"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Her home had long been in the Meadow, and she felt herself safe there.
Her dappled gray coat could often be found in the shadows of the trees watching the lives of others around her. Occasionally she would seek out a partner for conversation but for the most part, Stricken was alone. She preferred it that way.
And then she met him. He was exceptional because his charm confused her. He was unusual because red eyes peered out from his pale white form like a ghost. He drew her in like a spider sets a trap for the unwitting fly. Perhaps she wanted to believe that someone found her lovely, and interesting.
It took only a few steps from the Meadow for him to change from the charmer to the predator. His muscular form took on a sinewy, wolf-like grace, and he began to relentlessly drive her towards unfamiliar lands. Her indignant protests and anger were met with the quick response of his teeth.
By the time the unlikely pair reach the pine trees and the beating heart of the Chamber, Stricken has nearly given up. Her coat is peppered with streaks of blood and she walks with a limp from a well placed kick. The white stallion is on her heels. When he orders her to halt she snorts disdainfully, but does so. A flutter of relief fills her heart as she recognizes the place. She will be a captive, she believes, but perhaps someday she will escape.
She does not know.
"Now what?" her voice is flat, irritated, and with a tendril of fear. "Clearly you brought me here for something. Perhaps I'll have the pleasure of knowing?"
See Killdare had been wrong about him. He could be charming, be diplomatic. Was it all a facade? Absolutely. He played the part when needed, when it suited what he was trying to get. It had been quite easy to lure her away. A lonely mare in the meadow, mediocre in the looks department and quietly pining for some attention. There he came, head raised with a debonair air. All smiles and flashing red eyes. Praising her, flirting with her, wondering just how on earth could she be out here all alone? Oh yes, I had never thought of it that way. Oh how witty and delightful you are! I must show you something, not something I would just show anyone…
He could have kept up the act but it was tiresome and he was just so eager to return home and put Cellar through her paces. See if she could really do what she said she could. So he dropped the persona, reverting back to the calculating manipulative jackass he really was. Instantly he had started to drive her towards the Chamber, laying his teeth and hooves into her as often as he could without permanently damaging her. Not too much, she had to be healthy enough and in one piece for his experiment. As their hooves fly over Chamber dirt, he sends out his piercing call for the two mares he had left waiting. Red eyes search through the darkness, his own flanks heaving from the journey but adrenaline keeping him going. She speaks and he barely acknowledges her, still searching for them and a sneer growing on his facial features as they begin to appear. ”You’ll see.”
His gaze is locked on the scaled creature who seemed so promising. With one last push he sends the mare (whose name he didn’t remember since it wouldn’t matter in the long run) flying in her direction. ”Time to put up or shut up. Show me what you got.” Standing still, eyes turning back to deep blood red. Eagerness making him tense, waiting. Waiting for magic. Waiting for death.
I wanted to leave something besides a blood trail,
besides prayers growing stale on my tongue.
She stands quietly along the outskirts of the Chamber as she observes the other members going about their day. This has always been one of her favorite past times, to live vicariously through others as they experience their own joys and sorrows simultaneously. Cellar secretly takes great interest in their experiences, shares in their emotions as they are expressed or hidden away beneath a false smile. There is a faint smirk along her own lips until she hears the demanding voice of Gyffen as he calls her name. His voice is delighted and it makes her stomach turn. Death is not a thing she finds much happiness in.
Still, the serpent girl begins to move toward his call until she spies them standing near one another. There is a familiar shade of red splattered and trickling along the stranger's body. Her head hangs a little lower as she closes the last bit of distance between them, though her eyes do not leave the nameless one. Time to show me what you got. Cellar's ears turn toward him but her face remains stoic as she swallows hard. Killing never got easier, not for her at least. She set fire to a little piece of herself each time she watched her venom take hold of someone.
"I am Cellar, and I am sorry," she mumbles as she moves closer to the girl. Their sides touch, gentle and barely there as the barbs stand at attention all across her skin. The serpent leans only a fraction of her weight against the stranger to send them pricking across the other's side, releasing countless drops of the toxin into Stricken's bloodstream. It never takes long for it to go to work, ripping the blood cells apart and ensuring they cannot clot. The feeling isn't noticeable at first, but within minutes the blood will find its way from her eyes and gums. The wounds Gryffen delivered will soon drain her, leaving her to suffer a slow death. Cellar thinks it must feel like a new level of agony, judging by the faces she's watched in the past.
She steps back far enough to leave the other's reach and waits with unblinking eyes. Tyrael had always commanded her to watch, to fully appreciate her own work and carry the burden of what she had done.
"You probably expedited this process, beating her like that," she says without looking at him.
I could give you my body, my flesh,
offer it up like a sacrifice, like a banquet.
She isn’t entirely surprised by the call, or the smell of someone new in the air. She is broken and bloodied and beaten, according to the ravens. The ghost got her, they caw. Of course the Chamber ghost got her. That’s what he did. He preyed on the weak and worthless. She didn’t entirely understand his hobby. It did her little good to waste her time with the weak and the worthless, but of course, there was a reason she was Queen and he was not. She could rule, and he could bring plenty of destruction in his wake. Which she could not do quite so easily as her ghost.
Still though, she admits that she’s rather curious about what Cellar can do. Unsafe. Unsafe sound terribly useful, and perhaps a bit fun in the right situation. It’s a shame that unsafe likely couldn’t kill her father in such a way. He was already half dead anyway, full of his own brand of poison as well. Shame. Because for that reason alone, she very well might use the girl.
Straia slips through the trees until she finds the trio. Cellar is already there, lighly brushing against the strange mare. Straia wonders if this mare is homeless, or if they are in the process of killing a member of some kingdom or another. The girl doesn’t smell like anywhere though, and she suspects Gryffen plucked her out of the meadow. Being so very wayward never really paid off, did it?
The bay and white queen doesn’t say anything. Just slips through the trees until she can see the trio, sure she can see them as well, waiting to see exactly what unsafe means. She feels vaguely sorry for the girl, for both girls. Though Cellar chose to serve, but the girl? It was a needless death, and though Straia didn’t mind death, she was less interested in wasting lives. But curiosity killed the cat after all, right?
The arrival of the two Chamber mares made Stricken uneasy. Their meeting seemed coordinated, planned well before her capture, and this observation filled the mare with dread. She did not recognize the Queen of the Chamber, having been out of touch with the ruling monarchs during her time in the Meadow.
Stricken backs up slightly, just as Gryffen shoves her forward into the embrace of the scaled mare. Cellar mumbles her apologies, and Stricken utters only one word.
"Please…"
She had always thought death would come with a violent hand, but the caress of the serpent mare against her side was as gentle as a mother to a child. Stricken barely felt the barbs penetrate her skin and so at first she didn't even know she was dying. She was indignant and frightened, thinking that torture was her lot.
It took only a few moments for the poison to take effect. A horrible ache turned into agony as her body stiffened and throbbed. Her veins felt like fire had taken hold. The poison destroyed her healthy cells, causing Stricken to let out a startled, terrified whinny.
Her vision began to grow hazy. the figures in front of her wavering and losing shape as loss of blood left her lightheaded. She felt blood leak from her eyes, and mistakenly thought they were tears. The gray mare's face was contorted with agony.
"I don't…" her voice trailed off as she fell to her knees. She could not see it but her coat was streaming red. Without the clotting factor, she was steadily being drained to death. Her head ached desperately. Nausea rolled in her stomach.
She was tired, so tired, and that feeling finally overtook her, overriding even the agony as her organs began to shut down from lack of fluids. Stricken collapsed fully onto the ground, lying on her side, the blood that had been steadily flowing now slowing to a dribble.
She opened her eyes one last time, confusion and exhaustion lining her face.
And then she was gone. From one breath in the Chamber to the next in the After.
The mare’s death was an agonizing one. He didn’t watch with barbaric pleasure, more of a scientific intensity on his face as he circled the dying mare and inspected her closely as she struggled for her life. His eagerness had abated with the actual action at hand, now he was all work although his ruby eyes remained extremely dark. Watching when the barbs had penetrated her skin, watching as redness leaked from her orifices. Blood droplets hit the dirt and he calls out to Straia, knowing she had come without having to search for her. ”Does this count as a sacrifice?” Perhaps the tree would greedily accept this meal or maybe not. It had been done for the Chamber’s benefit after all. The mare is still dying, screaming and writhing in pain. As she dies, he looks at the one who had delivered the blow and searches for any emotion on her face. Unreadable but her apology still rings in his ears. Then there is nothing but silence and the feeling of increased frenzy due to the beating heart beneath their hooves.
”Hmmm.” He pauses, studying the corpse once more before turning to Cellar with a grin. ”Well done.” They both stand over the dead, his head tilted towards her as he gauges the scaled creature. ”But why did you apologize to her?”That is the most curious thing to him and one he needs to know. If she regrets her unique ability and what she can do with it. Her responsibility as death’s angel. Amusement glitters in crimson depths and he snorts softly in response to her thoughts on the quick death. ”And does that bother you? That she died so quickly?” It’s doubtful that she wanted to deliver a long and agonizing pain if she was apologizing for her actions. It didn’t matter to him one way or another. Long or short, as long as it was bloody and interesting… It worked for him.
Another long pause as he shoots a quick look to the Raven Queen, wondering what she thought of all this. ”Cellar…. You have been blessed with quite a gift.” A shiver of thrill spasming across his muscles as he grins at her once more. God she was going to be quite useful. There’s a morose atmosphere that surrounds his new weapon and he extends his muzzle as if to touch her, thinking better on it and stopping the motion. ”Death comes to all of us. It will come for you. For the Queen. For me. You can do great things Cellar, being death’s messenger. And I can show you how.”
I wanted to leave something besides a blood trail,
besides prayers growing stale on my tongue.
Cellar does not greet the queen as she arrives, but rather avoids her eyes as she sets about her work. It is not disrespect that drives her inaction but rather the opposite. When she kills, she is a monster and unworthy of even the most minute kindness. But it is Gryffen's wish to see her bring about harm and she has chained herself to their commands, so she watches as Stricken crumbles to her knees as she whispers her quiet request. The sentence hangs in the air unfinished and mostly unheard by the others.
A frown begs to form across her lips but she steels herself against such emotions or thoughts as another half sentence leaves the dying girl's lips. She assumes the girl wanted to say she didn't want to die. They are familiar words and it makes her sigh slowly before turning back to the wraith as his eyes dance with delight.
"Could I have been born anyone other than me?" she asks with a faint tilt of her pale head as she watches him. "Could I have been her, in some life? Could she have been me?" Her questions hang heavy as she continues to stare into his eyes while her face betrays no emotion. Cellar is aware that she could have just as easily been a victim to some sick ritual or test but the stars or whatever higher power chose her to be the hunter on this particular day. She always felt it necessary to apologize for being the survivor in her encounters.
But then he's asking another question and she lowers her head to look down at Stricken's blood soaked body. For this question, she has no response. Any sort of death shook her to her core and left her a little more tired.
"I have been blessed with nothing. Anyone given any sort of strength must also shoulder the weight of what that strength does," she says before looking up at him once more. Eventually her eyes shift to the queen as she observes them from afar.
"I am no messenger, Gryffen. I am merely my father's child."
She falls silent then. All that is left is to await further orders or to resume observing those around her.
This night will not bring sleep and she has no intention to seek it.
I could give you my body, my flesh,
offer it up like a sacrifice, like a banquet.
She doesn’t approach. She watches the massacre (for really, what else can that be called?) from her place in the trees, more a part of the Chamber than horse at the moment. There is some part of her, tiny though it may be, that feels sorry for the meadow dweller who simply happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. But the rest of her simply watches with a detached interest, not unlike Gryffen’s scientific interest. Her mind whirls at the possibilities this serpent girl affords. A diplomat is never turned away; in the right kingdom, they are often invited in.
Gryffen is the first to speak between the girl’s screams. The tree was too young to show them much, but she thinks that the blood might help it grow. She suspects this much blood might make the tree hungry for more. Make the land hungry for more. It had been far too long since blood was spilled at the hands of the Chamber. She smiles slightly, weaving through the trees just a bit more to approach them with a simple nod to Gryffen. “I think it might,” she says, her voice quiet against the screams, but still clear.
The ghost turns to the girl, asking about the apology. It is the question that rings in Straia’s mind as well. They had death wrapped in a pretty little package, but she was certain the girl really wanted this life. Would she stay? Did she truly choose to serve others over her own conscious? The girl’s answer is vague, but heavy, and Straia wonders what it must be like for the girl.
But in some ways, they aren’t so different. Straia serves the Chamber, whatever that might mean (her own death included). She serves without question, without much thought to what that might mean for her own soul. Though her soul is black enough already from the fires and feuds and treachery that created her. There’s so saving it now. She slips closer now, intrigued by the girl. “You can be more than your father’s child. The choice is yours, but know that we can help you become so much more.”
As blood seeps into the earth, the heart beat seems to increase. Cellar’s reluctance to give in to her abilities is confusing and annoying. He must handle her like he does a small child, holding her hand and walking her through each step. ”Perhaps. But you are not her. You are you. That is the way things are. And you are able to do this for a reason.” A roll of his shoulder, a simple shrug as his red eyes roll over to that of Straia. The Raven Queen had moved closer as Cellar had spoken. He had not missed her reply over the girl’s dying screams and takes a moment to glance at the tree. It had been so long since the Chamber had experienced bloodshed, the earth was dry and thirsty beneath his hooves. The heart was starving. Perhaps this was the beginning, he planned on it being the beginning of many great and terrible things.
He nods in agreement with Straia, focused back on what he regarded as a highly evolved lizard. ”What’s done is done. She’s dead. She didn’t matter. But you dear Cellar…. My dear girl.” And with this his wolfish grin splits across his lips, an approving look in the depths of crimson. ”You must accept what you are, all of it, and what you were born to do.” He already knows they must remove that weight of responsibility from her shoulders, make her care a little less. A little plan is forming in his head as well, he needs to go to the Gates to collect something that is his. He plans on taking Cellar with him… But first she needs to figure out exactly what she wants, what she’s willing to relinquish in order to fully become what she was meant to be.
I wanted to leave something besides a blood trail,
besides prayers growing stale on my tongue.
Regardless of whatever she might feel with blood smeared across her cheek or caking her hands, the taste of copper on her tongue and salt in her eyes was always better than the alternative. To be without commands was to be empty enough to let her true thoughts come creeping in each night to haunt her every breath. For now, she only exhaled ghosts of who she really was when no one was watching. Somewhere deep in her gut an entirely different monster stirred and relished in the weakening of life; a death rattle was its lullaby and she had to keep them singing.
Her eyes turn to Straia as she speaks of Cellar being something more than this, more than his pawn or bargaining chip, but she knows better. She says nothing but the silence is filled as Gryffen reprimands her for her thoughts as they hang from her lips as heavy as weights. Cellar's eyes briefly narrow before she catches the spark of anger in her chest. Ribs are cages for a reason, she reminds herself, and tucks the ember away for a better use.
"I was not born for any purpose other than boredom," she says as vague memories flood her mind. Somewhere, not many years ago, a tiny girl had asked her father if he loved her mother. He had answered with cold calculation that he merely ran out of things to do - she was a side effect at best. She'd cried and cried herself to sleep for so many nights until Tyrael told her it was fine to be without purpose, that he would give her purpose. Maybe that was why she had fallen for him and carried a shard of him in her breast even now. He built her up where Vulgaris had broken her down.
"I serve because I know would become something worse if I did not. Don't concern yourself with my burdens," she says to dismiss their concern for her status within the kingdom. She would stay, as she always did, but her mind was not a place to stroll through so casually. Her thoughts were briars and razorwire just waiting to entangle and rip apart.
"What would you like me to do next, Gryffen?"
I could give you my body, my flesh,
offer it up like a sacrifice, like a banquet.
