[Writings] Keaton's Writing (NSFW): Chapter Two of Keaton's Backstory, 02/07/09

[Sunblink]

Oi, I'm finally posting a topic here. Don't expect too many updates until I finally finish the first chapter of Keaton's backstory (it's almost done!), but I'm hoping to post little irrelevant drabbles and other gift-related snippets here as well. Mostly, at the moment, I'm trying to revive my writing muse.

That said, let's get this train wreck a-rollin'.

--Coming Soon--

The projects I'm planning on working on in the near future. Important projects. Keep your eyes peeled.

• My First Kiss at the Public Execution (one shot)
• The S.A.I.N.Ts (one shot)

--Watch the Shadows Burn Directory--

The backstory of my character, Katherine Beatrix Jyraneth, organized for convenient navigation.
Rating: R, for violence and upcoming horrendous subject matter.

Book One: Childhood
Prologue: They Moved in the Darkness
Chapter 1: They Don't Sleep Anymore on the Beach

--100 Prompts List: Original Universe--

1. Crash
2. Dim
3. Futile
4. Erratic
5. Loved
6. Soft
7. Hold
8. Shackles
9. Broken
10. Precious
11. Odds and Ends
12. Tea
13. Twisted
14. Echo
15. Soothe
16. Fight
17. Naked
18. Push
19. Alive
20. New
21. Born
22. Murmur
23. Devious
24. Isolation
25. Starve
26. Breakable
27. Winter
28. Ignore
29. Color
30. Grace
31. Belong
32. Choke
33. Reach
34. Difficult
35. Heat
36. Veneer
37. Fall
38. Nightmare
39. Contagious
40. Good Riddance
41. Goodbye
42. Scarred
43. Last dance
44. Burn
45. Steady
46. Monster
47. Voodoo
48. Shine
49. Intent
50. Camping
51. Grave
52. Machine
53. Destination
54. Nowhere
55. Garden
56. I Know
57. Dust
58. Dream
59. Destiny
60. Spring
61. Sigh
62. Fingertips
63. Waiting
64. Playboy
65. Revenge
66. July
67. Desire
68. Free
69. Celebration
70. Stars
71. Morgue
72. Space
73. Whitewash
74. Alone
75. Coma
76. Letters
77. Phone Call
78. Music
79. Silence
80. Cards
81. Emblem
82. Elephant
83. Monopoly
84. Reality
85. Serenity
86. Bone
87. Chalk Dust
88. Manuscript
89. Ink
90. Perfection
91. Ring
92. Drive
93. Missing
94. Full Moon
95. New Direction
96. Writer's Choice
97. Writer's Choice
98. Writer's Choice
99. Writer's Choice
100. Writer's Choice

--Story Index--

A list of all the stories I've written. Expect more in the future. Some of them are going to be mere drabbles of only a few hundred words; some of them are going to be exceedingly long. Either way, I hope you enjoy.

September 2008
Rosy Pink
Rating: R for suggestive, disturbing themes and strong language
Length: Approximately 729 words
Summary: Keaton plays a game with Siegfried. One-shot story.

The Lacrimosa
Rating: G - nothing objectionable
Length: 4 pages in Microsoft Word
Summary: "Lacrimosa. The moth-thing that ate children at night because the gods killed its own."

October 2008
Yugo/Keaton RP
Rating: PG-13 for severe violence and strong language.
Length: 10 pages. Yikes!
Summary: An excerpt from a collaborative RP between myself and Yugo.

He Never Ate Another Candy Bar Again
Rating: PG for some language.
Length: 2 pages in Microsoft Word, equaling 556 words.
Summary: A birthday present to Tapewolf and a pointless interlude with Daryil. Candy bars are involved.

[Sunblink]

Rosy Pink
Warning: Rebma (R), for extremely suggestive themes and Siegfried's mouth. Don't worry, there's no sex... but, uh, it's certainly implied.

Keaton and this writing belong to me; Siegfried and the Shades of Gray universe belong to Ren Gaulen.

Altogether, this story is, roughly, 729 words according to Microsoft Word. It took me the whole afternoon to write.

Mods, please don't ban me.



The jackal was smiling with all the sadistic, saccharine-laden mirth in the world as she tugged on the leash in her hand, watching the feline on the other end snarl and brandish his fangs viciously. If his hands weren't chained behind his back, she was fairly sure that he would have murdered her seven times over for this outrageous offense.

"Breakfast time," Keaton said in a harmonious singsong, reaching off to the side, rummaging through some unseen belongings. "Come and get it."

"Fuck you," Siegfried growled, gritting his teeth. Keaton grinned toothily, unperturbed by his resentment. "Fuck you, you stupid bitch. I'll tear your throat to shreds once I'm free. You will regret this."

Keaton's eyes traced the cord of the leash leading up to the collar.  She had selected a lovely, rosy pink for the rhinestone-studded collar, ornamented almost perfunctorily with a gaudy-looking, heart-shaped nametag, and the accompanying leash anchored to it.  She wanted the most feminine, emasculating color available, she had insisted to the person customizing the ridiculously garish accessory. While her specifications were met with skepticism, they were not rebuffed. Keaton knew how repulsed Siegfried was by this particular color. She knew what he had gone through, and she wanted him to relive every one of those traumatic memories in exchange for the pain his master had inflicted upon her.

Reciprocity, even when indirect, was a wonderful, wonderful thing.

"Aw, don't be like that, sugarplum," Keaton chided Siegfried, wagging her finger at him like a teacher scolding a small child. His indignant reaction amused her. "Honestly, Ziggy..."

Still grinning, Keaton seized the leash and pulled, drawing the length taut. The already tight collar around Siegfried's neck was constricting his windpipe; with his remaining breath he choked and staggered forward, struggling to breathe in spite of this obstruction. "You shouldn't be cussing at the person holding the leash, bitch."

Keaton loosened some of the tension when she saw Siegfried's attempts at breathing accelerate, liberating his throat. She watched him swallow oxygen gratefully and, while she knew he couldn't curse her out, she finally scooped up the object she wanted and deposited it in her lap. It was a big, glass bowl, filled to the brim with plump, mouth-watering strawberries. Delicately picking one of the fruits, she leaned down and held it in front of Siegfried's muzzle.

"Eat this," Keaton said. When Siegfried glowered at her, she withdrew her hand with a flourishing, condescending motion. "Aw, not hungry? Well, I guess you won't be getting anything to eat for the rest of the day."

Siegfried seemed infuriated by this threat, but he was a pragmatic soul and understood the consequences of his lasting arrogance. He was starving; Keaton had left him, isolated, in a chamber for nearly a week with only a few bare essentials – like a replenishing supply of water - to survive. Continuous resistance would lead, ultimately, to deprivation of key resources, and required energy. He could make Keaton assume that he had submitted; lull her into a sense of false security, while ruminating on potential ways to escape. And once she had lowered her guard, he would kill her.

Hesitantly, Siegfried opened his mouth. Keaton interpreted this action as surrender, and placed the strawberry on his tongue after plucking away the leaves. "I knew you would see things my way."

Siegfried closed his mouth and chewed. The fruit was flavorful and delicious in his mouth, a cooling juxtaposition to his smoldering fury. His mind was laced with promises of vengeance that would never achieve fruition, not until the time was ripe. Keaton prepared another strawberry, then, once she had removed all the leaves and once he had swallowed the first part of his meal, she tugged Siegfried closer with an unexpected jerk of the leash. She rested his head on her lap, just beside the bowl. Keaton held the naked strawberry to Siegfried's lips, watching him reluctantly accept it. She placed the bowl filled with strawberries on the end table beside her armchair.

"I think I like you better this way, Ziggy," Keaton murmured almost thoughtfully, reaching down and grasping the nametag of his collar. Siegfried's name had been etched into the silver heart in delicate, feminine cursive. "Siegfried Nox, buck naked, collared, and eating strawberries like a trained pet."

Keaton twirled the nametag around so its back was facing her gaze. Emblazoned on that side were the words Property of Keaton.

With a smile of contentment that was markedly unnerving, Keaton leaned against the back of her armchair, starting to undo her belt. Her next words hit Siegfried like a lightning strike, and he nearly choked on his half-devoured strawberry. "I wonder what Kula would think of you now."

Siegfried's eyes were wide and his face petrified in shock in the lingering moments before impotent rage would undoubtedly register. Still smiling, Keaton unzipped her fly.

End

[Ren Gaulen]

OWCH. Poor Zig. He suffered abuse before, and he keeps suffering the same abuse now. Well, at least he is not going to get raepd this time.. OH WAIT!

[Tapewolf]

Not my thing, but well-written.  Does the existence of this thread mean that Keaton's backstory is imminent, or are you going to keep it ticking over with shorts until you're ready?

[Jairus]

"Property of Keaton." Pure evil, my dear Keaton. Oh my gods... poor poor Ziggy. This is awesome. I must know how Keaton did this. I'm not even jealous that you stole him from me.

Is it wrong that I kept laughing at Ziggypoo's plight?

[Ren Gaulen]

Is it wrong that I kept laughing at Ziggypoo's plight?

No, because even I am laughing at it.

[Sunblink]

OWCH. Poor Zig. He suffered abuse before, and he keeps suffering the same abuse now. Well, at least he is not going to get raepd this time.. OH WAIT!

OHO I SEE WHAT YOU DID THAR.

But seriously, I'm so glad you liked this story, and even got a kick out of it. X3 I was worried you were going to murder me.

Not my thing, but well-written.  Does the existence of this thread mean that Keaton's backstory is imminent, or are you going to keep it ticking over with shorts until you're ready?

Glad you liked the story, even if it wasn't your thing. As for Keaton's backstory... yes. But I'm probably going to tide everything over with a few shorts during chapter intervals.

"Property of Keaton." Pure evil, my dear Keaton. Oh my gods... poor poor Ziggy. This is awesome. I must know how Keaton did this. I'm not even jealous that you stole him from me.

Is it wrong that I kept laughing at Ziggypoo's plight?

Mwahahaha! Thank you, good sir. I strive to be evil. As for how Keaton got Ziggy into his current predicament... probably a lot of tranquilizers. A lot. Goodness, I don't know.

I hadn't intended for this story to be funny, but, hey, as long as you guys aren't lynching me... XD

[Ren Gaulen]

Hey, just look outside!~

[Janus Whitefurr]

I hadn't intended for this story to be funny, but, hey, as long as you guys aren't lynching me... XD

< >Guess I'm the devil's advocate when I say I don't think it's funny at all and the writer in me wants to jump down your throat and beat yours with a two-by-four. There are subjects that never make good fiction and in my opinion that's one of them. But I'm the minority here, so I'm gone. Toodles. </ >

[Sunblink]

< >Guess I'm the devil's advocate when I say I don't think it's funny at all and the writer in me wants to jump down your throat and beat yours with a two-by-four. There are subjects that never make good fiction and in my opinion that's one of them. But I'm the minority here, so I'm gone. Toodles. </ >

First off, Janus, I'm sorry this offended you. I did not want to offend anyone, but I got so excited about posting this that I didn't stop to consider that.

Second, I didn't mean for this story to be funny at all. I went about the wrong way of responding to some peoples' opinions.

I hope this didn't make me out to look like a total bitch, at least, and I hope the next story is better.

EDIT: The matter between Janus and I has been resolved.

[Cogidubnus]

Oh, my. 

As Tape above me has said, not entirely my cup of tea, but very well written. I as well can only hope that this means there will be more KeatonWritings in the future, if this lil' drabble is any indication.

And although I say lil', I do think that it's actually very well done, as far as length - usually your writing tends to actually be very long, and the shortness is somewhat refreshing. It's focused on what needs to be focused on, and deals with what needs to be dealt with, and is in my opinion perfectly complete as it is without going into extreme detail about things. There are subtle references to necessary background information as well, which paints a picture of the situation very nicely, while still leaving the reader curious and interested.

One does not often see Keaton the Character's sadistic side outright either. With the recent sort of stories I've been writing, I suppose I can't say anything concerning that: - But most certainly, it made for an engaging read. I can definitely say that I liked it.

[Tapewolf]

One does not often see Keaton the Character's sadistic side outright either.

It wasn't really my intention to come here and plug something else, but just as an aside, you might like the upcoming FH chapter 

[Mao]

I have to say I didn't enjoy it either.  I'm not upset or bothered by it or anything silly like that, I'm just in the same boat as others here where it's not my cup of tea. This sort of piece is better as a part of a larger story where there's some build-up or explanation as to what's going on, otherwise it's just some Dom. fanfic.  Either way I look forward to reading more of your work, particularly this back-story on Keaton.

[Sunblink]

Oh, my. 

As Tape above me has said, not entirely my cup of tea, but very well written. I as well can only hope that this means there will be more KeatonWritings in the future, if this lil' drabble is any indication.

And although I say lil', I do think that it's actually very well done, as far as length - usually your writing tends to actually be very long, and the shortness is somewhat refreshing. It's focused on what needs to be focused on, and deals with what needs to be dealt with, and is in my opinion perfectly complete as it is without going into extreme detail about things. There are subtle references to necessary background information as well, which paints a picture of the situation very nicely, while still leaving the reader curious and interested.

One does not often see Keaton the Character's sadistic side outright either. With the recent sort of stories I've been writing, I suppose I can't say anything concerning that: - But most certainly, it made for an engaging read. I can definitely say that I liked it.

To be honest, Cog, I don't think this was much of anyone's cup of tea. XD It's not even mine because this story was so inherently violent.

I'm overjoyed you liked this, though, Cog! I really am. Next time I write more about Keaton's sadistic side, though, it will be in a more thought-out story.

I have to say I didn't enjoy it either.  I'm not upset or bothered by it or anything silly like that, I'm just in the same boat as others here where it's not my cup of tea. This sort of piece is better as a part of a larger story where there's some build-up or explanation as to what's going on, otherwise it's just some Dom. fanfic.  Either way I look forward to reading more of your work, particularly this back-story on Keaton.

Fine by me, dude. I appreciate the really thoughtful response, though, and your critique is extremely valid. Largely, I do agree with you - I want to emphasize that this was a pointless drabble and I didn't do a lot of thinking about it. Which, to be honest, I really regret the day after.

Really, though, I hope that you check by even after this - I should hopefully have some better stuff up soon. I'm already working on another story (G-rated) that should be pleasing to all audiences. Hopefully. XD

[Sunblink]

The last story got slightly mixed reviews and attracted some drama, so I decided to concoct something really quickly to distract people from the atrocious subject matter of the last story. This was pretty easy, since the majority of the content had been pre-written. I just needed to polish its language, but it's still kind of rushed. There is no dialogue.

That said, this might be fairly plotless, since the central focus of the story was to manage to integrate a moth into the story.

The Lacrimosa
Warnings: G, very G. Nothing objectionable whatsoever, so sit back and enjoy, everyone.
Author's Notes: This was originally done for a project in Writing class, and since it was fairly successful with my teacher I decided to polish this piece and post it here. I should note that this particular story takes place in my original setting, not the typical DMFA universe, so don't be confused by Keaton's presence. Also, this takes place when Keaton was, roughly, five years old.

Another note is that, no, Hykarthia is not usually this easy to infiltrate. I threw logic to the breeze for this time, but hopefully this should still be enjoyable – most everything else is fairly solid.

The story of the Lacrimosa is based off of the Lamiai in Greek mythology. Look it up sometime!

A final note: Harla'Keth is known as Hykarthia in my original setting. I loathe the name Harla'Keth, but because it's become so widely-publicized I figured I shouldn't bother changing it in my DMFA-centered story.

Oh, but Incibear does make a cameo.



She wasn't planning to be gone for too long. All Katherine wanted to do was explore a little. She just wanted to see what everything was like outside of the protective walls of Hykarthia.

Katherine had discovered her makeshift exit behind her house, particularly after she had chased her errantly rolling ball. A small, neglected fracture ruptured the wall protecting the city's boundary, possibly the aftermath of some sort of unsuccessful siege. Katherine assumed that, since the opening was mostly covered by her house, it had gone unnoticed during the routine inspections. Another possibility was that the city officials were postponing any repairs, seeing as the actual crevice was too small for any adult to wriggle through – much less any invading armies. Hubris was a common affliction among Jyraneth Clan members. A child of Katherine's demure stature, however, could effortlessly ease through the groove.

A child leaving the city unsupervised was strictly forbidden, but Katherine was so curious about what life was like outside of Hykarthia that she decided to, uncharacteristically, disregard those laws. After all, any ramifications would be minimal. At the most, she'd receive a stern admonition from her mother, assuming she was actually caught.

After a few minutes of aimless wandering and steadfastly avoiding any routes that were frequented by Jyraneth-born travelers, Raiders, and merchants, Katherine found herself in the middle of a lush, evergreen forest. Having never been in a forest before, Katherine was understandably amazed by the emerald foliage. All she had beheld in her short life were images ensconced in books and small, magically-preserved enclosures intended for public recreation in Hykarthia. She decided to explore, and started to amble around the forest.

Not long after she entered the forest, Katherine wandered into a clearing and stopped cold at what was ahead.

Resting among the bright emerald leaves, bushes, and assorted flora, hanging in the center of the clearing, was a bizarre object. It resembled a giant (around her height), opaque bundle, suspended amidst a tangled nest of sticky strands that were anchored elaborately to the surrounding trees. The bundle was immobile, yet it gave a distinct impression of being alive, due to its almost fleshy appearance. Katherine thought it was ugly. Looking at the bundle made Katherine's skin crawl underneath her fur, but she couldn't avert her eyes, as something about the bundle genuinely fascinated her.
   
With the bundle's repulsive and deterrent appearance, Katherine was instinctively averse to approaching it, but in the end curiosity won over prudence. Gingerly, she stepped over the wooden detritus blanketing the prickly earth, and investigated. The layers of fleshy secretion forming the bundle's skin were stretched taut over something encased inside; adhering to a large, swollen shape Katherine couldn't distinguish. The skin was too thick. For a moment, Katherine wondered if the bundle was going to be soft if she touched it, and prodded the bulge gently with an extended finger. It jiggled precariously in its little wreath of ichor, but in spite of the infinite amount of imaginative fates Katherine had concocted in the span of a second, the sac did not do anything else. Katherine narrowed her eyes a little, pondering the feeling of the bundle. As she thought, the bundle felt like old, wrinkled skin.

Katherine was about to turn away and forget she ever saw the bundle when it creased slightly and bisected, its skin starting to split open. Katherine screamed and bolted for the nearest bushes, diving behind the leaves. There was a slick, nasty noise like someone's hands moving through a tub of jelly, and then the sound of something falling on the leaves with a rustle. Katherine heard even more disgusting noises before everything fell silent.

For a while, Katherine outright refused to move from her subterfuge, but somehow she convinced her body to stick its head out of the leaves. Her gaze instinctively moved to where the sac once hung and she stared in open disbelief.

The sac was shriveled up and peeled open, its discarded and vacant halves still dangling listlessly on the residual traces of the sticky web. Resting on the forest floor directly beneath it was a large, spherical object Katherine likened to a ball. It was roughly the size of a volleyball, anyway. In comparison to the cocooning substance from which the ball surfaced, it was spectacularly beautiful. At first Katherine speculated that the ball was made out of a special crystal, because it was intensely luminous and resembled one of her mother's earrings. The apparent weight of the ball wouldn't make it very useful for any game, since it could not bounce or float or fly. Eventually, Katherine decided that her new ball was an enormous gemstone, but it was also too large to decorate any jewelry.

Katherine approached the ball, sidestepping a few dollops of gelatinous, nondescript gunk clinging to the branches. Scooping her hands underneath it, she gingerly lifted the ball and started to turn it in her hands. It was lighter than she thought. Bright spades of sunlight, hued a subtle green from filtering through the emerald treetops, flickered and shimmered off of the surface of the ball in brilliant, rainbow clusters. Katherine was instantly attracted to the array of colors produced by this phenomenon, and stared, mesmerized.

She turned the ball over again, and again, and again, repeating the motion until she was practically blinded by the spectacle.

Right then, Katherine resolved that she wanted this ball.

Before Katherine realized what she was doing, she had scooped up the ball and placed it in her bright red backpack. Adjusting the straps to her backpack so the ball wasn't hurting her back, she turned quickly and dashed out of the clearing.

---

Katherine returned to Hykarthia undetected, sneaking through the same way she escaped. Since just about everyone in the house was preoccupied, Katherine was able to smuggle in the ball completely unnoticed. When her mother noticed the peculiar bulge in her backpack, Katherine's heart caught in her throat as she feared any reprimands, but instead her mother dismissed the shape in her backpack as one of her toys and sent her on her way. She did not interrogate Keaton regarding her whereabouts; her testimony that she was visiting Issia was not rebuffed. Katherine scampered up to her room without complaint.

The instant the door shut, Katherine dropped to her knees, the backpack falling with a heavy thud! and the sound of jingling key chains on the carpeted floor.

Katherine zipped open her backpack and rolled the ball in a safe place under her bed. She decided she would show Lianna her discovery tomorrow, and possibly lead her to the clearing she visited. Lianna could keep a secret, so she wasn't too concerned about her telling their parents. Just in case, Katherine covered the ball with a few of her stuffed animals, strategically maneuvering them over the space under her bed so no one could see it. Unaware of how conspicuous the stuffed animal formation looked, congregated in front of her bed; Katherine felt unreasonably proud of her presumably-brilliant accomplishment and decided to retire to bed on that note.

---

Late at night, Katherine was cuddled up in bed, her head propped up against a pillow and her eyes closed. In the middle of her relatively peaceful sleep, she was disturbed by an unusual quake that shuddered through the foundations of her bed. Her mattress rattled atop the wooden frame, and Katherine forced her eyes open as an identical tremor pervaded through the structure. As she was still gripped by lethargy, Katherine refused to go through the tremendous effort needed to move her body. She thought the shaking was just her imagination at first, until it became more physical.

Her bed continued to shake, and suddenly she watched the mound of stuffed animals protecting the ball quiver as well. A teddy bear sporting head-wings and back-wings tumbled off of the mountain and bounced off of the floor, followed by a lopsided giraffe, and the rest of the pile followed. Katherine watched in bewilderment, uncertain how to react, until the quaking suddenly ceased with a perfunctory bump that nearly lifted her bed. Katherine squeaked and retreated under the sheets, staring at the toppled stuffed animal pile.

For a moment, she thought this was the monster under the bed that Jasmine had teased her about.

A dark shape was moving out from underneath the bed. Something ichorous and gooey was clinging to its body, glistening with a fake, oily luster in the moonlight, outlining the creases and sinewy muscles of its form. It was around her height, but its features were utterly indistinct in the monochromatic darkness. Katherine was petrified. The body trembled for a moment, emitting a low, nondescript groan, like maracas chattering in distorted unison. It rested its claw-like hands on the ground and hefted itself to its talon-clad feet. The creature walked across the carpet and to the window, resolutely ignoring Katherine, who was practicing the virtue of silence out of fear that it would turn its attention to her.

The creature's back rippled imperceptibly. Katherine could see something crawling underneath the creature's flesh. A thin slit was opening between its bony shoulder-blades and descending automatically, splitting open its skin. The flaps of flesh peeled apart as two wet, diaphanous shapes forced themselves out of its body, and spread so they flanked either side of its body at full span. Katherine recognized a strange, dusty patterning on the membrane of the wings. Her eyes trailed along the loops and whorls of the decorations until she reached the bone-white outline of an abstract skull resting on the creature's back, as though it was emblazoned on the muscle exposed by its frayed flesh, neatly peeled in two.

The creature took a moment to dry off those membranous appendages by flapping them a few times, scattering the vestigial juices. Using its talons, it picked at the lock of Katherine's window and gently opened it, stepping onto the cushioned bench underneath the windowsill. The creature's back was buzzing. Finally, Katherine let out a whimper, only to realize her mistake and hide under her sheets as the creature turned its head to look, almost blankly, at her.

The creature's face reminded her of a butterfly's; a very ugly butterfly's. Its eyes were large and bulbous, its head was crowned with two feathery, wet antennae that sloped from its scalp and hung like tendrils before its visage. Fine brown hair coated its features, reminiscent of the rest of its pelt. Even more unnervingly, Katherine could not tell if the creature was experiencing some sort of disdain at her presence because of its stoic features.

Katherine felt her heart stop. Lacrimosa. The moth-thing that ate children in the night because the gods killed its own.

The creature was looking directly at her, but simply turned away after a pause, and glanced to the open window. Those thin appendages spread again, and with an almost elegant oscillation of its legs, it leaped out the window and dropped out of sight.

Katherine thought she had seen the last of the creature, but in the next moment, it was levitating until it was hovering before her window again; the two appendages Katherine positively identified as its wings were moving fast and blurred by its movements. Moving fast, the creature flew away, barreling through the air, gradually disappearing until it was just a speck against the moon and Katherine could no longer see it.

Only when the creature was out of sight, did Katherine scream.

[Cogidubnus]

While not as comforting and tear inducing as the glorious sun-moth, I have been waiting to read this story for some time, I think. Hooray for the Lacrimosa! And no doubt I relate to different canon, but I do believe there is a picture of Lianna and Keaton doing just what little Keaton was thinking about - returning to the clearing later, I mean.

I've not read the legend of the Lamiai, alas, but I did have a question regarding what Keaton was thinking at the end - it's a moth that eats children because the gods killed it's children, but it appears that this one was just born: I suppose I'm wondering if this is the child the Lacrimosa eventually had, or the original Lacrimosa undergoing some sort of metamorphosis?

As always, the prose is vibrant and a pleasure to read. I can most certainly say that it was enjoyable.

[Sunblink]

While not as comforting and tear inducing as the glorious sun-moth, I have been waiting to read this story for some time, I think. Hooray for the Lacrimosa! And no doubt I relate to different canon, but I do believe there is a picture of Lianna and Keaton doing just what little Keaton was thinking about - returning to the clearing later, I mean.

Hey there, Cog! Haha, actually, this story was based off of the sun moth so I need to convince Ren and Jairus to read it. My Writing teacher saw the moth outside of the school and asked me to do an assignment based off of it, so that way the time we spent dicking around and watching the moth was relevant to something educational. XD

That particular picture has no relevance to the Lacrimosa, but now that I think about it, that's a very apt comparison. I think it might be appropriate to mention.

I've not read the legend of the Lamiai, alas, but I did have a question regarding what Keaton was thinking at the end - it's a moth that eats children because the gods killed it's children, but it appears that this one was just born: I suppose I'm wondering if this is the child the Lacrimosa eventually had, or the original Lacrimosa undergoing some sort of metamorphosis?

First off, Lamia was a serpentine monster who was cursed by Hera for having an affair with Zeus. Hera not only turned Lamia into a snake-monster, but killed her children. Because of this, Lamia ate other people's children. This was one of my favorite mythological pieces as a little kid. I still love it. It's so morbid. XD

The factual Wikipedia article.

As for the Lacrimosa - you are indeed correct. This is the Lacrimosa's child, since the real Lacrimosa is much scarier, and definitely larger than a five year old. Actually, I just realized that the story would have been a lot better if the real Lacrimosa broke into Keaton's house to retrieve her egg.

I'll probably write something about the Lacrimosa's full mythology later, either informational or dramatic.

As always, the prose is vibrant and a pleasure to read. I can most certainly say that it was enjoyable.

Thank you very much, Cog, for the kind words. I'm glad you enjoyed this.

[Ren Gaulen]

A very good story, Keats! I liked it. It was a bit scary (in a good way), and very enjoyable. Keep up the good work!

[Jairus]

While not as comforting and tear inducing as the glorious sun-moth, I have been waiting to read this story for some time, I think. Hooray for the Lacrimosa! And no doubt I relate to different canon, but I do believe there is a picture of Lianna and Keaton doing just what little Keaton was thinking about - returning to the clearing later, I mean.

Hey there, Cog! Haha, actually, this story was based off of the sun moth so I need to convince Ren and Jairus to read it. My Writing teacher saw the moth outside of the school and asked me to do an assignment based off of it, so that way the time we spent dicking around and watching the moth was relevant to something educational. XD

That particular picture has no relevance to the Lacrimosa, but now that I think about it, that's a very apt comparison. I think it might be appropriate to mention.

What do you mean "convince" me? I saw it and read it, I just wanted to make a post in my thread before I forgot to do it while I commented on your story. Anyway, on topic, I like it, especially little Keats. Very adorable and innocent, though I sense a grounding in her future for going outside the city. Like Ren said, keep up the good work! *to self: "get back to work, Jay!"*

But Bright/Sun Moth would never be evil! He is a friend to all, especially children!

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

You appear to have taken some liberty with the life cycle of a moth. Not to mention the metamorphose process and by-products...

Notwithstanding that, I enjoyed it - if perhaps not quite immensely, at least a lot.


I enjoyed the earlier one, as well, for that matter.

[Jairus]

You appear to have taken some liberty with the life cycle of a moth. Not to mention the metamorphose process and by-products...

Notwithstanding that, I enjoyed it - if perhaps not quite immensely, at least a lot.


I enjoyed the earlier one, as well, for that matter.

Well... it is a fantasy moth monster... maybe a few things are different.

[Tapewolf]

A very vivid piece.  I can particularly visualise Keaton as a kid, rolling the chrysalis around like a ball.  What did you get, marks-wise for the original version?

[Sunblink]

Thank you to Jairus and Ren for the praise! Bright Moth may not live in the flesh, but he lives on in our hearts.

You appear to have taken some liberty with the life cycle of a moth. Not to mention the metamorphose process and by-products...

Notwithstanding that, I enjoyed it - if perhaps not quite immensely, at least a lot.


I enjoyed the earlier one, as well, for that matter.

Hehe, I did. Actually, I did a lot of alterations, but I figured that the moth-creature has a metamorphosis/life-cycle process independent from mundane moths. XD Plus, I wanted to speed up the process so Keaton could have an unfortunate encounter with a baby Lacrimosa.

But still, I'm glad you enjoyed the story.

A very vivid piece.  I can particularly visualise Keaton as a kid, rolling the chrysalis around like a ball.  What did you get, marks-wise for the original version?

Thank you very much, Tape! As for the mark... an A-. I am proud of myself. XD

Actually, you really make me want to draw a picture of little Keaton playing with the egg. That would be adorable.

[Jairus]

Actually, you really make me want to draw a picture of little Keaton playing with the egg. That would be adorable.

Ooh, that would be adorable. And congratulations on the paper's grade.

[Paladin Sheppard]

Very nicely written both of them Keats! I do love the way you managed to have no dialog in 'The Lacrimosa' yet still convey all that was needed. Very well done Miss Jackal!

[Sunblink]

Ah, the last story was much well-received than the first one. Thanks for all the lovely feedback, everyone. Remember, comments make my world go 'round.

Anyway, I wasn't expecting to update again so soon, but me and Yugo decided to put this up. This is an excerpt from a private RP we're collaborating on. I was playing Keaton, he was playing his Jyraneth character, Elenor. Mind you, there's a bit of retconning with the Jyraneth Clan and Elenor's history, but it's all in good fun, I swear!

I don't think I need to over who's written each post, since I marked all of them obviously.

There might be more after this, there might not be. Depends on when we start this thing up again.

Warning, there's some serious violence here. I'M LOOKING AT YOU, YUGO.


Yugo – Post One:
Elenor paced about her sanctum, the pale soul-less eyes of the corpse on the slab staring at her accusingly. She had a name and a last known direction travel, but it made no sense. Judging from her knowledge of that area of Furrae, Katherine was heading towards a small village, barely populated enough for any form of social stealth. Was she going to kill them? Elenor wasn't sure about any of it. If the incubus had been a higher ranking official....If the incubus had been a higher ranking official, Qaisyne would be at my doorstep for my blood right now, Elenor growled in her mind. A couple of hundred years and for what? A name and a possible location. Elenor closed her eyes, and thought back to before the Jyraneth had well and truly damned themselves forever: Katherine had been just a child then. There were few enough Jyraneth left in Har'Khell then that identifying any particular one was never particularly difficult, and it was quite celebrated when a new Jyraneth was brought into the world. Her family had loved her, and now they all lay slain, probably in oblivion forever. Sighing, she felt a twinge of guilt, responsible for sending the creature behind her to a similar fate. No matter, it was time for action, not reminiscence or regret. Silently, she strode out, Shadowfell casting a pale blue light on her surroundings.

   A short stoutly built leopard stood in a small reventment outside of a small village, moonlight glinting off of his chainmail. Lanzi had a strange sort of smile on his face, reflecting on the sucesses of the day. They had captured a succubus! Despite all of her guile and tricks, the had captured one! A small voice in the back of his head scrabbled in fear, reminding him of their danger. She'll kill us all. We're all like children compared to those bastards. Without mercy, we're all going to die! But that was a quiet and distant voice now. He had done it himself! Lanzi had caught her in the act of shapeshifting and subdued her when it counted. Distracted by his reverie, Lanzi barely even noticed when a nearby shadow casually flicked at him, taking his head off at the shoulders in a spatter of crimson, a smile of pride still serenely painted on his face. A crumple, a thud. His head stared back up at his body as it fell in his last few moments, painfully aware of his surroundings. And the little voice, once far away, said smugly: I told you so. The world disappeared.

   Elenor might have razed the village for its impudence if it weren't for the children. Killing every townsperson and leaving their children to fend for themselves was no better than killing them herself, and her clan held very rigid beliefs with regards to their sanctity. Quietly, from the Darkness, she observed the silent town, for most part inactive outside of the few guards posted here and there. The fact that three of the four sentries were posted at a small shed near the edge of town practically gave away Katherine's location. Where there's one, there's many, Elenor mused. It was a mistake that would cost them. Elenor was a great skulker, flitting from shadow to shadow, hiding in the cool comfort of the Darkness, Shadowfell at the ready. One of the guards' ears flicked in response to some unseen noise, and she turned casually to inspect it, expecting nothing. She gurgled softly as the encircled head of Shadowfell punched violently into her sternum, melting chain-links, crushing her ribs and pulping the beating heart behind them. She fell without so much as a whimper. These fools never know what they've put in their hands, she thought coldly as she killed another guard with a wide disembowelling stroke, entrails and blood boiling and steaming as they poured onto the ground. A slight gesture of her hand, and a little magic, and she closed off her victim's throat, effecitvely silencing his screams. The third whirled to the sudden commotion, and found that a black leathery tentacle had suddenly grown from his chest. Idly brushing down the folds of her dress, Elenor took a step inside the dark wooden building, satisfied that her intrusion remained undetected.

---

Keaton - Post Two:
There was a very small settlement in the middle of the plains, resting amidst the nondescript flora, which had no name. Residents fondly referred to their anonymous accommodations by a number of endearing phrases and nicknames, sometimes brandishing typically-derogatory phrases like badges of honor. To those humble townspeople, they were essentially at the pinnacle of their profession, in spite of the limitations of their environment and apparent lack of wealth. They were a simple people, they preferred their solitude and to be detached from the surrounding world, aside from the minimal contact the townspeople had when transporting their latest harvest.

At least, that was the information Keaton had received about the village. Nothing else was available due to the secretive, alienated nature of that particular village. For all intents and purposes, Keaton would have completely avoided the town – little isolated settlements such as that one tended to be unforgiving and superstitiously, vehemently adverse to the presence of Creatures or foreign visitors - if she wasn't suffering from the poisonous aftermath of a snake bite. Not exactly knowledgeable about the species of serpents, Keaton had no idea that the bite she suffered was so severe until she started to experience the debilitating aftereffects. She prolonged her survival by sucking out some of the venom and using an advanced form of metamorphosis to enhance her metabolism and force the venom out of her system, but neither option was as successful as she had hoped. After a few hours, Keaton resigned to the inevitable and arrived at the town, using her map as navigation.

Under normal circumstances, Keaton would have effortlessly passed off as an ordinary, unassuming Being. However, in her deliriousness, Keaton neglected to realize that she had left her head-wings exposed. Metamorphosis could be so fucking selective, especially when she could barely stand without assistance. Those who were skilled in combat were quick to apprehend the supposedly dangerous Succubus, and assaulted her in collective groups. With Keaton's battle prowess and the protection of her Morningstar, Catastrophe, she should have been victorious in that confrontation. But when delirious and reeling from the potency of the venom swirling in her veins, not to mention completely outnumbered, Keaton was almost effortlessly defeated. A deep laceration cleaved along her side, the product of a blade, was her reward. When she passed out, she was in the center of a small ring of people, each armed with their primitive weaponry.

At least one of her objectives was accomplished: the venom was treated. One of the local doctors announced that she had been bitten by a notoriously venomous snake, indigenous to the wildlife populating the fertile plains. While the townspeople would have let her die, they ultimately reached the conclusion that there would be a suitable bounty on her head. After all, a dangerous Succubus was undoubtedly responsible for countless legal transgressions, and she would only be their responsibility until they could hand her over to the Adventurers they summoned. If she was particularly renowned, then any and all rewards would be a considerable benefit to the village's economy. Despite their agricultural prowess, the town was financially suffering. In this particular dry-weather season, droughts were rather commonplace, which were clearly dealing unimaginable wounds to their livelihood. Any monetary support would be a godsend.

So instead of killing Keaton outright, or letting her slowly perish from the venom, they had her wounds treated. They bound her hands in a tight, flexible rope, and clapped an enchanted bracer – the most valuable possession the village had, largely outlawed in most Creature-oriented communities for its severity – on her forearm, negating her magical abilities. All weapons on Keaton's person were confiscated and given to the weaponsmith so he could, possibly, sell them as magical artifacts. Of course, the inhabitants of the town were completely unaware of Catastrophe's magical signature being linked to Keaton's. As far as strength went, Keaton was now no different from an ordinary, inferior Being, and although she still had a great deal of emergency fighting abilities even in Catastrophe's absence, they were useless with her bound and immobilized by her delirium.

The first stop Keaton made was to the doctor that diagnosed her poisoned condition – he had a great deal of understanding of various types of venom, given the plethora of dangerous animals in the vicinity – and he made her drink an acrid-tasting formula once she momentarily awakened. Keaton's vision was horrendously blurred and distorted, and her head was buzzing as she struggled to register the bright indistinct shapes of her new surroundings. Her mouth was dry, so she wearily accepted the drink proffered – only to retch from the hideous taste. The doctor insisted that she drink all of it, so Keaton hesitantly agreed, unaware of the contents of the drink. By now, Keaton had speculated that the formula was a special medicine that also doubled as an anesthesia, because she had been suffused with an eerie numbness after the taste cleared and nearly passed out again. The doctor, who was apparently finished with washing her snakebite and injecting her with antivenin, clinically set about to operating on her other wound. Cleaning the blood and checking for any infections, he started to stitch the cleft skin together.

Keaton was declared to be in stable condition a few hours later, but the sedatives, combined with some vestigial traces of the snakebite symptoms (although no longer life-threatening), left her dangerously close to unconsciousness. The townspeople received notification that the Adventurers that they would arrive at the town by the next morning, so they were perfectly confident that Keaton wouldn't create any disruptions. Most of the villagers retired for the night with their consciences unblemished. Meanwhile, Keaton was sent to her final destination, the prison, in a cell reserved for people – in rare cases - about to be executed. A pole was built into the foundations of the building, extending from the floor to the ceiling, where the townspeople propped Keaton's body. Her hands were tied painfully tight behind the pole so she wouldn't be able to escape, and a few volunteer guards were stationed outside the dilapidated prison to interfere in any escape attempts.

Keaton heard the door close; the room was eclipsed in a sudden shawl of darkness. There were no windows in the cell other than a small shaft protected by an iron grate at the corner of the room, casting a distorted, slanted spotlight of cold blue into the muted-monochrome cell. She waited there for a good, long time, even as her head started to clear up, and experimented with different ways to sever her ropes; all of these efforts resulting in no more than fruitless endeavors and sore, bruised wrists. Keaton felt like her arm was going to fall off from the constricted circulation caused by the bewitched bracer. She lolled her head and moaned in defeat, gritting her teeth. She wanted to give up and go to sleep (in spite of it no longer being a necessity), but, knowing what fate awaited her when she awoke, she continued to resist, going through a wide variety of tactics that would have made Houdini proud if it wasn't for their utter impotence.

Finally, Keaton let out a frustrated scream and slumped. She sat there in silence, closing her eyes, but staying bobbing over the surface of slumber.

She did not hear the massacre in the prison.

---

Yugo – Post Three:
Elenor calmly studied the lock on the prison door carefully. She had seen locks of its type many times before, a thick bar locked into place requiring a key to move the tumblers and allow it to slide back and forth. She also knew that to destroy the lock itself would render the mechanism useless, as a last ditch effort against escape attempts. Running a finger along the bar, she noted the reflections of gears in the soft moonlight. Eyeing down their threads, she positioned Shadowfell just at the edge, gently pushing it forward into the handle. One by one the gears hissed and bubbled, melting and shifting, bathing Elenor's face in a soft red light before quickly cooling as they splattered onto the ground.

The bar slid freely, its mechanisms broken and ruined, and Elenor gently pushed the door inward with a creak, flooding the small makeshift prison with moonlight, bathing the still figure in the center. Katherine Jyraneth, the same as Elenor had ever remembered her, although notably less conscious. Elenor mused as she slowly walked towards her, wary of being recognized as an enemy rather than a friend. She had been so young during the fall.....she'd be around 500 years old now, Elenor noted. To lose her entire family at such a young age....it must have left some permanent scars.

Elenor broke away from her reflection and bent over, bringing one hand close to Keaton's body, casting a rudimentary healing-class spell to determine the extent of her injuries. After a few moment, she frowned. Nothing more than a heavy sedative...just how stupid was this town anyways? A few guards and an analgesic, and that was supposed to keep a Succubus in line? The soft glowing of runes from behind the pole caught her attention, and Elenor at once understood. Creature-Being bracers. They had been content to leave it at that, safe asleep in their beds. Their complacency was ill-founded.

Her attention directed itself to a spell in her mind, pressing her hand against Keaton's arm, slowly removed the effects of the sedative. She could break the bracers later, when Katherine wouldn't try to kil her in her confusion. "Katherine? Katherine Jyraneth?", she asked, taking a step back for her own safety. Gods knew how she had changed in four and a half centuries.

---

Keaton – Post Four:
Keaton was at first utterly unresponsive to Elenor, just remaining slumped against the pole. From a sympathetic perspective, she looked almost pitiful, with her head hanging and her hair mostly occluding her face like a sand-colored shawl. One of her eyes was visible between the loose strands of hair; it was closed. She was breathing at a languid pace; after Elenor spoke the sound of her breathing accelerating and her bonds scraping futilely against the metal bar she was bound to, followed by the grating of the rune-etched bracers, were the only noises present in the cell.

Bit by bit, Keaton started to feel her consciousness, smothered by the medicated and suffocating darkness, stir and start to climb from the restraints that kept it entrenched. The fog and fire was creeping away with the darkness; she was feeling considerably less lethargic, but not particularly compelled or motivated to attempt to move or explore her limitations. Probably because of residual sedative lingering in her system, or perhaps because she didn't see much of a point in continually resisting after hours of the same attempts.

Besides, in Keaton's remaining irrationality, she surmised that the reason she was awakening in the first place was because she had slept through the night and it was now morning. She was afraid to open her eyes and confirm whether or not the sun had risen, precipitating the arrival of the people who would be her death. Perhaps the voice she heard, resonating in the back of her mind like the clear ring of a bell, was one of her potential executors. Keaton refused to dignify that unknown figure with her gaze, not out of determination, but because she felt deeply ashamed, vulnerable, and frightened. Given her predicament, there was very little she could do to evade her inevitable fate – unless, when she was being transported, she could run for safety. That was her best bet, aside from the possibility of when they were loading her into the Adventurers' wagon.

With that plan formulated, Keaton was about to focus on an entirely different issue when, suddenly, the enormity of the voice struck her like a thunderbolt. Her breath hitched. What was that name? Nobody – nobody had called her Katherine, not since...

There was an unceremonious clatter as her bracers raked against the bar in her automatic effort to stand up. Realizing that with her arms behind her back, she was quite bereft of balance, Keaton invested all of her effort in gazing, apprehensively, toward Elenor. After her ordeal, Keaton was more than a little disoriented and distrustful – and maybe skeptical of someone manipulating the preciousness of her unblemished childhood, but at the same time optimistic, painfully hopeful, that she had finally encountered a member of her clan after years and years of searching.

In the darkness, she saw the oily gleam of something crafted out of opaque obsidian, and heard the subaudible ring of loops of metal, clanging and jingling together. The indistinct object was tall, predominantly elongated, like a pole, and crowned with an elaborate, ornamental decoration that Keaton couldn't distinguish. Not until she narrowed her eyes, and the shape of an abstract star – a pentagram – materialized in her vision.

Something clicked in Keaton's head.

"Elenor...?" she repeated, shocked.

---

Yugo – Post Five:
"Easy, you're still coming down from the aftereffects of whatever they drugged you with," Elenor cautioned, moving forward to steady Keaton, placing a hand on her arm. She gently maneuvered Shadowfell behind her and, taking great care not to lop off Keaton's hands in the process, slid Shadowfell's glowing head through the ropes and bracers in one fluid motion. The broken metal hit the dirt with a thunk that reverberated throughout the building, and Elenor secretly prayed that nobody had heard. There had been enough killing as it was. At the very least, Elenor surmised, Katherine recognized her for who she was. She wasn't a particularly low-profile Jyraneth, but who knew, five hundred years could tarnish a lot of memories.

   Gently, she set Katherine on her knees. She looked almost pathetic, Elenor noted; she probably hadn't been handled particularly well by her captors. If they hadn't killed her, there must have been a good reason. Probably hired some Adventurers to get her off of their hands, Elenor thought, a fair assumption. As to how Katherine got herself captured was irrelevant. Here she was! Elenor felt lightheaded, and a little giddy from the excitement. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that she would see, let alone hold, another Jyraneth clan member after the fall.

   Now came the next step, the one she hadn't quite planned for. What did she say? And where were they going to go? Elenor frowned. It might have helped to plan this out a little more ahead of time. "That's right, Katherine, it's Elenor, and I'm as surprised as you are. But I think it might be a better time for discussion, dear, when we're in a place that's a little less hostile." She sighed. It would have to do. At least she hoped that it would.

---

Keaton – Post Six:
Keaton let out a very audible gasp, punctuated by a quiet exhalation of relief, as Elenor sliced through the ropes lashing her hands together and ruptured the bracer simultaneously. The scabrous patterns of runes, etched harshly into the surface of the bracer, immediately stopped glowing as the bracer snapped in two, its shattered halves rolling onto the ground with a profound quake that rocked the dilapidated foundations of the building. Keaton winced at this unexpected vibration, shrinking back and massaging her slightly-numbed wrist, and anxiously looked around for any assailants. She assumed the immensity of the reverberation was caused by any released magical energies, since it took such a great deal of power to restrain a Creature and reduce its abilities with a single, simplistic artifact.

Once on her knees, Keaton sighed and continued to stroke her arms, examining them. Well, there was some rope marks from her struggling, but she wasn't bruised, cut, or generally physically damaged other than the wounds she had been inflicted with earlier. As far as a failed excursion went, she was fairly untouched.

After a moment, Keaton glanced up at Elenor, also suspended in absolute uncertainty. Part of her wanted to openly celebrate this reunion, but considering her current predicament, this was probably inopportune. She decided to wait. Instead, Keaton, in an uncharacteristic state of placation, murmured gratefully to Elenor. "Thank you," she said, unable to coherently form anything else. After a moment of thought, something struck her, and she nearly gasped in horror. "Fuck!" she exclaimed under her breath, managing to minimize that obscenity to something, relatively, small. "I – My mace! Catastrophe! It's gone – they... they must've taken it. They -"

Keaton was panicking at the idea of losing Catastrophe. While she had a few disposable knives on her person when the townspeople had searched her, they were easily substituted and not of any concern. Catastrophe, in sentimental value, was irreplaceable. After all, she considered it the only memento of her family – plus it held the soul of one extremely anguished organized crime boss.

---

Yugo – Post Seven:
"Don't worry, we'll find Catastrophe too." Briefly, Elenor wondered exactly how they were going to do that. It probably wasn't concealed somewhere mischievously, out of sight, since the townspeople had considered Katherine to no longer be a threat. They had probably given it to someone with knowledge of arms and armor, and seeing as how they didn't get much trade, and had swords and chainmail, they probably had a local blacksmith. Farmers didn't have much use for implements of war, after all. In all likelihood, they were going to give it to whatever Adventurers they had hired to kill and/or escort Katherine.

   Katherine seemed almost meek compared to the eager young Raider Elenor remembered, but she chalked that up to the shock of actually seeing another Jyraneth, and a Judicator no less. "There is much to be done, and discussed, but we can catch up on the past later. Can you stand? We'll need to get your mace quickly and quietly. I've already had to dispatch a few of the guards, and the others will get suspicious when they can't see them and come looking soon." Elenor didn't find the idea of having to take on the entire town particularly tasteful. The environment was particularly harsh, and the children left behind wouldn't be able to survive on their own. In a worst-case situation, she might be able to teleport them somewhere safe but....best to worry about that if it came up.

   Opening the door a crack, Elenor cursed quietly to herself. Two of the guards on patrol on the far end of town were coming to investigate the lack of activity, and probably wouldn't be particularly quiet when they found the bodies. "There's two guards coming right now as a matter of fact," she growled, her grip tightening on Shadowfell's haft. "Hate to rush through our reunion, but I hope you're ready for combat. Fast and quiet."

---

Keaton – Post Eight:
Keaton forced herself to nod acquiescently to Elenor's promise. Such hesitance was uncharacteristic of her, but she felt almost intimidated in the senior Jyraneth Cubi's presence, and therefore cowed into complacency, instead of the typical behavior of rabidly demanding the acquisition of her beloved weapon. Keaton recalled, in the back of her mind, practically revering the Raiders as a child – after all, her eldest sister and brother were employed among its ranks. She remembered how, during a walk home, she randomly interrogated Noah on a wide variety of irrelevant topics regarding his profession, and how he easily tolerated her exuberance. Jasmine received the same treatment on a frequent basis, although she was not bestowed with Noah's near-infinite patience and often ended their conversations by distracting Keaton or simply making an excuse to leave. More or less, the point was made: Keaton loved the Raiders. She wanted to be just like her brother, and her sister, and all those proud warriors who protected Harla'Keth from bad people – that was the simplicity of her motives, as she could not comprehend what was, essentially, heretic-hunting.

And among those Jyraneth Raiders that Keaton idolized and immortalized in her childhood mind was Elenor. While Noah and Jasmine retained unblemished adoration, Keaton was simply bewildered by Elenor's meteoric ascent from Raider to Judicator, the highest rank achievable by any Jyraneth. This was remarkable, unimaginable; it was like a knight serving God becoming a king through devotion and trial alone. While the Judicators were a secretive organization devoted to the protection of Lady Jyraneth herself and remained isolated to the shadows, they commanded respect and authority from all of those of Harla'Keth. Keaton was no different from the rest of the populace in her blind obedience, and Elenor became another subject of her admiration. She was amazed by Elenor.

She thought Elenor had been lost among those killed in Harla'Keth.

Apparently not, Keaton thought, as she was the one to liberate her. When Elenor reported that two guards were approaching, Keaton barely suppressed an indignant snarl. How dare these wretched, backwater Beings in their hick town decide to tarnish and censor her reunion! How dare they imprison her! She would not fucking stand for this.

"Let me handle those guys," Keaton told Elenor.

Most of her disposable knives had been confiscated along with Catastrophe, so she was largely unarmed. This did not mean she was incapable of combat. Snarling and bringing her fists together, Keaton started to conjure up her wing-tentacles in a momentary flurry of yellow and black, transforming the long, chiseled tips into bladed edges. She started to collect the ample darkness that suffused the room, and with that, she charged forward.

The first guard knew something was amiss the moment the door opened, but when he saw the prisoner that was supposed to be bound and subdued in the isolated cell barrel toward him with murder in her eyes, he was convinced that something was definitely, horribly wrong. Before he could whip his sword out of its sheath or scream for assistance, Keaton flung a wing-tentacle forward and decimated his head, watching the darkness condensed within that tendril work in addition to the severing force that sent his head flying from his neck. In the same motion, Keaton whirled around to face the guard's female companion, gesturing with her hand, and watched the shadows swirl and balloon to adopt the gigantic, abstract form of a jackal. In an instant, the creature pounced upon the unfortunate woman guard, smothering her beneath its unnaturally solid, flat form. Any and all screams and cries emitted beneath its mass were swallowed up by the blackness of the solidified shadows, she struggled, she kicked, and eventually, laid still, while Keaton casually inspected herself for any injuries. The darkness fled back to where it belonged, restoring the distorted atmosphere to its former state. Aside from the two dead bodies, one decapitated and one inexplicably asphyxiated, everything was quite undisturbed.

Keaton took a deep, contented breath, satisfied that she had not lost her touch. She gestured for Elenor to follow her.

---

Yugo – Post Nine:
"I  see your skills haven't left you," Elenor chuckled softly, a suppressed smile on her face. Truly, they had improved, and Katherine's shadowplay was far beyond her own abilities, although she certainly wasn't ready to openly admit such a thing. Katherine was fast, efficient, and ruthless. Everything a Raider was expected to be, Elenor noted. She recognized the look of adoration that mirrored the same look from centuries ago. She was sure that she had the same naivete and lack of knowledge about Elenor's profession that she had then. The world of a Raider was brutal and direct: extermination. It was total black and white; There were the Jyraneth, and there was everything else. And at Jyraneth's behest, the Raiders would fall upon their hapless victims like a thunderbolt, giving no quarter. It was an easy world to fall into and to admire, and Elenor herself secretly wished she were still in that easy-going place. She had not spoken to Katherine often, but she was there to dispose tidbits of wisdom and information to help her on her path. No Jyraneth was ever alone, and Elenor made sure that such a mantra remained true. She recalled one specific instance where she had drawn Katherine aside, and pontificated at length with regards to faith, dogma, and practicality. Pragmatism before adherence, she had instructed. There was no failure in admitting defeat or weakness if it led to a later victory.

The world of a Judicator lay in stark contrast to the open identifiable world of the Raider. Politics, intrigue, cloak and dagger ambitions all wrapped in a shroud of secrecy. There was very little unsanctioned action, as the role was a combination of advisor, investigator, and leader. In the open, they preached the words and dogma that Jyraneth demanded, but in the shadows, they sought to find when such teachings were denied, and where apostasy reared its ugly head. It was an extremely difficult transition to make, and Jyraneth had made her lessons quite clear to Elenor from the moment she was given the position. It was a tough place to be put in, with many enemies and few friends. To consult the Judicator on basic matters, or to be casually genial with them was to readily invite the threat they represented; Death, or worse.

She was unable to hide the look of surprise on her face at finding out Katherine was actually alive. She had been among the least experienced and youngest Raiders in Harla'Keth, and by rights, she should've died. But there she was, tearing into the two Beings with the same reckless fury she had always had. Elenor shuffled her feet. Her faith had been sorely lacking for the past couple of centuries, but maybe this was a gift from the gods. To reveal such a shortcoming probably wouldn't earn her much favor in Katherine's eyes. She elected to keep her affairs a secret unless asked directly. Deep down Elenor had a distinct feeling they both might lie about the past five hundred years. She certainly wasn't proud of the events surrounding her leading up to the Second Fall.

Elenor blinked in the darkness, and, with a wave of her hand, rendered her vision in brilliant shades of blue, the entirety of her surroundings becoming readily apparent. Scanning the area, she stepped over the headless body of one of the guards, paying it no heed, and smiled as she found what she was looking for. A sign blew in the wind, the graphic depiction of a hammer and anvil etched into its surface. "There," she whispered, barely raising her voice above the wind as she pointed out the building in question. "I'll stand watch, dear. And be careful."

---

Keaton – Post Ten:

Keaton gazed up at the sign to confirm the building, and then nodded affirmatively to Elenor, smiling weakly. She approached the entrance and performed a quick, rudimentary spell over the door that analyzed any potential, hidden wards – none appeared on the scan, but she still remained cautious. Some wards were so complex that they could effectively stay concealed even in the face of exposing spells – and as more spells were invented and made accessible by Beings and other Creatures, they became more commonplace, especially among shopkeepers who ran their businesses in impoverished or troubled locations. Keaton acknowledged that the spell she cast wasn't exactly a very advanced one, seeing as her magical inclinations ran, primarily, in darkness-oriented abilities. While her great versatility and improvisational skill in darkness allowed her to use such spells in unconventional ways, as substitutes for other spells, this was sometimes not adequate.

Keaton tested the doorknob. It was locked. This was certainly adequate protection from an inexperienced Being burglar, but not a moderately-skilled Succubus. Keaton rolled her eyes. Gee, Keaton. However shall I get through this impenetrable defense? Oh wait. I could just break the lock open, she thought sardonically to herself. Wrapping a wing-tentacle around the doorknob, she used another one, sharpened to a razorblade's edge, and pierced the keyhole. One twist and the lock clicked affirmatively.

Keaton nudged the door open and entered swiftly. The interior of the blacksmith's was as Keaton predicted it to be: dilapidated, but cozy and equipped with the essentials for crafting primitive weaponry. Keaton recognized the ubiquitous anvil and the furnace nearby. Hanging on the walls were a wide variety of completed weapons, some of them for sale and some of them for display, from swords to shields to other items. Finally, Keaton noticed Catastrophe resting indecisively on a table, as though the blacksmith was uncertain what to do with such a valuable weapon and placed it there for safekeeping. Gleefully, Keaton retrieved Catastrophe, cradling it in her arms almost affectionately, and was about to turn and walk out of the shop when she noticed a few daggers and other assorted knives on the opposite wall.

Ooh, shinies! Keaton thought, and smirked to herself. She decided that those examples would be proper compensation for the knives she had lost when the villagers confiscated her weapons.

None of those weapons seemed magical, but she decided that if she personally imbibed them with darkness magic, they could be of some use to her. Without a hint of regret Keaton snatched up as many daggers as could be considered practical, sheathing them in the pouches of a carrying belt she found among the equipment sold near the weapons. Looping the belt around her waist, Keaton examined herself distastefully, realizing how poorly the brown leather contrasted with her black and white clothing, and sighed. She'd work on organizing her appearance later. Right now she was probably gone for longer than originally intended, and Elenor was most likely worried.

However, Keaton was not above vandalizing the poor blacksmith's store. Before she left, she decided to deal her personal brand of sick humor by lodging the very edge of one of her new knives into the wall, where Catastrophe once hung, and dragging it in swift, smooth strokes, almost like how an artist would wield a brush. Flakes and chips of wood dropped to the floor until Keaton finally finished maiming the wall, and cheerfully departed the store.

Keaton opened the door with the same clandestine silence as she entered, gingerly closing it behind her, and approached Elenor. "Sorry that took so long. I took the opportunity to grab myself some presents," Keaton said, patting her belt and hugging Catastrophe to her body again.

Meanwhile, back in the store, a large symbol was carved into the wall in rigid divots: of an angular shape, curved like a wicked scythe, the sigil of the Jyraneth.

[techmaster-glitch]

Ah, the last story was much well-received than the first one.

If it means anything, I liked your first story. And not just that I didn't personally find it repulsive, it really was good. I meant to comment waaay before this, but never got around to it

And i'll get working on this new story when I can carve out a chunk of time for it

[Tapewolf]

Before I read this, is it as grim as Yugo's story?

EDIT: That's "grim" as in "grotesque", no insult implied.

[Sunblink]

Before I read this, is it as grim as Yugo's story?

EDIT: That's "grim" as in "grotesque", no insult implied.

Depends. There are no extensive torture scenes, for example. The first post by Yugo is very violent, and the eighth post has Keaton killing two subordinates in a less graphic manner.

If it means anything, I liked your first story. And not just that I didn't personally find it repulsive, it really was good. I meant to comment waaay before this, but never got around to it

And i'll get working on this new story when I can carve out a chunk of time for it

Well thank you! I really appreciate the fact you enjoyed it.

[Tapewolf]

Depends. There are no extensive torture scenes, for example. The first post by Yugo is very violent, and the eighth post has Keaton killing two subordinates in a less graphic manner.

Violence doesn't bug me so much - soul-slaying is something I have a bit of a problem with, though.