Post by Mystery on May 12, 2006 23:49:39 GMT -5
Divinity.
The state of being divine.
But what did these mean, to those so cursed to wander, never trusting, fearing what they have, and will, become. Higher beings seemed naught to these damned souls, just another fairytale humans told to keep their children on the straight and narrow.
It was once before, that she could remember believing in such things. When she could remember the sun, warm on her back, and the delightful squeals of children at play. Now there was only cold, darkness, and screams of fear.
Oh what tangled webs the Fates weave for us, each layer more intricate than the next. With a flick of a wrist it could all be over, and indeed happens for many of us, but for others the tale just gets thicker and thicker as the years roll by. Such is the case with Mystery. It seems the Fates have deemed her their personal pet, a playtoy in which to weave their torturous fantasies. Mystery, once known as Nishan Talandor, knew only that her frustrations had brought her to the snapping point. Her pot had boiled over far too many times to be just a minor thing.
Awakening in this thicket, away from sight or sound of others, was just another confirmation that her life was nothing but a game to someone. How she got here, and where she'd been previous to it were lost on the young woman. It was as if she'd fallen from the Heaven's to alight upon earth once more. It wasn't true though. Nothing as such existed to her. The only explaination to the fact that she was a pawn in someone else's game, rested solely on her memory of the one who turned her. The solitary man who drank of her blood, and crossed her over to this damnable existance. The single being who, as her body lay in transformation, seizing from the foreign blood that coursed through her veins, gave her the name Mystery Bloodthorne, and welcomed her into his family.
This man would be the bane of her existance, and it seemed that through him only, would be her salvation. It was him that she believed played the game with their lives, bringing others into his fold as yet others died or withered away from the sheer heartbreak and realization of immortality. Pawns in a game they would never understand, useable if only but a short time in his little scheme. Whether her suspicions were true or not simply did not matter. Mystery believed in this and that was all that mattered. Yet even as she believed this with every fiber of her being, there was perhaps a small part of her that didn't wholeheartedly loathe him.
Nishan sat up, shaking back the thoughts that haunted her and clouded her mind. Brushing off the dirt and twigs that clung to her tattered clothing, the woman growled softly to herself. Regardless of how she'd gotten into this undergrowth, now was not the time to be lying around thinking of what she could and could not remember. A groan slipped from her pale lips as she laboriously got up to a crouch, then to her feet, as she dodged and ducked branches on her way up. At full stance, the woman stood about 5'8", seeming to weigh around 125lbs. Pale as moon that hung overhead, it was quite possible she could be mistaken for an apparition, appearing to have come out of nowhere.
Leaves and bits of other things crackled beneath her feet as she made no motion to conceal her movement. Such worries were for those who cared who was around and who might find them. So deep her anger rooted, that petty things as concealing her presence did not seem to matter to her. As if upon instinct, her feet followed the path she would not look down at. Imbedded in her was the way, the path in which she was walking now. To the Shadowlands she was returning once more, and one could only assume it wasn't with pleasant intentions. To those who stumbled across her way, one could only wish them well, especially if they happened upon her in her current state of mind.
Such a creature as herself, with such hatred and disgust exuding from her aura, could not simply have been born this way. Regardless of who she was before she was changed, no matter how she was changed, something had to have created her like this. But the jackpot question remained unasked, and unanswered. It lingered and burned in her mind, like a red hot iron seared flesh, both live and undead. The question, you might ask?
The state of being divine.
Sanctity.
The condition of being considered sacred.
The condition of being considered sacred.
Celestial.
Of or relating to the skies and Heavens. Of a higher being.
Of or relating to the skies and Heavens. Of a higher being.
But what did these mean, to those so cursed to wander, never trusting, fearing what they have, and will, become. Higher beings seemed naught to these damned souls, just another fairytale humans told to keep their children on the straight and narrow.
It was once before, that she could remember believing in such things. When she could remember the sun, warm on her back, and the delightful squeals of children at play. Now there was only cold, darkness, and screams of fear.
Oh what tangled webs the Fates weave for us, each layer more intricate than the next. With a flick of a wrist it could all be over, and indeed happens for many of us, but for others the tale just gets thicker and thicker as the years roll by. Such is the case with Mystery. It seems the Fates have deemed her their personal pet, a playtoy in which to weave their torturous fantasies. Mystery, once known as Nishan Talandor, knew only that her frustrations had brought her to the snapping point. Her pot had boiled over far too many times to be just a minor thing.
Awakening in this thicket, away from sight or sound of others, was just another confirmation that her life was nothing but a game to someone. How she got here, and where she'd been previous to it were lost on the young woman. It was as if she'd fallen from the Heaven's to alight upon earth once more. It wasn't true though. Nothing as such existed to her. The only explaination to the fact that she was a pawn in someone else's game, rested solely on her memory of the one who turned her. The solitary man who drank of her blood, and crossed her over to this damnable existance. The single being who, as her body lay in transformation, seizing from the foreign blood that coursed through her veins, gave her the name Mystery Bloodthorne, and welcomed her into his family.
This man would be the bane of her existance, and it seemed that through him only, would be her salvation. It was him that she believed played the game with their lives, bringing others into his fold as yet others died or withered away from the sheer heartbreak and realization of immortality. Pawns in a game they would never understand, useable if only but a short time in his little scheme. Whether her suspicions were true or not simply did not matter. Mystery believed in this and that was all that mattered. Yet even as she believed this with every fiber of her being, there was perhaps a small part of her that didn't wholeheartedly loathe him.
Nishan sat up, shaking back the thoughts that haunted her and clouded her mind. Brushing off the dirt and twigs that clung to her tattered clothing, the woman growled softly to herself. Regardless of how she'd gotten into this undergrowth, now was not the time to be lying around thinking of what she could and could not remember. A groan slipped from her pale lips as she laboriously got up to a crouch, then to her feet, as she dodged and ducked branches on her way up. At full stance, the woman stood about 5'8", seeming to weigh around 125lbs. Pale as moon that hung overhead, it was quite possible she could be mistaken for an apparition, appearing to have come out of nowhere.
Leaves and bits of other things crackled beneath her feet as she made no motion to conceal her movement. Such worries were for those who cared who was around and who might find them. So deep her anger rooted, that petty things as concealing her presence did not seem to matter to her. As if upon instinct, her feet followed the path she would not look down at. Imbedded in her was the way, the path in which she was walking now. To the Shadowlands she was returning once more, and one could only assume it wasn't with pleasant intentions. To those who stumbled across her way, one could only wish them well, especially if they happened upon her in her current state of mind.
Such a creature as herself, with such hatred and disgust exuding from her aura, could not simply have been born this way. Regardless of who she was before she was changed, no matter how she was changed, something had to have created her like this. But the jackpot question remained unasked, and unanswered. It lingered and burned in her mind, like a red hot iron seared flesh, both live and undead. The question, you might ask?
Why?
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