And I Will Make Thee Sepulchres of Roses
By
Angelsilhouette,
Posted on: 2006-12-05 12:30 in Roleplaying
I'd love to ramble on how lovely and dark this is, but lack the time ATM. This is wonderful, Heroid, please keep 'em coming!
"The proper office of a friend is to side with you when you are in the wrong. Nearly anybody will side with you when you are in the right."
- Mark Twain, Notebook, 1898
and
- Bart Allen, aka Impulse/Kid Flash/The Flash, Teen Titans v.3, #6
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Hm. The passages are reminiscent of an extract from The King In Yellow, and only helps to really reinforce the otherworldly, Lovecraftian feel I was getting from this to begin with.
Goooood stuff! I look forward to more.
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((Indeed, some of that is from Robert W. Chambers, the King in Yellow (the U.S. copyright to which has long expired and now it can be found myriad places online), and some of it, I made up myself. The actual fictional book as envisioned by Chambers was a bit too vague to try to nail down, so, yes, I have tinkered with the concept a bit, making the work ancient a la the Necronomicon. I hope no one minds.
And thanks for the Lovecraft remark. That made my day! 
))
Huzzah, my memory for literary ephemera is accurate today.
It was the "no mask!" passage that clicked with me.. and if I don't ask, I'm going to wonder. Was that one of the original passages?
Also, hurry up and write more. I crave to see what happens next.
The Elysienne; Magical controller
Silent Sickle; Natural scrapper
And many more.
Aenigma Rebis: "Actually, Ely's more like Jean Grey. Only... smart."
[You'd better write more. You can't just leave it like this! Good Stuff]
Part of Sister Flame's Clickey-Clack Posse
The English language is an intricate high-speed precision tool.Stop using it to bang open coconuts. ~Tokamak
Dark_Respite's Video page
(( The Bat concurs with the Mogster! More please!!! 
))
The sound of sobbing brought Elizabeth back to wakefulness. That it was her own sobbing didnt occur to her for several seconds after she woke up. The throbbing in her head kept time with her racing heartbeat. She lay on her back, unable to move, on a hard surface that was cold to her bare skin. Slowly, with effort, she opened her eyes.
I see Miss Lizzy has rejoined us.
It was Cassilda. She stood a few feet away, towering over Elizabeth like a giantess. She wore a silken robe that clung to the curves of her body and shimmered in a rainbow of colors in the firelight. In her hand she held a silvery dagger.
Beside Cassilda, Hermione stood wearing a similar robe. Hermiones robe, however, was stained crimson down the front from where red gore ran down her chin from her mouth. The stains were also on her hands.
Oh
my
Hermione! What have you done? She was not sure she really wanted to know.
Hermione knelt beside her and whispered in her ear, I found out what happened to the missing children.
Hush, dear one, Cassilda said, placing a hand beneath Hermiones arm and pulling her erect, No need to frighten her. Yet.
Elizabeth again tried to move, but couldnt. What have you done to me? she cried.
A simple spell to make sure you are cooperative, Cassilda said. After all, when your father finishes putting the pages of the manuscript back in order, his employer will be here to compensate him.
We dont need your money! Let us go!
Cassilda put an arm around Hermiones shoulder and pulled her close. But a bargain was struck, my dear Lizzy. Your father will see it through and so will the rest of you.
My father never bargained for this!
Admittedly so, but then, I am sure early into the work he had some conception that his involvement with the book would have a toll to pay. Time to pay the Piper, my sweet.
Elizabeth looked around as best she could. There were others in the room, robed, their faces hidden by hoods. Some were clearly female, while others were assumedly male. They stood silently, unmoving, like birds just before a tempest.
Who are these people? Why are they in my fathers house?
Your fathers house? No, my child, your father merely leased this house from his employer. And these people are enlightened ones like myself. We seek the powers of ancient gods.
You are insane! Where is my sister?
Hermione suddenly became livid. Your sister? You always mean her and never me! I hate you! I hate you both!
Calm, my darling, Camilla said, You will plunge the knife into her breast soon enough.
Hermiones bloody mouth formed into a grin.
Please, tell me where Beth is
She is of no use to me. I need a maiden and a daughter. She, to me, is neither. As to where she is
In order to build this makeshift temple beneath the house, I bought the use of some convicts from the warden of the prison in Yarmouth. Bethany, have I given over to them for entertainment.
No
Yes. I imagine they had quite a time with her. Cassilda stroked Hermiones hair as she spoke. I dont expect we shall see her again.
No
Poor innocent child, Cassilda said as she knelt beside Elizabeth. Of the three sisters, you are indeed the most pure. Then she kissed her.
Elizabeth shuddered as she tried to shrink away.
Soon, my sweet. When the master comes, you shall know ecstasy.
Elizabeth closed her eyes.
Cassilda reclined on the cold stone floor beside Elizabeth and with a long-nailed finger traced a line from her navel to her throat. Elizabeth was helpless to stop her. Neither could she stop the witch from getting so close that when Cassilda whispered, her lips tickled Elizabeths ear.
Let me tell you of a play, and a map, and a place called
Oranbega.
(( I knew it would be the Thorns! At first I was thinking it was the Banished Pantheon I didn't make the real connections till today when I popped onto one of my villains doing one of the numerous CoT arcs on sharkhead Isle.. You did a GREAT job making this feel like a good CoT lineage, it really syncs up with some of the darker aspects of their past that we learn about in Cov! Bravo, Heroid, Bravo!
P.S. MORE PLEASE!!! ))
*Sits, listening in rapt attention with all the lights off, ready to cover eyes with a pillow at a moment's notice.*
((Jeebus, Heroid. Even when you started dropping the clues about the thorn daggers, I didn't pick up on it. This is amazing. ))
There are no words for what this community, and the friends I have made here mean to me. Please know that I care for all of you, yes, even you. If you Twitter, I'm MrThan. If you're Unleashed, I'm dumps. I'll try and get registered on the Titan Forums as well. Peace, and thanks for the best nine years anyone could ever ask for.
In 1529, Girolamo da Verrazano drew a map based on his brothers explorations. On it was a fabled city called Oranbega, where powerful kings did battle with strange gods, and two kingdoms did battle for the fate of the world. Little is known of the mapmaker, whether he was one given to wild imaginings or not, though his brother's writings may still be found if one knows where to look; and by all accounts, he seems most sound in his writings of his travels. Still, most historians believe the map to be a product of fancy. They believe Oranbega to be a myth.
"We, the Fellowship of Ancient Lore and Arcane Luminary Arts, have our own theory as to the final fate of Oranbega. We believe the history and fall of the Great City is detailed in a fictional work by an ancient, unknown author, in a drama called, the King in Yellow.
"Lost Carcosa the land where the play takes place, you see closely fits what few descriptions survive of Lost Oranbega. We surmise that the author embedded a codex into his work a codex that has been lost in subsequent translations a codex that will unlock the secrets of ancient forces.
"That is why your father was hired to reproduce the play from the original, and to do so in a form that would maintain the exact grammatical and alpha-numeric structure of the original, that the lost codex may be revealed.
"We have a copy of Verrazanos map. We need only the powers of the text to be released and the secrets of the ancients shall be ours.
"After months of study and discussion, we have surmised that the ritual sacrifice depicted in the play must be performed and performed properly. You see, in the play the queen-priestess should have placed the sacred blade in the hands of her daughter, but did not do so. She wielded the knife herself, which brought death and ruin to her city. The edict in the play is clear: Innocent hands spilling innocent blood. Twenty and two innocents must be slain.
"Hermione has slain twenty-one.
"Prepare yourself, beautiful Lizzy. When the master arrives, you shall find deaths sweet ecstasy."
((I can't resist... "We, the FALALA...La la, la la la la."
Ahem.
Thoroughly creepy. I'm with the others in waiting for more.))
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((I can't resist... "We, the FALALA...La la, la la la la." ))
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Yeah, I'm glad I wasn't the only one to notice that. Was it intentional?
Squandering the planet's oxygen since 1976
Arc ID 3796 - The Other Side of the Screen
Arc ID 339466 - Rescue the Lorebreakers
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((I can't resist... "We, the FALALA...La la, la la la la."
Ahem.
Thoroughly creepy. I'm with the others in waiting for more.))
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I'm so glad you said it, otherwise I was going to have to do it. 
[Ignore the peanut gallery! Keep writing!]
Part of Sister Flame's Clickey-Clack Posse
The English language is an intricate high-speed precision tool.Stop using it to bang open coconuts. ~Tokamak
Dark_Respite's Video page
((Dang, Roy, this is incredably creepy and highly addictive stuff. I can't wait to read more!))
Ugh
Fantastic writing, gripping plot, vivid imagery; 5 Stars.
I regret clicking on this post, now. (Things like this are definitely not my cup of tea, but darnit, it's so well written that I just couldn't stop myself reading it. Now I'm all hooked. 
Even though I'm feeling ambivalent about reading any further, please don't stop.)
A chill breeze blew through the cave as Bethany pressed her back against the rocky wall. Her head throbbed from Hermiones blow, but she dared not let the pain affect her. The convicts were brutish men, foul-smelling, crude, a level below beasts. Bethany had never seen such savages before. As she watched them fight among themselves to see who among them would ravish her first, she counted. Eight. Eight of the vilest, cruelest humans she had ever laid eyes on.
Seven now. One of them, when knocked down, hit his head upon a jutting rock. He didnt get back up.
The fighting continued for several minutes with two more of the cur meeting their fates: one punched in the throat, his windpipe closed; another, his head flattened by several blows from a rather large stone. Five. She could only hope they would continue to whittle their number down. A snapped neck. Now four.
It was becoming apparent to her that one brute in particular hairy and toothless, with arms like oak limbs was the dominant suitor. Bethany could not decide if she should hope that he killed the other two, or that they should kill him.
Then when only the three were left standing, the fighting suddenly stopped. The large, dominant one stood between the other two, fists clenched and ready to inflict punishment.
Rodrick, one of the other two remaining said, Ye kin ave yer turn first. Well wait.
The other nodded, adding, Jus dont kill er, eh?
Roderick relaxed his fists, and then turned from the combatants to claim his prize. He strode to her and wrapped a huge arm around her, pulling her close to him, and then with a hammy hand he grabbed her bodice.
Bethany could hardly breathe for the stench of his breath. She fought back an urge to gag and brought her knee up between his thighs, as hard as she could. Roderick stepped back and bent double and she brought her other knee up to meet his chin. He went down with a hard thud.
Her beloved had taught her well. The odds were still against her, but two to one was much better than eight to one. Now with their best fighter downed, she had a chance.
The two remaining convicts were so stunned that she had downed Roderick that they failed to stop her from dashing past them to the bench where their tools lay. She grabbed up a trowel in one hand and a hammer in the other. If she could defend the tool bench to keep them from gaining weapons of their own, she could beat them.
One, who apparently thought her defeat of Roderick a fluke, lunged at her, grabbing for her ripped bodice, only to receive a cracked skull from the hammer. He still breathed, but he would not do so for long with the hammer embedded in his skull.
The other foe was much more cautious after that. He moved in a semi-circle around her, clearly trying to get past to the tools. When he finally made a play for them, she shoved the trowel deep into his gut.
The scent of blood nearly overwhelmed her senses, but she knew the killing was not finished.
Not yet.
*cheers*
Cassilda finished her story and arose. Elizabeth was no closer to understanding what was happening than she had been before. Maps? Ancient plays? Was she to die for something so ridiculous sounding?
There was a sudden murmuring among the robed ones and Elizabeth felt her heart sink even more. Whispers of, He's here! found her ears and she knew her time had run out -- her fate was sealed.
The robed figures formed a circle around her with Cassilda and Hermione standing at her feet and an opening for one more person to stand at her head. A man stepped into the empty spot; a portly man for whom not enough space was left, so the circle had to widen a bit. He wore a robe and hood like the others, but Elizabeth could see his face.
Perhaps, if he had been someone known to her, maybe a rival of her father's at the university, this would all make sense. Then, mayhap it could be some sort of spite work. But, no, this man was a stranger. The only hint of his identity, or rather of his station in life, was the powdered wig on his head and the gold oak leaf pendant which hung on a chain from his neck.
This was the man who had ruined her family. She wished him dead.
"Relax, my dear," he said, smiling down at her, "You are about to usher in a new age of glory!" Then he addressed Cassilda: "Remove the restraining spell -- I would have her lively."
Cassilda complied, producing a small vial of amber liquid which she poured onto Elizabeth's stomach. Suddenly Elizabeth could move again. She thought to rise up and run, but even if she broke through the circle she wouldn't get far before she was captured again.
Then the fat man nodded to the others in the circle and they all disrobed. A sickening fear came over Elizabeth as she realized their intentions. She looked at her younger sister -- now every bit as much of a stranger to her as the wealthy lecher who was struggling to work his massive girth down to a kneeling position. (Two of the others in the circle were attempting to assist him.) Hermione's eyes were wild, and from her chin to her bare bosom she was stained with blood. Any semblance to the child Elizabeth had once held in her arms was gone.
The circle closed in. Hands began to grope her, not cruelly, but gently, as if they sought to seduce her into compliance with their plan. Elizabeth tried to squirm away from them, but there was no getting away.
"Take the blade, daughter," Cassilda said, "and you will know when it is time to use it."
Hermione smiled and reached out a hand to take the sacrificial dagger from her step-mother. Elizabeth saw this as her only chance to thwart their plans. With all the strength she could muster she broke free from the many hands that grabbed at her, and quickly rising to her knees, lunged for the knife.
The fat man grabbed her hair and pulled her down. Still, she didn't give up. Her legs were free, so she kicked at the blade as it was passed from Cassilda to Hermione. This time she succeeded. The two women fumbled it and it fell close enough to Elizabeth's hand so that she quickly snatched it up.
The groping hands suddenly pulled away. The members of the circle sat around her with their chests heaving in excitement, more like frightened rabbits than murderous acolytes. Cassilda and Hermione both looked down upon her with burning hate.
Elizabeth rose to her knees and scanned the faces around her, searching for an inkling of hope. She found none.
"My beauty, what shall you do?" the fat man asked. "You shan't kill one of us before the others wrest that weapon away from you. Surrender it now, and we shall continue to treat you gently."
Elizabeth fought back panic. A calm head was needed now, not hysterics. She looked around warily, realizing there was only one way out.
"Damnation to you and your cult," she said. Then she raised the blade.
Cassilda screamed.
[Death before dishonor isn't really just a phrase. Nicely played.]
Part of Sister Flame's Clickey-Clack Posse
The English language is an intricate high-speed precision tool.Stop using it to bang open coconuts. ~Tokamak
Dark_Respite's Video page
Bethany ran through the underground labyrinth desperate to find the temple room and her sisters. She did not understand all that had happened, but she was sure that whatever Cassilda was up to had to be stopped. In her left hand she carried a lantern, in her right, a pickaxe.
Hermione had betrayed them. She could be damned. But Elizabeth, always the kindest, gentlest of all of them so much like their mother if something happened to her
There! A light shone upon the cave wall up ahead. She had found them!
Just as she rounded a twist in the tunnel and found the chambers entrance, a shriek sounded. It did not sound like either of her sisters. She pushed herself harder as she covered the last few feet to the entrance of the room. A naked man almost knocked her down as he ran past as if his life depended on getting out of that cursed temple.
Upon entering, Bethany saw a scene of utter frenzy. Naked, hysterical people were running to and fro, some of them trying to follow the first man out of the cave, and others trying to stop them from leaving. She looked around for her sisters and she found them: Hermione stood dull-eyed beside Cassilda, whose face was twisted into a mask of pure fear.
Elizabeth lay at their feet; a blade plunged into her breast, her own hand grasping its handle.
A rage came over Bethany. She stepped into the room and smashed the lantern upon the entrance, spilling oil and fire across the only exit. Then the pickaxe began to do its work on the panicked cultists. When its point lodged, she kicked the victim loose from it, and then she begin again.
Are they such soft, craven cowards that they cannot fight back? she thought.
Then, as if the thought had been spoken and heeded to, one of them did. The fat man hit her from behind. His big, meaty fist connected on her lower back, causing her to crumple in excruciating pain. He grabbed the pickaxe from her grasp and lifted it to strike.
She looked up at him and realized that this foul man and his rolls of fat would be the last thing she would see before she died. She hated him for it.
Then another shriek wailed out and from the same source as the first one she had heard. It was Cassilda and she was pointing to the flaming entrance of the temple room.
Bethany followed her terrified gaze to see a sight that struck her with fear and awe: A man stood in the flames. His frame blocked the chambers entrance entirely. He was clad from head to toe in yellow armor: it was not shining, regal gold; but rather a dull, sulfurous yellow a yellow of death and decay -- which reflected no light, as if the color was on the verge of changing into black like the darkness of the void. His tunic and cape were of like color -- both threadbare -- and his cape hung from him like a tattered battle-flag. Upon his head, he wore a full-covering helmet with a jagged crown atop it. The only thing about him that wasnt yellow was the huge sword he held in his gauntleted hand. It was black, and like his armor, it had no shine to it. He was a king, a king of ruin and devastation.
Behind him, in the great king's shadow, a smaller figure stood, tall and slender, with a face white as a corpse and an expression so grotesquely woeful that any who dared look upon it would feel a helplessness, an utter despair, a loss of all hope.
The pickaxe fell from the fat mans grip, but Bethany was also stricken by the terrific figures and so made no move to retrieve her weapon.
The giant strode in among the throng of cultists, straight to their corpulent leader, and grabbed the man by the crown of his head, lifting him from the ground as he squeezed until the his skull popped like an engorged tick. The yellow king next moved with sure intent to Cassilda and Hermione. Both were killed with one swing of that heavy sword. Their heads hit the floor at the same time.
Then the tattered terror turned to their minion. He struck them down with his empty fist, and then crushed them beneath his heels. When no one else was left alive in the chamber, he returned to where Bethany lay beside the cults dead master. The Tattered King looked down at her and in his eyes burned dark fires without light or warmth, fires that would consume, but not destroy, for all eternity.
Then he swung his sword.
((Dear Heroid,
You are too good at this.
Your admirer,
Jordan))
(( Bloody Frakkin hell Heroid... Well done!! I didn't see this sort of end to the sacrefice coming at all! ))
((HOLY MONKEY CRAP!))
o_O
((More please!))