Topic: Angelus quod Everto

Lazarus Lovelock

Date: 2009-06-27 16:28 EST
Nightmares

Lazarus awoke with a start, flying into an upright position, hands on either side of him to shakily support his weight. Those crimson, blood like optics were wide and filled with shock, as if he?d just seen something that completely flipped his word upside down.

A cold sweat had his simple black shirt clinging to his torso as his chest heaved up and down with the struggle of steadying his ragged, uneven breath. Slowly, Lazarus? body stopped shaking, and he shifted into a more comfortable seated position, dropping his face into his hands, to run them up and through his hear as he heaved out a sigh.

What was that? That scream, that bloodied image of defiled purity? A dream- no, a nightmare. He shook his head faintly, Lazarus Lovelock, did not have nightmares. Never, had a nightmare visited him in his unnaturally long life, he just simply had no fears. But whatever that was, it terrified him, struck him to his very core.

Looking across the room at the small mirror that rested atop his cheap dresser, Lazarus met his reflection, stared those sinful crimson eyes down with a sneer of contempt. Lazarus didn?t have fears, Lazarus didn?t have nightmares.

Shifting, he lay back down, settled his head back onto his pillow, and closed his eyes. She screamed again and they jerked open. He found himself staring up, but not at the ceiling, rather, at the image that burned into his mind.

A woman, she was small, fragile, and broken. Pure, lily white skin was covered in the faded brown taint of dried blood, hair matted to her head, that slight, always thin body seemed at the breaking point, starved, wounded. Who could have done this to so pure a creature? Then he saw them, soulful, dark eyes, feathery, white wings. His heart jumped, and for the life of him, Lazarus couldn?t tell why.

Who was she? Why did he dream of her so? Then he felt it, felt that tell tale tug that had first drawn him away from his Hellish plane of existence. It was her, it was the reason he?d abandoned his previous life.

She was here, somewhere. He was closer than ever.

ASeraphimFallen

Date: 2009-06-28 20:23 EST
It was every night, every night, without fail came those horrible nightmares- no, not nightmares, that implied dreaming. These visions that haunted her sleeping hours were not dreams, but revisitations from her recent spell of torture. Everything was dark, filled with back bowing pain and terror, mad eyes fully of a perverse glee. Laoell's sleep was fitful at best, coming in snatches during all hours, day or night. Outside she was fairly composed, baring the wane, wane smile of battered survivor in their later stages of recovery. But her insides were a battle ground, trembling and fearful, because every time, without fail, her eyes would close to a playground of terrifying replays.

There was one thing that was steadily growing different though, and it stemmed from a horrific moment during her trails by torture, that feeling... That tug, that need, that thirst; the presence that called her to Fall. This sensation stuck, growing stronger each night, blossoming into vision as a pair of dark, blood red eyes. Normally such a color would make her shiver, for red was the abstract evidence of her torment, it'd painted her skin in varying shades during her captivity with the Lich; but not this color, not in these eyes. Every night as they grew more vivid and clear, they began to slowly take up the place of her nightmares, swallowing her nights whole and lengthening the time of her sleep that was spent actually sleeping.

The delicate one would not tell Vilrath of this, something deep down in the pit of her being told her not to. Not yet anyway, no... This feeling, it was that feeling. A feeling worth dying for, worth plunging for, worth giving away an eternity of unparalleled paradise for. The thought still took her breath away in one gentle, near silent murmur.

"Love..."

But love was blind, Laoell did not know his face. Only those eyes, those piercing, breath stealing eyes that had been calming her nightly terrors. The slacken nightmare's grip upon her sleeping hours gave way to more things like walking and eating. Strength, however frail a thing, was returning to little woman; but that feeling also grew, staying strong for her at the only time when her drow just couldn't follow and protect.

It was night, and it was warm despite the lack of sun. Vilrath stood from his chair in the corner, ever watchful, but Laoell would not speak. Her hands found the cool support of the stony windowsill as those stiff wings unfurled tentatively, basking in the soft breeze that ruffled through the bone white feathers. Crickets chirped their lazy lament, fireflies had begun to flicker through the thick air of summer, and those heady bell blossoms that climbed her tower were the sweetest of perfumes; all little band-aids that patched the cracked nature of her soul.

He was here, somewhere. She was closer than ever.

Lazarus Lovelock

Date: 2009-06-29 17:34 EST
He woke once more with a start, another image burnt into his mind; wings. Lazarus glanced about, trying to gauge just what time it was by the darkness that fell like a blanket over him. Evidently, it was well past midnight.

Sighing, he slumped forward, his face falling into his hands, fingers kneading his scalp softly as he fought to clear his mind of the disturbing images of such torture. Usually, acts of cruelty would only make the cynical man smirk in faint, callous amusement. But this was different, things were different, she was different.

The crack of a whip was a sound that rang over and over again in his mind, the muffled cries of pain, the bowed back, bent in the most pitifully distorted manner of discomfort possible, echoed, played, repeated, over and over again in his head, plaguing both his hours asleep and otherwise.

Knowing that this night, sleep wouldn?t claim him again, he crawled from his bed, dressing quickly, to disappear into the city. It was early in the morning, perhaps two or three in the morning. The city was dead quiet, eerily peaceful. He welcomed this.

Walking was a distraction, walking removed the foul taint of torture from his mind?s eye, and instead left room for wondering, debate, and reason. Soon, he thought to himself. He?d find out more soon enough, he could feel it. That tug that had caused him to abandon his dark ways, to leave his Hellish plane of existence for the mortal realm, to sacrifice the bulk of his power to find her; it called to him.

ASeraphimFallen

Date: 2009-06-29 23:56 EST
Muddled thoughts, silent musings for countless hours during even the most mundane and distracting of tasks; Laoell was wrought over the eyes that chased away her nightly terrors. Those eyes, so dark and beautifully crimson... The were like a cloak, a warm, comforting darkness in the blinding light her vivid recollections of pain painted her in. The delicate maiden came to crave this warmth more and more, a longing that in truth, only helped speed her recovery. Sleep was the key, and it was there her solace was found in a duo of ways.

Something in what the Valendria witch had said in that voice so haunting and ominous, something about seeking through one's dreams. Of following that feeling, wrapping herself in the sensation she felt echo through to her across the realm of unconscious reveries.

That night, as the delicate creature settled into the cool, sweet comfort of her heather imbued sheets, sleep came fast and merciful. For the first time since her arrival home, there were no visions of terror and blood, no... Only the warm, gentle creep of shadows, as if she stared down a dark, dark hallway with no light to guide her save for the dilation of her own wide, ebon eyes. Fingers sought ahead of her through this comforting darkness, the very air caressing her bare skin like a silken sea of velvet. Breath caught in her throat then as those crimson eyes sparked to life at the end of the tunnel.

Her steps felt clumsy, thick, hindered; but on she walked, her pace struggling to pick up as those eyes hovered just ever closer with each labored step. Upon looking down though, Laoell stifled a scream in her throat.

The ground was inches thick with soupy, disfigured flesh and blood. Bones were noticed now as they brushed across her bare feet as she trudged through the ungodly debris. The smell hit her then as she stared, mouth agape in pure horror at the sight of so much ruined muck sucking down her progress. With a great effort, the fallen one tore her eyes from her feet and the mess it bogged through. No, she mustn't look, she couldn't look. It was like seeing the blood from a wound; the vision made it all the more painful and real.

Tears welled in the maiden's eyes, but she fought her way further through the bloody muck, her fingers grasping at the velvety air as she sobbed aloud.

"Please... Please don't leave me. I need you."

Something musical called in that dreamworld cry, silvery and sonorous, imbuing the natural of her heavenly song. It wasn't sing-song, nor was it a lyric of sorts, but something in-between and ethereal; beguiling as it was beckoning.

She was calling him, praying for him. Would he hear her?

Lazarus Lovelock

Date: 2009-06-30 00:38 EST
??I need you.?

For the third night in a row, Lazarus awoke with a start, muddled images filling his head, swirled and distorted beyond recognition. One thing reigned supreme under all those encompassing thoughts, those words, that voice, that call.

It was such a heavenly sound. Those soulful words, that heart tugging call, rang again and again in his ears, tugging him up once more, from his bed earlier than what was healthy for his new, mortal body, and had him once again, preparing for a late night venture into the city.

He was being called, his steps, though seemingly aimless, were slowly angling to follow that tug on his heart. Slowly, he made it to the point where the city and forest met, and continued past the trees, followed that call that rang over and over again. This time, not in his mind, but in the air, he could hear it, she was nearby.

As Lazarus ambled along, he noticed a clearing just past the trees; a small home there that looked like it belonged in a fairy tale. The voice was louder than ever, the words so very sweet and demanding to his ears that his heart stopped for a moment.

He continued onward, past the trees, the drow?s wards doing nothing to halt his progress, until he stood just outside the door. His hand lifted, reaching out for the door, then it fell away, the world was black.

Lazarus woke up suddenly, jerking into an upright position with chest heaving pants, running his hands through his dark tangle of hair as those crimson eyes stared downward at the sheets that covered his legs. A cold, film of sweat covered his body, that black shirt clung to him like a second skin. The room was quiet; there was no one in the small apartment but himself.

So then?what was that voice?

"Please... Please don't leave me. I need you."

Who was it, that continued to speak to him, to call him?

He blinked, a word coming to mind. He struggled to grasp its meaning, its roots, not understanding what it was, until he whispered it aloud, in a hushed, reverent tone of voice.

?Laoell?? a name.