Sigil: City of Doors

Din'enna sat down in the water of the bath, knowing she was alone. She was in pain, but she was always in pain, and she was covered in blood. The bath both was meant to clean her off and provide a comfortable place to reverie and regain all the lost momentum and energy nearly dying of blood loss had stolen. It was meant to be comforting...

...But not this time.

Instead, what would have been best off as twisted nightmares revealed themselves to the scarred and mute drowess. Din'enna could not pull herself out as the memories replayed in her head.

~~~~~~

The scene entered in from confusion. Din'enna was standing over a spider-shaped and blood altar, carrying an arachnid-shaped sacrificial knife in her hand. She looked down, walking closer towards the drowess strapped to the altar.

The drowess below her whimpered. "Please...I've b-been faithful...I h-have...Please, M-malla Yathrin..."

Din'enna grinned, taking enjoyment from seeing the drow girl whimper. "You will be released and your blood will serve to satiate the Spider Queen's hunger for a day. You should feel honoured!"

As she spoke the last word, Din'enna dug the dagger into the stomach of the prisoner - careful not to kill just yet. She grinned again as she watched the blood flow from the wound. "You are weak, jalil. You could have been so much, but you are weak...Perhaps that is why you flocked to the dancing whore in the first place."

The prisoner screamed more in pain as Din'enna cut across her chest. "You will be alive until the very end, little moon dancer. You will feel every cut, every incision...Until I grow tired and finally give you death."

~~~~~~

The scene this time was quite reversed. Din'enna was now the one strapped onto the altar, and another face was holding the knife above her. The yathrin hovering over her gave a small "tsk" before she began speaking. "Vasaste, is it not ironic? You who fed Lolth with much blood are about to be fed to Lolth."

Din'enna managed a small smile. "I am content with what I have done. I have wounded your city more than you realize, malla yath'tallar."

The yath'tallar smirked a little. "And now you will die for it, Vasaste. A pity...You were always interesting."

Din'enna closed her eyes as she felt the dagger come near to her face and dig into the skin. She felt the searing pain as her face was carved into, but did not cry out. She remained quiet.

The yath'tallar spoke again, "Even if you escape this, Vasaste...You will always bear the mark of the heretic. And you will die. How far the mighty has fallen...To think you were both Yath'tallar and Ilharess of Alaenrae but a few days ago."

The scene faded from Din'enna's mind as she felt the knife stab a few more times. The pain was so real, it couldn't have been a nightmare...

~~~~~~

Din'enna's eyes snapped open as she felt Azar'ii poking her on the shoulder. She nearly jumped out of her seat in the bath, but instead she slowly stood up, sluggishly and shakily walking over to the table a couple of rooms away where she had left her writing material.

Din'enna took the charcoal and wrote, "I remembered my name, and I remembered more than I wanted."

Din'enna knew her name...But she was starting to enjoy not knowing herself.

...Vasaste Alaenrae...

She felt stronger now - she no longer needed her friends' supervision to make sure she didn't accidentally collapse in the water or die of some similar accident. That was a vast improvement.

Din'enna had another memory brought to light from reverie though. This time, it was a much farther memory - she felt only as old as a fourteen year old human would - but the memory was still frightening in its own way.

~~~~~~

Once again, she stood before the altar. There were only two in the room though - Din'enna, and the one instructing her.

The older yathrin gave a smile down to Din'enna. "Your eyes' glow could be interpreted as a mark...That one way or another, you are meant to do something great...Or terrible."

The yathrin then turned away, walking towards the altar. "Blood will be required of you...Whether your own or a heretic's. The altar must never run dry...No matter what the circumstances. You, Vasaste, are gifted. You may be the new yath'abban, but I know you will have no troubles keeping the altar soaked and running with blood. Lolth will be pleased with one such as you at her side."

So many memories were haunting her reverie and she was beginning to wish she didn't know who she was. She had already pieced together a few things...

Her name is Vasaste Alaenrae.

She was a yathrin.

She was an ilharess.

She was sacrificed to Lolth.

She was dead, possibly. It seemed likely.

She felt like a monster. She hated everything so far that had been revealed to her - she was beginning to despise Vasaste. She didn't want to remember any more, but the memories kept coming and coming...

Make them stop...Make them go away...

Din'enna pleaded silently with Ehlonna for release, but wasn't given any. The goddess was ignoring her. What was happening?

This did not feel good at all. With her prayers ignored and the memories flowing forth and torturing her, what was she to do?

Din'enna had never felt so alone...