and wouldn't be the beginning of the end of his life. A dreary and destitute man whom was so pale that you could see the entirety of his arteries through his translucent, unhealthy skin sat on the bench before the centerpiece organ and piped out a dismal song with his knobby digits that made Noel fall deeper into despairing uncertainty about the rest of his life. He knew that divorce was a sin, and he knew that his wife had been chosen for him because as he was fallen blind because of an accident as a teenager when he was an apprentice blacksmith. Since he'd had a scar across the bridge of his nose and on his sclera there were pink speckles where he was burned, but he was still handsome and had a gentle face, and he was not a burden to look at. He was also monstrously tall, so the combination of the two with his added self consciousness turned him into a curmudgeon, and his father couldn't bare to see his son work his life away in solitude. Noel wore no glasses and most folks didn't even know he was blind until they noticed him not looking at anything or anyone in particular when they struck up conversations with him. (I cannot find pictures of them I'm probably going to have to draw them.) Noel's hair was long and it fell about his shoulders, and his garb was elaborate, dressed his best for the most important day in a pious man's life.

    Noel's brother Tobias was a few years younger than he was, but was much more popular with women. As a young entrepreneur, he'd already saved up enough money as a blacksmith to buy land, and he was working on making himself a cabin as he borrowed Mr. Hake's slaves periodically for the busywork and heavy lifting. He went on dates and broke hearts and thought nothing of it in the slightest, and he found his older brother's arranged marriage anxiety amusing. He wanted nothing more than to tease him, but he knew than in a few years he'd be forced to tie the knot and live the rest of his life with one woman, and he knew that he'd need his brother's advice for it. He decided to be encouraging for his brother to lighten his mood because on his own wedding day he knew Noel would be either helpful enough to help him manage the day or spiteful enough to wreck his married life from day one.

    "I've heard that she's beautiful," he caught his older brother's shoulders in his arm and side hugged him tightly, startling him.
    "That matters nothing to me, obviously. I've heard she's a witch. I've heard that her parents paid an enormous dowry to my father to get rid of her."
    "Not true!" Tobias chuckled nervously. "I've seen her in passing. She's an angel. There could be nothing dark behind that pale, angelic face of hers."
    "I heard she goes about town alone. And without a bonnet."
    "Heavens." Tobias rolled his eyes. "Well bid her to wear one then if it bothers you so. Perhaps she's a free spirit...maybe her skin in sensitive. Such a pale beauty could be easily rubbed pink."
    "A bonnet doesn't rub the skin."
    "How should you know, have you worn one?" Noel scoffed.
    "She probably makes eyes with many men."
    "Stop it. What if she hears you fretting over rumors?She should hate you from minute one. I hear she's here. Getting ready with her waiting maidens in the dressing room."
    "I wanted to marry in the sun." Noel's face fell, he felt like all of today was a bad omen. He believed wholeheartedly in pathetic fallacy.
    "Marriage is marriage. Once she lifts up her dress for you, you shall forget all about what the weather was like during the ceremony." Noel fell silent, and Tobias nudged him. "You are a virgin are you not?"
    "Why shouldn't I be?" he retorted hotly. "I shall give my virginity to my bride when she can stomach me."
    "You are not ugly!" He exclaimed laughing, patting his brother's shoulders. "Your face is just as it was before the accident. Today is not the day for low self esteem. Stand up straight. If your bride sees you slouch she'll think you are meek." he flicked his bother's long hair.
    "That's not true. My skin...the skin isn't smooth. You cannot tell me I look the same as I did." Head hung he lifted his hands to feel across his face. "I want to meet her. Varity. You say she's here?"
    "Do you hear the giggling at the back of the church? Yes, but it is unlucky to see the bride before the wedding."
    "Yes but what if she's as anxious as I?" Noel couldn't bare the notion of his bride shivering in chaste feminine nervousness. With a crooked smirk Tobias leaned into his brother's ear and whispered to him amid a snicker
    "I say yea, keep your bride in suspense-"
    "I don't care to. Please excuse me." Noel shoved his brother away to began feeling his way to the stairs.
    The old man started playing the dreary cathedral song again and he groaned as the music echoed dismally along with his heavy footsteps.
    He found a door with several different female voices behind it, and after swallowing his nervousness, he knocked.
    "Ms. Varity?" his gentle voice asked, as he placed his hand on the doorknob.
    #2 DOMEN, Nov 24, 2013
    Last edited: Nov 25, 2013

    Verity Temperance Prynne looked upon her mirrored image with a frown as the handmaid prepared the proper attire which was designated for weddings and other ceremonial occasions. "Dost thee think the cold to be an evil portent? Or, dost it descend upon us with impunity?" She then turned her tea colored gaze to the opposite wall of the room, to the paned portal which would permit one to see the outside world where the one called Agatha Disdain stirred. "Thou art truly blessed if thy flesh is spared of its inclement rod, the wrathful winds are but the Gods way of chastising those whom heed such devilish fancy of walking about scantily clad. It is a manner of culling the wheat from the chaff, judgment against the lewd and licentious lot." A timid response fell upon her ear, and her eyes darted about the modestly assembled interior.

    "Even now, I see how thine eye travels the length of thy body. Thy thoughts impure, they must be staved off with Atonement, lest they sow the seeds of Temptation. Bend thy knees and pray as to slake thy carnal urges, or thy soul shall become adrift upon the tides of the abyss which usher man into its eternal embrace! " Fear punctuating her words, an eerie silence then fell about Verity.

    "Shame dost not clad thee?" The handmaid inquired with widened, tawny eyes. "Thou art shackled by thine sinful ideations, but still behold thyself boldly? Imagining thyself having caught child, and thou hast yet to speak thy vows! I pray thee, abandon such nonsense and hold fast to the laws of Good, beseech the Gods to rebuke the Evil that hast ensnared thy mind. Do not turn but a deaf ear to this, or thou shall incur the asperity of the Heavens for thine insolence!" Hands grasping about her slender shoulders, as if in such a manner to shake some reasoning into her.

    Instead, Verity shrugged off the intrusive breech of personal space, severing her fixation upon the mirror. "What I pray for is that the Devils clasp thine tongue to halt thy words!" A very audible gasp erupted from her counterpart, the brief surge of oxygen en route to her brain due to the sharp inhalation,admixed with utter shock of the vehement words that assailed her caused for the handmaid to swoon.

    "Soon thy name shall be Hake. Thou wilt forsake that of thine father, and with it the spoils of thine youth. "Another voice spoke flatly, rousing her from contemplation. "I will be bound by the name Hake." She looked upon her countenance with sorrow, dull auburn tendrils dangling limply about her face. "Thou hast known a mans touch by the wicked reveries conjured of thy rest. Could copulations with a blind man compare? Fingers of a virgin bumbling about the dark. Would he be able to discern his own body from thine? I am a more adept lover than most men, as thee well aware per the marrying of our bodies."A masculine tone unfurled about the room, and Verity surrendered to a fit of giggling. Cathedral music filled the church, as to reside within all of its cracks and crevasses. She then heard the sound of rapping upon her door, which bidded the numerous demons to leave her. "Miss Verity?" Came the nervous beckoning of her groom, Noel Hake.
    #3 Daniella_Belli, Nov 24, 2013
    Last edited: Nov 26, 2013
  4. He had heard her giggling, so he assumed that she was at least in a state higher than despair. He stepped in and bowed shallowly to her. He was monstrous, reaching a rare 6'6", and he leaned aainst the doorframe, arms crosed, his head nearly reached the top of it.
    "Pardon me for disturbing thee and thy waiting maidens, but I had wanted to meet thee and thine." He wished he knew the layout of the church, he wanted to sit, but he didn't want to bumble before his bride. He offered her a hand, hoping she would take it. "Verity- pray tell me thine age. How many years hast thee graced this earth?"
    He knew his father to be a practical man, but dense when it came to relations. He wouldn't have been suprised if his father had chosen a small girl for him. Many men around Boston actually preferred to marry young girls, but Noel was hoping that her age would be around his- 26. At least above 17. He had a theory that the younger women were married off, the more they resented their husbands so he hoped she was ready and willing to marry. He didn't want earning conversation to be like pulling teeth.
    #4 DOMEN, Nov 26, 2013
    Last edited: Dec 3, 2013
  5. The youth Aingeal fled from the witch, and Agatha's forked tongue wriggled through slightly parted lips as to test the air. "Something wicked this way blows, the putrid fetor of matrimony!Alas, it seems that my name is forgotten upon their lips. No matter, I shall stand amongst them and bear witness to this holy union of my own accord." Her abrasive tone a formidable contender against the howling gale, she rose from the splatter of congealing ooze and followed in tow of those venturing forth to the wedding.

    (To be continued)