The Dark Realmz

[.Atra'Lamia.]

Shadows mix and merge beneath the crimson sky, coalescing to form those perfect trysts of light and plethora danced and merged to form that perfect darkness this realm knew so well. There was naught left but the ruins of those bitter memories; perhaps some too had been good, though days and years were long it was hardly like she knew what happiness was... perhaps she never did? There was nothing like looking on the crumbs of an empire, the unholy and divine knew of her conquests, oceans of blood sweeping over the land. But, was she the only one remaining to perceive such greatness or lust for power? In the end did it really even matter, for who was there to grace it or embrace it, besides the ghosts that haunted the darkness behind those cold, dimmu-stygian flambeaus? Perhaps it was more disturbing this barely caused a flinch on that perfect pale facade, emotions unstirred as those eyes scathed the abandoned vestiges, untouched, reserved, poised. A soft muted scoff emitted twixt those crimson-arches of lips, sweet breath stirring the elements while long rivulets of ravenesque tresses flowed, shaking... shaking in disbelief of all that this family had seen, reduced to nothing.

It would have been an insult to ponder back on innocent days, before these falls and divisions of blood and heart; when these foundations rose higher than the tempestuous peaks of thunderous clouds, obsidian spires that challenged the celestial charges of Heaven, dug its roots into the bowels of Hell...refined heritage, proud banners and flags blew in the sultry clawed winds. Again she shook head, as if permitting those images to fill her mind, as if that could bring it all back, bring a sense of self back, anything other than this ‘nothing’. It was one thing to want, to take, to have- it forever leaves one with wanting more, and taking more until emptiness is all within the hand. Not anything left to claim victories over, to have that lust rush through the ichors enticing vehemence to surge like a drug- sanguineous raptures excited her passions, the more she had, the more she craved. She had the fancy titles, the status of Queen of Ayenee, Aoyn, Tenaria- and for what? To be back here at the ruins of a land long succumb to destruction.

Features cast down, eyes hidden by the rivulets of those night-stained strands of silken satin, lost to those thoughts. Leather-clad tourniquet, swathed in the darkness billowing around her like an amorphous aura, yearning to ‘touch’ her, yet, even she was a stranger now to this place. Everything that had been, surrendered to the void gripping throughout her svelte form; the beast of The Nameless clung to her, a ravenous parasite that knew her every intimate thought, she was a part of IT and IT a part of her. Pure void, Right hand lingered towards one single strand of hair, left boot scuffling at the dirt before her, concentration transfixed- caught in the webs of these sentimental flaws. Flaws? This lavish beauty had no flaws only that of evil in its utmost perfection. At least that was what she told herself, it was far conceited believing in that than fanciful idealisms; because God himself knew; happiness was not meant for her. Perhaps she did not deserve it.

Chthonic eyes scanning over the remnants of broken, shattered stone, the evidence was there that the scavengers of the Wastelands has long raped and ravished anything that may have possibly remained. The gates has long been torn down, monolithic iron gates which one bore the glyphs of power that no Demon, Devil or God could tear asunder- weak, inert, somnolent. Why had she come here? To leave some tormented mark to any who may drag themselves back her countless times as she had. All had abandoned these walls; all were just as guilty if they had emotions to be so, Should the angels play such anaemic harps, winged choirs adorned with mellifluous harmonies to pluck upon the heartstrings in replica of skeletal bows to this nostalgic sympathy? Could such a black heart be moved as She, the one whose love comes just as rapidly and fervently as Death to this rapturous synchronization of memory? Returning to these blood-stained lands... {chronic}... {incorrigible}... {habitual}...- predictable in its erstwhile wars waging decree, clan against clan, God against God- fighting the same ‘old’ battles.

Thoughts mingled with sheer amusement, the ground had turned to rust from the sanguine raptures long suffered; statuesque tilting to the side, admiring the screams heard from the souls lost and damned to these cursed shores. Darkbane had raped, ravished and pillaged all who dared raise arms in opposition, unfortunately now once again this place flourished beyond the tarnish of plague, the death of the earth crumbling beneath her feet. Despite the protests of her very quintessence- the information relayed itself like tomes of history; some Dark Lord from her past had claimed these wretched forsaken lands as his home... his catacombs to rebuild armies and thus conquer all. “How ambitious!” she thought darkly to herself, the coquettish smirk forming over rubicund apertures of pure, voracious covetousness and hunger. “Ambitious indeed, but... Oh, my Dark Sweet Lord, not as ambitious as I!” the words rolled over those sanguineous arches in a voice so honeyed, decadent- possessed of the temptation of the serpent that had lured Eve to the forbidden fruit; to pluck it from the tree and sup its sweet nectars. Beguiled was that perfidious insinuation of derision, to have every advantage, little to lose; it mattered not, save for that salacious, saccharine rhapsody for demise.

[Satire]

The all pervading silence, the true silence of a tomb for after all, let there be no pretensions, that is what this was, a deep cave hidden in mountainous extremity where she would lay for eternity or until... Gossamer strands draped over the lithe, immobile form, the spiders of the mistresses creation having draped her delicate flesh, a subtle glimmer of luminescence shining from the effulgence of web. To all belief, the flesh lay dead, preserved in perfection but dead all the same, yet it was only waiting. Waiting for her beloveds touch upon the land, her tainted, yet sweet breath to merge within atmospheric plume, the sibilant whisper of dulcet tones echoing in minds perception, then and only then would there be any change.

As she lay she dreamed, lustful dreams of blood and violence as only her beloved could conjure, wondrous dreams of delectable flesh quivering pleasure at the sheer thought of her mistresses beauty and potence, amused dreams at the rending of flesh of those bold or stupid enough to attempt to stand before the ire of the one and only queen to whom Satire would bow to. Such was her devotion that during the millennia which she had lain subdued, not one thought had touched her imagination except of Her... One thing her queen would never have to doubt would be her loyalty, there could be no question that Satire loved the Queen without any reservations whatsoever.

A warm flush, a tingling within the cores of dormant nerve endings, a quiver of unexpected thrilldom emerging within the depths of her chilled flesh. The silence broken by a deep lingering sigh, a caress of sound oozing like a slow fire-fuelled orgasm building in intensity until echoes crashed and dived the sound a scream of blissful emergence. A deep breath taken, the silhouette pure womanly form as through the woven silk above firm mounds of heated desire, hard nubs pushed through exposing to the coolness of air, the moans now emerging becoming louder as the shock of sensation, her twisted thoughts of the Queens pleasure tipping Satire over the edge of the precipice into oblivious satisfaction.

During the extremities of Satires throes of passion, tiny weavers clambered over feminine form stripping away the web that had cloaked, torso with deeply formed perfection of navel quivering in both after-reaction and the touch of breeze, legs beginning in motion of languorous stretch, back arching and lips parted, the fog laden plume arising with the expulsion of strawberry breath. Continuing to stretch until the arachnid horde had completed disrobing her nudity, smirking in amusement at the sensation of intimacy given by miniscule legs wandering over pale flesh, then sitting, smooth calves dangling in stark contrast to obsidian high-lighting the delicacy of features. Voice raising in deliciously erotic tone... “Mother... AtraLamia I come... Yours forever...’

[Eternal Goddess Pandora]

Curiousity may kill the cat but Pandora could not hold herself back from seeing what Atra'Lamia was up to. Call it a morbid curiousity or just that she had to see what her once loyal subject was planning. Was it her demise? Or the demise of an unfaithful lover? That must have deeply hurt a proud Darkbane, that her lover came crawling to the feet of Pandora and ultimately her bed. Old wounds heal hard obviously and the Eternal Goddess was never afraid to rub salt into old wounds in order to make them bleed. Dark mists swirled, gathering from the tips of dark skies and drawn down to the earth, keeping its distance from Atra'Lamia of Darkbane but making no means in hiding her presence. Come what may, Pandora did not care because should she fall, a few home truths would slice open those old wounds.

Spectre, Atrox and even Malice all came to her bed, sought pleasures in her clammy flesh, to give her desire and ecstasy beyond that of understanding. Pride can be ones downfall, did it mean that much to Atra? Did they mean anything to Atra? Perhaps now the truth would come out, once and for all. Lovers, did they love, adore Atra beyond words like they claimed and even Pandora herself heard them proclaim. Spectre, her husband, a traitor to the Clan, ressurected by Atra at the instruction of the Goddess of Darkbane. He fell so hard for her, and why would he not, Atra's beauty far excelled Pandora's and there was no delusion there. He fought by her side, worshipped the ground Atra walked on and yet in the same breath was not only fornicating with the Goddess but also Lorna. Pandora expected no less when Atra tore down the temple and Lorna with it, not to mention quite a few Darkbane's. Spectre was exiled and hunted for the rest of his days, as far as Pandora knew, he was still on the run. The fallen Warlord of Darkbane and the supplanter of the Clan, originally.

Then there was Atrox, a present for him, for his loyalty was that of Atra. A sweet twist on fate, it was in her power to give what was not hers, afterall it was her clan and still is dispite its fall from dark glory. Another amorous lover, fought by Atra's side and would leave her in the heat of battle to come to the bed of Pandora. All Pandora had to do was call and he dropped everything, even his love? in the thick of the fight. he had killed himself for Pandora. Again, Atra did what she did best, destroyed everything in her wake and a grand attempt at the life of herself. Had it not been for Michello, Atra would have succeeded. It was a slight get away, and Moloch had taken the wrath of her mighty Arch Priestess, then second in charge beneath her.

Malice, lastly. The love of his clan, the clan which was carved into his flesh. Professed nothing but the love of Atra, yet came back to Pandora. Maybe it was for the clans procreation or his love for Darkbane, but it was enough to gloat over for Pandora. He took her and she made no means to fight it, nor would again. That was the difference between love and loyalty, all of the Darkbane men would crawl into bed with Pandora because she WAS Darkbane and not Atra. Perhaps Radu would be next knocking on her chamber door, he certainly recently was not knocking on Atra's. A dark smile curled on her lips, masked behind the shadows, waiting for her chance to face the mightly Atra'Lamia and permit to finally hear the truth from the lips of she who was and always would be Darkbane.

[.Atra'Lamia.]

Three scores of pregnant moon; and three scores of mayhem, dancing in macabre silhouettes on the vision before her for this is where it always started and where it would forever end. {Magnificence} {Death} {Sanguine-portraits} {Sunrise}, the brilliance of the sun rising over the black horizon, fluid gleaming in rivers of the lost, those whom lost their souls... lying broken, scattered across the terra firma like tattered leaves fallen from the tree of life. Murders of Ravens adorned the skies, iridescent-obsidian feathered wings ascended from the firmament to settle, pecking at the eyes of those disabled due to dismembered. Relentless swords digging deep into sweet secretions, rendering sockets nothing more than a pulp of oracular sludge. Feeble screams of pain, anguish, agony... undoubtedly heard across the plains, beyond the charred landscapes where forests flourished...nothing more than cinders & wasteland. Her plight was never about what was good or evil, it was about this, the raw energy of might and the mighty; unfortunately, Darkbane had lost its appeal many centuries over- it was naught but a bruise on her memory, including all those who still held the honourless as honourable. Insignificant.

With the warm of summer-hued breeze, the temperance of the suns gilded spears searching to enliven the darkness, creeping across the ground, serpentine embraces to cool the passion of her vehemence. Stygian flambeaus glancing in ascendance to the glowing Heavens, how she loathed those lofty realms. Glistening starless orbs narrowing, focusing the darkest of intentions to defy nature itself and turn that damned illumination, cast is back to the darkness, to where this place belonged; the damned, the forsaken, the forgotten. Extending outwards, unwinding the chaotic void from quintessential energies as if unleashing the legions of the Dimmu not to bring forth the armies of The Nameless, but rather unwinding the darkness to amalgamate from within and pour outwards, blocking out all light not just that of superlative- instead eternal darkness. To plunge these godforsaken lands into the clutch of pitiless entropic arms, the asphyxiation of irreversible blackness. Would all feel the exquisite pangs of her hyperborean grasp?

Lugubrious clouds emerged, forcing back the fervent of day as if demons drove back the entire celestial legions of Seraphim, right arm ascending to the very heavens with slender fingers pointing in defiance for all that was light, but also for all that claimed to be dark, evil, malaise... power hand coercing the extent of her intent as digits proliferated, in mockery of merely covering her eyes from the light but pushing it back... back into the ravenous maws of the beast intensifying behind the crowns of glory to ingurgitation... swallowing its essence. No longer were the zephyrs laced with perfumed lilies that bloomed, no longer were they gentle as a lovers touch stroking against her beauteous contours- fusillade talons ripped, flayed, whipping against her diminutive physique. Lengths of zibeline rivulets of sable tresses, peeling back only to highlight achromatic flesh adorned with rubicund adornments beneath tourniquet of leather, swathing and accentuating each seductive curvaceous contour. Monochromatic beauty, unmatched and unchallenged by the ravens of another fanciful femme fatale wishing to carve herself a name beneath the banners of Atra’Lamia; all had failed to the begotten halls of humiliation.

Pulchritude facade still staring upwards into the gyrating veil of Cimmerian shade; worlds were engulfing worlds, giving birth to far darker nefarious realms. Sanguineous apertures furling into a nefarious coquettish smirk as hand descended only to rest against blood-tarnished argentite pommel, slender digits teasing lavaliere ornaments binding around the elaborate grip. These swords were not strangers to her hands; they had served her well in the past, only retired during her reign in Darkbane. Darkbane the name she now spat upon with venomous repugnance. The rueful feeble, non-entity named Pandora whose presence was less than a pesky insect feeding of the excrement from another bottom dweller. Sure enough had made no attempt in hiding her sub-par presence, delving in the shadows like all the other insignificant creatures best left to fearing her in their most wicked nightmares. Languidly, from that haughty poise of grandeur, her features returned to a more horizontal position, though somewhat cocking to the side in mere amusement. Eyes slowly casting askance to the weak shadows flittering, drowning in the dense darkness Atra had created, knowing it was only a brief amount of time they would be forced to dissipate and face Atra, as she so wished, Pandora did enter into this of her own free will.

Atra knew this reunion would be nothing substantial and only that of Pandora to gloat over relations that really were not commendable enough to gloat over. An easy conquest is never a crown of pride or bragging; did she actually think Atra would bat an eyelid at the loss of such feeble whims of the flesh. How they all ran to Pandora simply because they could not have Atra, they did not have what it took and always ran back to those who opened their legs for all and any? Passions in Atra they never knew or had, fervent fires that would burn the very essences of their souls rendering them blind to their own senses? None of them had been worthy of Atra, they all ran to and fro from whore to wench like lost sheep and then run back to her after sowing their wild oats. None of them were ever worthy of her spit let alone her affection. With the exception of Malice. Did Pandora really think that any of these petty fancies of the flesh would interest her enough to even waver in the direction of Pandora, one she loathed for weaknesses shown, she was but a menial mortal who demonstrated mortal shallowness and vulnerability.

The Darkbane males, were austerely Pandora’s Achilles' heel, Atra already knew the moronic sentiments forming in the mind of Pandora before Pandora had even thought it, was she honestly going to bring this to the table and expect Atra to dine of her scraps? Obviously it bothered Pandora more that these males had juxtaposed themselves to Atra in the first place and only received their affections on the rebound because Atra did not want their anaemic affections? That after they had her, had soiled her bed of crumpled satins, returned to Atra’s side time and time again to fight for the wretched Darkbane clan until it all grew too redundant and tedious to Atra. Atra was pretty well sure of Malice's intentions, his love for Darkbane far surpassed that of Pandora; why did she flatter herself so? Surely Pandora would not expect Atra to yield to such a disgusting and insulting quirk of emotion? The Atra standing before Pandora was a complete stranger to her, far removed from the blonde hair fragile piece that dazzled her eyes with power not even she possessed motivation and aspiration seen in no other Darkbane and never would again. No one argued that Darkbane was Pandora and she was Darkbane, so be it... she would die like a Darkbane... like all of the fallen who tasted the heat of Atra’s blade; how ambitious of her to come alone and Atra knew Malice certainly was not here to recover Pandora or lurking in the shadows; unless she too made him weak in the wake of all the others.

Turning back to look across the smouldering planes, admiring the banners which whipped loudly in snapped resonation- burning embers glowing resplendently in the conglomerating plethoric embrace of calignosity. Spitting at the ground before taking step in sauntered gait down the embankment, heading towards the cities witnessing the potency of the Carnage Lord commonly known as BloodRed, though to her, he was known as Keiquarn. Limb following limb, prowess of her skill noticeable in motion; elegant yet full of purpose. Atra did not look over her shoulder or address Pandora directly, her presence meant absolutely nothing to her not one she would ever pay homage or show respect to, Pandora was a non-entity and would only get once chance to leave and never cross paths with Atra again. This was not done from any sentiment of the past, but more to the fact Pandora was not a challenge and Atra did not prey on the weak, it was beneath her... and here to the pitiful memories of Spectre and Atrox:

“Vos addo vestri spurcamen ut ianua ab nex Pandora. Ego tutela non ab vestri sententia propositum vel verum , verum ut EGO quod porro notus quorum a proditor quod meretricis vos es. Quare profiteor is hic pro totus Filiolus , vel mihi audire? Forsitan vos es optimus decessio vestri cubile vis illis fossor quod bestia quisnam cubile vobis! Vos addo is ut meus acies! Vos profano meus mens ab triumphus illo ab vestri pallens victum per qui profiteor diligo volo! Licentia quod et suum memoria vobis es nusquam ut mihi , amo vos es nusquam volo. Darkbane est quod vadum aeturnus subsisto nusquam ut mihi , utor illud permaneo hora vos ab ut unus.”

“You bring your filth to the door of death Pandora. I care not of your sentimental declaration or truth, truth that I have long known of which a traitor and whore you are. Why confess it here for all Gods, even me to hear? Perhaps you are best leaving your bedroom natures to those fools and animals who bed with you! You bring this to my battlefield! You profane my moments of triumph for that of your weak conquest with those who confessed love to me! Leave and take their memory with you, they are nothing to me, like you are nothing to me. Darkbane is and shall forever remain nothing to me, enjoy those last moments you have as one.”

[Morrigan StormCrow]

A Changing World

Morrigan stood on the Battlements of his Home he'd preserved and Fought
for, for so long an Age. All around him his world was changing, Wars
were being fought, Land was being taken, Decsisions would have to be
made. It was fast becoming an Age of strong will's. Hero's were a thing
of the past, and all that mattered now was who could survive, and by
what means.
He gazed down at the two Crystals held in his Hand.His beloved Raven
was gone, lost to the ravage's of Time. And for his Feyborn Gifts he
would now have to spend his days, incomplete and lost in a world he no
longer knew or cared for. The Mighty Forests of Dranic, once so
Glourious in fame , where now a singed mass of Skeletal fingers clasping
and reaching up to an unforgiving Sky. Never had he felt so alone.

Retreating back inside and descending the Great Stairs to a cold and
void Hall, he sat once again in his Favorite chair, and poured a
comforting Flaggan of Rum. His mind ached with the Loss and despair of
his Soulmate, and he placed the two Crystals upon the table. Still to
his Eyes they Glowed so brightly, as they had done the day they met.
He lent back in his chair and drank heavily.Slowly closing his Eyes he
slept.

He was awoken by a Knock upon the Great Doors of the Castle. Evening had
fallen so quickly, surely he couldnt have slept for so long. He rose and
made his way to the door. Outside was a withered Old man, bent over and
badly aged. He paid no heade to the fact Morrigan had opened the Door.
Just promptly pushed past him and made his way into the Hall.
"Hey Old Man" Morrigan shouted at him." You would pay me better respect
Morrigan if you knew why i was here?" The Old man turned and stared at him
" What , Who are you?" Morrigan replied. " I have no care anymore for anything
you might have to say" " I did not make you welcome old man, I need no one"
The Old man , without asking sat at the Table, and produced a Parchment.


" I need you to look at this " the old man Motioned. " How do you even know
my name ?" Morrigan added, and walked over to the Old Man. " My Name is
Desiderous" the Old Man replied," and i know who you are, what you are , and
what you will become" Morrigan now sat, as Desiderous handed him the
Parchment. Morrigan opened it and looked at the Script. " I can not read this?"
" There is only one that can" Desiderous replied and he fixed Morrigan with a
stare. " I have brought you this Tombe for a reason" he continued. " You must take
this to the one who can read it and only to this one" " It will help you find the
answers you seak, but at the ulimate cost" " Ultimate Cost ? What is this, Old Man ?"

Morrigan stood," take this with you and leave, you have nought i would want, and i am
not looking for Answers to anything" Desiderous slowly stood and turned towards the
Great Doors. " You are incomplete without your beloved Raven by your side" he said.
" What if you knew you could have her back, that she would once again stand by your side?"
" There is nothing and No one that can make that possible, old Man !" Morrigan snapped.
" You know nothing of my Loss"
" As i said there is one that can make it possible, but you must venture where most would
dare not" " Search inside Morrigan, search deep and you will find of whom i speak"
Desiderous made for the Door. " Only you can make the Journey, but for most it is the Ultimate
end" With that final Response he was gone.

Morrigan sat again, still holding the Unreadable Parchment in his hand. He slumped forward
on his Arms and closed his eyes again. His Mind played on the words Desiderous had spoken.
In a soft tone he whipsered " Raven Help me what should i do, i can not face this world
without you" But what was the cost the Old Man had spoken of?
Again he raised his Head and Poured over the Undesiferable script.
At the Bottom of the Parchment was a worn Seal, made of Crimson Red Wax. Upon the Seal were
Etched two Blades crossing each other, and the name ATRA LAMIA.

" Maybe this was the one whom Desiderous had refered to?" he thought.
But how would he find this person? And would this person want to be Found?



Coming Soon - The Ultimate Bargin

G.M.W 2010

[Median TalusThrone]

Blood and death had been swift, the villagers did not know what had hit them. They tasted the blade, the spear and axe, died like the dogs they were. Burning them down to the ground and pissing on the ashes had been rewarding but now his command had been to remain behind and do away with the renegades who had escaped. If they had dared return? Lord BloodRed's directions were plan, to set up camp and watch to the North while they marched to the cities of the East, furthering the hold of Khorne. Raping the land and staining it with the blood of the fallen was the signature of Khorne, one that could not be mistaken. Medium had joined the ranks having been urged to the fold by the Chaos Champion himself, long time mates and comrades in many wars that had ravaged Ayenee in the past. War time buddies, blood brothers.

Remaining behind with a party of twenty, tending to fires and gathering the spoils of war, food and drink, rum and ale. They started their celebrations with the raping of women and sugar flavoured waters of rum and ale. No sooner had the women been raped, their throats were severed. The last thing any warrior of Khorne wanted was weak bastard children. it was nothing to them, the bodies rolled into the fires like wood, fuel to their warmth as the winds assailed their battle-tired bodies. Throughout the night Median kept watch, killing a few strays but nothing of a challenge. However during the night he had fallen asleep and with the birth of sun his gauntlet hands rubbed roughly at his eyes. A figure of a woman standing proud on the hillside. Rubbing eyes again, she was moving closer. Sitting up, staring into the horizon as it became darker, more menacing. His eyes lingered over her body, man could only dream to ravage a body such as this, so slender, taut and confident. A woman who demanded to be broken.

Standing quickly to his feet, grabbing at his Axe of Khorne and striding towards the approaching female "HALT IN THE NAME OF KHORNE! YEILD TO THE HORROR OF HIS NAME. KNEEL TO THE NAME OF BLOODRED!" still she did not heed to his words. Hands gripping the axe tighter and swinging it to his right side in preparation to strike "HALT IN THE NAME OF KHORNE'S LEGIONS, BEG FOR MERCY!" still she did not reply or halt, moving swiftly towards her. It was then that he heard the names mentioned, Pandora? Darkbane? Who dared speak those names in his presence? Names that always came with one other, Atra'Lamia. The woman who plagued the lives of both his brother and father, obssessed by her legend. Who was this woman who did not fear even the name of the Blood God, Khorne? Again he bellowed "LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS, SUBMIT TO THE LAW OF KHORNE, HALT IN THE NAME OF LORD BLOODRED AND HIS LEGIONS!!"

[Satire]

The gentle caress of midnight zephyr across the alabaster of sleek flesh raising a quiver across the svelteness of abdomen, an inhalation deliberate, slow, shifting the peripheral of nubbins as Satire surveyed her temporary domain... Temporary ,she chuckled, it could have been a thousand years since the mistress last walked, who knew, who dared ask for her goddess did as her goddess did and none dared acclaim her motive. Many had tried and their mouldering remains littered the countryside wheresoever Atra'Lamia had made her abode, after all it was only amusement. Death and sufferance, teasing and pain merging into the universal orgasm of destruction. Every day a miracle of survival for any whom dwelt in the court of the queen for one look, one word incorrectly placed could lead the speaker to become the next moments amusement. Others acclaimed to hold power, Pandora for one, the she bitch goddess that didn't know what it was to be a bitch except perhaps the willingness of a bitch in heat. Satire smirking at the thought of how many had trodden the worn out path between the legs, believing they had gained something special, instead wallowing in the slops of pigs. Hell Satire was sure she had seen hints of orange peel skin around her elephantine ass. No such blemish on Satires pertness, and never would there be such a thing on the mistress, it would not have the balls to appear on that divine perfection...

She wondered if the insane Talusthrones still existed, living in their twisted belief that they were smarter, stronger and faster then Atra. Two of them had an inkling, but the rest of them suffered from a lack of swelling in their manhood, it had to be that, how else would they fail to see that Atra'Lamia grasped their hairy balls with the touch of a cobra, gently swaying its victim into oblivion before that fast and final strike of agonised death. She wondered if Atra could be persuaded to gift her with a pair of the desiccated testicles for earrings, they would match the mutilated penis she usually hung around her neck, a sweet present torn from its owner as he tried to take the precious maidenhood and Atra had appeared claiming Satire as her own and placing her mark upon whatever soul Satire laid claim to. Of course Satire didn't mind, the hours were great, the only rules were complete and total obedience to the mistress and she could tease and kill to her little stone heart’s desire....

Turning she lifted her leathers, feeling the smooth coolness against her, breathing deeply the scent of Atra that had so interwoven into their fibre, the flames of desire twinging twixt sensual labrynth. Quickly draping herself, covering just enough to grant the illusion of displaying more for now only one thing would satisfy, the sight, smell and if she were lucky, Satires tongue quivered twixt the blooded hues of apertures surround to taste the honey and ride the moment. a gasp exploding as memories flooded her mind, but no time for that now, it instead was the moment to run with the winds to her mistresses side, to kneel at her feet, to lick the blood from her fingers and accept the scraps from her table all of which were an ecstasy of inverse proportion. A final glance about her previous resting place then arms outstretching to feel the vortex of precious virtue sundered to oblivions desperation. Spinning on slender poise, Satires form beginning to fade away, voice raised in desire "Atra'Lamia I come, soon shall I stand by your side, my heart, my soul my flesh is yours beloved..."

[Eternal Goddess Pandora]

A hiss escaped the lips of Pandora, the Goddess who Atra once adored. To be treated as if nothing, hardly given a notice angered her, but was this the time and the place? Pandora thrived on her knack for survival. She had survived for all these years without so much as a scratch. Her and Atra never needed much to speak, just communicate through telepathy but to be spoken to in this fashion caused Pandora to bite back in relatiation "It never bothered thee in bringing death to MY temple. It never bothered thee bringing filth like Kalicity into the fold of my family name for her to piss on it like an untamed dog. Think low of me not Atra, it is not wise." Her form stepped out from the fading shadows being chased by Atra's vipers of darkness, her form as naked as it were when the Spirit of Colvin graced her lovingly like a father and gave her the gift of immortality. What did she care of Atra's abilities, she knew hers surpassed that of HER child.

Flesh gleamed in the afterglow of the twilight, darkness hanging down heavily on both their forms and the fields below where they stood. What did Pandora care if it was a battlefield covered in the bodies of the fallen, their souls would be crushed beneath her bare feet, their spirits wrapped around her form like a death shroud. What did Pandora care? She was the mother of the greatest clan AyeNee had ever seen or ever see again. It was because of her, her dark embrace not the fiends biting now at her ankles. Pandora stepped forwards, she would be happy to face Atra right here and right now, there was no fear in her eyes only that of pure gloating and glee. Perhaps the Darkbane males did run to her? Weren't they there to worship her in the first place? Was it not HER blood, HER temple, HER affection and approval they killed for, even died for? There was no delusion, it were the truth Pandora wished to reveal, no lies and no false claims. Truth. It seemed Atra did not wish to hear the truth and it was obvious to Pandora in the way Atra turned away and moved towards those fallen to death on the field and the warriors ordered to remain behind.

"You walk away Atra, yet here I am to face thee, naked to the world as I was born. You turn from me to go to servants? What! Does thee claim to be a bringer of blood to the likes of scum? You disappoint me Atra, here I was expecting a fight and you let me down with arrogance? You say I am weak, but my dear it is not I walking to something far less." Pandora smirked, tricks and failures always amused Pandora, it was the flaws in all lesser creatures as she, and Atra just showed them all.

[Morrigan StormCrow]

A Changing World
(The Ultimate Bargain)

Dusk had now fallen as Morrigan Saddled his Mare Demise. She snorted and rested her Head close to Morrigans side, as if she knew this would be a Grave Journey. Morrigan placed his hand on Demise's main in reasurance. Sliding the Blade he'd carried since a young Soldier into the Saddle harness,the Rose stone within the Grip of the sword seemed to Glow the brighter. He fixed his eyes upon it again it seemed to call to him. It had been an age since he had, had these feelings. Now facing the unknown, he once again felt alive, and intune with the Elements. He Swung the Great doors of the stable open, and Mounted Demise."Walk on Girl" and he stroked Demise's main.

As they crossed the bridge on the outskirts of the Castle, Morrigan glanced back to look upon his home. He did not know if it would be the last time, he would see this place. His Heart, the Memories of his Beloved Raven, his very soul dwelled within those walls. His Mind raced with the thoughts of who now he would have to face. He had thoughts of a mighty Warlord, a leader of many and Friend to none. With such a name as 'Atra Lamia' they had to be of some Noble birth, be it the Gods or Kings?
Certainly a Desperate plee such as this, would surely be a sign of weakness in there Eyes. What
mighty Leader cares for affairs of the Heart? None. Even Morrigan used to be Unhampered by these thoughts upon the Field of battle. His world had assurdely changed, Vulnerable without his Love, and yet willing to face Odds uncertain, so that he may look upon that Face one last Time.

A Hard Rain had now begun to fall, as they made there way to the fringe of the Great Forest.All that lay from here where the Vast Plains of Dranic, and the Sea of Blades.Bandits rode these plains, and raided and looted most of the settlments and Villages, leaving nought but Ghostly remains and crumbling Monuments to what was a thriving area. Very few still lived out here, apart from the most insane or the Magickaly adept. Morrigan knew of one Shaman that may be able to help him, or at least prepare him for what was to come. He Teathered Demise in the Saftey and seclusion of some trees, and drew his sword. The Shaman lived near to the remains of a charred Oak within the far edge of the Plains.
Being mostly barren in apperence, there were still signs of life scattered at the very edges, and it was here Morrigan would head for. Keep Low and Hugging the Shadows that were cast by the setting Sun, he Quickly made his way across the outer edges of the Dranic Plains. Thus far his Journey had been Unhampered by Trouble, and he prayed for a safe passage here. Bandits of the plains were ruthless and Cutthroat, thinking nothing of slicing a Throat. As his Eyes fixed upon the Shamans abode and the outline of the Charred Oak in the distance, Four Horseman rode into View.

Concealing himself behind an outcrop, he slid his Hand down to grasp his Knife, incase the Horsemen had already seen him and where heading his way. Flattening himself against the rock, the Horsemen rode hard past his hiding place and never once looked back. Most unusual for Bandits, they never miss a trick? Checking out from his hiding place, he moved cautiously and still low. Just before the entrance to the Shamans Home, he stopped Drew his sword and Stuck it in the Ground. " Sharnor!!" Morrigan shouted. A Flickering candle could be seen within the Dark of a Window. The Shamans home was crafted from the roots of the Charred Oak, almost invisable to the unknowing Eye.Slowly the door Creaked open a jar, and a withered Eye glinted from within.
" Morrigan Stormcrow" Sharnor said slowly. " What do i owe this Visit my old Friend?" Morrigan lifted his sword again "Information, If you will" ....." And a Drink" The Shaman summoned Morrigan inside.

Sharnor's living quarters were Humble in Apperence, but cloaked a true Mystic, and Diciple of the Arts.Very much of lesser height compared to Morrigans Elven form, but one of sturdy reposte. His room was filled with Tallismans and Potions, Bones and Animal heads adorned the walls, and sygils and Glyphs were carved into the wood of the Charred Oak. Morrigan had sat at Sharnor's table and was heavily drinking a flaggan of Wild Brey, a beverage carried by many a Questing Knight, and just enough to suffice a Thurst. Sharnor poured over the Parchment Morrigan had brought with him. Wether the Shaman could read the Script was unclear, but his face seemed grave, and seemed to change as he viewed the markings.Eventually he sat back in his chair, and looked at Morrigan. " I need to show you something "Sharnor gestured. He rose and Brought over a Glass Ball to the table. He placed it on a stand made of Obsidian. Already a Smokey shean had begun to swirl within the Glass. " I know of the one you seek"
Sarnor said. " Morrigan, Observe" Sharnor placed his hand above the Glass ball, and closed his Eyes.

As Morrigan watched the Glass ball a vision began to Materialise within the swirling Smoke. Savage Images of slaughtered Warriors, strewn remains upon a Bloodied Field of battle. Possesed Souls of the damned recruited for a single purpose, to Conquer and destroy. The Vision then changed. A serene grassy Hillside, Villagers gathered harvesting crops, just as an Army, swept the Hillside and layed waste to all that Breathed free Air. These Warriors left nothing alive, and forever changed the Vision of peace to the Turmoil and Devastation of a wasteland. Again the vision changed to that of the Plains of Damnation, the Great Platue of the Gods. Mighty wars had been waged and fought here, and as Morrigan watched the Vision was overshadowed by an immense Dark shape, standing Triumphant above all.
It formed a figure, slender in Appearence with long flowing black Hair. The skin was taught and ashen but ripped from Centuries of battle. This Form , this creature possesed the deepest Eyes Morrigan had ever seen. The Vision faded before him, leaving nothing but swirling mist.

" Wait Sharnor , who was that ?" Morrigan rose from his chair, as Sharnor slumped over Exhausted.
" That my Friend, was Atra Lamia " Sharnor Exclaimed. He looked Morrigan directly in the Eyes.
" The Vision would not have been complete, for she chooses not to reveil her self to those of
prying Eye" Morrigan sat back down. " A Woman ?" Morrigan said. " No! " Sharnor looked Grave.
" Not just a Woman, a world Eater, a warrior, a slayer of all" " What you seek and what you ask, is an undertaking of sure Torment, a Fools Quest" Morrigan stood again and walked over to a small Window looking out upon the distant Sea of Blades. " Tell me where i can find her ?" Morrigan asked.
" Only she can return my Raven to me, it is her mark upon this Script, and i shall find her"
" Morrigan , please reconsider what you are to do ?" Sharnor said," She will think nothing of ending your Life here, and casting you to a Survitude of Horror afterwards"
" Then that is my Destiny my Friend" Morrigan turned to look at Sharnor. " Tell me where i might find her ?" Morrigan asked again.


Coming Soon - Into the Fires of Hell

G.M.W 2010