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Kelva cocks her head quizzically at Goresk, "You've never hunted giant spider before? It is safe within its warm web until you set the torch to it. The spider must either obligingly roast itself for you or throw itself on your spear to escape the flame. The taste is sweet and filling, but lacks the satisfaction that hunting the meat has. The meat screams and cries while its fellows burn alive. Hamstring those who run and you can watch as they despair at their own wretched fate. Many children are born, and many bellies filled by such acts." Kelva shrugged then causing the long oily black hair to slide down her shoulders and curl up starting to form the begginnings of ringlets. "But the magical meat can suffer first. They are like spiders in their own way. So long as I have a morsel from the hall to fill my sack with bone, blood, and terror."
"Cleavage does take us a long way, yes. Through the ribcage and the spinal cord if you put your hips into it. But what if instead the pretty bird simply locked the cage, set it ablaze and ravaged whatever screaming meat flees the flames? You could even partake of any survivors flesh since that seems to be the pretty birds desire." With a yawn Kelva pushes off the table and stands up stretching languidly as taut muscles seem to shift and twitch beneath scarred flesh. "I'm bored and a bath is not soon it seems. So why not go to this temple and its protective wards, then this wizard, and then finish the meal with soft desserts at this hall of dead men. The Mother requires payment for the holy visions given today and I wish to do so with a sack full of screams."
Kelva lounged back yawning clearly bored. "The Mother does not ask of me to partake of petty plots and the grand designs of squawking crows. Vengeance only serves as mild seasoning upon the meat before the flesh is rent. If you have meat hiding in several pantries I will go and rend it into mince if that is your desire. But I do so to satisfy the Mother's want for twisting the pure and to satisfy any preconception of debt you think I have. No more. No less."
Kelva wanders in languidly with all the confidence and audacity of a house cat. Though for all her reverie at the blood and carnage outside the peace of the interior just seems to bore and disinterest her. The truth was if the bloodletting was over for now she could use a long warm bath. Taking a seat without any regard ro whom she was next to she drums her fingers on the table and listens to the prattle of the birds as they prune and preen. Lookinf around she got rhe feeling some of those who stepped out of the crusaders holsing cella qould themselves have rather been out bathing in gore. But, for now it paid to be the patient hunter and see what prey these apparent plottera were going to being before her.
"I pick things up here and there," the woman says with a shrug, "tavern tunes sung by drunken mercenaries playing grab ass with their slaves, soithing melodies sung by gnoll mothers to their newborn cubs, goblin rhymes around a bonfire with fresh meat on the pot, hymnals sung by Mothers followers under the new moon when they're not in a mind for blood and sex. The Mother has few books but many many songs." The woman seems to genuinely listen to the tune of Goresk's and thinks for a moment before answering, "I do not know it's name but it takes many shapes as most sea shanty's do. The words may change but the song remains the same."
Kelva made note of the unnatural darkness and considered she was going to need a way to deal with that. Too many ways her feeble human eyes might be foiled. But she was also growing bored. With little recourse and her own companions provong not tbe terribly entertaining she fell into rhymes to stave off her boredom while she continued on. Who killed Sir Rauflenn?”
“Who saw him die?”
“Who drank his blood”
“Who’ll carve his flesh?”
“Who’ll take his wife?”
“Who’ll cook his child?”
“Who’ll eat his soul”
“Who’ll dig up his grave?”
“Who’ll display his bones?”
“Who’ll dance in Her name?” “I,” said the succubus, with breasts and thighs so sumptuous, I’ll dance in Her name.” “Who’ll pray for Her love?
“Who’ll sacrifice hero?”
“Who’ll toll the bell?” “I,” said the minotaur "with a great and mighty roar, I’ll toll the bell.” All the Mothers children fell to laughing and consummating,
Kelva found the whole scene mildly amusing. The play of human emotions and outright violence. A shame she would miss the results. But, at least this group seemed entertaining sensibility and the senseless, pragmatism and sadism, all such things can be found in the Abyss. Kelva could be all these things or none of them if she chose. Walking along she could feel the plots and scheming in her very bones and she reveled in the possibilities. So much joy to be had, so much gore and the potential for new life. She quickened her pace automatically. The aster to this place the faster the veils of caution and survival can be dropped and the true meaning behind Lamashtu's wisdom can be splattered artfully on the walls.
"You trade the butcher's skill for the bones in his shop. Yes, very useful indeed." the woman considers this for a moment before apeaking again, "unless the peacock desires a mouse to carry around to discourage the meat and attract a mate? Is this what you desire little peacock? A toy to wave before the angry meat?"
"Let the peacock spread his feathers," the bloodied woman said with some amusement, "maybe they'll make him part of the performance." Kelva pauses for a second before a wicked fanged grin slices across her features, "as the curtain."
Kelva could smell the blooust and impending carnage coming off the men and her erstwhile partners. But she was patient when situation called and the idea of collecting faces fresh out of imprisonment and none too gentle beatings held little joy to the idea of decent sleep and a moment to reflect upon the holy visions she just saw upon her freedom. Blessed violence would come later. Survival demanded more caution now.
Seeing as the bords were happily chirping away Kelca abstained from immediate slaughter and just ignored the meat to press onward.
While others seem to be shocked or amused the bloodied woman seems completely enraptured. As the others turn and start making their way away from the unfolding carnage the woman seems ready to rush towards it and bathe in the bloodshed. But, she stops suddenly and turns back towards the others as if something yanks her back and whether by conscious choice, divine intervention, the whims of chance, or simple bestial survival instinct she abstains from joining the hordes directly and elects to follow behind like a loping predator following a herd only occasionally looking back at the gleaming corpse and the untold havoc it was doing to the morale of the meat in the city.
Rather than being shocked the gore encrusted woman is enraptured by the sight before them. She follows the battle between dragon and demon closely. As they disappear through crumbled buildings she mutters a prayer, "Thank you Mother for giving me eyes to see. This humble child only wishes for many more eyes to drink in this glory you present and many more claws with which to collect the meat's hides. LEt this one swim in the roiling tide of fang and ruin and come out anew."
The woman steps over the rubble towards one of the smashed doors to a violently writhing figure bound on the floor. She bends down next to it whispering soft words to it as she starts undoing the bonds. Within a few moments a ravenous scaled beast rushes out of the cell snapping at air and posturing as if about to strike before the woman follows in behind it and shoves its large head down and behind here where it meekly stays for a second before falling in passively behind her. Bipedal with large curved horns sweeping forward from its large head it moves and gives the impression of a large flightless bird with all the fangs and ferocity of an angry crocodile. Most unsettling is the feature it shares with its master in that its appearance seems to constantly shift and move, albeit slowly, but just enough that no two viewings are precisely the same. Even now the woman has already grown slightly thicker and more muscular while her hair has started to noticeably curl up and in on itself. When the angry woman so full of delightful threats and the promise of violence simply decides to step into the carnage outside Kelva simply follows suit. If nothing else at least she could bear witness to her painful demise.
The woman glances briefly at the group but seems far less interested in any revelations about mortal enemies and more irritated about excessive chatter. She pulls a large falchion out of the box, sharp, but notched and dulled from use and abuse. She holds it in hand and tests the weight for a moment before being satisfied. Looking down into the chest she reaches up with one hand and simply rips the loincloth off her discarding its filthy remains along with modesty on the floor. Crouching over the box she assembles her things and starts to put her real clothes most of it caked in stains familiar to long and bloody use. That done she lifts up her left arm and grimaces as she reveals 4 long straight scars close to her armpit. With a sharp intake of breath she digs a finger into one of the scars and slowly digs around until it comes into contact with something. Equally slowly she pull out what appears to bee a long sliver of bone, perhaps a rib or perhaps a sliver carved out of a femur. Either way it seems very sharp. She takes a second to inspect it before putting it into one of her belt pouches. She repeats this process seven more times three more for her left and four again on her right. This finally done she hefts her blade over her shoulder and casually walks to the room where she senses her brother. At the crashing and loud bangs outside she simply smile, "I think Mother likes you. You're not out there with them."
The woman says nothing as the woman approaches her cell. She says nothing as she opens the gate and steps inside. Her only reaction is to present her shackles and rub her wrists when the heavy uncomfortable things are removed. The smell is everything imagined and worse. She stands up and reaches behind her head working the belt on the muzzle until she eventually pulls it off and lets it fall to the floor without regard. She pads softly out into the hall on unshod feet and looks down the hall to where her brother and her blade lay. She turns to head that way and as if just remembering there was more than one person here she stops and says, "you chirp too much little birds," she turned to look at them flashing a wild smile full of white fangs more akin to a feral canine than anything born to humans carrying maniac energy and the promise of pain to come, "I want to hear how you make the meat scream!" Her whatever passes for inspiration given she moves into the guardroom to find her things or failing that a tool to bring ruin.
"Release me", the hoarse voice says again somewhat more insistently.
"Release me." The hoarse shadow demands.
Offering nothing else the woman stares for further moment before returning to the wall and settling on her haunches and staring at the door, waiting.
The breathing stops and a hoarse ragged cough replaces it as something visceral and bloody flies out of the muzzle. It gives way to a mocking chuckle as a sing songy voice calls from the shadow. "Chirpy little songbirds preening in their cages." "Ignorant they are of Mother's rages." " Though the meat thinks to their weakness we've succumbed." "Nevertheless," the woman grunts as she briefly tests the chains before dragging herself off the floor and lifting her head up in childlike wonder at the shadows dancing on the ceiling in the dimmest torchlight, "they come."
In the back of one of fhe cells a shadow stirs and chains rattle ever so slightly. Chained to the wall is a lean muscular woman who might have been attractive had she not been covered in hideous scars and nasty bruises. Long black hair oozes down over her slumped head leaving onlt a muzzle being the visible part of her face. Each arm ia cakes in dirt and dried gore from her slender curled fingsrs to her elbows. Said gore cascades from underneath her muzzle down over her chest to her legs. The air around her seems heavy and the fresh carving of a wretched jackal symbol still bleeding slightly emanates an ominous threat from above her breasts. More unsettling still is that she never appears entirely the same between eye blinks. Her hair is starting to curl on its ends, she seems to be getting thicker and more muscular by the moment, her scars don't remain in place to move as if slithering worms underneayh her skin. The only constants it seems, are her chains and the low steady breathing coming from behind the muzzle. Judging by the expressions and great caution the guards took one can only imagine what haplened to cause such haunted expressions.
I have discord and use it often.
We technically have 3 bards. Kelva has performance stuff as well.being an evangelist. So do all 3 of us have inspire courage? Might need to shift some archetypes around.
Dotting for now thanks for tolerating the heinous acts to follow. Will elaborate further when my errands are done for today.
Only 2/3rds? Only Dahak shall remain! Who?
The endless hordes await with bated breath.
Kelva Questions:
1. What is your character’s name?
Kelva the Nameless 2. How old is your character? Mid twenties. Exact age is unknown even to her. 3. What would somebody see at first glance (i.e. height, weight, skin color, eye color, hair color, physique, race, and visible equipment)? That her features never seem permanent. While looking like a normal kellid human with her gear marking her out as one of that savage tribal group her features and body shape shift slowly and subtly over time in a way she doesnt seem to have any real control over it. Her eyes seem to shift the fastest often changing color just in a blink sometimes but not always matching her mood. Her hair may shift over the course of a week both in length and style as well as color. The only real rule seems to be that her gear never changes with her and that its never drastic enough to be of much use outside of unsettling observers. 4. What additional attributes would be noticed upon meeting the character (i.e. Speech, mannerisms)? She is direct, to the point, and brooks no insult, that she is not a sneaking cultist but a proud priestess spreading the wisdom of the great mother to those who need her. 5. Where was your character born? Where were you raised? By who? Numeria, in a kellid tribe called the
6. Who are your parents? Are they alive? What do they do for a living? Her father is otherwise unknown. Her mother was torn apart by mastodons in a bloody execution when her true patron was discovered to not be Gorum. She was the tribes healer and helped being many a child into the world before her death. Seeing as unfortunate events and brutal violence tended to happen to those who threatened Kelva the tribe chose to exile her rather than face the wrath of her goddess father directly. 7. Do you have any other family or friends? Kelva has had a few lovers and friends over her lifetime. Her loyalty is hard won but also hard lost. But, due to her own faith and the brutal environment of numeria few survive her company those who have survived are barely worth her memory having either been too weak to be near her or too stable to handle her nomadic and bloody lifestyle. 8. What is your character’s marital status? Kids? Despite her own quiet desires for a family of her own she views her sacrifice as a worthy one to the goddess so she may have more brothers and sisters. 9. What is your character’s alignment? CE 10. What is your character’s moral code? She abhors weakness and sees battle and competition as one of the truest ways to test ones might. In many ways this belief was colored more by her Kellid upbringing than her faith. However more in line with her faith she sees the importance of love and family even if that affection is highly conditional. She is surprisingly gentle, even kind, to children with whom she sees each one as a blessing of the goddess that can blossom into further blessings over time. That said, survival comes first and mothers can always have more children through the goddess. 11. Does your character have goals? She's never put much thought into it and sees her journey as simply a means to spread the seeds of the goddess and see her will done. Should she find a man, woman or other being that catches her interest and is capable of gifting her a family of her own she may see fit to settle and create a church of her own even though she despises skulking about and wearing masks. 12. Is your character religious? Proudly. 13. What are your character’s personal beliefs? That strong people lead to strong children, which lead to strong tribes. That strength can come from anywhere and in many forms. While her conviction to her goddess is absolute she is not close minded and willingly accepts different customs and mondsets so long they dont endanger her or her packs survival. 14. Does your character have any personality quirks (i.e. anti-social, arrogant, optimistic, paranoid)? Shes mercurial and while loyal she doesnt see much need to limit herself for any other person. Violence is often an option but not necessarily the only one she'll take in any and every given situation. 15. Why does your character
To test herself, to spread the love of the mother of monsters, and to find worthy ones to share that love with her on her journey. 16. How does your character view his/her role as an adventurer? She doesnt think of herself as an adventurer at all. To her the nomadic lifestyle going from place to place earning money and spreading the faith through word and through violence is just the demands of survival. Wealth, power, followers, theae are simply means by which to ensure the growth and prksperity of ones children. 17. Does your character have any distinguishing marks (birth-marks, scars, deformities)? She has gained many scars on her body through trial and hardship. They move like slow leeches over her flesh. 18. How does your character get along with others? Differs wildly from person to person and first impressions matter a lot. Those who help her without question earn her respect, those who openly insult her rapidly earn her scorn and often the priviledge of sheathing her blade in their flesh, those of her faith are treated more gently than others but not by much. She doesnt pursue relationships often but those open to it regardless of sex often find her violently passionate and quick to drop them if she finds them unsatisfying or cowardly. She cares little for peoples thoughts, only in their actions and words. 19. Is there anything that your character hates? Inflexibility. The mothers children take many forms and the inability to adapt, to accept weakness as normal, is aberration to her. Her birth mother and her tribe were unable to adapt and thus remained weak. 20. Is there anything that your character fears? Claustrophobia and and longterm isolation. She was born and raised under the open sky in the company of beasts. Being indoors for long gives her anxiety and cramped spaces give her genuine fear. A part of herself she genhinely hates and finds difficult to conquer. While having spent much of her life apart its rarely alone and its difficult for her to slake her carnal wants or for her to test her own strength in isolation. Despite her claims otherwise she craves social interaction and affirmation even if shes quick to damn and murder those who give her the opposite. Backstory:
Kelva was born to a witch in western Numeria in the tribe of tiger lords that called themselves the Blood Mastodons. When she was born it was under an inauspicious star and the men of the tribe were alarmed that their tribes witch had been bearing a child. While it was taboo enough for someone to lay with the witch, worse was when the witch refused to give the name of the father rendering the child essentially soulless. Thrice cursed the men of the tribe saw no choice but to slaughter the baby lest it turn into a greater evil. The first of the men who volunteered to do the deed entered the hut dagger in hand while the rest of the men held the witch at bay not understanding her and cackling and curses of how they were all cowards to fear a babe.
When the first man was heard screaming and did not return, two men went in after him, axes in hand. They two were heard screaming along with the sounds of tearing flesh. When four men went in fully armed and prepared to do battle with what was clearly a fearsome demon only one emerged crawling from the hut gibbering of some horrible fanged monster protecting the child and ripping everyone apart who approached. He died later of a horrid wasting infection the witch refused to treat citing it as divine punishment for his crime. When the mother was escorted back to the hut they found the remains of the men scattered around the hut and a gore covered bipedal reptile eyeing them from the corner of the child's cradle where a newborn girl slept peacefully in a macabre contradiction to the evidence of violence on display. Understanding this as a sign from Gorum of his displeasure the tribesman elected to wait until she was of age to defend herself before they would try again. With a birth like this it would be easy to assume that her childhood was difficult. And in some senses it was. Ostracized from the tribe all the history and lore that she ever learned of them came from her mother who secretly worshiped Lamashtu unknown to the tribe. She told Kelva that she had been given to her by the goddess herself and that Lamashtu was her father. Regardless of the truth of that statement Kelva found more kinship in bheasts and monsters than people. While children avoided her, jackals and carrion birds could be found not far from her. While goblins, and other horrid monsters would often attack the tribe even in gorey massacres Kelva would stand alone and untouched. Despite being alone by any standard sense she was never truly alone and the lessons of her mother and of those taught by the uncaring and bloody wilderness of numeria would go on to shape her faith and outlook on the weakness of others and the definitions of strength. A grown man could train his entire life to best all in battle but due to illness or by a goblin cutting his achilles and slicing his throat as he fell unceremoniously to the ground. Strength was survival and prosperity at any cost. Weakness was not having the conviction to do what it took to live. When Kelva came of age a shaman from another tribe had revealed that her mother was no priestess of Gorum but a thrall of Lamashtu that would bring ruin to all. Rather than flee or or lie the witch laughed and proudly called Kelva the harbinger of their destruction calling upon them to either kneel to the mother of monsters and her scion or die. Kelva, seeing that her mother was doing little more than cowering behind her, simply refused. Her mother wasn't simply being weak, she was going against the goddesses wishes by throwing one of her children to the tribesman. If she was at least still stronger than Kelva or at least able to continue having children to propagate the wishes of the goddess that would be tolerable. But she was not. With a gesture the reptilian monster that had always been Kelva’s companion tore the witch’s leg off. To the shock and horror of those who witnessed it Kelva simply let the woman bleeding out there on the plains for the tribe to do as they wished and left. None followed to try to put her down as sworn years ago. None dared. Ever since Kelva has wandered the world. Sometimes as a mercenary, sometimes sitting in on rituals for cultists, sometimes as an adventurer, rare were the times she did not come out of those situations covered in the gore of friend and enemy alike. All in all she wanders to test herself and by extension her philosophy of survival. She makes no effort to hide her religion and this has caused more than one town to try to remove her as soon as possible. More than one person has found out to their detriment why she’s not afraid to do so. Unfortunately while enver coming across any force of order and good that could pin her down or destroy her. The brazenous of her actions and the openness of her faith would eventually come to the attention of those more than strong enough to handle some odd twig of a girl from the barbarian wastelands. Especially when she decided to test herself against the worldwound itself by signing on with the crusaders. To call it an unusual move would be an understatement to any sane individual. But to those who understand her faith and Kellid philosophy it would make natural sense. Demons slay each other as much as anyone. She would see no real distinction between trying herself versus the crusaders versus any number or type of demon. At least with the crusaders she’d be less likely to be stabbed in the back or thrown on some cold altar to have her heart eaten by some abyssal monstrosity. Yet, betrayal came anyway. While initially the crusaders were reluctant to even speak to her, some believed that an open cultist who could be converted was far preferable to ones who snuck underground and compromised the security of the city. Unfortunately, she was placed among those who did not believe so and did not have the ethical concerns that those who organized the crusade held. Once out on the field and out of sight the soldiers she was assigned with betrayed her immediately. She killed a number of them, but these were trained men accustomed to gorey battlefields against greater horrors and there were far more of them than her. Shackled, beaten and dragged off those men that survived claimed that she betrayed them immediately and started killing them while screaming out her dark goddesses name. Kelva didn’t even try to defend herself. Now, Kelva lies imprisoned, praying to her goddess for guidance and considering every option, including chewing her own arm off, to get free and bring her wrath down upon them all.
Reposted questions. Sheet for her and her animal companion are in the links in the profile. I'll get more stuff filled in and finalized if I'm selected. In terms of how one trait or another ties specifically to her imprisonment it's kind of hard to say. She's a walking talking blasphemy against anything sane and decent in civilized society. Treachery, murder, cannibalism, and worse are not beyond her and she sees no point in hiding it tot dodge the challenge to her will. The only thing sacred to her is the family unit and the goddess, and one of those things can bear to take some damage if it means survival as a whole. Though those men were wrong to accuse her it really was inevitable before she did something absolutely awful to them. Beides not a really good trait for someone who is slowly shifting appearance constantly and uncontrollably.
Getting things together and writing out the short backstory.
Oh boy I do love the purchase of stations where the previous lifeforms have been rendered into non-living matter at such cheap prices!!!
What I, a respectable nitrogen based lifeform, would like are highly profitable easily exploited resources. Much like the Bloatmaster 9000tm. A simple to use tool for your fleshly thought organs to process and easy to afford through your pitiful economic systems. Without the added cost of whole sale slaughter of potentially intelligent plant life by robotic slavery to produce primitve forms of communication the Bloatmaster 9000tm Gives you millions of possible options for every available situation but only one that is useful. Not unlike life in the universe.
Technomantic Hyper-Gold? You mean that hot new material that all the socially adequate humanoids are installing on their vessels? Yes, that is a quite useful material that communicates to others of their collective that a humanoid is not only a sensible purchaser of material to protect their fragile meat bodies, but will look superior to others of their inferior species while doing so. |