The Mentalists Victim
Hey there, it's Dark here, and this is the first of hopefully many stories set in the LoK universe that I'll be posting. As a quick disclaimer I don't own LoK, that privilege is held by Crystal Dynamics and Silicon Knights, though if I did SR2 would actually make sense :P
Anyway, read and review please, and here we go.
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Pain...shrieking, nightmarish pain...that's one of the few things I still hold in the shattered storehouse of my memories. And how could I ever forget it? Even after what he did to me, to my mind, to my body, to my very spirit I still cannot forget.
I can still remember the day it happened...Well...Some of it anyway, much of what I thought I knew is now nothing more than a blur of confusion and fear.
As always I had been busy cleaning my masters library, dusting the shelves, tidying up the books where the pilgrims had left them scattered here and there, and all the other minor tasks that my master did not have the time for. Even before he entered the room I knew something was wrong, A powerful mentalist he projected an aura that reflected his emotions at all times, the solid stone walls were no shield from the force of his grief and his anger.
As he walked through the door I looked up at him from my work, his ever thin frame and face seemed somehow wasted, even cadaverous, the skin of his face was pale and corpselike, and where the hood of his long, concealing robes fell back over his shoulders the bulge of his high, intellectual forehead and the pulsating mass of his exposed brain were visible, sickly green light shone from the exposed bulge and from between the...by the pillars! his eyes!
His once large, soulful eyes were no longer visible, thick lengths of coarse black thread had been passed through his eyelids to sew them shut, the same had been done to his once wide, expressive mouth. These wounds were fresh and blood ran down his face like crimson tears, giving a physical emphasis to his grief.
''Master..?''
Before I could say anything more the light seeping from behind his ruined eye sockets flared up and I was hurled across the room, by back shattered, as did the bookcase that I had struck. I screamed, and it was the first scream of many as fists of telekinetic force pummeled me, breaking bones and shattering ribs, some of which splintered into bone shards, which pierced my skin, protruding from my abused flesh like quills.
Eventually he dropped me, but he was not finished with me yet. His powers lifted me into the air, and while he gazed at me with that terrible, vacant face, telekinetic hands and blades assaulted my battered form, What was left of my smock was reduced to so many tattered rags, my teeth and jaw were broken, causing me to spit out gobbets of blood and my flesh was ribbed and torn, one of my breasts almost torn away and both of my arms wrenched from their sockets.
All the while his voice was in my mind, shrieking and gibbering ceaselessly, ranting about the death of his beloved, how he had found her cold body lying beside the scales that represented the balance of Nosgoth, her blood spattered across the floor and a crimson stained blade protruding from her spine. How he now saw the world now as empty without his love, and how in spite, as madness took his once great mind, he used his power to spread it amongst the rest of the circle like a psychic disease.
For hours he tormented me, torturing my body and my rapidly disintegrating mind until everything became a blur of shrieking, and gibbering, of pain. I do not know when he left me, but now I lie here, the floor and walls covered in blood and faeces I have spread across them when the cackling madness falls on me, and in a rare moment of lucidity, I see the door open and I cringe, thinking he has returned to hurt me again.
But no, it is a stranger; clad in black and crimson iron plate mail and wielding a long sword. His skin is a leaden grey and his hair long and uncut, crimson eyes burn in sunken sockets and long fangs protrude over his lower lip.
Vampire...most would run at the sight of such, but compared to what my master did to me, they hold no fear for me now. Even as he strides towards me I begin to jabber out my tale, my eyes repeatedly drawn to the blade he holds. Perhaps if I tell him what I can, he can release me...
Release me from the pain
Release me from the madness
Release me from Nupraptor
Hey there, it's Dark here, and this is the first of hopefully many stories set in the LoK universe that I'll be posting. As a quick disclaimer I don't own LoK, that privilege is held by Crystal Dynamics and Silicon Knights, though if I did SR2 would actually make sense :P
Anyway, read and review please, and here we go.
=============
Pain...shrieking, nightmarish pain...that's one of the few things I still hold in the shattered storehouse of my memories. And how could I ever forget it? Even after what he did to me, to my mind, to my body, to my very spirit I still cannot forget.
I can still remember the day it happened...Well...Some of it anyway, much of what I thought I knew is now nothing more than a blur of confusion and fear.
As always I had been busy cleaning my masters library, dusting the shelves, tidying up the books where the pilgrims had left them scattered here and there, and all the other minor tasks that my master did not have the time for. Even before he entered the room I knew something was wrong, A powerful mentalist he projected an aura that reflected his emotions at all times, the solid stone walls were no shield from the force of his grief and his anger.
As he walked through the door I looked up at him from my work, his ever thin frame and face seemed somehow wasted, even cadaverous, the skin of his face was pale and corpselike, and where the hood of his long, concealing robes fell back over his shoulders the bulge of his high, intellectual forehead and the pulsating mass of his exposed brain were visible, sickly green light shone from the exposed bulge and from between the...by the pillars! his eyes!
His once large, soulful eyes were no longer visible, thick lengths of coarse black thread had been passed through his eyelids to sew them shut, the same had been done to his once wide, expressive mouth. These wounds were fresh and blood ran down his face like crimson tears, giving a physical emphasis to his grief.
''Master..?''
Before I could say anything more the light seeping from behind his ruined eye sockets flared up and I was hurled across the room, by back shattered, as did the bookcase that I had struck. I screamed, and it was the first scream of many as fists of telekinetic force pummeled me, breaking bones and shattering ribs, some of which splintered into bone shards, which pierced my skin, protruding from my abused flesh like quills.
Eventually he dropped me, but he was not finished with me yet. His powers lifted me into the air, and while he gazed at me with that terrible, vacant face, telekinetic hands and blades assaulted my battered form, What was left of my smock was reduced to so many tattered rags, my teeth and jaw were broken, causing me to spit out gobbets of blood and my flesh was ribbed and torn, one of my breasts almost torn away and both of my arms wrenched from their sockets.
All the while his voice was in my mind, shrieking and gibbering ceaselessly, ranting about the death of his beloved, how he had found her cold body lying beside the scales that represented the balance of Nosgoth, her blood spattered across the floor and a crimson stained blade protruding from her spine. How he now saw the world now as empty without his love, and how in spite, as madness took his once great mind, he used his power to spread it amongst the rest of the circle like a psychic disease.
For hours he tormented me, torturing my body and my rapidly disintegrating mind until everything became a blur of shrieking, and gibbering, of pain. I do not know when he left me, but now I lie here, the floor and walls covered in blood and faeces I have spread across them when the cackling madness falls on me, and in a rare moment of lucidity, I see the door open and I cringe, thinking he has returned to hurt me again.
But no, it is a stranger; clad in black and crimson iron plate mail and wielding a long sword. His skin is a leaden grey and his hair long and uncut, crimson eyes burn in sunken sockets and long fangs protrude over his lower lip.
Vampire...most would run at the sight of such, but compared to what my master did to me, they hold no fear for me now. Even as he strides towards me I begin to jabber out my tale, my eyes repeatedly drawn to the blade he holds. Perhaps if I tell him what I can, he can release me...
Release me from the pain
Release me from the madness
Release me from Nupraptor