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Post by sandcastles on Mar 22, 2012 11:40:19 GMT -5
... in the present ... Gray The cold bit deep. Gray stumbled on, gritting her teeth, and in that haze of snowy grays and whites it wasn't scent, sight or sound that brought her to the corpses, but sheer luck. Good or bad luck may have been questionable. She slid on the ice suddenly, the ground sloping deceptively to send her in a pinwheeling panic along an indiscernible plane. Then over an edge, the air crisp and cold as it surrounded Gray on all sides until the sharp brittle crunch of bone and ice struck her even as she instinctively curled into a rolling ball. When she came to a stop, ears ringing and body aching, she dared not move, until finally it was move or freeze solid. So Gray did move, carefully limb by limb, until she found the crunch of bone had not been her own. A squinting gaze about revealed bodies heaped in snow covered mounds, preserved by the cold. Yet the one on the top still held a pink freshness to its cheeks. The armor still appeared more metal than brittle crusted snow. Gray crawled closer and a pained smile touched her cold cracked lips behind her veil. It was him. Acca. Then it was merely a matter of seeing him off the mountain and into relative warmth for revival. It would take nearly all of her resources, but she was stubborn, and Gray knew that if the wizard was able to grasp anything of what had happened, she would need a strong, and convincing ally. How she would convince him, and of what, remained thus far only a vague plan. She would blame it on the lich. The wizard had mentioned mind domination being a concern before. Let his own paranoid delusions do their work perhaps. " Wa'e up Acca, c'mon now, I kno' yer go'h col't in yer bon's, bu'h yer warmin' up' now, so op'en yer eyes. C'mon Acca, I nee' ye!"
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Post by sandcastles on Mar 25, 2012 7:22:50 GMT -5
... sometime ... notime ...Emmalynn She stirred. The world was a dark haze with no boundaries or confining lines that seemed to shift around her. Desperately Emmalynn tried to block out the sound, a scathing, hateful voice that whispered again and again words of cruelty, deception, murder. Emma didn't recognize the voice that intruded into her dream realm yet she knew it was Gray. The weight of the warning, the insistent seething, the way it bit deep into the back of her mind, finding root in her soul. Emma felt as if she had walked hundreds of miles since she had fallen into her slumber, and endless dream that showed her faces and places she had never known, and horrors she never wished to witness. Though Emmalynn hated the dark nightmares filled with a mockary of the warden she loved so dearly, she hated the truth even more, and she strove to sink deeper into her sleep. She would sleep forever if that was what it took to escape him. To escape her guilt. Someone had told her guilt was a powerful weapon. Emmalynn couldn't remember why she was so torn, only that he had taken everything she gave, and walked away. She wished she could follow but she had gone to sleep instead. It had been that endless haze, when she had fallen, the subtle words of Gray as they had leaned together. The voices that tried to lure her back seemed so cold, so fraught with the best intentions yet so cruel. How could they wish her back to that pain? Emmalynn the human girl, never good enough, never to be loved. She had tried to hold onto Gray, pleading in the nothingness to stay, but Gray had laid her down and whispered soft words, a crooning cold evocation of truth. They never lied to each other, even if sometimes they refused to listen. Emmalynn couldn't remember the exact words, but the message drifted through her consciousness like little motes of burning light. " I won't let you, Emmalynn. You're weak, all you do is suffer. Look what your foolish heart has done. Let me help you, the only way I can. If you won't listen, rest in silence for mercy's sake. Go to sleep Emma, and be grateful. Let go of your pain. You've lost enough already, he won't give you anything, and I can't give you any more." So Emma had shut her eyes against the sight of the one person she thought she would always have silently striding away and went to sleep. Yet mercy never came. Nor silence. Voices constantly toyed at the edges of her awareness, and sometimes she would open her eyes enough to see, until terrified, confused, pained, she would shut them again, wishing only for the torment to end. Then one day she opened her eyes and thought he was there. Intent blue eyes, a ruthless gaze, baring down on her. The sight froze her in place with shock until she realized it was a man, not an elf, and terrified by the fire in his gaze, she cringed back and forced her eyes shut once more. Yet as time drifted meaninglessly onwards Emma found herself wondering who it was, a face she had never known, that would intrude upon her dreams so vividly. Why would he look upon her with such a lust, and why was his name on the very tip of her tongue, like a lie eager to be spoken softly to see if it might be proven true? Emmalynn rolled in her sleep once more, her hazy ephemeral world a tight and comforting cocoon. She thought she heard that angry hiss of a voice, the different Gray, murmuring over her. "... Emmalynn? What'cher thin' yer doin', showin' yer face?"
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Post by sandcastles on Mar 26, 2012 16:24:16 GMT -5
... in the past... 1367 Gray [/b][/center] Her throat burned. Her tongue loathed to touch the roof of her mouth. Her stomach clung to her spine from constant hunger caused by the fear of the pain of chewing food. Gray had taken a step, a final step, she hoped, in keeping the ghost of Emmalynn at bay. It had been in her voice as she whispered that Gray had heard her first victim. The soft chirp of cheer that pervaded her tones even when bitter. Gray had been enraged by the subtle sound. Tormented. With each coy word she tried to offer to the elves she played her deadly game of cat and mouse with, murmured softly from behind her many veils, she knew that the weak skeleton of Emmalynn was rattling its jaw to taunt her from its shallow grave. In a fit of rage Gray had finally done the voice in, murdered it, as she envisioned murdering so many others. It had taken a vial of acid that once a time ago held its place in a trap, swallowed in a series of rapid gulps, followed by a chorus of screeching, gasping, and gagging. Gray had for a moment been certain she'd killed herself instead of that insipid note that clung to her vocals. Mercifully she blacked out from the agony. Somehow Gray managed to survive the self inflicted ordeal, awakening to the fire that was her mouth and throat and the painful burns that marred her cheeks and chin from her acid laced vomit. Yet despite the acute and constant pain Gray was triumphant. There was no voice. She was tempted to seek healing remedies, especially on the few occasions when she forced herself to eat, yet she denied the impulse. Though she wouldn't admit it she was terrified still, dreading to find that somehow the trace of Emmalynn would survive as well. Weeks of healing passed slowly, only the burns that marred her cheek and neck were soothed by healing salves. When she finally mustered the courage to test her voice she found it raspy, deformed, and haggard. Her whisper became a scathing quiet scratch, uniquely her own. Gray found she rather liked it despite the fact that she would likely still hurt for weeks to come. It was fitting. No more did Emmalynn haunt her every utterance with her naive twitter. No. Though Gray would find in time, Emma had other ways.
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Post by sandcastles on Apr 2, 2012 6:49:52 GMT -5
... in the present ...Gray Liar liar. Gray hated liars yet she, with nearly every breath, spun figments as naturally as innocent children laughed. The trick was in the little truths, the filaments that made the foundations of her elaborations, the shards of fact that allowed her just enough evidence to support believability. And such pillars she built, nestling one whisper atop another until she wove an intricate web spanning dozens of fictions and fables, tracked by the manageable anchors of authenticity. Gray had been many things in her life, a slave, a victim, a witness, a friend, a protector. Yet those were the roots, buried in dark soil over bones that were split by malicious deeds and broken by cruel hands. Gray was a shadow now, a fog of deceit that reveled in plots and deception. Gray was climbing carefully higher along the tenuous threads of power and possibility. No longer the victim, she was aiming blows, guiding hands, with deeds as much as subtle murmurs from the shadows. She was a killer. An assassin. Fledgling though she was, Gray had committed many murders to satisfy the demon that was her seething hatred, but now she was beginning to come into her own rights. Though the occasional set back forced her upon several retreats Gray continued a steady progress, sinking hooks deeper into a number of cracks, the trusts and expectations of various investments as she came to think of them. A sign of her progress, most assuredly, was the most recent dealings with the would be fop, a cruel handed sharp tongued man that was assuredly as much of an actor as she was. If only he knew how close she so often walked, if only he knew how often she listened, hidden right before his very eyes. That he, as well as so many others, came to her for the remedies of a silent knife in the dark, the carrier of secrets, a spy and a means to an end, made Gray smirk with a smug satisfaction. Yet truth was to be told. The time had come for calculated risks and she took the step with eager trepidation. Stripping away one set of lies to tie tighter the knots of misconception, Gray sacrificed a series of secrets for the sake of loyalty. Though it would take time to tell if her venture was successful, she held to confidence that her position was further secured. The warrior was hers, she surmised, even though he still strove to keep his secrets. Even as she listened to his promises of commitment she carefully calculated the ploys of what was left unsaid. She knew far more than he could have ever expected. Now it was merely a matter of carefully placing the hints of her intelligence until such a time as he realized he could keep nothing from her, and would hopefully readily give in. Then, out of the blue, something unexpected happened. His name was König. It had been years since so much truth passed through Grays lips. Despite it being against every one of her personal rules, the meticulous structure of her faith, she found a surprising amount of relief speaking to the stranger. Perhaps it was the similarities in their lives gone by, or perhaps it was the commonalities in how they worked and perceived their tasks. Though she loathed to tell truth's without ulterior motives, she found as they wandered through recollections she was less concerned with binding him by sympathies, and more simply finding an unexpected solace in his continued company. So unusual was the happenstance that Gray, by the end of their conversation, had completely forgotten to twist the strings of her intended manipulations, and even as she realized and attempted to make up for her lack, a simple phrase put an end to it with an almost flippant ease. "You're welcome to join me, if you'd like."Over her shoulder Gray was certain she herd a murmur, the rattling scrape of bones, the quiet hiss of a ghost not to be ignored. She shut out the sound, and with only brief hesitation replied, "Ahyea, thin' I'd lik' tha'."
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Post by sandcastles on Apr 11, 2012 8:20:50 GMT -5
.... sometime ... no time ...Emmalynn All the turmoil in the world would not wake Emmalynn from her slumber. Every violent twist, every dire threat, every piercing scream sent her deeper, recoiling into the depths of the timeless oblivion that was her dreams. Emma was certain that if she could curl up tightly enough, she would shut out the sounds, the smells, the caresses that tormented her so with their malicious intentions. Yet peace would never come. And so it was when peace suddenly took precedent, when a gentle calm seemed to surround her, that Emmalynn stirred in her slumber, tentatively trying to open her eyes. A grey veil obscured her vision, and a scarf gagged her mouth. She tried to speak, but the words were garbled, harsh and broken, and then she was shoved violently, pushed down upon her hands and knees. Her assailant struck her silently, with the deadly efficiency of a predator long at the hunt. Emmalynn cowered, terrified, and let the dark shelter her once more, the peace a lie. Yet in those brief moments of wakefulness Emma became keenly aware of a truth. Slumber was killing her. She was weak, near blind, clumsy. Her sleep had robbed her of her lithe limbs and instinctive reflexes. Dreaming kept out the worst of the world, but she was leaving the world entirely. Emmalynn knew then that if she didn't awaken the smothering oppression of the nothingness would soon destroy her. "Shhh Emmalynn, shh." Tension and turmoil would pass, and again that sense of calm, a sense of companionship lingered. Emmalynn was careful this time, sneaking a sly peek under heavy eyelids, feigning her slumber. So long had she slept, so often did she toss and turn, that the slight shift went unnoticed. There was something so keenly familiar, so desperately akin to a past Emma had strove to put behind her, that her ruse was forgotten. And as she raised her voice a cloth wrapped hand clamped over her mouth. "Ih' ain' him, Emmalynn, ih's ney even 'n Elf. Jes' a man, wit' hate in 'es 'eart. Jes' anot'er blin' foo' tha'd kill ye fer car'in." But even as Emmalynn was forced back into the dark she struggled, desperately fighting against the tightening grip. She recognized Gray now, in that rasping cold voice, the cutting advice that evoked the notions of betrayal. The warden had abandoned her, and this man, this stranger, was so much like him. Like uncaring stone, impassive, never wanting. Emma wasn't sure why she thought that, with such a fleeting glimpse, yet as Gray ushered her back to her cradle she watched the shrouded woman. Something occurred to Emmalynn then, and she whispered, daring to test the notion of her dreams. "You're lonely, aren't you? You're lonely, and afraid too..""Shhh, Emmlynn, shhh." Emma flinched her eyes shut as she cringed away from the seething anger in that voice, she felt tears wet and warm on her cheeks. In her dreams she would always be alone, because Gray would never believe in anybody, even when she desperately needed to.
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Post by sandcastles on May 3, 2012 18:41:34 GMT -5
... in the present ...Gray She watched the patrons of the inn with a casual smile under her veil, a hand idly toying with the edge of one of the two wine bottles on her table. Gray had been busy, almost frantically so, and finally she had a chance to relax. As her eyes passed over the doorway of the tavern she wondered though how long it would be before she was interrupted again. Wolves were on her trail now and it seemed she would have to make swift amends to some of her plans to shake them off. The days passing had seen ties cut, bridges burned, liars exposed to the bone. A tremor shook her hand, and she clenched it on the tabletop, her head shaking against the sound of sobs that seemed to linger in her ears. The truth was painful to some, the innocent, the weak, those that refused to see people for what they were. Ghosts clung to their perceptions in life, hopes destined to be dashed, leaving them wailing. Gray hated the sound of Emmalynn's mourning, the ghost that haunted her never seemed to quiet these days, ever since the mageling König had been proven fickle as the rest. It had been easy to make him walk away, despite the bond of a common past, and a similar interest in ironic justice. All it had taken was a little game. A knife in the dark, without even true intentions to slay, held by a different hand, yet guilt by association proved enough to sever the ties they had made. Gray tapped her fingers against the table. For all the pitiful crying that echoed in the night she was certain her next encounter with König would be fatal, if only to quiet the rattling of the skeleton in her closet. His life would pay for the betrayal she had expected, people were always pretending to embrace each other, before walking away. It was spirits pitiful and tethered like Emmalynn that suffered for it and Gray was swift to tire of listening to the unrelenting moans of misery, so soft that she could only hear them when she sat alone, watching, waiting. Gray rose and tucked her bottles away, her prey it seemed was not forthcoming this evening, and made her way out of the tavern. Her mind flickered to where she wished to go, a visit to her favored companion. Irony twisted her visage beyond the view of those that bothered to take note of her shrouded form as she passed into the street. For all the trust she refused, for all the certainty she had in end all betrayals, Gray still returned again and again to that one. Perhaps it was because his nature was to be distrustful as well. Perhaps it was due to how casually their constant betrayals of each other were open to accusation and uncovering, yet seemed more binding than repulsive. Trusting in mistrust? She knew he lied to her, or perhaps, not that he lied, but that he kept secrets. His capacity for secrets was well proven, a trait she could admire, yet it was dangerous. Gray repaid in kind, lies now secondary to useful truths, leaving out what wasn't necessary. They could be powerful, she believed, if only they could maintain the semblance of working together. She looked up and down the street and slipped along the edges of shadows, her movements illusive through the streets of Llorkh. Gray wondered if the cities eyes even bothered to note her, it had been long since any contact was made, yet she still tended the rules. Perhaps they were satisfied with that and had decided to let her be. Perhaps when her business was done she would have to draw their attention once more. Gray didn't like being ignored.
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Post by sandcastles on May 6, 2012 2:16:31 GMT -5
... in the present ...Gray She watched his eyes, confused, frightened, helpless, as they watched her hovering close. Gray straddled the soldier before the fire, mimicking an intimate scene on the off chance someone might enter the room, as she counted the mans heartbeat. The throb of his pulse was his only move, paralyzed as he was, and Gray savored the moment. She hadn't intended for such an overt crime, yet she had messages to send, and it seemed this would clip two birds with a single dagger thrown. The Zhent tried to gurgle a protest as she slipped a hand up to pinch his nose shut while balling up one of her lacy blue and purple gloves to stuff into his mouth. As she applied a firm pressure Gray offered the suffocating man a cold smile from behind her gem studded fishnet veil. He had been easy prey, and in truth, not of her typical interest, being a human. Yet she had spoken her intent aloud, and so she carried it through, even after the cold parting of ways. Once the life faded from the Zhents eyes Gray peeled off her other glove, draping them both over the body, and slipped the gem studded veil off her face, draping it over her unfortunate victims face. With the remnants of her disguise she staked her claim, not her typical signature, yet the message was clear enough. Timing eerily perfect a knock sounded upon the door even as she slipped a potion from her belt. Invisible and silent, Gray watched the innkeeper as he discovered the corpse and the Zhents that soon milled about to investigate the happening. Then she slipped into the night, leaving the Ten Bells to its malcontent, carrying her message to the shadows that stalked the streets. "I hear it sai' ye ough' ney ter be killin' elfers in 'he stree's o' Llor', bu' tha' leav's a lo' o' gam' lef' ter play. s'Far as I can' tell, a'cours', ih's 'he Zhen's tha' drin' 'he mos' wine."
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Post by sandcastles on May 9, 2012 23:24:10 GMT -5
... in the present ...Emmalynn It was promises that rocked her from slumber, spoken as a whisper, words of dedication that Emma had always been so desperate to hear. It was the notion of forevers and the bitter ripples of Gray's silent disbelief. It was a voice she had heard before, adamant, instant as the strong hold around her shoulders. Emmalynn opened her eyes. Ruthless eyes, deep blue, a gaze like one she remembered so dearly, even though they were so different, returned her stare. She heard Gray's harsh denial in the background, the steady whisper, yet Emma refused to pay heed. Those eyes, so intent, captivated her need, and she desired to be awake then, more than anything. Emmalynn didn't know the man she clung to, though she recognized him vaguely, she had awoken to his gaze before, and heard his voice in her dreams. " Please..." she begged, desperate for comfort. " Please.. don't let go.." " I won't abandon you..." he whispered. Emma was in pain, her limbs ached and her head throbbed, some insidious poison curling through her veins, worse than the constant hissing whispers Gray ushered over her shoulder. It made her want to sleep, yet the warm arms around her gave Emmalynn focus, the promise she heard in his voice and the look in his eyes, were worth fighting for. Yet the man with ruthless eyes noticed her confusion, the tremors that shook her, and when he pushed her back in question Emma's hope was replaced with fear. "Who are you?" he demanded. "I'm.. I'm Emmalynn," she quailed weakly to the stranger, feeling more lost than ever. If he knew her not, where was she? How did she get there? Why didn't she know him? Emma struggled to fight back her tears, yet they rolled free, spilling over her cheeks. Gray was there in a heartbeat, first at her elbow, then roughly shoving Emma aside, defensive, protective, even as Emmalynn tried to protest. It was not enough though, her fear gave Gray all the excuse she needed to ignore Emma as she struggled, and then the man was rising, leaving her crumpled on the ground, abandoned. Gray's voice was angry as Emmalynn slipped back into slumber, exhausted and hurt, and she dared not cry for fear of those words she knew were coming. "See 'ow quic' 'he lef' ye 'lone, Emmalynn? Gon' in a 'eartbeat. Wha'cher showin' yer fac' fer, hm? Yer jes' goin' ter hur' yerself mor'."
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Post by sandcastles on May 10, 2012 19:10:25 GMT -5
... in the present ...Spider He didn't see her as he passed. He didn't feel the web he trod so lightly upon. He didn't sense the predator that slowly closed, closer as he made his way along, closer still when he paused. The trap was set, and Spider crouched, blades in hand, ready to pounce. He passed within half a foot of her, unaware, and was caught. Her victim was down before he could react, body limp as it thudded to the ground. Spider stood satisfied, feasting on the sight, then went into motion once more. She was gone as swiftly as she came. Grimly satisfied she crouched by a stream and washed the blood from the grisly task free from her hands. Though she could not speak past the vicious barbs that held her tongue in place, the cruel smirk on her lips and cold glint in her eyes told volumes of her sentiment. Spider was pleased.
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