Turn 5 <<Previous Turn
The Consumption of Camille When Damien reaches you, he continues to hold White Feather's charred head in his hand, at his side, skin pulling off its forehead with the weight of the skull. White Feather's ruby lips have vanished, become black lines across her face. Severed esophagus, sinew and spine push out from bottom of hacked neck. Blood and saliva mingled in a translucent drop hold to White Feather's lowest tentacle, bobbles there for a long moment and falls to the ground, creating a pinkish stain on the pine needles at the Wolves' feet. Eye sockets are holes and sculptured nose has melted in the immolating fire. Cheeks gone, mandible exposed to the air. Damien is now flacid, satiated. He pulls a smile across his face as a party mask. He looks at each of you, even Korian, who has been carried to the forest floor by Damien's minions. A smirk creases his lips, and then it broadens, brightens. Damien giggles. Laughs. Howls. Soon he is wracked with guffaws and tears begin to roll down his face. He coughs as he tries to recover and then another wave of laughter surges through him, a third, a fourth until he is nearly sobbing. And then it stops, suddenly, mid-cackle. His face darkens into a scowl, eyes tight together, breath hot and forced. "Me thinkest that this means a thing to thee That I have beheaded the soft princess. I say it means naught; she's but a toy As words put to page by poetic bards. She is a true concept of natural lust So I used her to create this magic staff. She knew not what I had in store for her Burned in the fire frightfully powerful. This emotion heightened by sexual act Caused more power from her to the staff. And all the others mingled now inside Will help me to take my rightful throne. I am the grandson of Greggor Black the king Who ruled Darkwood milenniaic ages past. To the throne of this wood I'll ascend Reclaim the rightful place of humankind. I'll do it with an army of undead And mythic creatures of the batted wing. I'll create them with power from this Staff And direct them to the Kings elven trees. Go tell your weak knave king that I Have spoken to you my grand strategic plan. Go tell him that his comely lilac child Is immolated this very day by my hand. O' elven maidens I frown for thy legs I'm truly sorry that you cannot walk, A price you pay for following my moves Now Camille the High Price I shall levy of thee. Camille, dazed with pain only half focuses on the black mage, as he bends over her and breaths death into her face. Her red hair is matted, caked with dirt, and the dirt is sticking to the trails of tears, which have been continually running down her cheeks. She is curled into a fetal ball, clutching the stumps of her legs where the knees once were. The remains of her legs are piles of blood and dissolved bone laying beneath her, and her stumps ooze and bleed white cells. Damien stares, turns his head and motions to the remains of his undead minions. They surround Camille and pull her flat, and then they raise her up, still parallel to the ground. Camille stops sobbing and a glassy look waves across her face. She can think of nothing. The horror has been too intense, like laughing too loud at a joke and then losing the ability to laugh. With open emeralds, she looks at Damien, and the wizard smiles. Two living she-elves clothe Damien with a gray robe, which carries his black sigil large on the back and small on the front. The she-elves are nude. Damien takes each of them in turn, kisses her deeply, strokes her pubic mound and releases her. He then focuses his attention more fully on Camille. He smiles at her as he pulls back his robe and enters her roughly. His rape is short, and Camille is motionless. When he is through, he pulls his black dagger from its black sheath and begins to carve on Camille's flesh -- the words that he had chanted in the immolation. "Camille though thinkest that my love loved thee. Think again my fire haired ranger maid. She loved thee naught, used thee only for her fun Got hot with thee and left thee for another. Thou hast built a love for her in your fiery heart A fantasy that thou hast of perfect Womanflesh. I tell 'e that she is not the she-prince that though thought she was. See now The ring that I sport on left ring finger 'Tis a witness that our love will timeless be. We are married Camille and now she's dead. Your fantastic lust has clouded your good sense. Now I'll let White Feather speak for herself." Damien places the remains of White Feather's head on Camille's stomach and turns the head so that the gaping mouth faces her once lover. Camille opens her mouth to scream, but alas, cannot. Damien chants a few words of ancient human, throws something into the air which disappears with a flash of light and the smell of sulfur and puts his hand in the charred hair of the once beautiful White maiden. His smirk is almost endless as it crosses his face. "Tell her dear the fathoms of your heart. Did you love her or use her for a wench An unstaunched whore 'twas at your beck and call?" White Feather's mandible moves and sound, ghostly, ethereal comes forth from the decapitated head. The head rocks monstrously on Camille's stretched stomach as she speaks. Then, White Feather speaks. "I did not love thee common gutter whore, But I did love the way you entered me With full hand and lubricated thumb. I am now wife of wizard Damien Black And to you filthy slut I bid adieu. Eat her, eat her, eat her, eat her, Now eat." Damien removes White Feather's head from Camille's torso and tosses it roughly onto Enchandra, where it rests between the Priestesses stumped legs. The head ceases talking and becomes dead once again. Damien stands beside Camille, black knife in hand. He carves her flesh with the knife, and gouges out a small chunk of still-living flesh. He eats, chewing slowly, savouring the taste of blood and warm woman flesh. Camille shrieks with pain. Then, Damien directs the ghouls that are holding Camille, and they walk her into the center of a waiting group of dead and alive. They all crowd around Camille, trying to get a bite of the beautiful elven ranger. Camille screams continuously and then the screams stop. Ripping flesh, sinew and hair can be seen in the ghoulish circle. One of the ghouls hold aloft a heart, screams with pleasure and eats. Another an arm. Another a fatty baggish breast. Soon, the ranger is a pile of picked bones on the pine needle carpet. Free most of the controlling magic, Korian walks towards Enchandra, after some quick words with Winsome, careful not to step in the goo that was Enchandra's legs. "Are you in pain," Korian asks, "Can you heel yourself?" as the words leave Korian's lips his head jerks to the left and he stares intently off into the Forest. Enchandra slowly opens her eyes, her sockets feeling like two painful daggers leading into her brain. They flicker, and finally the eyelids part... Enchandra screams as the memories fly back into her brain as fast as the pain in her 'legs' does. A scream increases in volume as she looks down at her ruined lower torso, a look af disbelief on her face, and the pitch of her voice reaches at the core of those around her. The agony so raw and revealed in her agonized cawlings that it makes one want to run from the shattered form of the Priestess, the stumps of her legs a festering, oozing mess. Insects crawl over the gangrenous looking wounds and Enchandra reaches towards Korian, but not with a look of needing help. Instead, she roars at him, "You Bastard! What have you done to me! Answer me, Elliamar! ANSWER ME!" Her voice cracks and crumbles and she babbles in delirium, "I'm sorry Love. I'm sorry. How could such foolishness have happened? How? I deserve this! I DESERVE THIS" Spittle and foam flies from her mouth as she babbles on, her words mere shadows without true substance or meaning... Or are they... Damien laughs at this pitiful exchange and walks into the forest with his remaining minions and the Staff of Death. His cackles echo through the forest for several minutes. The controlling hand of magic leaves the Winter Wolves and they fall to the forest floor, physically, mentally and spiritually drained. Sleep comes easily, and soon, there is blackness... Korian's Nightmare Korian looks at Winsome with a haunted frightened, look on his glazed eyes. "We cannot return to the King. He will hang our heads from the trees for this failure! And Camille! Oh gods Camille! Our heads will be on posts.. Our heads will be on posts .. He will use our brains to butter his toast." and Korian walks away. Directly he trips over a treeroot. Korian quickly spins around, putting my his spear down to catch himself and reverses the thrust, severing the offending wood with his weapon. "Wood." He says as he turns and walks toward Encandra... I am flying, high over head. I see the trees below, no trees they are not, Grasping hands tipped with claws of bone, rising from the ground, dripping flesh Ahead a bare Straight tree rising to the dark sky "to the trees!" the claws get closer,Reaching crasping, not a tree? A black Staff, with camille's head atop. the head changes to a twisted burnt visage. Whitefeather. The sky Darkens. was already dark? claws ripping cloak, tearing skin, Breaking bone... higher..higher.. Lower? lower?... Pain..............Utter black......................... ......................................................................................................................................................................................................................... Damien...NOOOOOOOO!!!!!! Enchandra's Nightmare The Bird flits from place to place once again, taking Enchandra's mind along with it. Down into deep catacombs, and far above the forest it flies, small wings fluttering, heard, but not seen. It takes Enchandra to her Past, and leaves her there for the moment, and she relives a past which remained blocked for so long. So long... "It's so beautiful," Echandra said wistfully. She gazed up into the waterfall, a rainbow streaking across its hundred foot fall into the water below, and then glanced down at her hand, in which she held the hand of Elliamar, her lover, her mentor, and her teacher. The night was a remembrance of passion fulfilled, the loss of her maidenhood a small price to pay for the sensations that were gained. The feeling of being one with him as he entered her, hard and vibrant. It hurt at first, but with the pain was the glimmering of passion, of ecstasy, and then consummated with an orgasm that still vibrated her soul to this minute. She glanced at his face, lined with maturity, yet ever youthful, and she reached up and moved his hair from his brow, the long blond locks soft and forgiving to the touch, sending shivers up her arm and into her heart. She turned to him, kissed him longingly, and felt the electric touch of his hand as he cupped her breast in his long, slender hand. His other reached behind her and pulled her hips to, and around him, as he lifted her off her feet and into a straddling position. She felt him grow hard, and she was already moistened, ready for the joining... .... As she reached for his belt buckle, she felt a familiar tug on her back. The Bird was pulling her away again, "Noooo..." was her cry... and then she was standing among several people. Her lover was there, and a family, huddling in a humid, stinking, bear cave. A baby cried loudly, and Elliamar was cooing to it softly, trying to calm it. The Ogres had attacked swiftly, and the rescue of the family had turned into a run for survival, the Ogres relentless as ever, trying to find, kill and eat. Elliamar sighed deeply, and placed his hand over the babies face covering both mouth and nose. "Sorry little one. Sorry." he whispered, tears forming in his eyes. It was thankfully short, and the baby was still now. Forever. Enchandra's thoughts raced, "These people. We protect, yet we sacrifice. Nature does not sacrifice in this way." Her eyes widened with realization and rejection of what this 'man' had taught her. In one single act, the openness and oneness once gained was lost and an angry ball formed inside Enchandra, and she visualized smashing him in the head and watching as the bugs took his brain apart one piece at a time. "That is how nature takes care of things." The Bird took her to the river once again, where she looked at the body of her mentor. His face smashed to oblivion, barely recognizable even to her. "Did I do this?" thought the Priestess. The Bird tugged once again on her back, pulling her away, up through the trees... Winsome's Nightmare Haze.... red haze.... red... red.... RED!!!!.... The sun, red like the sun... sun/fire, fire, FIRE!!! NOOOO! ... haze .... red... red/sun/blood... blood/rose.... rose on fire.... turned to ash... ashen head... White Feather! ashen smoking skull... smoke.... smoke.... white... White Feather's gown... white... on fire... FIRE!!!! burning!!! ash... ash... black... soot... floating on breeze... black.... shadow... SHADOW!!! I am shadow.... he is shadow... we are shadow... vain with power... darkness is shadow... darkness.... darkness in all men's hearts... all men's hearts... cold, I am so cold.
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