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Author Topic: Rhapsody Ka¸żrrhem/Murmillion - Enchantress  (Read 1846 times)
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Rhapsody Mythlinis
New Santharian

Offline Offline

Gender: Female
Posts: 155

Half-Elf, Kayrrhem/ Murmillion

« on: March 14, 2007, 02:52:08 PM »

Name: Rhapsody Mythlinis (Mother's Maiden Name - She no longer goes by her married name or her maiden name.)

Gender: Female

Age: 148 (27 in Human years)

Race: Half Elf

Tribe: Każrrhem/Murmillion

Occupation: Singer/Bard

Title: Enchantress of Dreams

Height: 1 Ped, 2 Fores

Weight: Approximately 1 Pygge

Overview: Good can come of a broken life, as she is living proof. Though the times and trials we face will drag us down until we believe we must die to have peace, the Gods bless those who they find favor with, and protect them on their way.

If one could describe her appearance in but two words, many would find "Classic Beauty" would roll easily off their tongues. She is, by no means, breathtaking nor unsightly. There is a simple grace, which seems to radiate from her and cause others to perceive her as one who is to be considered among the admired.

Tresses of a rich adlemirene color cascade about her being bountiful in both amount and texture. For her age, it is long and plentiful, reaching down in length as far as her slender hips. Its texture is soft and smooth, with a slight bounce as it has a wavy disposition, giving a sort of lightheartedness for the soul. Framing her delicate features, with a gentle touch, are long bangs. As they are of decent length, they are usually swept to the side to lay against her cheek, only to fall back in front of her eyes from time to time. Though her hair is not extremely thick, there is plenty of it present and it adds to the natural beauty of her figure.

Hidden beneath long, lush lashes and thin yet expressive eyebrows, are eyes of allia. Though fairly uncommon amongst her mother's heritage, the hue was passed to her from past generations. Around the center of the eye is a silver ring, which gradually melts into the surrounding color, creating an almost minute metallic effect. Yet, other than their unique color, they are fairly dull in disposition. They do not 'sparkle', 'twinkle', nor are they 'dazzling'. No fire or desire is hidden in their depths, only a cold fear and hatred toward men. Though, they have a gentleness about them, which is extended to others who find it in their hearts to outstretch kindness to her, but they are few and far between as she tends to avoid the commonality. Only her infant son is able to bring a light or smile to her eyes at this stage in her life.

Oval in shape, with a gentle point for her chin and a nose of a similar composition, her face matches the petite nature of her features. Her coloring is ivory yet she has a flushed undertone, giving a pinkish hue to her delicate complexion. The surface of her skin is smooth as a lake at dawn, nearly perfect to the naked eye; and it is soft, like that of the finest crafted silk. Composed of a color modestly lighter than that of mercoral, her lips are thinly shaped yet have a slight plumpness to their appearance. Soft in texture, they blend well with her other features, neither standing out nor drawing attention to themselves with artificial paints.

When standing upright with her shoulders back, her height reaches a mere one ped and two fores. As both her parents came from tall backgrounds, her height is questionable as to how she did not manage to grow taller, yet she believes it was the lack of proper nutrition when she was younger which stunted her growth. She does not complain, for it allows her to blend in well with others about her. Her figure is slender and lean, as she never participated in any physical activity when she was a child; she lacks physical strength and it shows more than moderately in her figure. If one would pick her up, they would find her to be quite light in their arms, as she weighs a meager one pygge and one heb. As she has never been exactly measured, these are only estimates as to what both she and others have perceived about her.

Small hands and feet, despite her petite figure, are properly symmetrical to the rest of her fragile silhouette. On both the pads of her feet and the palms of her hands, are scars, administered by blades, which were wielded in the hands of first her father, then her husband there after. She does her best to hide the scars upon her hands, as they are more difficult to keep hidden than those, which are found upon the bottom of her feet.

Though no visible skin bears any disfigurement or imperfection, it is what is not seen which brings a stray tear to ones eye. Indignities cover her body, as if a torch was held to her skin, burning the flesh from her form. Scars of unimaginable length stretch across her torso, from where knives or nails cut and scratched her figure. Puncture wounds adorn her legs, as if the wounds were a valuable ornamentation. Her back is decorated with hundreds of stripes from where the leather of a whip was placed in powerful hands. Welts and numerous scars are the result of the brutality. For years, this was her life. The wounds, which had been received, will never fully heal and will remain a constant reminder of the nightmare she endured.

Having worn rags for the majority of her young life, she was eager to be rid of them and begin anew upon reaching Sarvonia. Though she was unable to afford new clothing on her immediate arrival, she has saved what she had earned from performing and has treated herself to what she feels is a luxury more than deserved. Yet, even in her rags, she carried them well. She did not allow people to look down on her simply because she could not yet afford more cultured attire. She now has obtained several specially made articles of clothing. Ones she is proud to wear and is eager to show off - in a humble manner of course.

Her gown is silver in color with a simple, yet comely embroidery along the hemlines. It is nothing elaborate, but it adds some elegance to the other hand, plain appearance of the gown. Resting just off the shoulders, the sleeves are long and cover the tops of her small pale hands. The body of the dress hugs her torso seductively, following the curves of her figure beautifully. The beginning of the skirt starts up at her hips. From there, it falls about her legs in a magnificent array of folds, gathering gently. The gown reaches to the ground and has a small train in the back, adding to the illusion of height. She still wears no ornamentation other than a comb shaped like that of a ceruwing butterfly, yet does not mind and finds little trinkets a burden. The comb was the only possession of her mothers she had managed to save before fleeing Nybelmar forever. Loosely about her waist, a cyhalloian snow cloth belt is tied. It hangs at her hips below her belly with the ends reaching nearly to the ground.

A harness of sorts is wrapped about her at an angle. It rests over her right shoulder, before going down to her left hip and being tied securely. It is approximately one and a half peds in length and nearly a ped wide in the very middle and one third of a ped along the rest of the strip. It is black in color and is used to carry her two-month-old son. Its composition is only a long strip of cloth, wide enough to sufficiently carry the child yet light enough to not add an excessive amount of extra weight for her to carry.

Hanging from her shoulders and nearly covering her entire form is a long nor'sidian cloak. It falls about her in a cascade of night, enveloping her petite form and reaching the ground behind her, trailing as she walks. The hood, which usually rests against her back, is only occasionally brought up to cover her features from either the sun or the cold.

One's past experiences play a key role in a person's character development over the course of their lifetime. Instilling emotions and thought patterns, which will be either a blessing or it will haunt them until they die. Fears and joys, combine to create masterpieces from the gods to use for their purpose; the good or destruction of the world. A young woman with a frightening and disturbing past, found an opportunity to escape and to being a new life for herself and her unborn child.

Rhapsody, a woman who has suffered more than what hell could bring upon her, has come from her past and has escaped it to reshape her future and her life. Yet, the rationality she learned to adopt has remained with her, causing paranoia and occasionally hallucinations of those she desperately tried to escape. The men of her past haunt even her waking mind, chasing her across Sarvonia. The pain and suffering they brought upon her could never be forgiven even in a thousand years. This she knows, but they are the only men she has known over her lifetime and they depict her ideal of the male gender. They define all others to her, and because of that, an overwhelming fear and dread of all other men. There has yet to be an exception. Part of the unconscious habits, which have been retained, is one that causes her to pass out when pain of any sort touches her. She learned long ago that if she is not awake, no pain is felt. It was a means of protection that she has found difficult to disrupt and amend.

Despite her occasional mental instability, she has grown to become a wonder among those who have had similar upbringing. Unlike them though, silence and reservation has been her chosen path, preferring solitude and a tender heart to a cold and heartless resentment. Though she has little to offer by means of riches, she extends what she can to help others and show them what she believes kindness truly is. Trust is an attribute she does not cast upon other lavishly. It is hard earned for those who desire it, and even then, it is never fully gained. Her fears and apprehensions prevent her from truly trusting even the closest of friends.

Music, in a way, has been her salvation. Never had a musical note reached her ears until she set foot upon the ship, which brought her across the sea. It was then the sound of the sailor’s songs awoke a longing and a desire to create such a beauty was instilled in her soul. No instruments did she have other than her own voice, yet when having joined them in their merriment, a precious discovery was made. Her voice was not only good, but in the words of the sailors...” ‘Twas mezzmerizin’!” She took their compliments kindly yet remained humble in her intentions, never going beyond that of her status or position.

~* A simple, yet raw strength and determination to escape her past, consumes her heart and mind. Always thinking of her son, she is resolved to build a strong and promising future for them both no matter the cost.
~* Her voice, a hidden talent discovered after her arrival on the continent of Sarvonia. It is her main source of income. Her voice may not be spectacular, yet it is able to captivate an audience for hours on end.
~* Because of her upbringing, the lack of food and drink is something she has grown accustomed to. This often aids her when she is unable afford or find something to eat or drink, or when she runs out in her pack for she is unable to carry much with her at one time. Though, she does her best to keep enough drink on her person as to not run out on her travels.
~* Her ability, though more of a curse than a blessing, gives her an alternate dimension of thought when dealing with those around her. Still learning and perfecting on her own, she is far from her full potential but is gradually reaching the point of mastery.

~* She has next to no physical strength. This makes traveling difficult, as she must carry both her child and a pack with their meager belongings. Lifting a sword would be out of the question, yet a fear she would harm herself with such a blade keeps her from getting to close to them at any level.
~* Fear fills her heart toward men, as her past has only given her an experience with an evil and torturous side of them, she sees them in no other fashion. They rule with an iron fist, and are fearless to use it on others weaker than themselves.
~* A hunted woman, at least so she believes, yet not as a criminal by any means. She has not stolen anything in her life, nor raised her hand to strike any living creature. Nor can she tell a lie. When back on Nybelmar, her husband and father chased her as she attempted to escape their control, fleeing to the coast. Whether they followed her to Sarvonia, she knows not to this day, but will not take the chance that they had not. Always on the run, she rarely stays in one place longer than two weeks.
~* Lack of incoming funds is something she must deal with every day. As she has no skills in any given craft, she doesn't always have the money to pay for food and will often go hungry for several days until the money can be made. Though she is used to these types of conditions, it still takes a toll on her strength and it weakens her greatly to where carrying her pack and son becomes nearly impossible.
~* Her son, though she loves him more than life itself, he is a burden for her to both carry and care for. When money is tight, what little food she is able to come up with goes to him, leaving herself hungry and weakened.
~* Old injuries received still give her a decent amount of pain and agony from time to time. The pain often comes in spasms, sending her mind back in time and forcing the memories back to life for her to re-live. From time to time, the torment is so powerful to the point is causes her to become unconscious for at least a few hours to a couple of days. It is her mind resorting back to how she used to save herself from the agony of the afflictions.
~* The alternate side of her ability comes with difficult side effects, which can be more than crippling. If she over exerts her mind at any given point, excruciating headaches bring her body to near death in agony. Nothing can be done to help relieve the pain other than time and rest.

~* Her silver gown. The only clothing she owns other than her cloak.
~* Nor'sidian cloak, which drapes elegantly off her frame as she strides from place to place, keeping both her and her son warm on cooler days.
~* A small leather bag, which when full, weighs no more than 7 ods.
~* An average person's one day rations. Since she eats very little, a day's rations can last her nearly a week’s time, even when feeding her son.
~* One hak, which is approximately equal to 50 sans. Though smaller coins are usually found on her person, it is a treasure as it commemorates her new life and how well she has done since her arrival.

Special Ability:

Images, nothing but images fills the mind of the already tortured soul. Ever since she was a mere seventeen years of age, her thoughts were filled with images from not only her own dreams but other's as well. Believed to have gone insane, few will listen to her as she tries to explain what plagues her even waking mind. No one has taught her how to control the images, she can only do what she has learned over the years what has aided her in controlling the onslaught of images.

Up to this time, no one has been able to pinpoint what has caused this shift in her mind. The most logical conclusion they can reach is her past and the traumatic experiences, which brought her mind to its "breaking" point. As she has been able to describe, the images began to come to her after an extraordinarily violent experience with her father, which had left her unconscious and unresponsive for nearly a week, as the exact length of time is not truly known. It was during this time which agonizing nightmares racked her form. Each time she attempted to wake herself, her mind would push her further from the clutches of the waking world.

When receiving the images, her mind does not need a specific state which it requires to obtain them; they just come on their own. It is almost as if they are drawn to her as some sort of a "channel" before continuing on their normal path. She has no control over what she receives, nor when. As for whom she receives such images, some sort of contact must have been made. Whether it has been touch, sight, or vocal; they cannot have come from someone on the other side Santharia. Usually images with little or no meaning, they are quickly dismissed and attempted to be forgotten.

The images received can be anything from dreams, memories, or thoughts. Yet, when received, she cannot discern the difference between the three, as they are all simply images from others. Memories and dreams are images, which are more often received as they are on a similar intellect level. They are also more easily manipulated and changed than what a person's every thought can.

These images are far from being crystal clear in perception, being often blurry and unfocused. Little energy is needed to bring them into focus, yet it can be time consuming depending on how much concentration is required. Also, color distortions are common, though that is believed to be a part of her mental condition not the composition of the images.

As her ability progresses, she would be able to learn how to pull memories and dreams from those around her. This is far from her meager skills as she is still learning how to control the flow, which she automatically receives. Yet, with many, many years of training and dedication, this could be achieved but not often as dreams and memories are fragile and needed to be handled with the utmost of care.

Little has been found which has aided in controlling the flow of the images or preventing them from even coming to her. Yet, what others could not do for her, she did alone. Finding outlets, which helped, to soothe her troubled mind and thoughts and also discovering a way to use her "ability" in reverse. Though, it is not performed out of malice or hatred, but for the good of those who cannot protect themselves.

Music, she has found, creates a channel of energy, which her mind is able to understand on a level of power. With that channel, she is able to control the flow of images and manipulate them to an extent. Altering them ever so slightly to her will to bring about a certain change in a person. The outcome of this alteration is unknown, never set in stone in how the receiver will respond to the change in memory or dreams.

The person whose dreams or memories are being altered must be within a close range as over further distances becomes more difficult for her novice skills to reach. The exact range is unknown, as no measurement has ever been done on her yet it is no more than a few strals. The amount of manipulation is also greatly limited. Large memories or dreams are extremely draining and will try to avoid such circumstances if at all necessary. Small alterations more often are less draining than a handful of massive ones.

Each mind is of a different strength, varying in what it will allow her to do on either the receiving or altering end. Weaker minds allow more images to roam freely for her to obtain, while stronger minds tend to be more reserved and more difficult to receiving images. The minds of magi, druids, and clerics are among those more difficult to penetrate while the minds of fighters, commoners, and such are much more easily bent. Her motives are never anything more than for the good of herself and those around her. Using her power for evil intentions usually accentuates the aftermath headaches, even if little effort was expended.

With great power comes great repercussions, or at least it is how she feels with her ability. At any given point that she over exerts her mind, agonizing headaches will racked her mind and soul, crippling her for days on end. Nothing can be done to relieve these headaches except for time, rest, and many prayers. Any who attempt to aid her and touch her will receive an onslaught of images; uncontrolled and violent. They are from her past, what she experienced and what she lives with ever moment of every day. She cannot control the sending of these images to those who touch her and she pities anyone who becomes prey to them as they are not theirs to bear.

No animal follows her or keeps her company, but she is far from being alone during her travels. Shortly after she arrived in Sarvonia, she gave birth to her son Alexander Lance Mythlinis. He was strong and handsome, resembling his father in many of his physical features. As he is nearly 2 months in age, he is growing quickly and will be walking before long with how much he uses his legs. Upon his head is a large amount of dark hair and it gives the appearance of being constantly ruffled though no one may touch it. His eyes are much like his fathers, dark and mysterious. Being of a quiet disposition, he rarely makes a sound other than a happy gurgling when his mother sings or when laughing. Content with his situation, a smile always seems to dance upon his face. His attire is simple and not even close to the elegance of his mother’s clothing. It is basically like that of an over-sized shirt, often knotted at the bottom to keep his feet warm. On a nice day, the knot will be undone, allowing his feet freedom to move and get some exercise.

« Last Edit: January 07, 2012, 09:32:48 AM by Rhapsody Mythlinis » Logged

Rhapsody Mythlinis
New Santharian

Offline Offline

Gender: Female
Posts: 155

Half-Elf, Kayrrhem/ Murmillion

« Reply #1 on: March 14, 2007, 02:53:02 PM »

One's past is often what determines their future, shaping and molding them to who they need to be or should be. Yet, there are those who refuse to allow such standards be wrongly placed upon them and they work to create their world anew.

The story of Kotia Mythlinis and Vesddar Rataidyn is far from blissful. A union poisoned with pain, agony, and deceit then masked by a well-played charade from both sides. A heart hardened by malice and one severed by the deception the other brought; verbal and physical abuse tearing away the fragile pieces of an innocent heart. Fear and loathing have all but too quickly replaced what should have been love and desire, if there was any of either from the very beginning. His life was based upon lies and trickery, thirsting for nothing but the power to control and possess others. She was a delicate soul, yet it was broken and torn, never given the tenderness and care it craved from a hellish being.


Theseus Mythlinis had just returned from one of his many travels, bringing with him an array of treasures and stories from all over the continent. He was a Kayrr'hem merchant, transporting his family's finely crafted goods all across Nybelmar. Kotia, his youngest out of  seven, was by far his favorite and he took great pleasure in spoiling her. She was also the only one who displayed any interest in the many tales he had accumulated. Despite the fact some of the specifics were obviously fictional, she always sat bright-eyed as Theseus re-enacted the details in his fanatical saga.

Clothed in a waterberry blue silk gown, the color of her favorite flower, it was rich in both color and cloth. The silk as a gift from her father, being one of the many treasures he would return home with for Kotia and his wife. Kotia stood by the window overlooking the front garden, impatiently awaiting the arrival of her father. Ears perked at the sound of the large black oak doors opening quietly, followed by the patter of weary footsteps echoing in the hall.
"Father!" she exclaimed, gathering up the hem of her gown then running to the foyer. Her bare feet landing softly and silently upon the wooden floor. No sooner had Theseus had a chance to set down his bags, was he nearly knocked to the ground by the force of Kotia's enbrace. Taking him into her arms. she squeezed him tightly and excitedly. "Welcome home!"

A hearty laugh escaped the old man’s lips as the embrace given by his daughter nearly caused him to lose his feet from beneath him.  “Its…good to see you…Kotia.” He gasped between the squeezing of her hold. “I…have missed you…and your mother…dearly. I pray…all has been well in my…absence?”

“Oh yes father. All has been well. Come, share with us of your journey. I can hardly contain my enthusiasm to hear what you have to say, and it will also give me time away from mother.” The sarcasm was heavy laden in her voice, which was accentuated by the slight roll of her eyes. “She is still attempting to play matchmaker, just as she did with my elder sisters. I have found it to be both amusing and overly exasperating.”

Placing a mock frown upon his features and his lower lip sticking out in a pout he held her at arms length. “Then, I must have a word with the woman as I would very much care to keep you around for a good while longer.” Unable to help himself, a soft chuckle escaped him. “You are my sanity.”

A tender smile teased the corner of her mouth as she aided her father with all the packages he had brought home, being quick yet careful even though they were not the object of her specific anticipation. She reached down to aid him with his packages and belongings, gathering a few into her arms then making her way to his quarters.

“Wait but a moment Kotia,” Theseus called after her as she made her way through the house with the gifts. When she returned to him, a gratified expression appeared on his features. “I know you do not care much for gifts but…I found something which you may find fascinating. It is a gift to adorn with your dress.”

Slipping a hand into the pocket located at his left breast, Theseus retrieved a small decorative box. Using his free hand, he took a hold of Kotia’s hands and gently placed the box within them. Confusion became visible upon her countenance as she carefully drew the box up and exposed its contents to her xazure hues. Within the confinements of the box lay a small comb, shaped like that of a ceruwing butterfly in the color of her beloved cerubells. With fingers trembling in excitement, Kotia gingerly lifted the beautiful adornment from its resting place staring in wonder at its purity of design.  She could not imagine where her father managed to discover such a treasure but before the excitement sank in, Theseus reached over to took the comb from her grasp. Admiringly, he placed the comb in Kotia’s cascade of long eophran brown tresses. A pleased smile found its way upon his lips as he gazed at her beauty.

 “It is beautiful father,” reaching her arms about him once again, holding him tightly in appreciation. “I shall wear it forever.”

“Good. I am pleased you like it. It suits you well.” He paused a moment. A lengthy silence filled the space between them until Theseus clapped his hands in an attempt to break it. “I should best see your mother, but let’s get these packages put away properly. Once I visit with her, I shall call for you so I may begin my stories.”

“Do not worry about the packages. I can manage them. Go find mother and take care, she has been put out ever since you left and quite displeased about your absence. Yet, you know she is none too happy about you going away.” A musical giggle satiated the room as Kotia watched her father make his way apologetically to the kitchen. Shoulder sagging with the disappointment of his wife’s displeasure.


Sheia Mythlinis was busy in the kitchen, seemingly unaware of her husband’s arrival. Long adlemirene locks swayed with her hips as she walked from one side to the other, also complimenting the simple pale xazure dress which clung to her slender figure. To Theseus, they were provoking him because he knew very well that she realized his presence behind her. Admiration swelled in his heart for being the wife of a traveling merchant was no easy task and she held herself well while he was gone.

“Good morning beautiful,” his voice produced a silky tone, tickling her ear with its sound. Strong arms embraced her form gently, causing her to pause and smile, color rising to her cheeks in contentment. “Did you miss me?”

A supple chuckle rippled from her bosom as she spun around in his arms to return his hug and planting a welcome home kiss upon his lips. “Did I miss you? What a silly question to ask. Of course I missed you.” Holding him to her, she kissed his cheek before squeezing him as hard as she could.

Inhaling deeply, he breathed in her scent and the smell of home. Memories and joys of the past flooded his thoughts while Sheia held him close. Breaking from his reverie, he freed himself from his wife and held her at arm’s length. “I realize this might not be the best time to bring it up, yet I have a subject which needs to be discussed concerning Kotia.” The warmth in Sheia’s eyes faded in hearing his tone of voice.

“Is something wrong?” puzzlement clouded her features. Yes, Kotia was of age and ought to have been married off by this time, yet they had been waiting on her to let them know she felt ready for such a life-changing ordeal. They had not done this with their older daughters, but both adored their youngest and realized the mistakes they had made with the earlier situations with their children.
“No no no, nothing is wrong. I just wished to speak with you about my next journey and the possible allowance of Kotia joining me.” Theseus stared intently into the eyes of Sheia, studying her expression and emotions on the matter. He had brought up the issue before yet arguments had always ensued on the topic and it was eventually dropped and forgotten about. He wanted Kotia to go with him on a journey for the experience and exhilaration of seeing a world beyond what they had called home for centuries.

A blank stare was the only manifestation of emotion which Sheia portrayed. It was indeed a sore and troublesome topic which Theseus had revived yet she was unsure of her stance on the issue this time around. “Give me time to think about it love. My position on this is unsteady but I shall give you an answer soon. She is of a good age, yet my feelings as her mother and having her go out into such an environment is terrifying. What if something would happen to her? We would both be devastated beyond understanding.”

Theseus weighed her words in his mind, mulling them over word for word. Agreeing with her argument but not willing to back down so easily. He would give her the time she required to make a decision then go from there. “Kotia has expressed interest of traveling with me in the past and I am sure it has not changed. I will talk with her on the affair and relay to you her thoughts.”

She nodded in acknowledgment then turned her back to him and resumed the work she had been performing before the interruption. “Kotia is waiting for you and your tales love. You best see to her and I shall be along shortly.”


“…and that, my dear, is the end of my story.” With a clap of his hands upon his knee, a broad grin spread across his features, directed to the form sitting starry-eyed on the floor before him. Xazure hues sparkled with the newfound knowledge he had freely bestowed. His gaze then drifted upward to the doorway, where Sheia stood with her arms folded and amusement etched upon her face. “I pray you were standing there for the entirety of my tale. I believe it was well worded, if I do say so myself.” A smile of personal gratification was easily depicted in his eyes.

The corners of Sheia’s mouth curled into a soft smile, bringing a subtle warm glow to her sharp elven facial appearance. “I heard much of your tale, my love, and it was well told.” Taking a few steps forward, she laid a hand upon her daughter’s shoulder, and stared perceptively into her husband’s eyes. “When do you plan on leaving once again Theseus? I must make the necessary arrangements for Kotia’s absence.”

Two pairs of eyes gawked at Sheia in complete and utter shock from her words. In a flash, Kotia was on her feet and had her arms around her mother’s neck in gratitude and delight, catching the poor woman entirely off guard. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, mother! You do not realize how much this means to me!” Releasing her mother from a death grip, she looked into her mother’s eyes. “I know it was a difficult decision and often caused quarrels between you and father when he was home. I will do my best to assure you that no guilt is felt from this decision.”

“Well, it shall be at least a few weeks time before my wares are replenished and prepared for another journey. It should be plenty of time to make the necessary accommodations.” Theseus rose to his feet to clasp both his daughter and his wife in a big yet gentle embrace. “I have four wonderful women in my life, two of my favorite in my arms. Praise be to Avį for you both.”


A troubled heart created by a troubled life, a young soul searching for a peace he would never find. A restlessness calmed by the pain and suffering of those around him; he was a walking weapon of malice and hatred. Finding a disquieting pleasure at the sight of other’s blood spilled mercilessly at his feet. Vesddar followed closely in his father’s footsteps, becoming feared not only by his tribesmen, but friends and family. The difference between friend and foe was blurred to him in a constant rage and lust for the taste of blood. Yet, despite this aforementioned attribute, he was not one to be underestimated in terms of intelligence. How he killed or tortured was meticulous in detail and perfected. Never making a mistake and discovering new ways in which to bewitch those around them with lies and deceit. Only when the blood has been spilled and his hands have been “purified” in their remains, does he achieve a sense of relief and peace of mind.

This night was not unlike any other. The stars and moon hung high in the pitch black above. Vesddar stood alone in the shadows of the alleys, leaning with his back to a wall and arms crossed firmly over his broad chest. A stench was quickly permeating the crisp night air, the aroma of blood freshly discharged from that of a newly obtained victim. To Vesddar, the smell was arousing yet tonight he did not move, nor did he feel compelled to bathe his hands in the life of the body at his feet. His gaze was directed to the ground where the form of a young woman lay crumpled and drenched in her own remains. Her body was mutilated beyond even the slightest recognition.  He had thoroughly enjoyed the process which had brought them both to this point, yet his lust had not been satiated. He yearned for release, but he would not find what he so direly sought here in his homeland.

Frustration clouded his mind from the lack of satisfaction. Absently and distracted, he began to clean the blood from his scythar. Though a murderer, he was clean and sophisticated – to a point. Fastening the blade to his belt with a specially made latch, he at last turned his back to the mangled remains and began to walk casually away. After a few steps had been taken, he paused and turned to face the woman, his face solemn as he began to speak.

“For every creature, his or her time of death is preordained. Yet, not always do the gods of this world follow through with their decision and it is up to us to fulfill their duties. I am not saying I am guilty or innocent, I am only following what I believe I have been instructed to complete.” His voice was deep and husky as the whispered tone reached his own ears. It was the words he lived and built his life upon, the words of his father, who he despised. “So shall it be…”

~~Two lives, bound as kinsmen and similar driving ambitions, filled with an inhumane animosity towards each other. A father and son, who are skilled equally in the mastery of brutality and bloodshed, raping and murdering to fulfill their lust for omnipotence. Confrontation between them is rare yet ultimately unavoidable with the continual pass of time. In their path, they lay waste to what ever they wish and preserve what they deem fit, as long as it will benefit them somehow in the future. As of this day, the ruler and his people have been unable to slow or halt the madness which the two men ensue. All attempts thus far have only made matters worse, so all they can do is wait and pray they live to see tomorrow.~~

~~His life had become overrun by utter madness, an insanity he welcomed with open arms as the craving for blood slowly consumed him. Yet, between the lust of his father and himself, his homeland could no longer support them both with their passions. As much as he desired to not allow his father the luxury to remain in their homeland, his heart longed for adventure and potential to learn new tactics in the art of torture.~~

After making sure everything was in its place, he swung a small pack with a few days rations and a change of clothing, over his shoulder and made his way out of his homeland. He set on the path away from his father and away from his people into an unknown world with an anticipation of new experiences. "I bid thee...farewell..." Moving in an eastern direction, he walked for several days to step beyond the borders of all that is familiar and what he had known for his entire life, with no regrets or uneasiness in his cold heart.


The guardorans star hovered predominately complete in the nor’sidian sky. Its hauntingly radiant luminosity easily flooded the small town, with the exception of the local tavern, which seemed to be immune to the ghostly luster of the moon. Korwyn gold light poured generously from the windows and the occasionally open door. It created a warm and inviting atmosphere for weary travelers and the few nightly loyalties. Upon opening the door, the pleasant sound of music and laughter fills the ears of all who enter, uplifting the fatigued heard with the jovial environment.

Giggling women teased the inebriated men with playful words and swaying hips. Though the flirtatious nature of each woman was quite a fascination for the men, they were quickly reminded of the women’s boundaries if they let a hand stray too far. A sharp pain followed by the reddening of the skin helped to keep the drunken men in their seats. Loud roars of laughter would then ensue as the man would sit rubbing the raw skin left behind. His buddies next took the initiative to mock unhesitatingly at the poor man’s indiscretion. The women’s smile would broaden with their growing amusement of the situation. A pucker of the lips and an extension of the buttocks was given before heading on their way.

Vesddar sat in a dimly lit corner observing the tavern’s events unfold before him, smoke furling about him from the pipe between his lips. Icy blue eyes were distant and contemplative, only glancing up from staring at nothing when Rachel approached him. It was also the only time any smirk-like motion would cross his mouth. She was a pretty lass, at least he found her to be striking, and a softly spoken one as well. Though, he was not without decent looks himself, with strong handsome features and well-tone structure, he was pleasing to the eyes despite his disposition.

He sat twirling his pipe between his fingers, mulling over the last time he had been thoroughly satisfied by a woman. It had been a few weeks, and he could feel the itch to relieve it nagging at him to the point of it being unbearable. Breaking his reverie, he motioned to Rachel for another mug after consuming the last of drink. As she approached, he noticed the glass in her hands was shaking quietly and her eyes glued downward trying to avoid his gaze. She was a seductive creature regardless of her temperament around him, though it was because of the obvious fear he found her so irresistible.

When she set down his mead, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him. She turned her head to evade his cold hues and to attempt to escape his hold. The motion only made his smile grow into an evil grin, his mind scheming of what he could do to her and how much he would get pleasure from every second of it.

 “You have gorgeous eyes, Rachel. Are they from your mother?” his voice was soft and gentle to her ears, which caught her off guard. “Come, sit and talk with me.”

A man of his character would be expected to have a much harsher tone. Strangely, she did not relax in his grasp and began to struggle to break free from him.

“Leave me alone!” She demanded quietly as to not disturb the other occupants. “I am not a concubine which will sleep with any charmer which happens to find their way to the tavern.”

Her abruptness caught him slightly off guard and he released her, watching her stumble away from him then out of sight. Leaning back against the chair, he brought his pipe back up to his lips and took several elongated puffs of the weed, his features returning to the meditative faēade which he had been exhibiting previously. Preparations were being made his mind for when Rachel was relieved of work for the night and she was heading home. The anticipation and excitement was almost overwhelming for him as more aspects found their place in his scheme. “It is time…” A malicious chuckle escaped him before he returned his awareness to the tavern’s activities.
« Last Edit: July 23, 2007, 12:29:15 AM by Rhapsody Mythlinis » Logged

Rhapsody Mythlinis
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Half-Elf, Kayrrhem/ Murmillion

« Reply #2 on: January 07, 2012, 09:21:06 AM »

It has been too long, and this woman deserves to be completed.

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