Tribulations of a Dark Soul - Myrana Blackblood

[Ebonith]

It was not the first time she bolted upright from her feather bed with a gasp. Her toned body beaded with sweat and her long black hair was damp from the exertion of yet another prophetic dream. Myrena's hands were involuntarily clenched in tight fists. Looking down, she opened them to reveal that her fingernails had rended her own flesh and now bled freely from her palms. Gracefully, she rose from her bed and strode naked across to the window in her inn room. Peering up at the night sky, she found icy comfort when she gazed upon the Ebony Stars, the stars that were highlighted by their darkness, not their luminance... My visions of service to the Mad God are coming more frequently. I will need to undergo the trials soon or I will never sleep. I might as well do something constructive while I am awake... As she had been taught by High Priest Himlark, her mentor, she began to move and sway her body with precision in a series of exercises. Her movements were catlike and snakelike at the same time, beginning slothful, but slowly increasing their speed. Myrena's conditioned body repeated the movements with ease and confidence. Often, they required her to rise with all her weight on one toe or to hold herself up with but a hand planted on the floor, but it didn't matter--the pain drove her. She became a bit light-headed from the loss of blood from her gashed hands, but she simply let her weakness push her even farther. Precise, quick hand strikes were delivered with power that belied her diminuitive feminine form. Sudden lashing out from her smooth legs were purposeful with power yet elegance. To an outsider with no background in the arts of war, the whole routine would have seemed to be an intricate, exotic dance. If an onlooker were to be schooled in combat, they would understand her movements were not that of some exotic dance, but precise punches, kicks, elbows, knees, blocks, dodges and headbutts--her entire body a weapon. I am not weak. I am a master of my body, my mind and my soul. Corath grants me these gifts. I am not weak... This mantra repeated over and over in Myrena's head. She knew that her trials would be coming soon for the Hands of Death. Despite the lack of sleep from the past few nights, Myrena continued her drills for hours. With physical exertion, sleep deprivation and blood loss, she was beginnging to feel herself being lulled into unconsciousness. I am not weak. I am a master of my body, my mind and my soul. Corath grants me these gifts. I am not weak... The Priestess increased the fervor of her movements for a few more minutes until she understood her body well enough to know she was about to lose consciousness. She stopped and quickly gave a prayer to Corath to bind her hands. As they mended over, she fell to the floor meeting blackness... To Be Continued...

[Ebonith]

JOURNAL ENTRY 324

As I wait for my trials to begin, I have found myself in the service of a High Priestess of the Black Sun. There is some comfort in her dark ways--she reminds me much of my mentor. Surrounded by dark allies, we have been gathering raw resources for the coming times--wars have to be paid for somehow. Perhaps I call it a "war" because there is no other appropriate word for the constant conflict that we endure at the hands of the "Gods of Light". How easy it is for them to sit lazily and think of themselves "righteous" because they deny the very instincts that make them what they are, denying their very nature. It is laughable to me to see them struggle with such, but alas, most of them will never understand such a viewpoint. Even if they did, their blind stubbornness and pride would not unlodge their skewed beliefs, even in the face of their obvious ignorance. Such is life...

I have felt the gaze of a cockatrices, the poison of extradimensional spiders, the acidic touch of monstrous slimes, the mind reeling eyes of Umber Hulks, the draining bite of vampires, the unholy magics of a Xorn, the savage claws of trolls, the bolts of lizardmen and the daggers of the kenku in my time spent on Mistone. Though I have been humbled in some of these encounters, I am the wiser for it. Meeting death in the eye is not something to run from, but to embrace so that you may witness their fear. So mentally, I have conquered my doubts and fears about the unknown--I am stronger for it.

I have exercised my body to its limits the past years and there is no doubt it is ready for the trials to begin. After hours of meditative fighting exercises each morning, it is now the toned weapon I meant for it to be since I was a little girl. Scars riddle my body from the duress I have subjected it to lately as the time approaches. Even though my healing magics knit the wounds, these scars do not fully heal. Perhaps it is Corath's way of never allowing me to forget who I really am--I welcome the reminders.

My soul? My beliefs have never been an issue. My mind and body may not have had the experience and training to be ready for the trials, but my soul, my faith is strong. What Corath asks of me, I do. It has been this way since my adolescence. Blind obedience? Yes, in some ways. I never question what is asked of me.  The only deviation would be the unconventional ways in which I get it done. Regardless, if my faith is put in question during the trials, failure is not even a possible outcome for me...of that I am  certain.

[Ebonith]

JOURNAL ENTRY 327
Patience. It is a virtue that it has taken a long time to master and I still have yet to completely reign in my impatience. I must wait until the Church of Corath summons me before my trials begin in earnest. When it will occur? I am not certain at this point, but it will. I expect blood, I expect pain, I expect hardship and yes, I expect death...  I grow irritable with the denizens of Mistone. How I wear a fake smile and act the part of a lady when all I want to do is rip the skin off their pretty little faces and shove it down their still breathing throats. They walk about discussing their perceived views of the world and make their conclusions as to why Blood did this, why evil does that...it is all laughable. The day will come when the forces of darkness wash across this land and I will revel in the murder of all these quaint little people. How they elevate themselves above all those who are "below" them. It will be funny to watch them enslaved to the very goblins they call rubbish. Such chaos, such delight.  Does this train of thought make me a twisted lady? Perhaps...perhaps not. Am I twisted because I wish for a bit of role reversal and symmetry? Am I twisted in wanting vain people to swallow their pride? Am I twisted for wanting people to live life with no inhibitions whatsoever? Maybe. Maybe not.  Patience. It is the toughest of all the virtues. But I realize that no matter what your philosophy on life is, impatience can bring ruin--so I wait and I exercise patience. Nothing will prevent me from succeeding. Nothing will keep me from my destiny...

[Ebonith]

Journal Entry 401
Years have passed since I succeeded in my trials to become a Hand of Death.  My service to Corath has been constant and consistent.  I have been serving the Mistress of Mistone directly ever since becoming a Hand.  She has had me traveling to all corners of the globe, but a recent missive notified me of her absence and as a consequence, my lack of orders...

With my return to Mistone a few days ago, I have been pursuing the directives of the Church of the Mad God on my own.  Adaptation...that is what being a Hand of Death is all about.  At the moment, I have no superior among the Corathites.  With time to pursue my own goals, I have begun to mingle with the local populace once again.  Most Priests of Corath would be horrified to see me walking about without something masking my facial features, but then again they can never completely understand the Hands of Death.  We do not follow laws of the clergy like traditional priests...we never will--that is not what the Black Sun intended for us.  We are the chaos factor, the unknown variable, the fly in the ointment--our enemies cannot be too complacent in their knowledge of our Corathite clergy traditions...it would be a fatal mistake.

Many of my old contacts have moved on, but I received a missive from Daralith last eve...he is still scheming deftly.  The pompous drow has always been a strong ally and certainly has his uses for our designs.  

I have yet to visit the Corathite Temple in Mistone...I must do that soon.  All in all, it is comforting to be back on Mistone proper.  Much has changed and there is much work to be done...

[Ebonith]

JOURNAL ENTRY 403
My how I am so intrigued by the winds of change.  After aiding Daralith in his endeavor, we were lured into a well played ambush and captured as a result by followers of Vierdri'ira.  We were released, but not before Daralith was tortured, poisoned and utterly shamed.  There is much amusement in this watching the normally pompous drow be the victim.  I chuckle to myself sometimes imagining such a thing.  Especially since it was at the hands of a Priestess named Xua.  I was brought to a private session with her as well, but my time with her went very differently than Daralith's.  Xua is a gracious hostess and she made me an offer I could not dare refuse, along with the lines of communication opened for future bargaining.  Such is the winds of change...I do love them so.  Corath be praised...

[Ebonith]

Journal Entry 405
I am now truly feeling like I belong to the elite Hands of Death.  Feeling the touch of Corath run through my veins nearly brings me to ecstasy.  On the other hand, I have had to train twice as hard to maintain my readiness--donning a suit of full platemail while trying to move with the speed of a great hunting cat is no easy feat.  Punishing my body every night to keep it in top combat order is a necessity for me.  As the Hand of Death assigned to High Priestess Chanda's temple, there is simply no room for weakness or deficiency in any way.  With her absence, I have worked myself even harder to ensure that the Black Sun's will is done.

With Daralith absent dealing with his poisoned existence literally, I have been traveling with Ni'haer.  How do I always find myself traveling in the company of Dark Elves? Is it my winning personality, perhaps?  Hardly.   My mentality is a mirror image of most dark elves: survive at all costs, be confident in every undertaking, believe in your superiority, do not tolerate weakness.  In fact, I think as a race they are well suited to worship of the Mad God, but they would never hear such a thing believing their racial gods superior...that is where I am convinced of their foolishness.  Alas, tools and allies are tools and allies.

A few nights past I was overcome with an unnatural remorse for slaughtering bandits outside of Fort Llast.  This regret was a feeling that has not overcome me in many, many years.  My anger was boundless as I tried to deal with this strange sensation.  But prayer heals all ailments.  My training has its place and my self discipline, knowing myself got me through this affront.  Concentrating with all my mental fortitude, I prayed to Corath, begging assistance in overcoming this sense of loss that would make me weak.  I was flooded with a feeling of self-awareness and conviction.  My dedication to the Black Sun shredded this unnatural grip on my soul.  Elation followed as I understood that many of the others around me who were also afflicted had yet to overcome their condition.  It was one of the most difficult challenges I have ever faced.  I was victorious.  Praise be to Corath.

What now?  Most of my allies are scattered, missing or dead.  As an agent of the Corath clergy, I cannot stand by idly while the enemies of my patron god go about their existence without fearing the darkness that they should.  They prance about Layonara, smug in their unthreatened existence.  This has got to change.  They must remember what fear is, what it is to be threatened and reminded that the Mad God is not a simple lesson in religion.  So how do I rectify this?  It must start small and grow.  My next journal entry will be entered into my Reports to the High Priestess.

On that note, word has it that High Priestess Chanda has been replaced.  If that is the case, I must report in to the new authority.  In fact, that is priority now.

[Ebonith]

Journal Entry 407

There was a point in time when I believed that The Mad God, my liege, had no sense of humor.  I believed him to be just as dour and serious as the next deity only with questionable ethics.  I know for certain now...I was wrong.  My lord Corath makes me laugh and provides profound amusement for me.  I will get back to that...

When I heard that Captain Carden Grant was taking The Mermaid on a leisurely voyage North, I decided that I had to take this trip.  The Mistone Temple has been without reliable information for many months and a "gossip ship" full of Layonara's "who's who" was the perfect opportunity for me to get good rumors and intelligence.  The voyage did not disappoint with Layonara's "movers and shakers" all in attendance...well, at least my enemies were in attendance.  There was not a single ally of mine among them--such are the times we live in...for now.

Anyway, back to my amusement...let's be clear:  I have absolutely no love for the followers of Toran.  None.  Zero.  Completely devoid.  They are simply a rash that will not easily fade from this world.  They will forever be a thorn in Corathites' side from here until eternity.  With that said, my amusement came in the form of two Toranites: Chaynce Baldu'muur and Daniella Stormhaven.

You see, we were well out to sea when it was discovered that there was a stowaway aboard.  The Captain, running his ship how he should, was to have the man flogged.  Daniella and Chaynce came rushing valiantly to the man's defense...

First, a Captain's word is law on the open sea and his law was stowaways would be flogged--light in comparison to other less merciful captains.  Second, the stowaway committed a crime, stealing as it were, by sneaking aboard without fee.  Third, when you prevent the Captain from running his ship, it is mutiny...period.  Having said that, the two Toranites physically and verbally tried to prevent this punishment, threatening anyone who stood in their way--which only served to have themselves both punished.

Picture this...I am a Corathite Priestess.  I get front row seats and have the privilege to witness a Paladin of Toran receive 12 whip lashes for trying to protect a guilty criminal.  I have to admit, I was nearly shuddering in ecstasy watching these events unfold.  For a few moments, I felt sorry for them, but then again my body was writhing and tingling...in a satisfying way.  My guilt gave way to instant gratification.  What's more, her idiot husband-to-be received 36 lashes as he ran his flapping tongue, threatening to kill the captain and burn his ship...this was a Toranite, mind you.  It took all my discipline to keep from moaning in sheer pleasure from hearing their muffled grunts of pain and seeing their blood flow down their ravaged back, pooling on the deck planks.

You know what this does?  This reminds me that no matter how many Toranites there are, they are all the same:  idiotic zealots who have no control over their own people, no matter what code they think they are following.  Since my return to mainstream society, this is, without a doubt, one of my most memorable highlights.  It serves to strengthen my resolve as I witness the weakness of my enemies.

So I shall continue to smile and be a gracious socialite, insert thoughts when appropriate and do what it is I do.  This is such a tantalizing start to my mission...


OOC: This is not an OOC opinion on anyone's character.  Everyone RP'd brilliantly last night, especially the players of Daniella and Chaynce.  Bravo!

[Ebonith]

Journal Entry 409

These times are becoming interesting, that is for certain...

Travie, one of Chanda's old slaves, was released to find his way to Corath.  He is not there yet and wandering the halls of our beloved temple.  Should this demon-spawn mistep, I will send him straight back to the demons that brought him here via the void.  Our temple security is marginal, at best, and I simply cannot take any risks.  I will be watching him and do my part to pick up where High Priestess Chanda left off.  Speaking of which, word has it she is in the hands of The Destroyer clergy.  Oh well...better her than me.

Mortimer, my odd druidic associate has found himself back to civilization--this is good.  As odd as he may be, he is a Corathite and a fairly competent one.  His arrival back to Mistone could not have been timed better.

Brian as a typical arrogant male who thinks only with his loins.  However, he is fairly resourceful, adequately insightful and most importantly extremely skilled in the arts of assassination.  In truth, I can stomach his comments.  They slide off me like water.  What is key is that I believe he can be turned to Corath.  He would make an extremely valuable addition...

I have been working long nights helping with Daralith's puzzle.  Of course, my own interests coincide more with Priestess Sz'June than Daralith's at the moment, but the ends justify the means.  The drow, in his desperation, has had to teach me parts of his native tongue.  The reality is that I am picking it up very quickly...quicker than he was anticipating.  I have had to learn bits of Dark Elf to even attempt to solve this puzzle he has presented, but also it is invaluable in my business dealings.  Understand that most of my associates are indeed dark elves and learning their tongue is a necessity to stay in on top of my business colleagues.  This is a prime opportunity for so many things to fall into place to my liking--I will not let it pass.

[Ebonith]

JOURNAL ENTRY 421
I have been keeping solace as of late, researching the puzzle that Daralith has presented.  I know it pains To'ryll and Daralith to impart the intricacies of their tongue to a "mere" human, but he is the one who asked for help and it is hard to help if you don't know what you are looking at.  In fact, I have traveled with mostly dark elves for the past three years.  Their tongue is getting easier to comprehend, which helps considering the amount of interaction I have with them...

We had to burn a family alive a few weeks back.  It was a necessary evil to ensure that our efforts in th mountains were not revealed.  There was no choice.  The Mad God is a divine power of death, but I still could not help to feel a twinge of....guilt?  It was guilt.  I do not know why I pretend it is something other than my conscience that bothers me so, but I my first loyalty is to my god.  While I am bothered with the murders that I commit, I remind myself, as a chosen priest of Corath and a Hand of Death no less, that such actions are a core part of what I am and must become.  I must admit that killing does get easier with each death.  The aftermath does not get easier, but the act does.

Recently, Chanda and Cassandra have returned.  This pleases me greatly.  For the longest time, I was the sole representative of the Mad God, but now I am surrounded by my brethren.  It is a matter of time before the Mistone contingent is organized again and we see our influence spread across this continent like a plague.  This pleases me greatly.

I can tell Brian wishes to find something he can hold onto in regards to Corath.  I know he is a good fit, but he does not see it yet.  I am not sure what he is waiting on, but I need to find out.  He will be a true asset for us...

[Ebonith]

JOURNAL ENTRY 601

The years in seclusion, away from society, away from Mistone was a time for prayer, reflection and reconnection with Mortis Mentis. Dark whispers have come more frequently, my dreams more intense. I find myself bleeding when I awaken. I am walking a path that only one has walked before me. Priest Himlark has not lived this life though. He does not understand the dedication that goes into this sect of the Grave Lord. 

I have come back to Mistone to walk among the masses once again. The secrecy of this sect is paramount for the goals of my Lord. It is the sect that brings true unpredictability to our clergy. The most renowned scholars of Corath will always be at a loss when it comes to us. You see, even my fellow worshippers do not understand fully the gifts that Mortis Mentis has bestowed to the Hands of Death...it must continue to stay that way.

 But I must cultivate the gifts he has given me or it will be for nought. The forces of order are dominant in the known world. Chaos has been stifled and evil has been corralled. It is imperative that they continue to feel this security and comfort in their accomplishments. This allows the darkness to grow around them without notice, like dusk creeping to twilight...

[Ebonith]

I am not weak. I am a master of my body, my mind and my soul. Corath grants me the strength. I am not weak. I am a master of my body, my mind and my soul. Corath grants me the strength…

The mantra continued for hours. Blood pooled on the floor from dozens of flayed wounds inflicted by the ritual dagger in her hands. Sitting with her legs crossed in the small temple to Corath, Myrena’s body began to sway from dizziness. Her vision became blurry as she focused on the bleached white skull in front of her. Her eyes began to roll in the back of her head as the world began to spin. But a resurgence of strength came from within and she formulated the prayer to the Mad God, mending her self-inflicted lacerations.

Visions had often came to the priestess. Especially being one whose mind was not entirely stable. However, since she had become a Hand of Death, her mind had begun to process in more logical ways. She was able to force herself to sort through the undisciplined impulses that plagued her for years and simmer the spontaneous impulses to something akin to “control”.

Her naked form stood from the pool of vitae and strode where a large linen cloth waited. Smoothly and methodically, she wiped away the bulk of her own blood covering her. As she exited the small temple, an unnatural figure stood motionlessly next to the entrance. A skeleton, complete with armor and a bladed weapon, turned and looked at her with his unnatural, glowing red eyes.

Without even looking at the undead servitor as she strode past, she commanded, “Clean the blood with water and cloth…” Dropping the heavy shield and longsword to the ground with a thunderous crash, the skeleton entered the temple and did the Priestess’ bidding. Padding down the hallway, she brushed past the sheer black draped covering a doorway and stepped into a small room housing a bathing basin. With the grace of a skilled warrior, she made a small leap to the lip and went over, sliding her body into the fluid. Instantly, blood began to slide off her athletic form. Reaching over to a thick tome covered in stretched black leather where the semblance of a face could be made out, she opened it, revealing the many pages of handwritten entries. Myrena dipped her quill in the inkwell with just her head, neck, shoulders and arms out of the tub, she began to write…

__________________________________________________________________

JOURNAL 611

Rumors swirl that Daralith has returned to Mistone. While the arrogant drow has his faults, he is useful. I have nearly mastered their tongue. Despite his shortcomings, the priest is an excellent teacher of the dark elf language. It also answers a vision I have had in regards to forming a dark alliance with followers of Grand, Baraeon Ca’duz, Pyrtechon and the all-powerful Corath. Followers of these gods are being hunted and slaughtered by the “righteous”.  Our mantra will be quiet strength in subtle numbers. I will take this sign and proceed forward without Mistone priestess oversight. We are at war and I will treat it as such. But I must now understand our enemy. I must understand where the strengths of our enemies lie so that I can reach for that observed weak spot and rip the throat out of it.

Mortis Mentis works in ways I cannot begin to comprehend. Often, my dark lord will usher his priestesses to do his work across the far reaches of this world. With that being said, I have not seen Chanda in years. I do not know if she lives or has gone to Corath. It does not matter. As my mind has slowly been able to process the clutter that distracts me, the visions I have been given come more frequently with more lucidity.

We are under attack. We have been for some time, but as a whole, we have been too arrogant to recognize the slow knife writhing towards our heart. The forces of “benevolence” have won the war, but they have not done a good job of finishing their task—I live. As long as I live, I will not declare those around me the victors. It simply urges me to push forward with renewed vigor. In fact, I have sent requests to temples across the continents for additional support here in Mistone. I make this request not because I am incapable. On the contrary, I ask for assistance because I am capable. I have requested those who are not regimented disciples of Corath. Indeed, I have requested those who can blend in with the local populace and seep into the pores of society. I am quite sure the regimented, rote priestesses reading my missives scoff at my requests. It doesn’t matter. I am the ranking priestess here in Mistone in the absence of Chanda, so they will do what I ask, despite my position within the priesthood. I am a Hand of Death, I do not function as traditional priestesses. When a spark needs to turn into flame, it is me who is called. And I will answer this summons from my Black God...

((Myrena continues her slide from Chaotic Neutral to Neutral Evil. She has been working on this shift since character creation. The shift comes much more "natural" now that she is a member of the Hands of Death. Also, Daralith has been teaching Myrena the dark elf language. This began in 2009. Evidence of this can be seen in Journal 409, for the record.))