Post by Cardwyn Driald on Nov 7, 2010 5:43:49 GMT -5
(~0400, Day One)
Regret!
How much would show on his face? How much? It was a question she could have delighted to find an answer to, had she been able to be delighted. Instead it was mere… curiosity.
Sins were meant to be paid, and escaping from them was only temporary. How much would this man regret not submitting to justice, accepting instead hers?
She would find out.
She pulled off her small pair of glasses. Almost as light as a feather, as she dropped them to the ground. The man wore no contact lenses anymore; she had plucked them out herself. That was when he started to sweat. And attempt to scream. Was it for help, or in regret?
What did he think? What was he feeling? Was it similar to what he would feel, what he had inflicted?
What had he expected, being pursued by a woman ten years his younger the previous night. Did he really think his charms could woo one such as her? His hands had been quick to touch, but when alone she quickly disabused him of doing that. He learned quickly, but that may have been the fact that his hands were now bound and suspended by heavy iron shackles.
Did he wonder what the empty basin he was standing in was for? Did he wonder why his mouth was bound, but not his eyes?
She hoped he knew, hoped his own mind was torturing him with ideas. Justice was not only the physical. Her justice extended far past that.
Her head tilted to the side as she looked at the man, who began to jerk on the chains that suspended him onto the tips of his toes, leaving him unable to move, and yet supporting his whole weight either on his wrists or his toes.
Justice. The man had been accused of deeds far worse than she had done to him. Although, eventually he would pay in full.
Lovingly she slid a stiletto out from underneath her dress, this was the easiest one to access, once more was up higher, and the final was hidden carefully from hasty searches for weapons. It flipped open with a tap of the pommel, and locked into place.
His eyes widened at that. Very few had not. The ones who didn’t were often disappointing, but they received her justice just like the others.
On the blade was a Welsh word, beautifully engraved into the knife with a delicate touch. This one was her favourite. Derbyniad, or acceptance. It fit, it always did. This was the knife that had accepted the most, the first one she had gained, a gift from her teacher. Her first gift.
That wouldn’t be used yet. First she had to see regret, had to cause true regret. Right now there was only fear on his face. Fear was not what the blindfolded eyes sought.
But the blindfold would be lifted, if only to see what was on the scales.
She blinked. And her Mystic Eyes burned into the man’s mind, searching for that which was the most ‘evil’ that he had done.
Whether it was the wholesale slaughter of millions or a simple insult, they would find it.
When her eyes seemed to open again, from their already opened state she was a small boy-child, innocent and free. Nothing. She felt nothing.
And then he came, with a hook bladed knife, madness on his face. Nothing. She felt nothing.
The child stared up in it in wonder, marvelling at the light that glanced off it, until in plunged into his chest and twisted. Pain flared in the boy’s body, pain he never understood. Nothing. She felt nothing.
And twisted. And pulled. And stabbed again. And twisted. And pulled. Ten times repeated, but truly the boy felt very little after the sixth time. Only fear. Nothing. She felt nothing.
As suddenly as it began, the Mystic Eyes ended. Her face was still hard. His was not. The man was in physical and mental pain, and his eyes stained with tears. Tears of pain.
He experienced justice. Something deep inside her screamed, but was easily ignored.
Now was the moment, and Derbyniad lanced up towards the side of his throat, penetrating out the other side of it. His face broke as he stared into her eyes.
Regret. He now regretted something. That was enough.
She pulled out the knife with an almost negligent yank, but it did not increase the size of the wound on the way out. She wiped the blood on the blade off on the man’s clothes as his blood emptied into the basin. He would have to be cut down if she was to get all she needed.
Unlocking the chain, and letting the still gurgling body fall, she adjusted his head so the blood would run out into the basin. She would probably need it all.
***************************************
(~ 0540, Day One)
She dipped a small brush into the barrel of blood. It would not keep long, and the circle must be completed. This was kind of disgusting, justice was paid, and now she was going past it. Although the man did not need his blood anymore, and this would bring further justice into this world. When her father came to claim the Grail...
That thought sent an echo of pain through her mind, a pain of reminder, that threatened to let the scream have control again. She would obey, she would faithfully hand over the Grail, when she obtained it.
He had given her instructions for the circles, in a letter and she followed them exactly, to the point of reproducing a small smudge of ink in the drawn notes of the circle. She had barely had enough blood, but her father had said this one would be enough, so she had taken one man.
It had been enjoyable. It was rare that her father allowed her to indulge in her hobby. Something that could be called a twitch of the mouth to a normal person lit up Cardwyn’s face for a second. That was about the closest she would come to a smile.
The sheet of instructions also contained the words to summon the servant, and the necessary process. Even where she was supposed to do it. The house she was in now was not technically hers or her father’s but rather a successful businessman who was supposed to be leaving the country tomorrow for a some period of time. It was quite a luxurious condominium, and it was used by the man when he did not want to be found out, where he took others for… entertainment. His death would not be heard of until it was already too late. She had no idea if he was a legitimate business man, or some member of a crime syndicate.
She really didn’t care either, he had needed justice, and it had been dealt to him. What he had done was no longer any matter, he had paid for it.
Now was the time her father had said to begin. And so she began, with the rising sun. The moon was still setting on the other side of the view, now barely visible. Both sides of the scales
"Ye first, O silver, O iron.” Prana was not necessary yet, it was not necessary to intercede until the halfway point."Ye stone of the foundation, O Archduke of the Contract." The blood of the circle began to glow. Did the Holy Grail provide prana even now?
"Hear me in the name of our great teacher, the Archmagus Schweinorg" Her father had never bothered to teach her magic history, just the politics of the tower and their alchemical fighting, so she had no idea who this Schweinorg was. He had seen there was no need, so she had never asked, just doing as she was told, learned what she was taught.
“Let the descending winds be as a wall. Let the gates in all directions be shut, rising above the crown, and let the three-forked roads to the Kingdom revolve." There had been a material enclosed with the letter, an impossibly light silk cloth, and instructions that said she would need a catalyst, but he did not direct her to use the cloth as a catalyst, so it sat in her room. She would follow the instructions to the letter.
“Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut.” Five times. There was probably some reason for that, but that she did not know. That was just the way it had to be.
"Five perfections for each repetition. And now, let the filled sigils be annihilated in my stead!"
"Set." Now her prana flowed, joined the circle, joined with a great torrent of mana from nowhere.
"Let thy body rest under my dominion, let my fate rest in thy blade. If thou submittest to the call of the Holy Grail and if thou wilt obey this mind, this reason, then thou shalt respond." Her dominion? That was such a strange thought. She had obeyed her entire life, and would obey. There was just pain otherwise.
"I make my oath here. I am that person who is to become the virtue of all Heavens. I am that person who is covered with the evil of all Hades." Evil? She brought justice to those who were evil. Virtue probably wasn’t very correct either. It was what the paper said, so it would be what she read.
There was a strange feeling of exhaustion running through her body. Tiredness was of no moment. None at all. Her prana was also draining, she wondered if she could even use her Mystic Eyes now.
"Thou seven heavens, clad in a trinity of words, Come past thy restraining rings, and be thou the hands that protect the balance!"
That was the final line, and the place where the letter ended. So she just stood and waited, waited to see what she would be provided with.
Regret!
How much would show on his face? How much? It was a question she could have delighted to find an answer to, had she been able to be delighted. Instead it was mere… curiosity.
Sins were meant to be paid, and escaping from them was only temporary. How much would this man regret not submitting to justice, accepting instead hers?
She would find out.
She pulled off her small pair of glasses. Almost as light as a feather, as she dropped them to the ground. The man wore no contact lenses anymore; she had plucked them out herself. That was when he started to sweat. And attempt to scream. Was it for help, or in regret?
What did he think? What was he feeling? Was it similar to what he would feel, what he had inflicted?
What had he expected, being pursued by a woman ten years his younger the previous night. Did he really think his charms could woo one such as her? His hands had been quick to touch, but when alone she quickly disabused him of doing that. He learned quickly, but that may have been the fact that his hands were now bound and suspended by heavy iron shackles.
Did he wonder what the empty basin he was standing in was for? Did he wonder why his mouth was bound, but not his eyes?
She hoped he knew, hoped his own mind was torturing him with ideas. Justice was not only the physical. Her justice extended far past that.
Her head tilted to the side as she looked at the man, who began to jerk on the chains that suspended him onto the tips of his toes, leaving him unable to move, and yet supporting his whole weight either on his wrists or his toes.
Justice. The man had been accused of deeds far worse than she had done to him. Although, eventually he would pay in full.
Lovingly she slid a stiletto out from underneath her dress, this was the easiest one to access, once more was up higher, and the final was hidden carefully from hasty searches for weapons. It flipped open with a tap of the pommel, and locked into place.
His eyes widened at that. Very few had not. The ones who didn’t were often disappointing, but they received her justice just like the others.
On the blade was a Welsh word, beautifully engraved into the knife with a delicate touch. This one was her favourite. Derbyniad, or acceptance. It fit, it always did. This was the knife that had accepted the most, the first one she had gained, a gift from her teacher. Her first gift.
That wouldn’t be used yet. First she had to see regret, had to cause true regret. Right now there was only fear on his face. Fear was not what the blindfolded eyes sought.
But the blindfold would be lifted, if only to see what was on the scales.
She blinked. And her Mystic Eyes burned into the man’s mind, searching for that which was the most ‘evil’ that he had done.
Whether it was the wholesale slaughter of millions or a simple insult, they would find it.
When her eyes seemed to open again, from their already opened state she was a small boy-child, innocent and free. Nothing. She felt nothing.
And then he came, with a hook bladed knife, madness on his face. Nothing. She felt nothing.
The child stared up in it in wonder, marvelling at the light that glanced off it, until in plunged into his chest and twisted. Pain flared in the boy’s body, pain he never understood. Nothing. She felt nothing.
And twisted. And pulled. And stabbed again. And twisted. And pulled. Ten times repeated, but truly the boy felt very little after the sixth time. Only fear. Nothing. She felt nothing.
As suddenly as it began, the Mystic Eyes ended. Her face was still hard. His was not. The man was in physical and mental pain, and his eyes stained with tears. Tears of pain.
He experienced justice. Something deep inside her screamed, but was easily ignored.
Now was the moment, and Derbyniad lanced up towards the side of his throat, penetrating out the other side of it. His face broke as he stared into her eyes.
Regret. He now regretted something. That was enough.
She pulled out the knife with an almost negligent yank, but it did not increase the size of the wound on the way out. She wiped the blood on the blade off on the man’s clothes as his blood emptied into the basin. He would have to be cut down if she was to get all she needed.
Unlocking the chain, and letting the still gurgling body fall, she adjusted his head so the blood would run out into the basin. She would probably need it all.
***************************************
(~ 0540, Day One)
She dipped a small brush into the barrel of blood. It would not keep long, and the circle must be completed. This was kind of disgusting, justice was paid, and now she was going past it. Although the man did not need his blood anymore, and this would bring further justice into this world. When her father came to claim the Grail...
That thought sent an echo of pain through her mind, a pain of reminder, that threatened to let the scream have control again. She would obey, she would faithfully hand over the Grail, when she obtained it.
He had given her instructions for the circles, in a letter and she followed them exactly, to the point of reproducing a small smudge of ink in the drawn notes of the circle. She had barely had enough blood, but her father had said this one would be enough, so she had taken one man.
It had been enjoyable. It was rare that her father allowed her to indulge in her hobby. Something that could be called a twitch of the mouth to a normal person lit up Cardwyn’s face for a second. That was about the closest she would come to a smile.
The sheet of instructions also contained the words to summon the servant, and the necessary process. Even where she was supposed to do it. The house she was in now was not technically hers or her father’s but rather a successful businessman who was supposed to be leaving the country tomorrow for a some period of time. It was quite a luxurious condominium, and it was used by the man when he did not want to be found out, where he took others for… entertainment. His death would not be heard of until it was already too late. She had no idea if he was a legitimate business man, or some member of a crime syndicate.
She really didn’t care either, he had needed justice, and it had been dealt to him. What he had done was no longer any matter, he had paid for it.
Now was the time her father had said to begin. And so she began, with the rising sun. The moon was still setting on the other side of the view, now barely visible. Both sides of the scales
"Ye first, O silver, O iron.” Prana was not necessary yet, it was not necessary to intercede until the halfway point."Ye stone of the foundation, O Archduke of the Contract." The blood of the circle began to glow. Did the Holy Grail provide prana even now?
"Hear me in the name of our great teacher, the Archmagus Schweinorg" Her father had never bothered to teach her magic history, just the politics of the tower and their alchemical fighting, so she had no idea who this Schweinorg was. He had seen there was no need, so she had never asked, just doing as she was told, learned what she was taught.
“Let the descending winds be as a wall. Let the gates in all directions be shut, rising above the crown, and let the three-forked roads to the Kingdom revolve." There had been a material enclosed with the letter, an impossibly light silk cloth, and instructions that said she would need a catalyst, but he did not direct her to use the cloth as a catalyst, so it sat in her room. She would follow the instructions to the letter.
“Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut.” Five times. There was probably some reason for that, but that she did not know. That was just the way it had to be.
"Five perfections for each repetition. And now, let the filled sigils be annihilated in my stead!"
"Set." Now her prana flowed, joined the circle, joined with a great torrent of mana from nowhere.
"Let thy body rest under my dominion, let my fate rest in thy blade. If thou submittest to the call of the Holy Grail and if thou wilt obey this mind, this reason, then thou shalt respond." Her dominion? That was such a strange thought. She had obeyed her entire life, and would obey. There was just pain otherwise.
"I make my oath here. I am that person who is to become the virtue of all Heavens. I am that person who is covered with the evil of all Hades." Evil? She brought justice to those who were evil. Virtue probably wasn’t very correct either. It was what the paper said, so it would be what she read.
There was a strange feeling of exhaustion running through her body. Tiredness was of no moment. None at all. Her prana was also draining, she wondered if she could even use her Mystic Eyes now.
"Thou seven heavens, clad in a trinity of words, Come past thy restraining rings, and be thou the hands that protect the balance!"
That was the final line, and the place where the letter ended. So she just stood and waited, waited to see what she would be provided with.
