The adventures of Iamora and Rune

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Daniella_Belli, Nov 7, 2012.

  1. Iamora was sown of the seeds of iniquity, and borne of the blood of a malignant, sinful mankind. Her ageless countenance was a perfectly formed guise of a ten year old girl, her flaxen locks tied in place at the sides of her head by black ribbons. She delighted in the abuse of the others, the evil which had taken residence within the walls of the institution. She beheld the others with abyssal black eyes, and thought back to her mother. She was of a different time, different realm of existence, but Iamora could easily fit in a more modernized era. She would take her mother's place as best she could, within the Devil's playground she would become a leader, orchestrating the others, tendrils of malevolence reaching the minds and hearts of her peers. They would soon become enthralled to this evil, black stains left by her mother's paw ensnaring their souls, Iamora would open these plagued children's eyes to a whole new world of deviltries, wickedness.She stood in the corner, her features not marred by the perpetual sneer her mother wore, but adopting a mask of no emotion.

    She clutched the remains of the stuffed teddy bear she could not be parted with, the lower extremities of the plush toy was ripped clean off by the doctor in an attempt to separate her of it. It would be studied, and then cast in the incinerator as if in some sort of exorcisim, to relieve her of such an impurity of innocence. She had attacked the doctors before, in a fury of small, black talons and jagged teeth. Her powers were somehow shut away within the confines of the bastille created within her. The treatment to rid her of them failed, but they only existed by small, fragile threads which were growing stronger everyday. The torment of mankind was the key to unlocking her power. She was a sadistic waiff of a girl, but the temptations of the children was allowing more of her power to seep out in small doses. Desire. They all had their innermost desires, this would turn to sin.

    A glistening black tongue peeked out from slightly parted black painted lips. Iamora was doll like in stature, her immaculate features thinking of finely crafted porcelain. Although they have succeeded in almost stripping her of her most maleficent gifts, she still had a few she could have fun with. The rubious eyes of her crippled stuffed bear shone like sanguineous stars, gleaming through the darkened area she now sat, a pose uninterrupted by bodily movement. The youth observed her surroundings mostly in silence, the cottony entrails of her toy falling to the floor like it was a victim of some sort of dolly disembowelment. She no longer possessed the knowledge of how to weave the mortal sins like Anger and Gluttony into existence, but it would suffice for now that she could influence others of the more venial ones like Vanity.

    As her mother had shown her, it could become a most destructive force in the frail minds of humankind. Her forebearer known as Ravenwitch had ended worlds which transcended space and time, crippling the spirits of humans with sin and the other powers she possessed. Surely an offspring of the embodiment of Hell would hold such power for herself. Iamora's gaze, the color of pitch, now fell upon a Nurse whose face was boldly a few inches from her own. She was being physically shaken from her reverie, the vision was crumbling into nothingness as the rocks of the cliff side would tumble into the sea. Her upper arms being restrained by the vice like grasp of the Nurse's hands, she had not the strength to break free of her assailant. Instead, a voice flowed from the girl, one which would be foreign for a child. It was one of another, long ago.

    The sound of her utterances would usually strike the audience blind and deaf, if they were to even survive hearing it. She sought not to kill anyone, not yet. She would leave this to the other children, unfortunate souls that would be emboldened with sin. She was not a vessel of which the human soul would spend eternity in the wrath of the ever consuming fires, but she did not envy her mother. Now as she looked upon the frozen face of the Doctor's assistant, the fear was like a paralytic toxin seizing the woman's voice and features, Iamora's lips adopted a slight smirk, a look of amusement. She spoke the words which would plant the seeds of Vanity within the woman, leaving them to flourish within this pitiful creature.

    There was much she could mold and shape of this, as the Nurse was rather obese, a result of her ravenous appetite that was never quite satiated. Iamora had felled many a human being having wielded Gluttony, which was among her most favored of sins. She didn't even need to infect this creature, the woman was influenced of her own will after all. The hungry maw within the Nurse had made a wreck of her figure, the voracity she had given into for so long was forged into existence of her own thoughts. Whilst the woman's peers were rather fair of face compared to her, she had never taken the time to truly observe how the flesh sagged upon her face, the texture of her flesh closely of overly sun dried leather. She was fat and ugly. Most she would interact with had held their tongues, feigning a politeness in her company to give her some sort of compliments on her appearance. Now Iamora's abyssal gaze acted as mirrors, reflecting the true visage of the Nurse. "" She voiced, enunciating each word slowly, as if they were wholly foreign to her vernacular. "The Doctor doesn't want me. He...doesn't want me." She rose and slowly receded down the dim corridor.

    Iamora reminisced of her stent at the institute with a loving sigh. The sounds of the children overtaking their tyrannical elders, the billowing smoke sootied the heavens as she watched the great conflagration feed upon the wails of victims that were shut within its devouring flames. Again, she sat comfortably admist chaos. The Loot and Lute was little more than a dilapidated hovel, yet the steady inflow of patrons brought her playthings from far and wide. Travelers to the forsaken town had all made the same lasting impressions upon it in death. Everwhere she looked, there were but portrayals of grisly demises painted upon her shining black irises. A downcast glance upon the murky brew which filled the finely crafted china cup, with a small sweep of her hand the caffinated drink went tumbling to the floorboards. The broken fragments of porcelain were reduced to a chalky powder under her boot as she rose to take in all she could of the grisly scene.

    A putrescent stench had perfumed the stale air, attracting flies and other pests that would revel in decay. Once rowdy men were reduced to rotting flesh and bone, and Iamora had not lifted a finger as to place them in that state. A tiny smirk played at her lips, she felt satiated for the moment. She approached the bar and poured herself some champange, raising the goblet in a boastful gesture, and eyed some ravens fighting over some scraps of flesh that still clung to the Bartender's face. Oh, how her mother loved ravens. She had an affinity to these predatory birds, these carrion that feasted upon the dead and the living. Iamora possessed not this sort of bond, so she made dolls of which she had bestowed the gift of life, an army of pernicious little porcelain faced puppets to assist her in wreaking havoc everywhere she went. They were subjects of her abandoned youth, broken pieces of the evil effigies were scattered throughout the lands. Iamora sighed, her fingertip tracing the rim of the goblet. Who would come along next to break the tedium of the silence and listlessness around her?
  2. Rune Galand (picture)

    The stagnate air mused around him as he was getting more than his fill of the horrendous stenches that plagued his senses. The lands this far out had been wrought with carrion plagues and foul creatures that were surely only heard of in children's stories; yet he could have given two rat's asses about it all. It was just another lifeless hell hole that was torn asunder by some murderous glee that could have only been spawned by the deepest realm of hell itself.

    Lands were stained into a copper grue of blood; nothing grew around here and yet seemed like the perfect picking for flesh strippers to gather.

    Hands had been tucked into his pockets, the rather useless sword strapped over his back while eyes had been kept shut. Elongated ears moved every so often to the sounds of bird squabbles over something another had been pecking the eyes out of. Most would have easily fled the scene, but he wasn't like the rest. Hell he wasn't like the least either.

    This was nothing more than a rotten wasteland of a once upon a time village and something he had no interesting in picking around for.

    Though a wafting unusual smell had managed to caught his attention causing the ghostly visage of gems to open under the slits of eyelids. Something was still around this god forsaken desolation.

    Narrowing a bit of an eye towards that of what he could describe as a craggy looking shit hole of a tavern; a flick of a brow rose before he took a slight glance around the scene. There was certainly no doubt about it, whatever had taken such delight on the pestilence creatures of mortals was still lurking; seeming to be waiting for their next delight in chaos.

  3. Something writhed within the childish vessel, working its extremities in a marionette like fashion. Iamora hurled the rather crude semblance of a goblet toward the window, where it connected with a clang but the impact wasn't strong enough to shatter it. The maimed bear leapt out of her arms. With each soul she stained, she felt a surge of power coursing through her veins. She siphoned the purity of the immortal essence of humans, corrupting it, changing it. She stood amidst the aftermath of her weaving of destruction, the remnants of those she had produced conflicted moralities. Whilst observing the people infected with Vanity was amusing, examining how they ultimately succumbed to their self inflictions, she wished for more.

    The bear that held the malefic quintessence of Ravenwitch, her savage energies thriving upon every cottony fiber, levitated before the cracked pane of glass that barred the fresh air from entering. "Rune, you surely must be famished and weary from your migrations. Do come in." The very voice of the embodiement of Hell made the land quake, the glacial winds carried her raspy voice which would strike the ear so sharply, it would seem as if said anatomical part were assulted by a thousand razors. Iamora opened the door softly, as if in a grand gesture to allow this creature admittance. His Elven blood wasn't pure. Something else was bred in him. This discouraged her somewhat, still this revelation didn't change her want for companionship. Perhaps she could seek out his desires, shed light to the most shameful secrets he harbored. She knew that every human heart beats with the tune of these disgraces, that most mortals seek absolution only upon the precipice of damnation,in divulging these confessions with a wasted last breath. What of Elves and Demons? Surely the other diversities of dwellers upon this earth shared the same desires. Ravenwitch led countless souls astray from the Gods. Now it was her turn, to congregate the people of this age in the shackles of sin.

    Her frilly black and white bodice fit snugly upon her nubile form, her skirts docked at her knees. A bloodstain had bloomed upon her bosom like a rare, beautiful blossom flourishing upon a carnage soaked earth, a vastitude of butchered flesh yielding as a sacrifice as if to sprout the Devil's rose.
  4. Once large round pupils shrived into a thin state when the clattering that came from the broken pub caught his attention more so than he liked. Chills prickled along his skin while lips opened allowing an bestial growl to raise up from the inner depths of his body.

    Ears moved back, tuning in the voice that beckoned with a lull of his name not yet given, as he turned his gaze towards the side, only allowing a single eye to peer towards the building.
    "Famished, yeah sure." he muttered, his tone deep and thunderous in a strange trifle way. It was strong and yet it had been captured in a way that allowed one's body to use it.

    He was not human, nothing remotely to it but still with the carve of his flesh, the hatred of his one half made him no different than a human. Elves were too closely knit now with mortal men and became like another head to the growing hydra that seemed to never end from the human realms.

    Shrugging his shoulder allowing the clamoring clatter of the sword strike against the scabbard, he snorted before he let the deviously grin spread over his face.

    Heavy plated boots struck the blood stained soil as he rubbed the crook of a finger over a brow, he must have been crazy to even follow her call. Part of him was utterly curious to know what sort of hellish creature was caught up in this god forsaken town, and the other half was just trying to kill time.

    Lifting his hand to press against the grain of the opened door as he stood within the frame of it, Rune made no more of an advance to enter as the ghostly white gems took in the darker look of the putrid tavern, the air damn near suffocating with the nidorous remains of some and the foul stench of other things that would had most doubled over vomiting.

    Crossing the hand back to rest over his chest as he leaned up against the frame, he tilted his chin upwards. Even in the pale light, the creature within the dark was something he had really never seen then again, he wasn't certain of what he seen either.

    He would almost be convinced with how she appeared, that she was attempting to feign innocence in a ruse to get what she wanted, and it seemed to be working. But then again how the hell was he to really know, the world was filled with horrifying wonders.

    Gaze narrowed upon her, as he opened a palm;
    "Well you beckoned; so what now are you hoping for? I've got places to be and little patience to handle."
  5. The loathesome toy dropped to the floorboards, summoning up what seemed ancient dust from the cracks which had somehow always eluded capture by mop or broom. It seemed as if the abominable thing was reaching out to the visitor,its grisly grin facedown upon the bloodsoaked wood. Iamora looked upon the man with coquettish eyes, the abyssal isises that would imprison any mirrored image painted upon them. (I am Iamora, daughter of Ravenwitch. I am Sin at its absolute, borne of a human personage. Mankind had been felled by my forebearer, I, too will conquer humankind. The heavens shall echo with the wails of souls as they descend into Perdition..)She was already becoming too carried away, exposing too much at this time would simply be far too detrimental to her villainy. The mortals that co-existed along side of monsters in these 'Dark Ages' were a superstitious lot, sparking suspicions with hearsay and fabrications until realms were detroyed in the name of the truth they supposedly contained.

    Eploiting human weakeness was but childs game for a sinister creature to prey upon. But the mind was a crude invention given to computational error. She found it almost too simple to molest the thoughts of man. "What's your poison?" She asked, moving toward the bar as if in preparation to fetch him a drink. "I am Iamora." She spoke her name with a wicked grin as her back was turned toward him.
  6. Allowing a bored side glance to the falling ratty bear, he was prompt to keep his full attention on the child standing amongst the horrors of the bar. Already he took an instant distaste to the way her gaze peered over him, which had effectively had him snort again and close his own with a scoffing laugh to accompany it all.

    She was certainly more than already met the eye and thought to say that she was making him nervous was only partly correct. He had no taste for the trifle bores of idle chit chat and whatever else this child seemed to be scheming.

    Elongated ears flicked to her when she spoke before she rolled his gaze;
    "Listen up corn maze kid, I ain't here to be playing house hold pet to some demonic spawn of whatever you came from;" Rune turned his own back, letting his attention revert back out to the hallow village. "And I am not sticking around kid."

    Metal clanked against the weight of his boots; she was enough of a creeper to tell him to be careful and to be on guard. There was no way he was going to be falling into her ploy.
  7. "Oh, but you mustn't leave."Iamora's words seemed to exude dominance, and she turned rigidly to face him. "You've only just arrived." Extending a hand, her fingers snaking outward as if to ensnare his wrist, her talons poised slightly above the flesh as if they were venomous fangs. "It is quite rude to leave in such haste, no?" Her head titled to the right, and she batted her luxurious eyelashes. "Now, if you have no other places to be, perhaps we could sit over some champagne and you could regale me of your travels." Cleaning off a place for him to sit, she launched a reckless kick at the head impeeding his walkway. "If you are bothered by the -smell- I can take care of it. Wouldn't want anything to put off your appetite, after all." She left his company for merely a moment, receeding into the darkness which had unfurled from the furthermost corner, it seemed to engulf her pubescent figure.

    "I'm pretty certain there's some Ale around here, or if you'd rather a stiffer imbibement." There was a cacophony of sounds produced of rummaging about blindly, alcholic tinctures and glassware strewn in a haphazard fashion. "The town is yours to supply yourself with the things you see fit to take. " A dry laughter rolled off of her tongue. "It's not like -they- will need for anything more."
  8. Listening to the dominance that echoed through her child like voice; Rune raised a brow as he huffed a laugh at the tone and her completely. Stalling his step as he felt the grasp around his wrist; the guttural growl ripped up from his throat as he ripped his wrist back to his rightful freedom. "I ain't no high class worthless shit who compiles by the rules of etiquette; if I'm coming off as rude, then there's a point to it." He shuffled a foot in the dirt to turn right around and look her right in the face - agitation evident in his brow though he was doing a superior job to keeping his tongue without the same feeling. At least tone wise.

    Opening his hands to gesture to himself, Rune chuckled darkly;
    "I'm sorry do you see any tits on me, cause last time I check I am not some bitch who cares to regale anyone with their travels." He watched her certainly still, though he made no motion to leave for the moment or stay rather he was just lurking for the time. Mostly due to him not certain that she wouldn't attempt to hurl something at him when his back was turned. He would rather see it coming than just feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

    Rubbing two fingers to the bridge of his nose, he shook his head. "
    I've lost my appetite the moment I laid eyes on this town." he muttered when she receded into the seclusion of darkness though it seemed short lived.

    Listening to her speak Rune let out a irate heavy groan before he sliced his hand forward;
    "Look kid or gremlin whatever you are; I am no where as stupid as you might be hoping I am. I have no use for booze; especially with a child; and concerning the town I don't need their later life shit to be slowing me down. I've got what I need; so just get to whatever round about loop conclusion you want here." Rune gritted his teeth together; "Make it clear what the hell you want now, or piss off."
  9. "I am not a child. Do not be fooled by my juvenile exterior." Iamora retorted, her sharp tongue like a dagger slicing through the wall of shadows that stood between them. "A greater power stirs within my vessel. My mother is Hell, and I am Sin, forged in flesh. The countless number of mortals my guise has tempted, I have corrupted those that claimed to be holiest. Fanes that were built of the sweat and toil of the most devout were felled, and the tainted edifices are all which stand in their stead!" She took a menacing step which seemed to echo upon the floorboards of the rather cramped cubicle.

    "You and I could become consorts, and we will march to the tune of anhilation of the human race! Their death rattles will be our overture, there will be nothing but a crescendo of wailing throuought the land! They cannot stand against our onslaught, and nothing shall await them but an endless chasm and the gnashing of teeth upon their defiled essences." Her hand was outstretched, her palm opened as if to beckon his grasp. "Do you wish to wreak destruction with me? Your name shall be immortalized upon the lips of the dying, it will be a grievous insult to the Gods!"
  10. It seemed he had struck at a nerve with calling her a child as the rant began. At first he was sort of giving her the time to vent it all out but before long the strong features of his face turned into a void-less bore, eyes glazed all the while he yawned widely. Not even when she took a step outwards causing the floorboards to cry out; did he give her the full attention she most likely deserved.

    "Oh are we covering ancestry here now?" Rune stroked a hand down his chin; "Well my father was a tree, my mother a rock in the center of the gravel road due north and somehow they managed to wrangle up me, perhaps some of that legendary pixie dust was sprinkled around." he mocked her before he started to outright laugh.

    "Consorts? Yeah, I am not all out for the cradle robbing pedophile fetish and as for the human race," he stretched his arms to tuck them both behind his head letting the lull of the moment tease him into a near state sleep; "Who gives a fuck about their annihilation; they seem fully capable of screwing themselves sideways; don't need my help." A single eye opened to overlook her out stretched palm.

    Clicking his tongue Rune yawned again;
    "Yeah I think I'll just take a pass on your squirrely mind there; goblin," Sweeping a hand outwards as if he was sweeping the entire conversation under the table; he stepped back with a two finger salute off the side of his head. "You have fun now in your delusional state of horror and rampaging inquest; but do give those God's my regards when you insult them. I'll just be that icing on the cake for them."

    Whistling as he turned right around; Rune chuckled to himself.
    "And people think I'm fucked up."

  11. "So we are at an impasse, then. Even if you find some way to thwart my advances now, I shall be a thorn in your side always. My countenance loomed over the great cataclysm that eradicated the very existance of mankind. My gaze mirrored the conflicted heavens, witnessed the greatest battle man ever fought. Surely you seek fame and power, and I know just how to quench such a thirst for it."She brushed past Rune on her way out. "If you change your mind, if you want me, all you have to do is summon me. Do not banish my name from your lips, or you will be stricken with the most grave of consequences." Iamora started for the edge of town, her bear hoving beside her. "Which town shall be befouled of my presence next? Perhaps Jovial, its monicker makes me cringe. It shall be renamed in the likeness of the ungodly, the polluted blood of the unrighteous shall bathe the city of all innocence that dare stand against me!"

    She spun on heel, raising a forefinger in Rune's direction. "We shall cross paths again." She approached the threshold leading away from the town which seemed to pulse with dark energies. "The Gods shall quake at my infernal presence!" Her vociferations rebelled against the azure heavens, causing the first signs of lighting touch down upon the landscape that was devoid of growth.
  12. Rune lifted a brow to her; "Join the thorny club in my side then for all I care, just be sure to take a number. Those other pains get rather bitchy when they lose their turns."

    Blinking slowly, unamused Rune blew out his lips. Whatever this kid was going off about, he really didn't know and he was already getting the sneaking suspicion that whatever made her go off the deep end head first could possibly be contagious. It was either that, or she had cotton so far wedged in her ears that he might as well have been speaking in tongues.

    "Grave consequences?" Rune mulled that over as he seemed to be counting off ill things that he had either created himself or had thrust upon him, shrugged and watched the odd child with a quirked brow and a straight line on his face.

    "Something's quaking at her presence alright;" Rune clicked his tongue, "And it just might be those few nuts rolling around in that mind."

    When he was certain she was gone, he pretended to have a list in his head;
    "Note to self, avoid corn children." Raking his hands through his hair, Rune couldn't help but laugh at what had occurred, he had heard of strange things but this was so far out in left field that the horizon couldn't have been seen.

    Adjusting his girth and tapping a boot to the ground. He had his certain fill of lunatics for the day and the pestilence stench that lingered here had done a fantastic job added to the growing headache that had previously been nothing more than a pinching at the base of his skull. He knew there was many close places around but to avoid any interaction he was more than thrilled as it were, to camp outside if it came down to that.

    Checking the scabbard, weighty steps span forward moving along the stained roadway though half of his mind - perhaps the elven side- kept niggling at him. Something about the ramblings of the child had left an impression on him and it wasn't a good one in the least.

  13. The road to Jovial was long and winding and the journey itself was a task of tedium for she would have to traverse it like anyone else who did not possess a magickal means of quickening her pace. She began to whistle a rather deranged diddy, which sounded like a butchered rendering of a church hymn. The forked tongue of her mother protruded from the ruined fabric orifice of the bear, slithering upon the path alongside of her as it was imbued with a life of its own. She foresaw what would remain of the town, the hollow husks of the people that dwelled there would become consumed by flames, the very fires which had engulfed her mother, unbeknownst to the community would usher in a new age of evil that even the Gods could not exorcise.

    Agatha perished to rise anew as Ravenwitch. Deities could not contend with her might. She had eventually conquered all but one, Atone. A lullaby poisoned of obsenities, her ululations rose to capture the ear of the Goddess. The bark of the trees she'd passed succumbed to blight, the arid earth scorched of her footsteps, seemed to recoil at her approach. Jovial, the town no more.
  14. Thundering steps ran wild and profound through the winding pathways of the bound trees and brush like, forcing skittering animals to go rushing into their sanctity of their own safe hold in desperate hope to avoid the trampling beast that lumbering restlessly through it all.

    Gleaming white reflected over the dark abyss body; the thick mane that ran from the crown down to the haunches of the creature flicked rowdily in the self created breeze; nostrils flared as protruding fangs dripped a mucus like saliva letting the tendrils of red blood fly away with no care.

    With his nostrils clear from the pungent stench of the hell hole that the child had been harbouring madly away in; the ravenous hunger became a new in his gut. The whole initial reason for him going towards the village was for the hope of life; he had no taste for the husk of the dead.

    Gnarled hands slammed down leaving deep imprints into the soil and moss beneath his stature as the bestial enjoyment of fleeing prey left a demonic lust in his chest. It had been making good progress but with the loss of a limb, the chase had grown to a completed end. Blood clotted the air as the Anubis like creature lifted its masked head up; allowing the rich blood that stuck to its pelt to steak downwards and pelt slowly the ground.

    Ears flicked as burning orbs twisted behind the hallow eyes of the bone mask on the long maw of the face; an almost crocodile grin spread along the muzzle as he lunged forward - ploughing through the mass of sapling trees.

    Maw agape, the pathetic cur of the crippled woman, whipped around in horrid timing allowing the tear and gore to splattered against the chest and face of the demonic hell beast. Body fell limp haphazardly all the while he crushed the removed skull between his jaws.

    He cared little for direction and he preferred the demonic form for traveling anyways; it only made sense to him to use it when he was planning originally to make a feast for himself of the village before he had been disturbed by the cur of a child.

    Skull fragments slipped off in a slime of his saliva as he made his way back towards the body; his senses diluted by blood and guts to the moment. All this proved to be a good way to distract the elven mind he had at times from the creepy hell ridden child, as it delighted the demonic beast within his body.

  15. She stood upon the brink of it, overlooking a city full of life of the busied peopled that resided within its rigid walls. She could pain to the canvas anew, inspired by the terror that would make the mortals act in heinous ways with maniacal glee. A glance cast upwards as if she were trying to goad the intervention of the Gods, to challenge her. She took that fateful step that would carry her body through the gates. Witnessing the activity of mundane life that inhabited there, she made her way rather forcefully toward the inn. The elders shouted obsenities at her reckless movement, they began quoting the 'Spare the rod, spoil the child' exerpt of their most sacred book. She knew Scripture better than most, and could shape the words into renderings which were most befitting to her goals.

    Not a human being could dare dispute her knowledge of that of the religions which would bring worship to the Gods. She wished to draw away this glorification any way she could. Good and Evil had always been in a deadlock, since the creation of life upon the grainy sands of earth. She would bring Evil victory, as the heavens would be certain to surrender. It was a matter of patience. The heavy wooden door creaked as it allowed Iamora admittane, and she sat at a booth in the corner. The tabletop had been blemished of her mother's claw, signalling that this too, had been war torn of the spite of Ravenwitch. She could almost hear the cacchinations that leveled the sturdy place of weary travelers of long ago. Her mother had purged her virulent essence so that it may reside here, wracking the humans within with unimaginable torment. She could feel it, the heat of the flickering flames that overwhelmed the hospitable place. Her right hand caressed the wood with the tender touch of a lover, sensitive to the remains of the energies that still forged a crushing grasp upon a realm most forsaken. The waitress hesitantly made her way to her, rightly fearful of the child. "What will ye 'ave today?" Iamora simply stared, not uttering a word to obtain any provisions. She could tell that Rune was trailing after her.
  16. "Ah inner sanctum of hell; shit," he cursed as he looked down at the village scape that laid beneath the craggy hills. He was beginning to think that someone somewhere was playing with his pawn on the great board of life, and royally screwing him in the ear right now.

    Twisting his face into a disgruntle scowl; he knew what this place was and normally that didn't bother him, it was what was lurking under some rock down there that did. She had spoken about heading this direction; lo and behold he was the dumbass that came the same way.

    Crouching down to kneel on the balls of his feet; Rune caught the grainy soot sort of a stench from the kid that he had the most unpleasant honor of meeting mildly beforehand stuck in the air and the grass.

    Perhaps one of the devious cows that sat on their golden pedestals were having a ruelly day with him, constantly taking the pawn he was and smashing it into the dark pitch that was the goblin girl.
    "Talk about a thorn in my side already;" he rubbed a furious hand against his gaze. Was this his grave consequence? To be inundated by the whelp to wherever his step took him cause he could think of no worst torture! It was like the black plague had personally sewn itself to the lining of his shirt, forever following him; looming over him with a sinister glint in the abyss that it was.

    Taking in a slower breath, Rune perched his hand under his chin as he stared out over the village; in no serious hurry to go running into anyone of any calibre
    . "Well if she is planning on destroying it, might as well sit back and watch the chaos ensue." he muttered honestly. Truthfully he had no real urge to go tailing it another direction, as he didn't care to be thought of as weak in his own mind or others. He wasn't afraid of the damnable creature, but she was certainly already taking up residence of biggest gutter crawling cur in his mind.

    "Should get some holy water for the creature." he mused to himself though he highly doubted that would work, it still brought a sort of bleak grin to his face.

  17. There was a sudden sulfurous tinge to the air upon inhalation, and the rotting cruor of Devil coated her wheat colored mane. The viscous, foul smelling goo seeped down her cheeks, her starving follicles feeding upon it. Her hair was as black as her mother's, and her features had contorted into a striking semblence of the woman that birthed her.The tendrils of her hair hardened into a substance so honed, each strand would yield flesh from bone upon striking with razor like precision. She began to flagellate the victims nearest her, whipping her hair about so that it would fall upon the populace like a scourge.

    "Copulations with evil shall seal your fates, careless in your deviance, the rides upon the harlots shall cast you pitiful souls into eternal damnation! Do you know that they are servants of the beast, Hell's harem? And the men are sniffing the blood like mongrels, frenzied like the immoral curs they are."She laughed, the tone of her demonic merriment resounding within the space like the stones cast at a criminal. Spatters of blood flew everywhere to adorn the room in the vital fluids that coursed through one's veins, spotting her twisted visage and rainment. She continued to spout Scripture, leaving a trail of massacred people she did not need in realizing her goal.
  18. Yawning widely as he sat on the cusp overlooking the village; Rune blinked lazily as he began to hear the perilous cries rising up over the hills. In truth he might have been expecting a grand splendor of a show that could be seen from the night sky; but he supposed she was taking her time and enjoying it thoroughly.

    Flopping over as he put his hands behind his head; Rune still made no qualms about going into the village rather he was more than content remaining on the outskirts and letting the horror seep through them all.
    Each hunter had their own way of laying out their destruction; his was no where subtle or thought out in any plot.

    "Sounds like things are getting interesting." he muttered to himself as screams began to wail higher into a pitch of merciful pleas. "Call me when the streets run red."
  19. Her membranous hair transshaped itself into a braid that docked at her waist. Iamora watched the panicked masses outpour to the streets, she moved about almost in a minuet upon a dreamscape that ran lurid with the blood of the race she had despised most. The tavern floor was awash with the sticky substance, and it took effort to pry each step away from the worn wood so it could encounter her next. She had composed the first notes to a grand musical masterpiece for Rune, the anguished cries around her seemed to lull her back to her earliest impressions upon meeting him. It created within her a stirring of emotions she had been certain she wasn't capable of feeling. Was it something derived of infatuation? She knew not. He seemed to crawl under her skin in a way she had known to be previously impossible, for none before him had warranted even a fleeting thought from her. She sighed, leaning against the door frame her gaze shifting from face to face as if to search the public for his presence. She couldn't feel him there, he occupied a place too distant for her mind to reach. She became angered by his apparent lack of interest in her, he seemed patonizing at times and his manerisms in her company reflected his views of her as a nothing more than a child. It was evident that he regarded her as a petulent little poppet, a fluid blister upon his skin. That she didn't have the capabilities to provoke a spark of temptation in him, of which she could fan the flames. Crossing her arms about her chest, her lips puffed out in a pout.

    All she sought of the half demon was his companionship, to journey with him and shape the world to something more suitable to her tastes. A few men clad in the attire and soil came at her armed with the tools of their agricultural trade, and which inspired nothing of her but a hollow stare. "I shall send ye back to the sulfurous pits from whence ye came." Spoke a particularly brazen individual, the tines of his pitchfork danced dangerously close to her petite form. "You covet your neighbor's wife, and his goods." Her features adopted a wicked grin. "Enticed by the Mary Magdalene of your time, do you not feel the weight of guilt for harboring such a grave sin in your heart?" He became dumbstruck and fumbled with the gardening implement, almost dropping it at his feet. His downcast gaze seemed to speak a thousand words that his mouth could not form.
  20. "Hmm?" eyes of white opened to the wafting scent of fresh blood that filtered in upon the rising breeze; as he dared to sit straight up and look downwards towards the ensuing chaos that was ravaging the village below. Ears that usually remained at half peak lifted with a bemused haunting grin that strained over the grim line, turning the quirks until he scoffed openly at the very sight.

    People were running in a panicked flight; never making sense of which way they were trying to flee as he could see clearly some being reduced to a meager pitiful waste of flesh.

    He honestly gave very little care about the whelp child he had the unpleasant fortune to meet; even if she was a thousand years older than him; he seen nothing but a disturbed little creature before his bleak gaze. Not many if at all anyone had ever curved his attention long enough to provide him with a bit of interest one way or another. Everyone in his mind were cretin's god forsaken bastards that walked the earth, sapping life from anything else that could possibly contain a seed of growth. And he took a twisted delight to seeing them suffer.

    He sought nothing from any; rather he enjoyed the confines of his own mind and his own privacy allowing the cultivated bloodlust to rip and gnaw at his inner being.

    His gaze narrowed upon the few who seemed to be drawn back towards the abode in which he was rightly assuming that little gal had been harbouring in for the time being. Itching an ear, Rune raised a brow before he shook his head;
    "Idiots the lot of them; what hope in hell do they believe they are going to accomplish with a few garden tools against a creature that destroy them with nothing more than a mere twist of a lip?"

    That was something that astonished him; there were always those select few who had it planted into the reaches of their mind that if they went back against the very thing that caused them fear; that they would be victorious. Little thought about the real truth and how they would be hack from their knee caps and left to lie in a pool of their personal resin letting the cold ground sap them of any strength; watching the world around them turn gray. Mortals were moronic at best and foolhardy the rest of the time.

    Pressing a palm to rest against a brow, Rune chuckled to himself.
    "They might as well just go up to her begging for her to rend their souls right out of their ears."