Darcena (prime)
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[[Category: Giantman player characters]] "Category: [[" contains a listed "[" character as part of the property label and has therefore been classified as invalid. player characters]]
Darcena [dahr-SEEN-ah] stumbled into [[::Wehnimer%27s_Landing|Wehnimer's Landing]] in 5097 at the age of thirteen. Discovered as a snarly uncommunicative child in a wolf den in the [[::Dragonspine_Mountains|Dragon Spine Mountains]] a few years prior, Darcena came upon the town alone and in a confusion as to her heritage. Over the years, she has learned that she is an Ur-Daemon cursed [[::Grot%27karesh_Hammer_Clan|Grot'karesh]] with some peculiar magical quirks to include extreme blood lust and waking nightmares she believes are prophetic. Darcena seems driven to heal others, never turning down a request for aid. She regularly remarks that physical pain is nothing compared to the spiritual pain she carries in her heart.
Between bone-shattering hunts, Darcena is often found sitting on a stool in Plur's Pub at [[::Moonshine_Manor|Moonshine Manor]], leaned against the [[::Hearthstone|Hearthstone Steps]], swimming in the [[::House_Sovyn|Sovyn]] mud baths, or chatting with friends in Town Square Central. When not in those locales, she's off scouting Elanthia for signs of Despana's imminent return on behalf of her clan members of Kilanirij.
"I am the Ishan. I am the Butcher. I am the Harbinger. Despana is coming and blood will flood the world. The eyes -- the eyes, they are watching."
Writer's note: This is all considered public knowledge. Darcena has not been shy about expressing these things in public and has probably been overheard by every possible town citizen over the past two decades. A pint at the pub would yield you a lot of this information. This is not all there is, of course, to her. She has many secrets.
Appearance
You see Great Lady Darcena Wolf-Valslayer the Butcher. She appears to be a Giantman of the Grot'karesh Clan. She is taller than average. She appears to be in the bloom of youth. She has moss-tinged stormy grey eyes and fair skin. She has very long, thick raven-hued hair in a loose mass of purposefully twisted locks. She has a triangular face and high cheekbones. Her eyes are framed by thick, naturally clumped eyelashes. She has some splintery bone shards in her right eyebrow, a black Saramar-enruned throat tattoo on her neck, a wide tattooed Saramar-enruned armband on her arm, a platinum tentacle with tiny peridot suckers in her left eyebrow, and a tiny faenor sovyn clove in her right nostril. Diagonal streaks of kohl black warpaint form a mask across her eyes, the undulating design echoed along her forehead and chin. She is in good shape. She is wearing a black flyrsilk wolf mask edged in glittering emerald and glaes shards, a wide-cuffed black leather coat with a notched collar and flared hem, an etched militia badge, a small oblong white alyssum, a well-oiled slate battle harness, a back-laced tightly fitted bodice with diaphanous black lace trumpet sleeves, a silver etched rolton-link bracelet, a trio of yellowed bone rings, a coiled copper serpent ring set with minute foxfire green cinderstone eyes, some low-slung moss green leather pants, and a pair of dark grey leather boots.
| Frequent Hairstyles |
| She has very long, thick raven-hued hair in a loose mass of purposefully twisted locks. |
| She has very long, thick raven-hued hair woven into a riotous mass of incredibly thin braids that are sporadically peppered with verdigris copper beads and great horned owl plumules. |
| a black Saramar-enruned throat tattoo |
| Thick black lines create labyrinthine knotwork patterns from chest to chin, contrasting against the fair skin upon which they're inked. Copious silver-limned Saramar runes are tucked into the crevices of the knots with a pair of vivid emerald green eyes centered just below and between the collar bones. |
| a wide tattooed Saramar-enruned armband |
| Intense deep crimson pigment floods two crossed mauls centered between the bicep and tricep of the wearer's upper arm. Masterful shading interspersed with subtle black lines highlights the hammer-like heads opposite crescent-shaped spikes. Thick black curved lines frame the tableau then snarl and cross their way around the widely inked armband. Silver Saramar runes have been haphazardly inked inside the nooks and crannies. |
| Favorite Jewelry |
| a moon-clasped black velvet choker adorned with a silver-edged emerald pendant |
| an emerald wolf's paw dangling from a thick black twisted cord |
| a hammered silver Saramar rune dangling from a thick leather thong |
| an emerald stickpin topped with a preserved crimson-veined luminous yellow eye |
| a blackened emerald symbol inlaid with a silver eight-pointed star |
| a silver etched rolton-link bracelet |
| a substantial platinum ring inset with tiny stone-carved hearts |
Darcena Wolf-Valslayer at the pub as seen by Divone
Affiliations
- Follower of Kuon, 5097-5117
- [[::House_Sovyn|House Sovyn]], 5097/5098?-present
- [[::Clan_Snar|Clan Snar]], 5098-unknown
- Hearthstone "porch puppy" (her words), 5100-present
- [[::Order_of_Lorekeepers|Order of Lorekeepers]], 5100-5104
- Architectural and Landscaping Association of Elanthia (ALAE), unknown-5104
- Devotee of The Huntress, 5117-present
- [[::Moonshine_Manor|Moonshine Manor]], Ivastaen 5118-present
- Wehnimer's Landing Militia, Koaratos 5118-present
- Order of the Sphere and Scythe, Phoenatos 5118-present
- Squire of Order of the Silver Gryphon, Jastatos 5118 - present
Pack of the Ishan
The Pack of the Ishan has no formal structure and is not recognized by any sort of authority - à propros, since Darcena likewise doesn't recognize most authority. Darcena is absolutely loyal to and protective of her pack. Conflicts within the pack are for the individual members to sort out themselves.
- Chaoswynd "Curious Cay"
- Cruxophim "Betrayer"
- Giantphang "Phang"
- Khaell "Loyal Night"
- Kipara "Slayer"
- Lyrna "Scout"
- Madmountan "Mountain"
- Meureii "Salts"
- Stormyrain "Storm"
- Ulkov "Dwarf"
- Xannorath "Shadow"
Stories
A Forgotten Birth (Unknown - Spring 5094)
Darcena has no memory of her birth up until a few months before she was found by Thraes in the Dragon Spine Mountains. What she remembers is spending time with the wolves and scavenging their kills.
Out of the Wolf's Den (Spring 5094- Summer 5094)
Darcena was found by Thraes, a woodsman, in a wolf's den in the Dragon Spine near Icemule Trace in Spring of 5094. He went home and told his wife, Oxana, about his find. Oxana spent months trying to gain the trust of the wolf giant, finally convincing her to come out of the wolf's den and move into their home in the fall of the same year. Darcena was approximately ten years old.
| Discovery (Spring 5094) |
| Lifting her filthy head, the giantman child stared up at the husky man from her half-crouch. The mossy green flecks and rim of her stormy grey eyes seemed to grow in vibrancy as she assessed the threat in front of her. A low snarl emanating from her full lips, she flexed her lithe muscles.
“Easy now,” the man murmured in the common tongue, sliding his hatchet back into its loop and lifting his hand off. “Easy. I won’t hurt you.” He lowered his shoulders and tried ineffectively to make himself look small. Before peering into the cave opening, the man noted the piles of rolton bones near the entrance. Most had been torn into, but some bore the mark of flatter teeth. Inside, the wolf den was damp and smelled wild and musty. A glaes armband lay abandoned in the corner half buried under long-compacted dirt. The man hesitated, reaching out a gnarled and tanned hand, “Do you want to come out, miss?” The child tilted her head to the side, masses of twisted, matted, and tangled locks of hair stiffly following the angle of her face as she moved. Her eyes continued to watch the man intently, noticing his body language and making quick assessments. “Can you speak?” He whispered it, a distressed expression chasing across his face. The child stalked forward on all four limbs, pressing her face near the man’s clothing, and inhaling deeply. He smelled like the forest and the people of the nearby village. She’d seen them before, wandering the woods… and avoided them, of course. With a low growl, the child crawled back into the den and curled up in the back. She huffed out a breath. With nothing on hand to convince her to come with him, the man softly said, “I’ll be back in a few hours. Stay here. I hope you will learn to trust me. I will not forget you; I will not abandon you.” He turned away from the opening and set off at a quick jog for his home, his brain whirling as he tried to figure out how to convince the child to leave the den. "What are you doing home already?" The woman had a broad face with wrinkles near her eyes and laugh lines as well. "You won't believe what I just found." The man shook his head in disbelief, his hands shaking. "There's a young child up in a wolf den. She looks like she's been living there awhile." The woman startled, paused, and then asked, "Well, where is she now?" "I had to leave her there. I'm not sure she could understand me." "You left her there?!" Already holding a towel in her hand from drying some dishes, the woman swung her arm and the damp dishcloth smacked into his elbow. "Ow! Yes!" Rubbing at his elbow gingerly, pulling the damp fabric away from his arm, the man continued, "I was hoping you'd have an idea of how I could speak with her." The woman scowled, "I have more than an idea. I'm coming with you." The man looked everywhere except at the woman. His eyes settled on the worn and sparse furniture of their cottage, noticing that the run-down wooden floor was clean and dust free. The old quilt on the bed had been patched again. A small fire was going in the hearth with a thin soup bubbling on top. He glanced back at his tracks, noting that he'd left a clear trail of footsteps into their home. Grabbing a broom, he made quick work of sweeping after himself. "That's probably a good idea, but we're going to have to think of a way to communicate with her." The woman's face furrowed. "How old is she?" "I'm not sure. She's giantkin. Maybe 10, 11?" "What do you think she's been eating?" The woman asked. "If I had to wager… raw rolton." A myriad of expressions crossed the woman's face. Once she'd settled, she simply finished, "…Oh." The journey back to the den was more laborious since the woman was not as used to picking her way through the forest. Her study and sensible shoes helped, of course, but her muscles still weren't acclimated to climbing over so much detritus. She didn't utter a single complaint, instead just pressing her lips together and carried on. The well-muscled man furrowed his brow as he watched his wife, sometimes holding out a hand in her direction as if to help her over a log or up a hill. She always huffed out a breath and ignored him, carefully placing her feet as she went. Once they arrived at the den, the man pointed out the weathered and gnawed on rolton bones to the woman and her eyebrows climbed comically. "I see. I think you are right," she murmured thoughtfully. The woman peered into the dark opening of the den. "How did you even see in there?" "The sun was shining in this morning," he rumbled in return. The woman nodded sharply and motioned him back. She laid on her stomach and pulled herself into the den. Immediately a loud snarling sound could be heard from the back corner. The woman stopped moving and crooned in a low voice, "You are safe. We will not harm you." The woman carefully reached back and opened a well-worn leather belt pouch, pulling out an ivory parchment-wrapped package. "I have something for you," the woman continued in a soothing voice, unwrapping the parchment and revealing a stack of various gory rolton bits. She carefully stretched out the gift, dropping it onto the dirt floor of the den. The woman then scooted back out of the dank den and sat on the ground, waiting patiently. After many minutes, soft noises emerged from the den and the woman smiled with satisfaction. |
| Learning to Trust (Fall 5094) |
| Many weeks had gone by with the woman visiting the den and bringing more gifts for the feral child inside. Sometimes the child was absent and the woman left the items near the opening. Other times the grimy girl was curled up in the back, carefully watching every move the woman made. As time went on, the child was less and less wary of the woman. The woman was changing, too, growing physically stronger and more capable in the woods. Occasionally on her journey through the forests, the woman would see a large black wolf slinking through the trees and shadowing her, a green hue glowing in the wolf's otherwise grey eyes. This companion became familiar to the woman, and she no longer worried about her trips. She was, though, becoming concerned as the leaves turned colors and the air became more and more chill.
The morning that she called out a soft "hello" to the child as she reached the cave opening and in response heard a muttered "hello" was the morning that she sat next to those gnawed bones and cried. The bedraggled girl slunk out of the den and curled up near the woman, watching her carefully and intently, several feet between them. "Do you speak then?" The woman looked at the ground near the child, her voice hesitantly speaking the common tongue. The girl carefully enunciated, pausing between each word, "I… speak… little." The woman's mind raced with a million questions, but she swallowed them down, placing her hands solidly on her knees. "Do you want to come home with me?" Slow blinks were the girl's response. Crawling closer to the woman, she buried her face in the woman's cotton-clad side and inhaled deeply. Her nose picked through the scents of the various trees and the dirt of the forest, the bread the woman had baked that morning, the soap she used to wash with, and so much more. It smelled okay, the girl supposed. The woman didn't move as the girl ran her face over the woman's back and sides, ending near her hairline. Once the girl finished, the woman asked, "Do you have a name?" Cocking her head to the side, the girl wonderingly spoke, "I… am…. Darcena." The woman gasped under her breath, excitement shining from her eyes to have connected with the child, "My name is Oxana. Will you come home with me? Our cottage is warm and the weather is turning." Darcena hesitated for several long moments, but then she nodded her head. Once. And very slowly. |
Around the Village (Winter 5094-Summer 5097)
Once in Oxana and Thraes' village, Darcena grew strong and so did they. They taught her to speak in Common and taught her many basic life skills. After a black out, Darcena discovered Oxana, Thraes, and their child Brone were dead. Believing she was responsible, she left the village and found her way to Wehnimer's Landing.
| The Threat Grows (Winter 5094 to Summer 5097) |
| The winter months passed slowly, but Darcena learned to speak many words in Common. Oxana and Thraes, the woodsman, were very kind, stable, and patient with the giantgirl. They had to teach her a lot of basic life skills - especially about hygiene, but eventually they gave up on some of her other foibles. Darcena had a tendency to use her sense of smell to figure out more about the world around her, and to their surprise, she was able to discern more than the average person. It came in handy during the lean winter months, when Darcena could scent a squirrel or rabbit hiding in the woods. In trade off, though, they had to explain to many of their fellow villagers exactly why the socially-blundering and bumbling child wanted to press her face against them and inhale. As most could imagine, the many small, yet unacceptable, mannerisms that Darcena had acquired in that time before she came to the village were a barrier to her acclimating to the village. She wasn't quite liked, but rather tolerated.
The years passed. Darcena became a useful member of Thraes and Oxana's family, bringing in meat and helping Thraes out in the woods to chop wood for the townspeople. She was growing as well, lengthening until she was much taller than the couple. Her hair, which had been shorn to her scalp to rid her of lice - as well as remove years worth of twigs, dirty, and gods know what else, grew long. Oxana helped her keep the thick hair plaited; every night, they spent an hour together as Oxana brushed Darcena's hair until it shone and told her stories about the world around them. Darcena began to feel as if she belonged somewhere and she cherished that feeling. Thraes bonded with Darcena, too. They'd head into the woods together to accomplish the day's work, and Thraes would point out various herbs and flowers to Darcena, letting her know about their healing properties. She would collect and forage for the herbs to bring back to the cottage for Oxana to use, prepare, and sell. Many evenings the small family would light a fire and the couple would tell Darcena engaging stories about the gods and the lands. Darcena began to grow interested in Kuon, a former giantman who worked with Imaera to heal the world after the Ur-Daemon War. Thraes explained that Kuon was given the gift of immortality for his deeds and that he was the originator of the healing powers of herbs. Over the years, things were improving for Oxana and Thraes as well. With the steady influx of meat into their diet, they both began to look healthier. Excess meat, wood, and herbs were able to be sold to the villagers, so their cottage began to have more personalized touches here and there. Oxana also had more time to tend a garden, though Darcena wouldn't touch the food that came from it, and prepare for the winters. With the improved health, the couple found out that they were expecting. It wasn't the first time, but it was the first time that Oxana was healthy enough to carry a baby to full term. Darcena began to grow anxious about being displaced in her happy family, but even worse, she began to have prodigiously horrid waking nightmares intermittently as her anxiety grew. She started to slink off into the woods at odd hours, coming back smelling of blood and viscera. Oxana and Thraes noted the change with worried eyes, but their trust and love for the giant girl was absolute. They felt that when Darcena was ready, she would tell them what was worrying her. Perhaps they shouldn't have trusted so much. |
| The Slaughter (Spring 5097) |
| Darcena lifted her head off her pillow, her vivid green eyes unfocused. The dream had been so real. They’d been getting increasingly worse – even sometimes happening while she was awake. She’d worried about her inability to sleep, finally bringing it up with Oxana. She’d laughed and said that no one was getting any sleep now that little Brone had been born, suggesting that maybe Darcena was just getting woken up by the strident cries of a hungry brother. Darcena hadn’t elaborated on the contents of the dreams.
Dreams. So many of them. And so real. Darcena had never seen the nearest city, Icemule Trace, yet she knew that was where the numerous waves of wailing banshees, orcs, and trolls had overrun this evening, slaying citizens until blood ran and froze in the streets. She’d watched helplessly as a nine-foot-tall massive troll king had snatched an infant from its mother, rending the child’s body with his razor-sharp claws, and first wrenching off then tossing the infant’s head into his giant maw. Coppery sanguineous fluid dripped down his face and she desperately yearned to lick the warted green skin. She had learned, from the three years with Oxana and Thraes, that this wasn’t right. This wasn’t good. The unease in her gut grew worse as she realized she could still smell the orcs and trolls on the air. That dream. So real. The eyes. The eyes had been watching. It felt like they still were. Knowing she wasn’t going to be able to fall back asleep in her perspiration-soaked sheets, Darcena threw them back and stood up. Dressing quickly, she escaped the cottage where her family slept, and she fled into the humid air of the woods. The scent followed her, twisting through her flared nostrils and coiling into her limbic system. Danger, alarm, and disgust flooded her and fear-scented sweat poured off her body. The axe she’d used earlier to help Thraes chop wood for the evening fire still rested against the wood pile. She snatched it up as she ran, her breath starting to grow short from her panicked and heedless pell-mell flight. When she finally slowed, she realized she had run five miles into the woods. It wasn’t far enough, though. The eyes were still watching. The scent was still there. Her body shuddered violently and she dropped the axe… Darcena groaned and lifted her head off the pebbles upon which she rested. Where was she? Her stormy grey eyes fixated first on the footprint-covered porch with the pot of acantha resting on its side, then on the splintered askew door. No. No. Her muscles bunched, and she leapt to her feet. Racing to the door, she peered inside. She already knew what she’d find, though. She had smelt it before she’d even awoken. Blood. Oxana was sprawled near the fieldstone hearth where she often made stew and hearty loaves of oat bread. Claw marks decorated her torso and blood sparkled like jewels in the flickering light of the coals. Slack cheeks and hollow eyes pointed towards the quilted bed where Thraes slumped with one foot in Brone’s cradle. He, too, had new jewels up and down his torso and a shallow irregular puddle of blood near his outstretched hand. Written in tremulous blood-soaked letters on the roughhewn floor was a message, but Darcena could not read it. “Ware da eyes.” Darcena knew they were both dead, and perhaps a couple hours so at this point. She could smell the differences in their body, and she couldn’t hear a single heart beat. Her horrified gaze took in the cabin, yet kept skipping past the corner where her own pallet rested. With shallow pants, her grey eyes dilated an alarming amount, she forced herself to see. Brone’s body rested in a disheveled nest of her sheets, pinpricks from claws along his rib cage, flesh incised by sharp teeth. A low howl of anguish erupted from Darcena’s mouth and she fled the cabin, swiping the spare axe from the woodpile and taking off into the woods, heading southwest. Intuitively, she knew her time in the village was done, she was not welcome, and she would never return. It was time to find a new home. |
Suppressing the Beast (Fall 5097- Summer 5104)
After the slaughter of her adopted family, Darcena was lost and confused. Stumbling through the gates of the Landing, she decided she was tired of traveling and she wanted to make a home of it. Darcena wanted to be accepted in her new home, so she suppressed and hid as much of her inner beast as possible. Peeks slid out here and there, and some guessed at her true nature. Telling few of her story, she sought out meaning from a variety of places, seeking to understand her nightmarish visions of undead, trolls, and giants. She learned more about her supposed clan, the Grot'karesh, and their purpose in life. She developed friendships, was adopted into a large Landing-style family, married three times, and was solidly betrayed by two of her husbands. She participated in numerous wars, took sojourns to Icemule Trace, River's Rest, and Teras Isle for months on end, and briefly visited the Elven Nations before returning back home. Near the end of her time in the Landing, she began to take frequent trips into the Dragon Spine as she searched for her husband, Neq, who had disappeared. Eventually, she walked out the gates and did not return.
| An Eye for Emeralds, or, the Emerald Tax |
| Darcena always had an eye for [[::Emerald|emeralds]], but the interest became very keen around 5098 when Porcell would wander to wherever Darcena was healing to say hello. Porcell had a certain reputation for thievery, but Darcena adored him nevertheless and couldn't resist talking with and teasing him. Every once in awhile during their conversations, Porcell would pocket a gem. Darcena was paying attention and when he liberated her customers from their hard-earned and well-fought gains, she would give him the option of giving it back or giving her an emerald. If neither was chosen, she would have tattled on him. The Emerald Tax netted Darcena quite the collection, which she always carries in her ivory satchel. Amusingly, individuals started to notice that Porcell would tip Darcena an emerald, so they began to do it as well. To date of this writing, Darcena has 47 emeralds, 30 uncut emeralds, a star emerald, 3 black-cored emerald orbs, a bottle-shaped emerald, 2 dragonfire emeralds, 11 small emerald coins, and 2 sparkling emerald talons - many from the Emerald Tax. |
The Ishan (Summer 5104-Summer 5117)
Having her heart broken in Wehnimer's Landing and still not understanding her vivid daydreams and blood lust, Darcena set off to visit the city of her supposed parents, Kilanirij. While there, she learned to read and write Saramar with her Grot'karesh brethren. She grew to understand what she held inside, the curse within her blood, and she continued to keep its effects hidden from her peers for fear of being studied and taken by one of the Preceptors to the Asylum. While in Kilanirij, Darcena indulged in the culture and felt an instant connection with the other Grot'karesh; she developed a renewed sense of purpose in the quest to foil Despana's return. During the Festival of the Dead, she was offered to be a caretaker for the tomb of a family line that had no living members. This heartbreaking experience brought her to the point of wanting to seek out more information on her own family line. She returned to the Dragon Spine, which still felt like home to her, following leads on her heritage and staying vigilant for signs of Despana. Sending reports back to Kilanirij, she earned the title Ishan. Darcena traveled for awhile with the Araime, as well, apprenticing to a mentor of the Ikarrak. Eventually, her wanderings brought her back within reach of the Landing and she decided to stay with her friends for awhile longer.
The Butcher Emergent (Summer 5117 - Present)
Upon returning to the Landing, Darcena found that the curse seemed to flare around a specific group of adventurers, and she found it more and more difficult to combat its effects. In her failure to control herself, her inner nature was revealed more overtly than it ever had been before. She found acceptance from several of those adventurers and she shed the fear she had been living with, revealing herself as The Butcher. Only time would tell if she could bend the curse to save the world or if she would lose herself in its depths.
| Love Letter to the 5th (Spring 5118) |
| Darcena's heart was broken in the fall of 5117 after a whirlwind month where she felt she had found a place to belong. The mercurial and impulsive giant tried to nose her way into a place that wasn't hers and then lost her mind when her interest was unreciprocated and she was rebuffed. This provoked an unnecessarily excessive reaction and conversion to The Huntress. She swears she will never fall in love again... as long as her mate is still present. Wolves, after all, often have just one mate until its death.
Darcena recites: "He smelled like home, like dank blood-soaked loam.
He called to her soul - completely under his control.
The nights were flavored with tricks and death screams
And yet she never wavered from loyalty stretched to extremes."
Darcena recites: "A quick wedding under Charl's purview
A band, a dip, a kiss and yet he had the nerve to-"
Darcena recites: "Break her heart and shatter her mind
It wasn't her with whom he wanted entwined
So now her veins scream to the Huntress
For her pain and sorrow demand redress."
Darcena recites: "When the howls echo as the moon spotlights
The crimson-veined yellow-eyed should take wing-quivering fright.
She's coming-
With no mercy and a throat-ripping bite
And in his complete and utter destruction she will delight."
|
| Learning to Knit (Lormesta 5119) |
| Dame Evia accepted the responsiblity of taming the wolf giant for acceptance into the Order of the Silver Gryphon. As her third task, Darcena was instructed to knit stockings, gloves, scarf, hat, and shawl for those of lesser means. She was then instructed to seek out and donate the items to someone in need. |
Darcena grabs some gold knitting needles from a small pocket inside of her black leather coat. > Darcena grabs a skein of pale gold silk yarn from a small pocket inside of her black leather coat. > Darcena loops several stitches of her pale gold silk yarn onto one of her needles as she begins to knit. > (Darcena sticks her tongue out as she concentrates on the needles, her brow furrowed.) > Darcena busily knits away at something with her knitting needles, the task taking up her complete attention. > Darcena gnaws lightly on her lower lip, as if lost in thought. The razor-sharp tip of one of her fangs breaks the skin and causes a tiny bead of blood to appear. Almost absent-mindedly, she catches it with the tip of her tongue. > Darcena busily knits away at something with her knitting needles, the task taking up her complete attention. |
| Those Aren't Tears - It's Only the Rain {The Nazhor Chronicles} (Charlatos 12, 5119) |
| Darcena paused on the narrow path, her eyes narrowing. The rain dashed angrily from the turbulent sky splashing against the cobblestones and throwing scent back up into the air. Nostrils flaring, she drawled to herself, "No wonder I can never find you. With the way it rains so hard, everything gets washed out. But today… You’re here today, aren’t you?" Darcena tilted her head to the side, her eyes raking over the various shops and tables cluttering the area at the corner of Gardenia Lane and Rose Avenue.
Following her nose, Darcena stalked across the path towards a narrow gap between two shops opposite a tidy brownstore dwelling. Continuing to mutter under her breath, she snarled, "I should have known you’d be back where it all started. Probably looking for just as many answers as I am." Against her will, Darcena’s eyes turned inward to the visions she’d had – the ones that felt as if they were dredged up through decades of sucking muck and stunk just as much. Without answers, could she really trust those feelings of warmth and reassurance? An almost-familiar-face teasing her memory and calling her daughter? No. It’s just another trick. Another nightmare sent to hound her, like the ones where she helplessly watches Cruxophim curled in a ball moaning that he’s hungry, withering away, until he disintegrates in front of her. Madmountan, frustration and rage painted across his face, surrounded by a legion of Grimswarm where every time he rushes forward to engage, he is voided into infinitesimal pieces... only to reform where he started in an endless loop. Stormyrain battling a woman until she falls to the ground, darkness shrouding her form. Kipara, wound tightly in a web of hard silk with a massive arachnid ready to bite. Salts, drowning and choking as a krolvin holds him under. Lyrna, being executed by King Qalinor Falustro Vaalor while her former friends laugh piteously. Phang, gently cupping a fly torn to pieces, tears running down his face, as he repetitively moans, "Mel?" More visions flicker in her mind. Xannorath. Khaell. Ulkov. Sweetsin. She can’t save any of them. Thunder rolled through the sky and the ground trembled in response, the clouds lit up in hues of blue, white, and violet. Darcena blinked, realizing she was frozen in the middle of the path, and began to move towards the shadows again. "I will find you. I know you’re here." She tilted her head back, lifting her face to the rain and allowing it to wash over her pale skin as the words, "Those aren’t tears. It’s just the rain," echoed in her mind. By the time she reached the shadows, he was gone and his scent had washed away in the rain. She knew, though. He'd been there. And he would probably be back. |
| There is No Balance - {The Nazhor Chronicles} (Olaesta 5, 5119) |
| Darcena sat on the edge of the carved marble fountain, her hands cradling her head and her elbows pressed into her knees. The thunder continued to roll through the sky, matching her inner thoughts. As she thought back to the Flock’s actions on the Isle, an effulgent emerald hue seeped across her stormy grey eyes, shades from silver to cinereous to jet slowly faltering under the onslaught.
She knew that Thraes and Oxana would have wanted her to feel horror for the lost lives and the pain, but as always, the horror she should have felt was masked under the hunger. Blood scent had diffused through the air, clinging to every strand of hair, every strap of armor, every plane of cheek. It had been all around her, propagating through every shard of her self. The screams of pain and fear amplified the lust and it was all she could do to not kneel down on the gritty cobbles surrounding the fountain and howl to Lornon. She blamed Nehor. Her control was always nebulous; lightning leashed by laughter and love. His relentless, chaotic and malevolent drive to frame her for all things that were going wrong on the isle, to viciously smear her reputation, to attempt ostracizing her from the community. It had put her on edge and made her more inclined to give in. Daily, she struggled between the poles of barbarian butchering beast and cautious compassionate chirurgeon. She existed in a constant spin around an ever-shifting fulcrum on a tumultuous forked beam, wondering how many times she had to turn around before she could give in and rest. Balance. How laughable. She resisted the butcher, but the effort required to be the chirugeon was outrageous. She’d had to bury the bones in the jungle, of course. Near the banyan tree. The illusion had dropped and oh, she had feasted. It was never enough, though. Levering herself up from the fountain, Darcena strode down the cobblestone path. She needed to feed. |
| Oblivious to the beauty around her in the cottages and gardens flanking the cobblestone path, Darcena continued her lumbering pace until she reached the Slaughter House. Bellying up to the butcher block counter, Darcena greeted Svildmit, “Hello friend. It’s good to see you again.” The warmth of her voice didn’t reach her now brilliant green eyes. With the nod of his permission, she moseyed over and scooped herself up some thick blood from the square rhimar buckets. A long swallow and she was able to put in her order for some plump boar. Ripping into the flank with her sharp fangs, Darcena felt fur flow down her esophagus. Svildmit didn’t comment. He was used to her display by now.
A woman wandered into the slaughter house, and Darcena paused in her feast. “Good morning, Svildmit.” Her face sagged and worry furrowed her brow. “How are you today, Cassae?” She swallowed, “Oh. Surviving.” A tear leaked down her cheek, crossing over her jawbone, and disappearing into the folds of her neck. Gently, Svildmit replied, “One day at a time, Cassae.” Cassae nodded, but her expression did not change from its haunted despair. She whispered, “I don’t want even one more day now that he’s crossed the gates to be with Gosaena.” Svildmit shifted his weight, “I’m sure that Socius and the militia will give him the justice he deserves.” Darcena swallowed uncomfortably and closed her eyes. An angry snarl rose in the back of her mind, “Vengeance is needed, not justice. Look at what Nehor and his Flock caused.” Thrumming below that like a steady heartbeat, “Only with patience and nurture will she heal. Help her.” Coiling throughout in a beautiful glissade, “I feast, I feast, I feast. Bring me more.” A chilling, cackling laugh floated above it all, and suddenly it stopped. Emerald fractured and fell, revealing the usual murky battle of stormy greys slowly reaching convergence, but it was too late. Cassae already had her parcel full of meat and had closed the door behind her with a snick. Svildmit looked at Darcena, his eyes flickering down to her badge. She scrambled up the wobbling forked beam towards compassion, “I will do what I can, Svildmit.” Echoing in her mind, the words, “But I will fail,” dashed against her heart. In the eye of the storm, there was no balance. There was only intense and anxious waiting for something else to change and act. |