♖ Ultima Ratio Regnum - Prelude ♖| MSL |
by Istiana Komenenos
Topics: Tyranoth, Marcus, Istiana, Fantasy, Elves
Three days on the run, in a land inhospitable to all life that was not within the clutches of Shadow Elves.
She had been a prisoner of theirs for 6 months of abject horror, they had tried to break her. Still, they knew not with whom they dealt, Synvelle, arch-priestess of the house of the spider had her grievances with the host of the talon. Dark elves were not a forgiving sort, a deal had been brokered, Istiana's escape, though no promises, a man named Aegos awaited at the coast, but getting there was up to Istiana. The snarl of ghouls, half-things made from dark elven debauchery and their masters, they were gaining on her.
”It is not a matter of if. It is a matter of when.”
Zsofia had taught in the Imperial academy. All that worked for the frumentarri would one day be taken, be a hostage. A fact of life. A fact of the secret world they all inhabited. There would be no stopping it. All that could be controlled was whether they broke or not. When it occurred, when the deprivations, the pain and torture began, they were taught to go away, find somewhere in the mind to escape to.
Kidnapped, enslaved and taken to a prison island to be broken, in the heartlands of the shadow elves Istiana sets into motion her great escape, an old and menacing acquaintance makes a pact, revealing to her the discord between the ancient elven bloodlines, the house of talon foregoes even the darkest laws in their quest for slaughter and power, Synvelle, arch-priestess of the house of spider, sets Istiana free, her only hope lies on the coast, a hundred leagues from the dreadfort, upon the black writhing seas, Aegos, a smuggler awaits upon a small village of enslaved serfs.
Death was swift upon her heels, closing in, a tickling breath against the nape of her neck. Emerald eyes swept the landscape before her, looking for any crevice or crag that she might hide within. Yet there were none. It had been six months since she had been taken, kidnapped. Months of deprivations, tortures of the body and mind, still it had not diminished her drive for freedom.
The fel-elves had wanted information first, in the beginning. Details of Corneaths landscape, its fortifications, and military capabilities. As the Queen of the lands, they assumed her easy to break. It had started with lashes, many upon her back, her thighs. Which had turned to fascination on their part, as her body rejuvenated much swifter than that of a human. It had been in stark contrast to the scars that littered her left arm. When her body did not break, nor she under its onslaught, they attempted the mind, something much harder to break than the body. Istiana had laughed at them in their attempts, not even the ploy of telling her they’d killed her husband had stopped her merriment. Breaking of the mind was her domain, twisting and turning things in the most subtle of ways to achieve her own ends. Atimes making the person think it was their own idea all along.
Time had been her true enemy, waring and waning against her as the tide did cliffs, frustration had been the secondary enemy, with Istiana believing she should have been able to find a way out for herself, find her escape. So much so that when Synvelle had offered her a route to freedom, she had taken it, after thorough thought.
The sound of a bow string being drawn captured her attention, with Istiana waiting for that pivotal moment, when it hit the pinnacle, the brief heartbeat pause before she crouched, the dagger in her hand striking out to hobble one of the creatures too close to her as the arrow flew over her head. She rolled forward, before springing to her feet, the dagger in her hand flipped, so she could grip the blade and throw it, hitting the Elf in the shoulder. Had it been her own weapon, the ones that were an extension of herself, she would have hit her target directly between the eyes.
It was said a poor loser blamed the tools, however, compared to her own, these were in fact, subpar.
It was also a mistake.
Now she would need to recover the blade or find a new one.
”The Wolf's Bitch has claws, pity she doesn’t know how to use them.” Laughed the Elf, with Istiana tilting her head to show that she had understood every word. Were it not for the need to get away from here, she would have vollied back at him.
Hand to hand was not her forte, despite Marcus’ efforts to teach her, she could manage, but she was more a snake, in battle, strike and poison. A branch upon the floor would be ample enough to be used as a club. It wasn’t the best kind of instrument for the job, but it did do what she needed it to, while her muscles ached and protested every swing. Her ears remained pricked for the draw of the bow, grateful to the wolven hearing she now possessed. With the ghouls taken care of, her emerald gaze fell intently on the elf that had called her a Bitch. Were it not for the long journey ahead of her, she would have enjoyed making him eat his own words.
Istiana noted her blade had been removed and dropped to the ground, the wound in the shoulder had at least hampered the attempts to fire the bow. A satisfying wideness to the eyes that showed her he had not expected for her to be able to do such a feat, to bludgeon numerous creatures to death. Perhaps some of Marcus’ sparring days had paid off after all.
Istiana threw the branch at the Elf to distract him, as she rolled and captured the dagger once more, with the momentum she was back upon her feet and swinging the blade as if it were a sword, slicing the fel creature across the chest, before driving the blade up underneath his chin, the sound of blood gurgling in his throat as the widening of the eyes increased.
”The Bitch, has many claws. And knows how to use them.” The words spat from between her teeth as the Elf dropped lifeless at her feet. “And she bows to no one.”
The sound of more ghouls approaching had her dislodging the blade and grabbing the bow and quiver, this would be much better for her. With an uneasy lack of haste, Istiana strapped the quiver to her back and stowed the dagger. Istiana turned and crouched once more, reminding herself of being upon horseback and learning how to shot with perfect aim from upon it.
In rapid succession, arrows flew, felling the ghouls that had gotten close. Grime and blood covered her skin, yet she had no intention of removing it, keeping it as a layer of armor. Something to cover her scent.
Istiana darted to the nearest embankment, slipping down it and landing heavily at the bottom, a cloud of dust lingering behind her. The trees were close, within them she could find some semblance of cover. Something to hide within, shadows she could manipulate to her use.
What she found within had a grim smile forming on her lips. A small puddle, boggy with silt. She did not waste any time in digging her hands into it, as deep as she could get, drawing out handfuls of foul and wretched smelling earth. And covering herself in it. On her face, into her hair, over the leather clothing that afforded her some protection yet felt entirely wrong. She missed the Imperial armor that had been saved from a fire, that was just as much a part of her as her blades. As her mind. She could be herself within it. Not this slowly maddening creature that was waging a solo war against those that would capture and torture her for nothing more than the enjoyment of it, the pleasure. Testing the boundaries of the healing the Wolf within her could afford her.
That was the thing that had made her a favorite toy for them.
All that remained of the woman before, was a pair of bright green eyes that almost glowed from underneath the mud.
Then into the trees.
She kept the sun to her back, as she traversed the trees, continuing to travel to where she needed to get to. It was still going to be a very long journey.
—
It had taken a couple of days before they had caught up to her again. Which had given her time to acclimate to the outside world of this dying or dead land. The nights were bitterly cold, making her long for home, for warm furs over her skin and tight, comforting embrace of her Wolf. To be safe with him once more.
The fauna and flora in this realm had adapted to the harsh climes. During one evening, resting against a tree, a six legged creature, that looked oddly similar to those of the desert, yet entirely different all the same. She’d crushing it with the hilt of her dagger to feel it’s blood sting and burn her hand. That had encouraged a hunt for them, to coat her dagger and arrow tips in, even if she didn’t hit her mark, it would be enough to confuse and worry her pursuers.
The nights she used for clipped bouts of sleep, nothing too long, nothing too deep lest she be caught off guard. One particular night, she used the darkness to her advantage, along with the glow from an unnatural fire, the flames licking the air around them were green rather than orange. Creating an evil aura in the surrounding area. Silently, she drew closer, slitting the throat of one, the blood spray making the fire hiss and spit as she retreated and the Elves scurried to gather their things.
In the disarray, Istiana was able to draw close behind them, over and over until all lay dead.
The days were filled with continuing toward the coast, to a smuggler who might be her salvation.
Yet salvation denied itself to her at every turn, an acrid rain fell around her, washing off the mud that had given her the ability to hide in plain sight. With it came more of the enemy. Her bow sang a deadly song, as dig the daggers she had collected herself from those slain.
Ghouls and Fel-Elves alike fell, though some were more fortunate as to nick her with a blade or arrow. Each fight that ensued refilled and over filled her quiver. Along with what scraps of food she could find that wasn’t rancid or deadly. Foraging had not been bountiful for her. Not in this Deus forsaken place.
She would have intermittent spans of time where she would begin to think her captors were all gone. That she would continue her journey to the coast unimpeded, she would be near starved by the time she got there, but she would be swifter. Only to remind herself that Hope was the worst burden of all, to have it dashed so frequently, as growls or voices signalled that they were still following her once more.
A surge of hope sprang through her, as she heard the tell tale signs of water rushing against the shore, the song of it like a siren of itself, calling to her, beckoning to her. Only Aegos remained to be found and salvation was in her grasp.
Though the smuggler was nowhere to be found, perhaps she had taken too long, perhaps he had not waited for her afterall. She was stranded here. In this desolate place. Alone. Lost.
Followed
Istiana heard the approach on the pebble beach, many footsteps behind her, approaching her.
They would not be taking her alive.
Two blades are drawn from her belt, eyes still watching the waves lap at the shore.
”Never allow an enemy to back you into a corner Istiana.” She heard Marcus in her mind, looking at where she had backed herself into. With a steely resolve, she turned around to face them, knowing she would fight like the wild animal that she was, showing them how dangerous a caged Wolf could be. And perhaps, let her husband hear of how she fought until the end.
by Istiana Komenenos
Topics: Tyranoth, Marcus, Istiana, Fantasy, Elves
Three days on the run, in a land inhospitable to all life that was not within the clutches of Shadow Elves.
She had been a prisoner of theirs for 6 months of abject horror, they had tried to break her. Still, they knew not with whom they dealt, Synvelle, arch-priestess of the house of the spider had her grievances with the host of the talon. Dark elves were not a forgiving sort, a deal had been brokered, Istiana's escape, though no promises, a man named Aegos awaited at the coast, but getting there was up to Istiana. The snarl of ghouls, half-things made from dark elven debauchery and their masters, they were gaining on her.
”It is not a matter of if. It is a matter of when.”
Zsofia had taught in the Imperial academy. All that worked for the frumentarri would one day be taken, be a hostage. A fact of life. A fact of the secret world they all inhabited. There would be no stopping it. All that could be controlled was whether they broke or not. When it occurred, when the deprivations, the pain and torture began, they were taught to go away, find somewhere in the mind to escape to.
Kidnapped, enslaved and taken to a prison island to be broken, in the heartlands of the shadow elves Istiana sets into motion her great escape, an old and menacing acquaintance makes a pact, revealing to her the discord between the ancient elven bloodlines, the house of talon foregoes even the darkest laws in their quest for slaughter and power, Synvelle, arch-priestess of the house of spider, sets Istiana free, her only hope lies on the coast, a hundred leagues from the dreadfort, upon the black writhing seas, Aegos, a smuggler awaits upon a small village of enslaved serfs.
Death was swift upon her heels, closing in, a tickling breath against the nape of her neck. Emerald eyes swept the landscape before her, looking for any crevice or crag that she might hide within. Yet there were none. It had been six months since she had been taken, kidnapped. Months of deprivations, tortures of the body and mind, still it had not diminished her drive for freedom.
The fel-elves had wanted information first, in the beginning. Details of Corneaths landscape, its fortifications, and military capabilities. As the Queen of the lands, they assumed her easy to break. It had started with lashes, many upon her back, her thighs. Which had turned to fascination on their part, as her body rejuvenated much swifter than that of a human. It had been in stark contrast to the scars that littered her left arm. When her body did not break, nor she under its onslaught, they attempted the mind, something much harder to break than the body. Istiana had laughed at them in their attempts, not even the ploy of telling her they’d killed her husband had stopped her merriment. Breaking of the mind was her domain, twisting and turning things in the most subtle of ways to achieve her own ends. Atimes making the person think it was their own idea all along.
Time had been her true enemy, waring and waning against her as the tide did cliffs, frustration had been the secondary enemy, with Istiana believing she should have been able to find a way out for herself, find her escape. So much so that when Synvelle had offered her a route to freedom, she had taken it, after thorough thought.
The sound of a bow string being drawn captured her attention, with Istiana waiting for that pivotal moment, when it hit the pinnacle, the brief heartbeat pause before she crouched, the dagger in her hand striking out to hobble one of the creatures too close to her as the arrow flew over her head. She rolled forward, before springing to her feet, the dagger in her hand flipped, so she could grip the blade and throw it, hitting the Elf in the shoulder. Had it been her own weapon, the ones that were an extension of herself, she would have hit her target directly between the eyes.
It was said a poor loser blamed the tools, however, compared to her own, these were in fact, subpar.
It was also a mistake.
Now she would need to recover the blade or find a new one.
”The Wolf's Bitch has claws, pity she doesn’t know how to use them.” Laughed the Elf, with Istiana tilting her head to show that she had understood every word. Were it not for the need to get away from here, she would have vollied back at him.
Hand to hand was not her forte, despite Marcus’ efforts to teach her, she could manage, but she was more a snake, in battle, strike and poison. A branch upon the floor would be ample enough to be used as a club. It wasn’t the best kind of instrument for the job, but it did do what she needed it to, while her muscles ached and protested every swing. Her ears remained pricked for the draw of the bow, grateful to the wolven hearing she now possessed. With the ghouls taken care of, her emerald gaze fell intently on the elf that had called her a Bitch. Were it not for the long journey ahead of her, she would have enjoyed making him eat his own words.
Istiana noted her blade had been removed and dropped to the ground, the wound in the shoulder had at least hampered the attempts to fire the bow. A satisfying wideness to the eyes that showed her he had not expected for her to be able to do such a feat, to bludgeon numerous creatures to death. Perhaps some of Marcus’ sparring days had paid off after all.
Istiana threw the branch at the Elf to distract him, as she rolled and captured the dagger once more, with the momentum she was back upon her feet and swinging the blade as if it were a sword, slicing the fel creature across the chest, before driving the blade up underneath his chin, the sound of blood gurgling in his throat as the widening of the eyes increased.
”The Bitch, has many claws. And knows how to use them.” The words spat from between her teeth as the Elf dropped lifeless at her feet. “And she bows to no one.”
The sound of more ghouls approaching had her dislodging the blade and grabbing the bow and quiver, this would be much better for her. With an uneasy lack of haste, Istiana strapped the quiver to her back and stowed the dagger. Istiana turned and crouched once more, reminding herself of being upon horseback and learning how to shot with perfect aim from upon it.
In rapid succession, arrows flew, felling the ghouls that had gotten close. Grime and blood covered her skin, yet she had no intention of removing it, keeping it as a layer of armor. Something to cover her scent.
Istiana darted to the nearest embankment, slipping down it and landing heavily at the bottom, a cloud of dust lingering behind her. The trees were close, within them she could find some semblance of cover. Something to hide within, shadows she could manipulate to her use.
What she found within had a grim smile forming on her lips. A small puddle, boggy with silt. She did not waste any time in digging her hands into it, as deep as she could get, drawing out handfuls of foul and wretched smelling earth. And covering herself in it. On her face, into her hair, over the leather clothing that afforded her some protection yet felt entirely wrong. She missed the Imperial armor that had been saved from a fire, that was just as much a part of her as her blades. As her mind. She could be herself within it. Not this slowly maddening creature that was waging a solo war against those that would capture and torture her for nothing more than the enjoyment of it, the pleasure. Testing the boundaries of the healing the Wolf within her could afford her.
That was the thing that had made her a favorite toy for them.
All that remained of the woman before, was a pair of bright green eyes that almost glowed from underneath the mud.
Then into the trees.
She kept the sun to her back, as she traversed the trees, continuing to travel to where she needed to get to. It was still going to be a very long journey.
—
It had taken a couple of days before they had caught up to her again. Which had given her time to acclimate to the outside world of this dying or dead land. The nights were bitterly cold, making her long for home, for warm furs over her skin and tight, comforting embrace of her Wolf. To be safe with him once more.
The fauna and flora in this realm had adapted to the harsh climes. During one evening, resting against a tree, a six legged creature, that looked oddly similar to those of the desert, yet entirely different all the same. She’d crushing it with the hilt of her dagger to feel it’s blood sting and burn her hand. That had encouraged a hunt for them, to coat her dagger and arrow tips in, even if she didn’t hit her mark, it would be enough to confuse and worry her pursuers.
The nights she used for clipped bouts of sleep, nothing too long, nothing too deep lest she be caught off guard. One particular night, she used the darkness to her advantage, along with the glow from an unnatural fire, the flames licking the air around them were green rather than orange. Creating an evil aura in the surrounding area. Silently, she drew closer, slitting the throat of one, the blood spray making the fire hiss and spit as she retreated and the Elves scurried to gather their things.
In the disarray, Istiana was able to draw close behind them, over and over until all lay dead.
The days were filled with continuing toward the coast, to a smuggler who might be her salvation.
Yet salvation denied itself to her at every turn, an acrid rain fell around her, washing off the mud that had given her the ability to hide in plain sight. With it came more of the enemy. Her bow sang a deadly song, as dig the daggers she had collected herself from those slain.
Ghouls and Fel-Elves alike fell, though some were more fortunate as to nick her with a blade or arrow. Each fight that ensued refilled and over filled her quiver. Along with what scraps of food she could find that wasn’t rancid or deadly. Foraging had not been bountiful for her. Not in this Deus forsaken place.
She would have intermittent spans of time where she would begin to think her captors were all gone. That she would continue her journey to the coast unimpeded, she would be near starved by the time she got there, but she would be swifter. Only to remind herself that Hope was the worst burden of all, to have it dashed so frequently, as growls or voices signalled that they were still following her once more.
A surge of hope sprang through her, as she heard the tell tale signs of water rushing against the shore, the song of it like a siren of itself, calling to her, beckoning to her. Only Aegos remained to be found and salvation was in her grasp.
Though the smuggler was nowhere to be found, perhaps she had taken too long, perhaps he had not waited for her afterall. She was stranded here. In this desolate place. Alone. Lost.
Followed
Istiana heard the approach on the pebble beach, many footsteps behind her, approaching her.
They would not be taking her alive.
Two blades are drawn from her belt, eyes still watching the waves lap at the shore.
”Never allow an enemy to back you into a corner Istiana.” She heard Marcus in her mind, looking at where she had backed herself into. With a steely resolve, she turned around to face them, knowing she would fight like the wild animal that she was, showing them how dangerous a caged Wolf could be. And perhaps, let her husband hear of how she fought until the end.
Moderators: Ravenesque Istiana Komenenos (played by Ravenesque) Marcus Leocadus (played by Tyranoth)