| After she is done vomiting a second and a third and a fourth and a fifth time, Emeline raises at long last from the bed she had been deposited onto. Her legs wobble and almost give up under her, but through some fortunate miracle, she manages to not fall down and break a bone. Her hand finds the string of the lamp on the nightstand, and the room is bathed in rays of gold. Her few possessions are all neatly stacked by the window, and as sparse as the furnishing is, it sure is pretty. The walls are green, and she is quite sure all the wood in the room is oak; the curtains are made of heavy velvet, and it shimmers under the gentle lighting - It's an expensively done mansion, that's for sure, she thinks. Then the master behind it must be someone rich. Someone influential. Could it be the Einzberns, after all?...No, certainly. They fell too deep, they're powerless on their own, money be damned. Then who? Who could have enough power to make such dangerous game start again? A pang of searing pain wracks her brain, then, and she sucks in a breath through her teeth. No matter. I haven't got the time to ponder on this. Not now, at least. She sets on gathering her bearings; she must leave this place at once, find somewhere to stay, find somewhere to disappear to. Her world still swivels, though, and as there is a bottle of medicine and a tall glass of water set nicely on a coffee table by the couch, she decides to risk it. "Highly concentrated ibuprofen," she muses aloud, before downing no less than four pills in one swallow. Her throat hurts, and she winces. "Convenient." The rest of the bottle she pockets. She finds a tab of mints, and after popping two for safety, she quietly takes hold of her small luggage, and makes a run for the door. It gets fuzzy, after that; hours tick, and next thing she knows it's midnight and she's in a room on the second floor of the local motel. Emeline starts to feel uneasy. Her head hurts again - a weight on her brain presses down down down. Sighing, she massages her temples, pinches the bridge of her nose, inhales and exhales slowly, willing the discomfort to go away. Something in her is screaming to run back home, but the fear is quickly shot down by the irresistible desire to hold the Grail. "I will hold it. I will hold it with these hand, make it do my bidding. No matter the cost," she mumbles to herself, almost as if in a daze. Cutting up her palm with one of her daggers, she makes quick work of drawing the required circle for the summoning. The vessel is laid in the middle of it, poised with gentle hands. Wait. Vessel? She blinks, confused, but there's nothing on the floor other than her own blood. I must be hallucinating, she decides firmly. Too much ibuprofen, perhaps. Or a side effect of whatever whoever is behind this War did to me. No matter. It sounds like half-assed coercion of self, but she digresses that. She's got bigger things to worry for, in this moment. Three-fold, three times over, three times under, three times across - I offer this penance, my blood a sacrifice. Let my voice be what guides your way. I reached in the darkness, and offered my soul. Now, I call for you. Will you be the blade that severs destiny? Will you be the tool that serves me? Will you be the hands that seize my victory? If so, then step forth. Arise from the fog, from within the shadow of time; unbury yourself. Revive in this form, arise, anew. Come undone. From the chalice, be reborn. I command: Live! A flash of light so bright she feels she'll go blind covers the room for a split second, and disappears as quickly as it came. Darkness replaces it, and a thick smog spews forth from the center point of the circle. The process was successful. A Servant had been called into the world. Emeline rises from the floor, fists clenched. She squints at the contour of the being in the middle of the circle, ignoring the flicking lights and the uneasiness growing roots in her stomach. "Come forth," she calls, softly. |
 |
| Darkness. Emptiness. Nothingness. This existence was all she knew. How many years have passed? How long had she been curled up into a fetal position and floating about in oblivion? 10 years? 20 years? 6 scores!? She did not know. All she knew was the crippling void and the agonized cries her victims. Was this hell? She had never been of the religious sort...or was she? She could not remember. All there was was herself and the souls of the mournful damned. Echoing. Ringing in her ears for eternity. Would someone, anyone, for the love of whatever gods they worship, deliver her from this prison? I offer this penance, my blood a sacrifice. ...What was that? Surely just another voice amongst the many... Let my voice be what guides your way. No...this one was different somehow. I reached in the darkness, and offered my soul. Yes...this was no ordinary voice she heard. This was... Will you be the blade that severs destiny? yes... Will you be the tool that serves me? Yes. Will you be the hands that seize my victory? YES If so, then step forth. "Gladly." She answered, uncurling into a standing position and observing her surroundings. There was a pale light reaching out to her. There was a pale warmth caressing her. Arise from the fog, from within the shadow of time; unbury yourself. She walked towards the light in a confident stride. Revive in this form, arise, anew. Come undone. From the chalice, be reborn. She reached out to the light. I command: Live! She grasped the light tightly with both of her hands and was swiftly enveloped by it. So warm...life is so warm... A thick cloud of smog spewed forth from the center of the circle, at first threatening to suffocate the entire room. A delicate shadow emerged from the abyss, eyes glowing with power. The smog lowered, covering only the floor and revealing the figure of a young woman in an elegant gown. Her hair was stark white and her blue, hawk-like eyes threatened to pierce through anything and everything under its gaze. She gave a wry smile at the girl in front of her, asking almost sarcastically "You rang?" |
TamoballDec 30, 2014 4:05 PM
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| Surprisingly enough, a beautiful woman had heeded her call - and if it had all went as planned and the person before her was who she had called for, then this was a minor personal victory aside from a huge tactical advantage. I knew the Ripper was a woman! Father owes me a grand. It all taken into account, Emeline's face breaks into a smile. "As a matter of fact, I did," she answers to the presented rhetorical question, laughing. Her lady Servant makes her a bit queasy, but half of the tremor in her muscles is most likely from suddenly giving up a large amount of mana combined with the fact that she can't quite recall when was the last time she sat down and had a proper meal. She does a tiny reverence. "You must be Assassin, correct? I am Calantha Emeline Fortuna de Goldwin-Lyle. It's easier to just call me Emi. I will be your Master, but you don't necessarily have to address me as such." |
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| The woman made a slight bow and answered, "So it seems." Her eyes darted around the room, falling back onto Emeline occasionally. Her smile widened into a sadistic grin as her focus shifted entirely to her new master. "Well aren't you a pretty thing? I do so hope you aren't using your charms for profit. It would be...a shame for someone to find you dead in the street one morning~" And by that she meant the opposite. Bloodlust and hatred emanated from her so thickly you could almost cut it with a knife...almost like she used to do to those wretched whores. "But you're not like that...no no..." Her grin faded. "You are like me. We reek of death." |
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| Emeline's smile falls, at that, but her eyes still glint. "You've a keen nose, that's for certain," she says, studying Assassin's face. "I am a necromant. I command the dead and make them dance to the song in my veins like puppets without strings. Their souls call to me, wail, plead. I've yet to walk past a cemetery and not be asked to help someone see their son or wife or mother one more time." She seats herself on the bed. "Using a pretty face can only get you so far. Raising someone's mother from the gave and making her kill them might not get you anywhere, but it sure makes for a nice show, don't you think?" |
|
| "I am particularly loathe to admit a fascination in treating others as toys...and yet, even with my history, I cannot bring myself to do so. I move in, swiftly cut the threads of life, take a prize, and move on." Jack replied, seemingly unpleased with her masters notion. "I live in the shadows, after all, and am not one to appreciate showmanship...or am I? ...I can't quite remember..." |
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