D E A T H

                                             Demon form Abaddawn

                                              “Her corruption runs deep.”

“How droll and yet I do must say my dear that your hospitality could be improved. No, no, allow me to make myself more comfortable...” With a sigh the forsaken woman gathered her power and as she did so the shackles fought to keep her contained. Agony filled her from every inch of her body. The tearing of fabric was heard as in a flash of fel fire the chains cracked and shattered. becoming iron hot projectiles that shattered in all directions. “Mmm, much better.”

A dark and distorted chuckle rumbled in her throat. Blacken lips formed into a wicked grin, exposing sharp fangs. What was once a normal undead woman if not hints of fel corruption was gone. Replaced with a being that resembled one of the Nathrezim. But at once she did and did not as she spread her wings to stretch them.

Demonic eyes watched him departed, a wicked grin had settled over her lips as unusual long fangs for a human was reveal in her unsettling smile. When the elf returned she didn’t hide her amusement. Peering into the box as she gave a laugh.

“Was she your lover?” How lovely the remains were kept as her fingers stroked along the alien’s horn. “Hard to give loving to but it matters not to me.” Chuckling, she raised a clawed hand. Violet tendrils withdrew from the shadows as she gathered the dark energies into her palm. With a flick of a wrist the magic washed over the remains as tendrils wrapped around the fingers, wrists, knees and so on as the bones snapped together. 

“Arise...” 

                                     I prey that he never finds out about his heritage 

When I was but a girl, my mother once told me that I was a cunning babe. They thought me greedy for my first few years of life. Perhaps I was. Or perhaps I lived in the shadow of my dearest, elder sibling - Guinevere. The beautiful and talented. Things seem to come quicker to her than I. How to be a lady, how to sow and how to dance. But I thrived with books, mathematics and history. I had a thirst for knowledge and that drove my mother insane. I was never satisfied and to see my sister struggle with her numbers brought me joy. To see her struggle and fluster and for once become jealous of me.

But all that changed when my magic started to manifest. When I grew so frustrated with my needle work as our Nan praised Gwen that I set it aflame. Burning my sister’s fingers and turning her master piece to ash. I remember my father’s word. His anger to something out of my control. That it was shameful for me to have magic. That I ruined my future marriage to a boy that I never met. In a few days my bags were packed and my mother was weeping. My own father refused to utter a single word and my sister hid behind mother’s skirt. Afraid of me. I felt nothing. I always knew I was different and that I was meant for greater things. I was never to keep my lips sealed and to doll myself and bare children for a man I would never love. No, magic was a gift and I would consume the knowledge I craved.

However, my thirst for knowledge was never quenched. Even as I was given the title of Archmage. I dove into the forbidden. My heart beating faster with excitement as I devoured page after page, my notes stacked up until I heard a voice in my head. I was scared and so I sought the Light and preyed. But soon I grew curiously and believed that I have imagined it all. And so again did I research the dark arts and soon I began to summon lesser demons and made them tell me what I wanted to know. They laughed and mocked me but soon learned manners. I found myself spending more and more time within my little hiding place and soon I heard that voice once again. But I did not run, I did not seek the Light.