Post by Nadja on Feb 19, 2009 4:17:11 GMT -5
Pain!
If asked, all will offer their tale of pain and suffering they had endured. Child bearing, injury during battle, being thrown from a horse, or missing the nail to slam their thumb with the head of a hammer. Pain that would be short lived, and easily soothed with a potion or poltrice. What of the pain that simply rips through the core of your very being. The kind that not only sears through you like a hot poker applied to every inch of your physical form, but that which feels as if you're being torn apart? Not just limbs, but muscles, tissue, ligaments, and tendons. Every nerve ending screaming, not a single inch of your flesh left untouched. Yes, such pain could be short lived and easily soothed, but then there's the part in which the very core of your existance is being ripped from the shell of your former self. How do you sooth a pain that has no flesh, nor bone? That contorts your body in ways considered impossible for a human body to endure and live?
The answer is simple .... death!
Yes, death would be considered the finalization of such a torturouse endevor. Or at least that would be what most would believe and understand.
What could be worse than such pain as this? The pain that is suffered when death is but a phase in one's passing from one life to yet another. Worse than the change when a body becomes disfigured to transform from a human to beastly shape. Worse than the long never ending hours of torture by the cruelest of hands. If anyone was to wish for death, they should also beg that it be quick, for a slow death takes its toll on the body as well as the mind. What can be worse than this?
The answer is simple ... the Awakening!
Although she had witnessed and felt what it was like for Kieran when he went through his change from a living human state to that of the walking dead, it prepared her not for what she would endure herself. She had thought it would, even thought she was prepared for what laid ahead of her. How niave was she, as much in this as she was to the ways of the world and those who coexisted within in.
Basilio stayed by her side through the night after he claimed her as his own Copil de la noapte (Child of the Night) . She had thought he was simply going to give her immortality, but what he gave her was more than that. The nightmares she endured when the curse still clung to her soul was but a walk in the park for what she was to endure now. At first he kept her saited by a simple slit of his wrist, feeding her when the hunger hit her of his thick, sweet vitae. But even that would only put off for a short time the inevitable of the full change yet to come.
It started slowly, feeling like muscle cramps that contracted every strand of muscle tissue from head to toe. Contorting her small frame in ways that would have been painful to simply view, imagine living through it. Nerves screamed as they became senstive to the very breeze that passed over her body in the most painful manner. Sounds deafening, like the sound of tribal drums beating within the very shell of your ear and the inablity to simply shut it out by placing your hands over them.. Smells, sickening to the point of gut wrenching ... from that of the smoke emited by the fire, to all items that surrounded her; furs, animals, wood, even the people who passed by.
All senses awakening at once, overwhelming and torturing a mind that could not comprehend what was happening. The hunger, growing causing pains not just in the pit of her stomach, but the core of her very existance. A hunger that would not be saited by a plate of stew or torn bread, nor the slit of one's wrist.
The brink of madness would be hoovered upon, the mind wanting to shut down but unable to. No darkness to receed into, a state of unconciousness that would be a sweet respite, never to transpire. Screams to rip passed vitae tainted lips, that were but an echo to those that seared through the core of her being. The feeling of burning alive, yet no fire touched the flesh, nor would the cooling sensation of water offer to sooth the excruciating pain.
No human could or would endure such a torture for any length of time, let alone the hours to which it passed through the small form of the young Rom. The soft voice and soothing words that had once shielded her from pain for so many years, only added to that which surged through her. The light touch to her brow, that at one time would have brought her calm, felt like needles jabbing into her tender flesh.
Night became day, day became night, this would transpire twice before the tortured body, mind, and soul of the small Gypsy would shudder with a final breath and lay still. No longer did her heart beat, nor did her lungs expand and colapse with the intake of breath. This was not a phase of death in which she endured to the inevitable end, but a rebirth. To be borne again, a new life to which she would awaken. The curse of the Lycan no longer haunted her soul, for a soul she no longer had, it was claimed by the man she called Stapan (Lord and Master).
At least now the Soul Reaper that had been unleashed upon her when she visited the enterance to the Fortress in Ravensblood would find itself wanting, robbed of it's precious bounty by the ancient. Her blood now tainted by that of a line that was older than many texts of civilization. But would it give up so easily on the tiny Rom it had touched? It had tasted of her essance, would it be so easily brushed off?
The spirits swirled around the frail lifeless body of the young woman who's ears they've whispered near all her life. Yet they knew, the tiny Rom was not dead to them, but in a sense became one with those who no longer lived as most did. Where her senses were acute before, ten fold would they be now.
Where her mind would still remember her past, in time it would become a haze of forgotten memories as the centuries passed her by. Where she was once passive, an aggressive nature would now be borne. A preditor of the worse kind, for she would be the same sweet innocent little Fortune Teller so many had come to know. An niave innocent in the eyes of those who came to cross her path, and some who would fall victim to the hunger that would dictate her existance. In a sense, she was still like the beast of the night she once turned into, only this one wouldn't be as easily noticed to defend against until it was too late. Although the shadow of the beast would still follow in her wake.
Those tender years of her growing from a child to a woman had been spent in the company of those who embraced the night. One of the few who's hearts still beat that had been accepted and protected by those who would have just as easily fed upon her. Now she was at one with them, she had become one of the very creatures that shielded and protected her for so many years. All done to protect her from the curse that tainted her blood, and that which threatened her very existance; or was it simply a ploy to assertain what was wanted all along?
If asked, all will offer their tale of pain and suffering they had endured. Child bearing, injury during battle, being thrown from a horse, or missing the nail to slam their thumb with the head of a hammer. Pain that would be short lived, and easily soothed with a potion or poltrice. What of the pain that simply rips through the core of your very being. The kind that not only sears through you like a hot poker applied to every inch of your physical form, but that which feels as if you're being torn apart? Not just limbs, but muscles, tissue, ligaments, and tendons. Every nerve ending screaming, not a single inch of your flesh left untouched. Yes, such pain could be short lived and easily soothed, but then there's the part in which the very core of your existance is being ripped from the shell of your former self. How do you sooth a pain that has no flesh, nor bone? That contorts your body in ways considered impossible for a human body to endure and live?
The answer is simple .... death!
Yes, death would be considered the finalization of such a torturouse endevor. Or at least that would be what most would believe and understand.
What could be worse than such pain as this? The pain that is suffered when death is but a phase in one's passing from one life to yet another. Worse than the change when a body becomes disfigured to transform from a human to beastly shape. Worse than the long never ending hours of torture by the cruelest of hands. If anyone was to wish for death, they should also beg that it be quick, for a slow death takes its toll on the body as well as the mind. What can be worse than this?
The answer is simple ... the Awakening!
Although she had witnessed and felt what it was like for Kieran when he went through his change from a living human state to that of the walking dead, it prepared her not for what she would endure herself. She had thought it would, even thought she was prepared for what laid ahead of her. How niave was she, as much in this as she was to the ways of the world and those who coexisted within in.
Basilio stayed by her side through the night after he claimed her as his own Copil de la noapte (Child of the Night) . She had thought he was simply going to give her immortality, but what he gave her was more than that. The nightmares she endured when the curse still clung to her soul was but a walk in the park for what she was to endure now. At first he kept her saited by a simple slit of his wrist, feeding her when the hunger hit her of his thick, sweet vitae. But even that would only put off for a short time the inevitable of the full change yet to come.
It started slowly, feeling like muscle cramps that contracted every strand of muscle tissue from head to toe. Contorting her small frame in ways that would have been painful to simply view, imagine living through it. Nerves screamed as they became senstive to the very breeze that passed over her body in the most painful manner. Sounds deafening, like the sound of tribal drums beating within the very shell of your ear and the inablity to simply shut it out by placing your hands over them.. Smells, sickening to the point of gut wrenching ... from that of the smoke emited by the fire, to all items that surrounded her; furs, animals, wood, even the people who passed by.
All senses awakening at once, overwhelming and torturing a mind that could not comprehend what was happening. The hunger, growing causing pains not just in the pit of her stomach, but the core of her very existance. A hunger that would not be saited by a plate of stew or torn bread, nor the slit of one's wrist.
The brink of madness would be hoovered upon, the mind wanting to shut down but unable to. No darkness to receed into, a state of unconciousness that would be a sweet respite, never to transpire. Screams to rip passed vitae tainted lips, that were but an echo to those that seared through the core of her being. The feeling of burning alive, yet no fire touched the flesh, nor would the cooling sensation of water offer to sooth the excruciating pain.
No human could or would endure such a torture for any length of time, let alone the hours to which it passed through the small form of the young Rom. The soft voice and soothing words that had once shielded her from pain for so many years, only added to that which surged through her. The light touch to her brow, that at one time would have brought her calm, felt like needles jabbing into her tender flesh.
Night became day, day became night, this would transpire twice before the tortured body, mind, and soul of the small Gypsy would shudder with a final breath and lay still. No longer did her heart beat, nor did her lungs expand and colapse with the intake of breath. This was not a phase of death in which she endured to the inevitable end, but a rebirth. To be borne again, a new life to which she would awaken. The curse of the Lycan no longer haunted her soul, for a soul she no longer had, it was claimed by the man she called Stapan (Lord and Master).
At least now the Soul Reaper that had been unleashed upon her when she visited the enterance to the Fortress in Ravensblood would find itself wanting, robbed of it's precious bounty by the ancient. Her blood now tainted by that of a line that was older than many texts of civilization. But would it give up so easily on the tiny Rom it had touched? It had tasted of her essance, would it be so easily brushed off?
The spirits swirled around the frail lifeless body of the young woman who's ears they've whispered near all her life. Yet they knew, the tiny Rom was not dead to them, but in a sense became one with those who no longer lived as most did. Where her senses were acute before, ten fold would they be now.
Where her mind would still remember her past, in time it would become a haze of forgotten memories as the centuries passed her by. Where she was once passive, an aggressive nature would now be borne. A preditor of the worse kind, for she would be the same sweet innocent little Fortune Teller so many had come to know. An niave innocent in the eyes of those who came to cross her path, and some who would fall victim to the hunger that would dictate her existance. In a sense, she was still like the beast of the night she once turned into, only this one wouldn't be as easily noticed to defend against until it was too late. Although the shadow of the beast would still follow in her wake.
Those tender years of her growing from a child to a woman had been spent in the company of those who embraced the night. One of the few who's hearts still beat that had been accepted and protected by those who would have just as easily fed upon her. Now she was at one with them, she had become one of the very creatures that shielded and protected her for so many years. All done to protect her from the curse that tainted her blood, and that which threatened her very existance; or was it simply a ploy to assertain what was wanted all along?
