Post by Mercy on Feb 12, 2015 19:32:50 GMT -5
The room was dark and dank with the scent of mildew and rot hanging stagnant in the air. The surrounding walls were slick with moisture seeping in from somewhere above ground, each carefully chiseled brick coated in a thin layer of secretion that almost seemed to bleed from the stone itself. Steadily dripping down the length of brickwork, they were the melancholy tears shed for those who had been brought down to this subterranean prison for the gods only knew what reasons. A boot scraped across the floor, digging up what could have passed as either moss, mould or some other rancid debris and left a clear rivet in the earth covered surface. Repositioning herself, Mercy leaned against a thin gap in the wall that served as the rooms only exit and light source, steadily examining the flawless patch of skin in front of her. The glove of her left hand rested limp between the forefinger and thumb of her right, removed so that she could take this trip down memory lane as she twisted her hand this way and that. Once, on the back of that hand, an Inkantation had been stained onto her perfect skin. The nature of this Inkantation was one that would have allowed her to return to a specific place on Oerth that she had designated as a safe haven, plucking her from this strange land and releasing her back into what she knew, what was familiar.
It had not worked out quite as planned.
When it had become time to utilize this Inkantation she had expected to be whisked away in a flurry of sparks and stomach twisting force. Instead, what had happened was the stain had simply vanished, and she remained where she stood: the Black Recluse, Navahla, Sarkotos. Oh she had been furious at the time, declared that the drow who had inked her had cheated her of her gold and tried to make a fool out of her. But his own confusion and mounting anger had pulled on her suspicions, it was only later that they discovered Mercy was simply not on the same plane of existence that she had originated from, and it would take much more than a simple mark of recall to send her home, if it could be done at all.
In Mercy's world money talked. Incredibly powerful magic users walked through the various planes of existence all the time she thought, gallivanting from one realm to the next, and so why couldn't she simply hire one to escort her from Arith and back to Oerth? It was an idea to cling to, a buoy on an unsteady ocean of confusion and the unfamiliar, and so she worked. Mercy stole. She took. She relocated. Items were found in locations both historical and modern that were delivered to new homes in exchange for a steady coin. The jobs were small at first and piddling, so the nights where she simply scouted out decent marks whose houses she could liberate as much wealth as she could carry from were many. But as with all things, her reputation among the seedier denizens of Navahla grew, and she became known as a highly skilled thief with very little scruple. Soon her reputation spread further than this one city in Sarkotos, and through a network as intricate as a spiders web she was pulling in contracts from various other Kingdoms as well. Her name had not yet spread across the entire surface of Arith, but it would, and soon.
Time passed, and she found that as her cache of riches grew her desire to return to her homeland dwindled. Days went by where she did not even give a passing thought to the Oerth she had known as a child. Rhyldrin also proved to be a very delicious distraction.
Eventually she came to the choice that she was far better off in Arith than she had ever been as the ''Nightspider'' of her past. This was her home now. Her wealth was vast, her bed was well maintained, and her reputation was strong.
Which, is why she is here.
''Oh do cease that wretched mewling, you only succeed in embarrassing yourself further.''
Rolling her eyes in disgust, the glove was returned to sheathe her hand in its softness, the woman turning slightly as her arms were crossed over her chest. In the center of the dank room there was a chair. And on that chair, tightly bound, was Mercy.
Or, so it would seem to an outside observer. The real Mercy of course was well versed in the arts of escapism.
The woman's hair was a lustrous snowy white save for two dark streaks of black that sprung from a widows peak that served as her 'Ravenbrand', the moniker she took to keep her true name from the ears of the authorities. Her features were smooth, delicate and womanly, high cheekbones stained with tears and a full mouth currently smothered with a dirty rag tied roughly around her head, from behind which came these so called 'mewlings' that were beginning to get underneath Mercy's skin. The eyes that stared across the room at her were the mirror image of her own, deep pools of pale green that shimmered almost like opals in the correct lighting: though the pupils themselves were lacking the tell tale red spark that hinted at the natural darkvision of the drow. Though, the whites of her eyes were red and raw, so there was that.
Closing her own eyes, fingertips were pressed against her forehead as a low growl of irritation escaped her throat.
''And lose the image. Seeing that expression mar such a perfect face is sickening, even through illusion, you have no rights to it. I would hate to stain my clothes cutting it from you, but I will if I must.''
The other woman squeaked and abruptly shimmered, and it became immediately clear why she had chosen Mercy's skin to wear. Perhaps someone somewhere would find the humans plump appearance attractive. Mid brown hair that was somewhat frizzy, hazel eyes wide with fear, freckles scattered haphazardly across a pink round face. Maybe she was pretty, but as far as Mercy was concerned that was the ugliest creature she had ever the misfortune to lay eyes upon. But still, it was an improvement over watching that wretched beast twist her face into shapes it had no business taking.
''Now. You are no doubt completely aware as to why you are here. Even someone as dim as you should be able to work out that much.''
Mercy unfolded her arms and removed a small vial from the depths of one of her pouches. Lifting it slightly, the near colourless liquid within sloshed around the container as Mercy offered a small laugh devoid of mirth.
''You were caught. Using my face and my reputation, you took contracts out in my name and took profits that were mine by right. You moved through Kyngfeld fulfilling minor jobs that you only came to know of because you were busy riding on my coattails, the results of my hard work. And not only that .. ?''
The drow grimaced as if pained, gripping the vial tightly in her fist.
''You performed badly. You did not even have the common decency to be a good thief! It will take time to undo the damage you have done to my network, to soothe the ruffled feathers of clients whose jobs you completely botched. This is not slitting a purse in a marketplace dos ssindossa! When you rise to my position, you are expected to perform to a level of excellence that you are lifetimes away from ever achieving!''
Mercy began to stalk the room like an angry cat, tail swishing behind her. Her captives eyes followed her every move, body twitching and whimpers rising from her throat unbidden. They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but it is nothing compared to Mercy when she felt her reputation had been sullied by a talentless hack. Suddenly she stopped cold, the anger leaving her face and replaced with a small expression of deadly amusement.
''You cannot even disarm a simple trap. This, should have been child’s play for anyone with even a modicum of skill, but it caught you so easily I almost felt ashamed.''
Striding forward, she lowered herself non too gently and straddled the woman’s thighs, leaning in close with the vial held between them just high enough so that her captive could spy the contents. Mercy waited until she was certain the vial had been registered, before she began waving it slowly from side to side, as if it were a pendulum.
''It was a simple thing. Find the mechanism. Remove its trigger. Unlock the chest. This, you failed to do, and so when you gripped the lid to lift it your glove was pierced delicately by a needle so tiny even I would have needed to actually concentrate in order to see it. This needle was coated in a poison designed specifically by one man. My .. supplier .. gave it to me for this task, and I asked him ever so sweetly.''
Mercy smiled, her voice dropping into a low sultry purr as comprehension dawned in the other woman’s eyes.
''You were set up. The contract was a farce, the jewel was bait, and you like the fool you are, fell for it. Did you think that when I found you, I would applaud your moxie and take you on as my apprentice? My lover? Teach you everything I knew?''
Her free hand struck out like a snake and gripped the woman's hair, yanking down on it roughly and pulling out a few strands in the process as her head was snapped back. The bottom of the vial was pressed down hard between the woman's eyes to the point where all she could see was that glistening liquid as Mercy leaned in closer. Vibrations could be felt through the contact, one heartbeat thudding with a slow and steady rhythm, the other beating faster and faster as if it were trying to burst free.
''You feel .. awake yes? Alert? As if you had slept for an entire day? That is the result of this concoction. When it first enters your bloodstream it sends you into a heavy sleep, depending on your constitution this may last an hour or two, three at most. Once the first phase has worn away, the poison enters its primary phase. It keeps you awake and alert and aware. More aware than you have ever been. You can hear the mildew rolling down the walls. You can hear the rush of your own blood. You can hear ..'' Mercy rolled her body against her captive. ''.. the crrreeeeak of leather. Most people enjoy this sensation. They use this as a recreational drug. Others, such as scholars, use this as a learning tool. Because this primary phase .. has been known to last for weeks.''
Another harsh tug, Mercy pushing down on the strands until she heard the woman squeal. Cruelty wasn't usually a facet of herself that she indulged in, but she spent so much time putting on the act for the Heart, for those people she could not be sure of, watching even her tongue around Nefarious Works, that every now and then it just built up and up until she had to let the poison out .. even if it was just a little.
But this entire indulgence wasn't for pleasure, it was for business.
Returning the vial to the pouch on her belt, she removed her weight from the other woman – she never did learn her name, and frankly did not care one whit for it – and crossed the distance between her captive and the thin gap in the wall. It was approximately ten paces so there was a decent size to the room itself, but at the end of it all that hardly mattered. Turning, she crinkled her eyes endearingly at the would be copy cat before she moved through the gap in the masonry and into the hall outside, resting a hand on the side of the wall and peering in.
''People have called me 'Mercy' for almost as long as I can remember. I found it amusing, and so I stuck with it, but you must understand ssindossa that it is hardly an accurate description. Maybe deep in your little heart you had hoped it would be true, but alas.''
Pausing, she looked off to one side and smiled, running a finger across the brickwork.
''My name is Maedria u'rss Zauvalar. Not even my supplier is aware of this .. and I am sure that even with your limited capacity you can figure out why I have blessed you with this revelation. You will have a lot of time to think after all, and you need to dwell on your trespasses.''
Mercy waited until the information had really sunk in and she was rewarded with heightened noise from behind that gag, a renewed stench of terror sweat breaking through the mouldy scent of this woman's crypt, before she began to work. It would have been so very easy for her to simply hand this beast off to Rhyldrin, no strings attached, as once he had used her up he surely would have had some other inventive ways to torment her. He was incredibly imaginative sometimes. But that would have been too easy, and Mercy felt this situation required a personal touch given that it was an incredibly personal insult that had been handed to her: a talentless nobody daring to mimic one of (if not the) greatest thieves in Arith. Besides .. once she had expired maybe she would send Rhyldrin to collect the body anyway.
Humming a soft melody whose name had long since been left in the depths of childhood, she knelt down and gripped gloved fingers around a heavy brick. Moving it into place against the wall, she picked up a small trowel and scraped a thick workable paste across its surface and down the side, before mashing another brick up against it. Her forgotten melody twisted in eerie counterpoint with the muffled shrieks as Mercy slowly and carefully mounted one brick atop another, one brick beside its brother, methodically closing that gap. One. Stone. At a time.
It had not worked out quite as planned.
When it had become time to utilize this Inkantation she had expected to be whisked away in a flurry of sparks and stomach twisting force. Instead, what had happened was the stain had simply vanished, and she remained where she stood: the Black Recluse, Navahla, Sarkotos. Oh she had been furious at the time, declared that the drow who had inked her had cheated her of her gold and tried to make a fool out of her. But his own confusion and mounting anger had pulled on her suspicions, it was only later that they discovered Mercy was simply not on the same plane of existence that she had originated from, and it would take much more than a simple mark of recall to send her home, if it could be done at all.
In Mercy's world money talked. Incredibly powerful magic users walked through the various planes of existence all the time she thought, gallivanting from one realm to the next, and so why couldn't she simply hire one to escort her from Arith and back to Oerth? It was an idea to cling to, a buoy on an unsteady ocean of confusion and the unfamiliar, and so she worked. Mercy stole. She took. She relocated. Items were found in locations both historical and modern that were delivered to new homes in exchange for a steady coin. The jobs were small at first and piddling, so the nights where she simply scouted out decent marks whose houses she could liberate as much wealth as she could carry from were many. But as with all things, her reputation among the seedier denizens of Navahla grew, and she became known as a highly skilled thief with very little scruple. Soon her reputation spread further than this one city in Sarkotos, and through a network as intricate as a spiders web she was pulling in contracts from various other Kingdoms as well. Her name had not yet spread across the entire surface of Arith, but it would, and soon.
Time passed, and she found that as her cache of riches grew her desire to return to her homeland dwindled. Days went by where she did not even give a passing thought to the Oerth she had known as a child. Rhyldrin also proved to be a very delicious distraction.
Eventually she came to the choice that she was far better off in Arith than she had ever been as the ''Nightspider'' of her past. This was her home now. Her wealth was vast, her bed was well maintained, and her reputation was strong.
Which, is why she is here.
''Oh do cease that wretched mewling, you only succeed in embarrassing yourself further.''
Rolling her eyes in disgust, the glove was returned to sheathe her hand in its softness, the woman turning slightly as her arms were crossed over her chest. In the center of the dank room there was a chair. And on that chair, tightly bound, was Mercy.
Or, so it would seem to an outside observer. The real Mercy of course was well versed in the arts of escapism.
The woman's hair was a lustrous snowy white save for two dark streaks of black that sprung from a widows peak that served as her 'Ravenbrand', the moniker she took to keep her true name from the ears of the authorities. Her features were smooth, delicate and womanly, high cheekbones stained with tears and a full mouth currently smothered with a dirty rag tied roughly around her head, from behind which came these so called 'mewlings' that were beginning to get underneath Mercy's skin. The eyes that stared across the room at her were the mirror image of her own, deep pools of pale green that shimmered almost like opals in the correct lighting: though the pupils themselves were lacking the tell tale red spark that hinted at the natural darkvision of the drow. Though, the whites of her eyes were red and raw, so there was that.
Closing her own eyes, fingertips were pressed against her forehead as a low growl of irritation escaped her throat.
''And lose the image. Seeing that expression mar such a perfect face is sickening, even through illusion, you have no rights to it. I would hate to stain my clothes cutting it from you, but I will if I must.''
The other woman squeaked and abruptly shimmered, and it became immediately clear why she had chosen Mercy's skin to wear. Perhaps someone somewhere would find the humans plump appearance attractive. Mid brown hair that was somewhat frizzy, hazel eyes wide with fear, freckles scattered haphazardly across a pink round face. Maybe she was pretty, but as far as Mercy was concerned that was the ugliest creature she had ever the misfortune to lay eyes upon. But still, it was an improvement over watching that wretched beast twist her face into shapes it had no business taking.
''Now. You are no doubt completely aware as to why you are here. Even someone as dim as you should be able to work out that much.''
Mercy unfolded her arms and removed a small vial from the depths of one of her pouches. Lifting it slightly, the near colourless liquid within sloshed around the container as Mercy offered a small laugh devoid of mirth.
''You were caught. Using my face and my reputation, you took contracts out in my name and took profits that were mine by right. You moved through Kyngfeld fulfilling minor jobs that you only came to know of because you were busy riding on my coattails, the results of my hard work. And not only that .. ?''
The drow grimaced as if pained, gripping the vial tightly in her fist.
''You performed badly. You did not even have the common decency to be a good thief! It will take time to undo the damage you have done to my network, to soothe the ruffled feathers of clients whose jobs you completely botched. This is not slitting a purse in a marketplace dos ssindossa! When you rise to my position, you are expected to perform to a level of excellence that you are lifetimes away from ever achieving!''
Mercy began to stalk the room like an angry cat, tail swishing behind her. Her captives eyes followed her every move, body twitching and whimpers rising from her throat unbidden. They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but it is nothing compared to Mercy when she felt her reputation had been sullied by a talentless hack. Suddenly she stopped cold, the anger leaving her face and replaced with a small expression of deadly amusement.
''You cannot even disarm a simple trap. This, should have been child’s play for anyone with even a modicum of skill, but it caught you so easily I almost felt ashamed.''
Striding forward, she lowered herself non too gently and straddled the woman’s thighs, leaning in close with the vial held between them just high enough so that her captive could spy the contents. Mercy waited until she was certain the vial had been registered, before she began waving it slowly from side to side, as if it were a pendulum.
''It was a simple thing. Find the mechanism. Remove its trigger. Unlock the chest. This, you failed to do, and so when you gripped the lid to lift it your glove was pierced delicately by a needle so tiny even I would have needed to actually concentrate in order to see it. This needle was coated in a poison designed specifically by one man. My .. supplier .. gave it to me for this task, and I asked him ever so sweetly.''
Mercy smiled, her voice dropping into a low sultry purr as comprehension dawned in the other woman’s eyes.
''You were set up. The contract was a farce, the jewel was bait, and you like the fool you are, fell for it. Did you think that when I found you, I would applaud your moxie and take you on as my apprentice? My lover? Teach you everything I knew?''
Her free hand struck out like a snake and gripped the woman's hair, yanking down on it roughly and pulling out a few strands in the process as her head was snapped back. The bottom of the vial was pressed down hard between the woman's eyes to the point where all she could see was that glistening liquid as Mercy leaned in closer. Vibrations could be felt through the contact, one heartbeat thudding with a slow and steady rhythm, the other beating faster and faster as if it were trying to burst free.
''You feel .. awake yes? Alert? As if you had slept for an entire day? That is the result of this concoction. When it first enters your bloodstream it sends you into a heavy sleep, depending on your constitution this may last an hour or two, three at most. Once the first phase has worn away, the poison enters its primary phase. It keeps you awake and alert and aware. More aware than you have ever been. You can hear the mildew rolling down the walls. You can hear the rush of your own blood. You can hear ..'' Mercy rolled her body against her captive. ''.. the crrreeeeak of leather. Most people enjoy this sensation. They use this as a recreational drug. Others, such as scholars, use this as a learning tool. Because this primary phase .. has been known to last for weeks.''
Another harsh tug, Mercy pushing down on the strands until she heard the woman squeal. Cruelty wasn't usually a facet of herself that she indulged in, but she spent so much time putting on the act for the Heart, for those people she could not be sure of, watching even her tongue around Nefarious Works, that every now and then it just built up and up until she had to let the poison out .. even if it was just a little.
But this entire indulgence wasn't for pleasure, it was for business.
Returning the vial to the pouch on her belt, she removed her weight from the other woman – she never did learn her name, and frankly did not care one whit for it – and crossed the distance between her captive and the thin gap in the wall. It was approximately ten paces so there was a decent size to the room itself, but at the end of it all that hardly mattered. Turning, she crinkled her eyes endearingly at the would be copy cat before she moved through the gap in the masonry and into the hall outside, resting a hand on the side of the wall and peering in.
''People have called me 'Mercy' for almost as long as I can remember. I found it amusing, and so I stuck with it, but you must understand ssindossa that it is hardly an accurate description. Maybe deep in your little heart you had hoped it would be true, but alas.''
Pausing, she looked off to one side and smiled, running a finger across the brickwork.
''My name is Maedria u'rss Zauvalar. Not even my supplier is aware of this .. and I am sure that even with your limited capacity you can figure out why I have blessed you with this revelation. You will have a lot of time to think after all, and you need to dwell on your trespasses.''
Mercy waited until the information had really sunk in and she was rewarded with heightened noise from behind that gag, a renewed stench of terror sweat breaking through the mouldy scent of this woman's crypt, before she began to work. It would have been so very easy for her to simply hand this beast off to Rhyldrin, no strings attached, as once he had used her up he surely would have had some other inventive ways to torment her. He was incredibly imaginative sometimes. But that would have been too easy, and Mercy felt this situation required a personal touch given that it was an incredibly personal insult that had been handed to her: a talentless nobody daring to mimic one of (if not the) greatest thieves in Arith. Besides .. once she had expired maybe she would send Rhyldrin to collect the body anyway.
Humming a soft melody whose name had long since been left in the depths of childhood, she knelt down and gripped gloved fingers around a heavy brick. Moving it into place against the wall, she picked up a small trowel and scraped a thick workable paste across its surface and down the side, before mashing another brick up against it. Her forgotten melody twisted in eerie counterpoint with the muffled shrieks as Mercy slowly and carefully mounted one brick atop another, one brick beside its brother, methodically closing that gap. One. Stone. At a time.