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Maleficence
Posted: Sat May 25, 2024 9:12 am
by Laveriel
Maleficence
31st of Searing, Year 123 of the Age of Steel (x)
Unfortunately, Veriel soon found out that idleness invited thoughts of Ryo. The siltori hadn’t realized how much being on the run and worrying about being captured had managed to distract her from the grief of losing him. Adding to it, her encounter with Irdan had only fueled her nightmares. It was as if a crucial piece of the puzzle in her memories had been missing, leaving everything shrouded in a vague haze. But now, with that final piece snapping into place, the haunting scene surged back with a relentless, heart-wrenching clarity.
To her embarrassment, Veriel had already woken her cellmates twice by screaming in the middle of the night. It had been years since that last happened and this time Laelithar and his magic were not here to ease her torment. The darkness of the prison seemed to close in around her, amplifying her fears and the hollow ache of loss.
Today, the dawnmartyr decided to channel all those unpleasant feelings that had been festering inside her into something more productive. All the other prisoners had been coraled out to the gardens and Veriel was sat alone in her prison cell. The door was hanging open, but there was no place for her to go.
Veriel sat cross-legged in the dimly lit corner of the cell, her breath steady and her eyes closed. The unpleasant earrings they had implanted in her ears prevented her from reaching out with her afflictions, but somehow it did not restrict any aetheric movement inside her. She couldn’t tell if it was an oversight from a poor understanding of affliction or if they simply underestimated her skill, but whatever it was Veriel was grateful.
First, she had to visualize him. Irdan.
Veriel saw him standing tall, his imposing figure casting a long shadow. His dark black wings, their feathers glinting ominously in her mind's eye. His black hair slicked back to perfection, framing the sharp, angular features that twisted into a cruel sneer. The scar over his right eye, a jagged reminder of their last encounter eighteen years ago, stood out starkly against his pale skin - a fleeting victory in a battle she ultimately lost.
As she wanted, the thought of Irdan intensified the affliction she sought to conjure. Veriel could feel it, the curse taking the first steps of form as ethereal tendrils of aether that twisted and coiled like serpents deep in her being. She thought of the pain and the rot she wished upon the Kathar, pulling from every little ailment she ever encountered. They writhed as she laced them together, already eager to be released.
But this was just the beginning. The curse needed time to grow, to mature. Each day, she would return to this dark ritual, feeding it with more wrath and sorrow. The curse would become stronger, deeper with each passing day, woven layer by layer. She knew creating the affliction in her body would be dangerous if she didn’t pace herself and she had no intention of dying before getting justice for Ryo. It would take a toll on her, but nonetheless, it was also a small comfort, a promise of the retribution that would one day find the man who had torn her world apart.
This was only the first move, and she would see it through to the bitter end.
Re: Maleficence
Posted: Tue Jun 18, 2024 1:41 am
by Laveriel
Suddenly, a rough hand seized her by the shoulder, yanking her from her meditative position on the bed. Before Veriel could react, she was slammed against the cold stone wall, the impact jarring her and knocking the breath from her lungs. Rough hands wrapped around her throat, pinning her against the unyielding surface.
The dawnmartyr blinked in surprise as she registered that a human guard was attacking her. Confusion clouded her mind more than fear. They had left her alone for weeks, and now a lone man was choking her in a cell? It made no sense. He wasn’t tightening his grip yet, mostly just keeping her in place.
“What do you want?” Veriel gasped, her eyes scanning him up and down. He seemed unarmed. If he wanted her dead, he would have started squeezing her neck. There must be something else.
“Inquisitor Terrance Rees. Six years ago. You killed him,” he barked at her, eyes blazing with hatred and anger, tears welling. “When they found him, he was barely recognizable. They said there were hundreds of injuries on his body. We could barely identify him. He was my brother.”
Six years ago... That would be around the time before she settled in Kalzasi and assumed the name of Iselya. There were at least four different groups of Imperials who came for Veriel and Laelithar that year.
“Are you expecting me to be remorseful?” Veriel asked sharply, meeting his gaze. She didn’t even know who the man was talking about. She had lost count of how many Inquisitors and Imperial soldiers had come for her over the last eighteen years. Veriel had no doubt the accusation was true, though. She had survived so long by ensuring none of the Imperials who hunted her lived to tell the tale. “I was on the run. I avoided Imperial soil. The only reason I would be able to kill him is because he sought me out. He hunted me down.”
When he didn’t immediately reply, Veriel felt the heat growing inside her chest, unable to stop herself. With every word, her voice became more poisonous. “Am I supposed to just lay down and die for your brother? When he came to attack me? Your people started this war. You should at least have the dignity to accept the consequences.”
Veriel had pushed him too far. The man’s grip tightened, cutting off her air. She gasped, her hands instinctively reaching up to claw at his fingers, but his strength was overpowering. Panic threatened to surge through her, but she forced herself to remain calm, her mind sharp and focused.
She needed to end this fast. Veriel brought her knee up sharply, driving it into the guard’s midsection. He grunted, his grip loosening just enough for her to suck in a ragged breath. She twisted, using the momentum to break free from his hold. She stumbled back, gasping, but the guard recovered quickly, his face twisted in rage.
“You’ll pay for that,” he snarled.
As the guard lunged at her again, Veriel feinted to the side, grabbing the small, rusted stool that stood by the wall. She swung it with all her might, aiming for his head. The stool connected with a sickening thud, and the guard staggered, dazed. The dawnmartyr didn’t hesitate. She swung again, and again, until the man collapsed to the floor. Every time he tried scrambling up, she hit him again. It was only when he was groaning in pain and stopped trying that she paused. Blood trickled down his nose, but he was still barely conscious.
Veriel slammed the stool one last time on his face before throwing it on the ground, out of his reach. “You Imperials may have deluded yourselves into thinking that keeping me here is some kind of victory, but don’t expect me to play into your fantasies.” She sighed, raking her fingers through her hair. “Unless you really think you’re capable of killing me right now, just leave me alone.”
Veriel knew she would pay for her little tantrum, but she was too infuriated to care. She was getting sick of this place already.