Darkness and Light

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Lux
Posts: 2
Joined: Sat Jan 16, 2021 6:57 pm

Posted by Lux »




Extended description: Nomiel


Image
Credit: Leshiye-Art


"The most sinister lies are the ones spoken as truth."




Introduces as: . Nomiel .-. Nôh-miel (much like the 'no-' in the british 'north')
Apparent race: . Movanic deva
Height: . Just above six feet, or ~184 cm
Physique: . Lithe, like all of her kind
Attire: . Exclusively black plate with some plain metal details

Description:
The first impression of this deva is one of contrasts.

Her hair, wings and eyes are all pure white, and her alabaster skin a shade beneath. Her armour, while not possessing any wicked spikes or sharp angles, is nonetheless black and clearly intended for combat. While several details of it retain their original undyed metal, the larger parts, such as the cuirass, are such a deep, polished black that they act much like mirrors, giving distorted, eerie reflections of the world around. Kept loose, the long, snowy hair is allowed to freely flow around her shoulders, a few strands often breaking the reflections of the upper plates.
.Her shield, when seen, is noticeably different: seemingly made from some kind of silvery material and artfully shaped and decorated, it looks much more the part of what a deva might be expected to use. And while she is lithe there's a straightness in her posture and an ease in the way she wears her armour that is suggestive of both strength and habit, even though her hands lack the width and the callouses that are so characteristic to mortal warriors.

What may initially seem like cosmetics reveal to be naturally black pigment around her eyes and lips, the latter more heavily around the outer edges and growing pinker towards the centre. While the nature of her eyes makes it difficult to discern where she's looking, her tendency to turn her head to fully face the target of her attention makes it easier to deduce. Her voice is bell-like and clear, with an undernote one octave lower that gives it a rich body and pleasant chime. It is a voice easy to listen to, despite its inhuman qualities.

She can easily give a watchful impression, pupilless eyes staring unseeing into the distance and hardly a muscle moved. Another impression one might get is a sort of fearlessness; conviction.

All of this is framed by the graceful arch of two large wings, feathers pristinely white and tantalizingly soft looking.



Music that inspired:
Heroes of Might & Magic V - Haven Town Theme



Lux
Posts: 2
Joined: Sat Jan 16, 2021 6:57 pm

Posted by Lux »


.

... at least a hundred and thirty seven years ...



The streets had changed. Most of the buildings had moved or were new, but the major landmarks remained the same. The presence of the Temple of the Abyss was such a pestilent weight upon my senses that I could barely come within a hundred feet of it - that much remained the same.

I walked, relearning the paths and finding anew similar portals to those I had once known, stable and safe for use. I began to speak again with the city’s inhabitants, interactions that were so beautifully mundane compared to how I had spent the last century.

It was a new city to me, though I had been there before. It was new to me, perhaps because I was the one who was new. Perhaps I knew now how mortals felt when they started a new chapter in their lives.

I walked and I watched, letting Sigil's familiar cacophony wash over me.




* * * * *



In the Dark




I wept without weeping, rivulets of lukewarm water mingling with the dried blood that the rag coaxed from my cheeks. It ran down my face and my neck and in under the sleeveless silk tunic I had once been asked to wear in the name of modesty. Once upon a time it had been white, held up by golden clasps upon my shoulders, but that had been a long time ago. The recurring sound of water when my caretaker dipped the cloth into the bowl nearby was the only sound I could hear; she worked silently. We were in a large stone chamber, one bare and small by the palace's measurements but large even so, irregularly shaped and with a thin slit for a window the ray of light from which I had used to count the passing of the days. The floor was flat, polished light grey stone, like the stonework in the walls and much everything else in the palace. It was cool to the touch, keeping out the intense heat from the sunny days I had seen outside. Not once since my summoning had I been outside, and I had only been taken to a few other places other than the chamber where I had originally been held in the mages' quarters, but it hadn't taken me long to know the nation for what it was: one of decadence and corruption, of absolute power and abuse of those without.

I could not remember her coming in; I had been roused by her compassion, and the artificial tears cleansing my face. This was unusual for me, and I wondered briefly if I was experiencing shock, though I didn't really feel any such effects.
Though I could not see her, I could sense her. Underneath the fear and the shame and the petty competitiveness she struggled with there was good in her heart. She did the best she could in a world that continuously robbed and bereft her. That was why she was here.
I realised that I recognised her, even without seeing her face. I had known her when she was a child, but I had never learned her name. She had been a girl with clever eyes and quick feet, running messages from the mages who held me to other parts of the palace. Often I had felt her eyes upon me, drinking me in with a mix of fear and fascination, and on one rare occasion when there was no one nearby and her curiosity overcame her fear we had spoken. Soon after, as my favour fell, they had locked me away. And now ...
Guilt. It stuck tighter to her than her skin.
. "This is not your fault."
Despite trying to speak silently, my voice caused a low, reverberating echo through the chamber. She paused her motions, and I was certain that the sound had frightened her. She was not here on orders; she was here out of compassion, and I knew well what she faced if she was caught. I lowered my voice to a whisper.
. "You could not have prevented it."
The touch returned.
. "I couldn’t sleep, knowing you-- knowing you were down here, like this."
Her voice broke while she spoke, and I imagined tears on her cheeks.
The spectacle hadn't been public. It had been as discreet as they could make it ... but the palace held no secrets. Those who knew I existed would also know of my mutilation. I didn't think that many of them knew of me, anymore, as I had been hidden away for almost two decades and they were a people fond of disposing those who failed their superiors and who knew too much. It had taken a relatively short time until I was no longer considered a mirage, an embodiment of their twisted thoughts of purity. A year after my summoning my status as a pet had plummeted. I was exiled to this chamber, alone but relatively unharmed.
Until recently.

Image
Credit: dystomaniart

I could hear her wringing the rag out what seemed like a final time, leaving my face damp and cooling in the air. The soft touch of something dry followed.
Though time and companionship meant different things to me than to mortals, nonetheless I found solace in her presence. I didn’t know how long I had been confined to darkness after they had taken my eyes. Perhaps it had only been for a few days. Perhaps it had been longer. Now I had no way to measure time now other than to count it, but I wondered how much I had missed, drifting in the dark, as I had missed her entry in the chamber. The blooded crust on my face had been dry as dust.
I felt her place something, most likely the dry rag, over my eyes, and reach around to tie it around the back of my head.
On instinct I reached out to grasp her lower arm. It was soft, alive, warm, and I knew it had the bronzed skin all of her people possessed, though I could no longer see it. I held it gently, no more than a touch of skin upon skin. And from the bottom of my soul, two words came out:
. "Free me."
My voice reverberated again through the chamber, and through the touch I could feel her trembling and fumbling, frightened and eager to get away.
. "I -- I can’t. I'm sorry."
Her whispered response was thick with fear, and she pulled back hurriedly, breaking the touch. There was a scrape of ceramics against stone and a slosh of water being spilled on the floor. A few droplets hit my knee. She left the circle in which I had to remain, and while the door closed carefully, it left a heavy echo in the dark.




* * * * *




During the beginning of my imprisonment, when I had first been summoned, I was treated very well. I was transferred between circles in various parts of the palace to be at the disposal of different branches of their scholars. One had even been drawn in the very hall of the rulers, a room so large it could have held all but the grandest of the cathedrals I had seen in various primes. It was a lavish palace; soft tapestries dressed the naked walls, warm carpets soothed the feet of the rich as they swept through the ever shaded, cool corridors while the sun baked the world outside. They were expert botanists; every room and corridor was alive with fresh, green plants. Had it not been for the corruption, it would have been a beautiful place. I saw it crawling like maggots in the hearts of almost everyone I met; like a disease they passed it on, purposefully infusing those who resisted it, until all gave in or were crushed under its weight. It was a nation broken by the selfish indulgence of their nobility.

The palace was built of a light grey stone, natural veins used to form elaborate patterns on some of the grander walls. Every single one of the nobility wore white - it was a sign of their station. They were obsessed with it, thinking it symbolised purity and rightfulness - such as the right to rule. They augmented their wear with gold and bright flowers, and white animals were seen as holy. They were a people of warm climes, and all had features that allowed them protection against the relentless fist of the sun. My arrival sent a ripple through the court. They had never seen a deva before, let alone a movanic. I was treated as the most exotic of guests, perhaps as they would have treated a foreign royalty, though one they had within their grasp, for I was never allowed even a moment's freedom. Overall their grasp of magic was rudimentary, as they were early in their understanding of it, favouring other scholarly pursuits, but unfortunately for me they understood better the theory of summoning magic. I was never without a guard in those days, or moved from one circle to another without being bound.

Image
Credit: SkavenZverov

They wanted to know much that I refrained from telling them, and it didn't take long before they began to realise that neither rewards nor threats and punishments were efficient in affecting my choices. In the end, the mages who had control over me were severely punished as they failed to produce satisfactory results. For a time they became fervent to prove my usefulness, but it did not end well. The so-called experiments I endured at their hands do not weigh on my mind, but the urgent pleas of some of the mages whose lives were lost remain within my memory. I attempted to navigate the treacherous waters as best I could, for their sake, and give them small, more or less unimportant information about the planes, neither did they understand that I was doing it out of compassion for them, believing they had "succeeded" with me somehow, nor did it help, because in the end the sheer disappointment from their rulers in their lack of control over me meant many of their lives were lost. Their lives were lost, and I was locked away, deemed a failed experiment ... but still too important to set free.

I endured two long stretches of imprisonment in their care and this was the first, during which I still had my eyes.




* * * * *




I think I drifted again, but the next time someone entered I noticed it. The door unlocked and opened slowly, and to my ears with less care than I expected from someone there without permission.
I felt myself being watched for at least a full minute before I decided to speak. Making my voice as quiet and reassuring as I could, I said:
. "I will not harm you."
Soon I heard the soft sound of sandals taking a few steps forward into the chamber. Again I was watched in silence, but this time I remained silent and still, allowing for whatever time was needed for my visitor to make their observations and draw their conclusions. I wondered briefly what kind of an impression I made upon them, sat upon the bare floor blindfolded and in blood-stained wear. Perhaps I evoked pity.
. "If I free you, will you help my mom?"
It was a child's voice. A boy, I thought, of around seven. Something arose from my memory: there had been a sound I hadn't thought of during the messenger woman's visit, just as she left. It could easily have been a quiet ushering of a child who hung by the door, trying to get a glimpse inside.
. "Promise," he pressed, perhaps sensing my hesitation. "Promise that you’ll help my mom."
I considered my words.
. "As much as I would like to," I answered carefully and gently, respectful of the pain within him that had forced him to ask, "I cannot make such a promise. It is not freedom if it comes with demands."
I left a pause to allow my words to sink in.
. "If you free me, you must do so because it is what your heart tells you is the right thing to do. Just as I allow my heart to tell me when I must stay and help."
During the long silence that followed, I heard only the quiet breath of the empty room. By its chill, I guessed that it was late night or early morning, but I couldn't be certain.
I knew I might be imagining it, but I got the feeling he was shifting his weight between his feet while he thought about what I had said.
. "I’ll be back", he said before exiting the chamber with some haste, leaving me with the loud echo of the door closing and locking, as well as a vague flicker of doubt - had I been clear enough? Perhaps he had been too young to understand.
I had always been a good judge of character, but this time I found that I wasn't sure if he had been telling the truth or not, if he meant to return. I went back to my rest, to my counting the time, without knowing how much of it I missed.




* * * * *




Instead of the boy returning, soldiers and mages came for me, mages whose voices I recognised from the day they had taken my eyes. I was moved to a deeper part of the palace, carried down winding stairs and ever cooler hallways until the air smelled of moisture and mold. They took me into a chamber that sounded smaller than the one I had been in before, and when they finally left me I felt under my feet that the floor was rougher. I didn't know what they had made the circle out of, as they had carried me over it, but I suspected they had planned it well. They didn't remove the shackles that held me still, but attached them to a chain they held me up with, and so I couldn't move at all.

By the time I had counted that one year had passed, I had decided that it was most likely that the boy had inadvertently alerted the mages, rather than having intended to do so. It was an assessment that had been difficult for me to make; I had come to realise that I had relied heavily on what I could see in mortals' faces to judge their intentions, something I could no longer do. I had settled on a hope that he and his family had not been adversely affected by their contact with me.

When I had counted five years, I no longer thought about them.

When I had counted ten years since my move to the lower cell I strongly suspected that I lost a lot of time, because the darkness had begun to recede in favour of things I could only understand as visions, or dreams, as I had heard dreams described. It started vaguely at first, fragments of images and sound that made little sense on their own and merely afforded me a moment's distraction, but with time they grew clearer and I began to get more and different sensations, such as sometimes walking along with someone down a corridor, or being part of a conversation far away. I wasn't certain that what I was experiencing was true - after all, it was possible that some trick was being played upon me - but having no other distraction from my frozen confinement, and getting no sense of it being malicious, I made no attempt to reject them.

With time, it was as though my confinement was merely one of the dreams that I had, one of many, and rarely the most prominent.

There was relief in that.









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