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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 16, 2008 3:03:59 GMT -5
[The following assumes Wraith can get a larger room with two beds, bathtub and a fireplace. If not, the following takes place in her existing room. Hilathic, feel free to jump in if you wish.  If not, ignore the bit of dialogue that follows. ] Wraith sits by her son's side for a long while, saying very little, as she strokes his face and begins to sing a soft lullaby. Not that she needs to say much; her voice as she sings, her gentle touch, and her relaxed posture, speaks of the peace and happiness in her heart that no words can express. She tucks the blankets around his chin, strokes the hair back from his eyes, and wipes away the smudge of dirt on his chin; fussing as any mother would. The Dustman has since stripped down to a threadbare linen slip and woollen hose, that may've once been cream coloured and a soft grey; unveiling a thin, frail body that really has no need for a corset. Her waistline has been diminished by starvation - though that could also be her metabolism - and both her hipbones and ribs stick out. Her long hair, freshly brushed and left to fall over her shoulders and breasts in soft waves, is dry; not unlike her pale skin. Yet another sign of malnutrition, or her fiendish heritage. After a while, when she is satisfied that the child is sleeping peacefully, she rises from her hour long vigil. Yawning wearily and stretching until her back pops, she moves away from the bed, and stands by the window. Wiping away the layer of frost, she peers outside, passively watching the nightlife of the City of Doors. "Cutter, something troubles me. It's about my blood father; X'artru Blackmantle. This occured to be before, but I didn't think to ask then." She frowns, and fiddles with her labret stud. "I-I would like to know more about him, to find him even. But I wouldn't even know where to begin. Could you help me in my search? I feel that, if I find him, it might lay to rest my uncertainty, and lend some meaning to my existence." She shrugs, and sighs despondently. |
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Post by hilathic on Apr 22, 2008 23:06:26 GMT -5
Hilathic lays on the large fluffy bed stuffed with Aasimar feathers, as naked as the day he was born, arms crossed under his pillow, face down. His tail leaps from left to right and back again as it sweeps over his scaly legs excited to be free of it's restrictive clothing. Hilathic watches Wraith as she looks out the window. "Don't know if I'm going to be able to sleep on this bed, it's to soft. Feels like a woman under me," Hilathic seems to be talking to the whole room or maybe his harmonica that sits on the pillow just under his chin.
As Wraith begins to speak the glazed look in Hilathic's eyes suddenly disappear as he listens intently to each word. "Your Father? Blackmantle.? I believe my father Arkham Darkblade, was friends with another Blackguard named Blackmantle. He was a human though. What do you know of your father?"
And... Can dragging up the past really create meaning in the present," Hilathic asks?
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 23, 2008 2:23:29 GMT -5
A light rain, fine as grey mist, begins to fall, splattering on the frosty glass, and drizzling down the window panes. Night had long since set in, strangling the light from the Cage, enshrouding Her in smog over the Lower Ward, and heavy grey haze elsewhere. Still the rain was no deterence to the Sensatesl; in fact, it seemed to bring many of them out, in droves that flocked to the theatres, art galleries, playhouses and taverns.
Idly Wraith traced her name, Uathach Blackmantle, in the fog upon the window, and stared at it for a long while, wondering; what does it mean? Shaking her head, banishing the despondency that hung over her like Sigillian rainclouds, she turns away from the window.
Hilathic lay naked on the bed, mumbling into the pillow and complaining about the softness of the mattress. She blushed, and demurely looked away. At least he had the decency to lay face down, keeping himself reasonably covered.
His idle remark, "Feels like a woman under me," makes her blush even more, and she fiddles uneasily with the neckties of her slip. She hated admitting it, but the comment made her feel uneasy; it was a poignant reminder that it had been so long...
Has it really been that long? Wraith idly wonders, and blushes again when she realises what she was thinking about. It would do her no good thinking such things.
Composing herself with a deep breath, she sits in the chair between Hilathic's and Aerin's beds, and runs her hands over her legs; smoothing the crinkles from her threadbare gown. There was no need for it. Though her clothes were old and worn out, she took good care of them. It was more a distraction, to keep her mind - and her eyes - from wandering.
"I know very little of my father. Only what I found among my adopted father's belongings when he passed away." She breathes deeply, evenly, forcing back the tightness in her throat. "It seems that he - X'artru, a cambion, my sire - was a criminal, wanted by the Harmonium and the Mercykillers." She whispers, and plucks idly at a pulled thread. "I still have the old arrest warrant, if you wanted to have a look at it."
Wraith sighs again, and folds her hands in her lap. "I-I don't know if exhuming the past will lend any meaning to my existence." She says with all honesty, staring at the door opposite her. "There seems to be... very little that means anything at all; aside from my son, the Art and my music, the only things that offer any comfort.
I could sit here, tell you my whole life story, as I have with others I might've called friend, had I known them better and believed differently, but why? How will reopening old wounds, and reliving that pain serve me now? It will only make me cry... And I've cried too much already." She murmurs, and glances at Hilathic.
"And the Dead don't cry, cutter."
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Post by hilathic on Apr 23, 2008 11:40:05 GMT -5
"You know there really is no point in trying to make sense of it all. Just know that it is. It will help keep you from going mad with worry and wonder.
What I know of the Blackguards, they where human thugs and assassins of a Tanar'ri Baroness, Shellindie Mendt. Well trained in their arts, they had bounties and warrants from Sigil to the Nine hells."
Pausing a moment as if debating something in his own mind, "If you do have the warrant I would like to see it. It very well could give details as to who your father may have been."
Bardic Knowledge +6
[dice=20+6][rand=51419084199015032886208558468883855512364327663443036301334522375]
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 23, 2008 23:11:53 GMT -5
Sighing, Wraith vacates her seat, and retrieves her backpack from the foot of her bed. She drags it back to her seat by the window. Pushing the chair closer to Hilathic's bed, she sits down again, and sifts through the assorted contents, until she finds what she is looking for; a rumpled old sheet of parchment, clearly marked as an arrest warrant for one X'artru Blackmantle.
"I don't know how this will help. The only impression it gives me is that he's a criminal on the run. Although you know as well as I do what those Hardheads and Red Death can be like... especially with us fiendlings." She mumbles, raking a hand through her hair, and stares down at her hands again.
She was still wearing her gloves. Heaving a sad sigh, she peels them off one by one, carefully folding the old leather. The skin beneath is pale, dry, chapped, and scarred from chemical burns. A faded network of scars, from a knife or scalpel, crisscross the insides of both forearms, from elbow to wrist; about the length of her leather gloves.
It is with a shaking finger that she traces the scar etched into the palm of her hand. "Some things are hard to forget, and harder to ignore, Hilathic." She whispers at length, and meets his eyes again. The large amethyst orbs are glazed with her tears, and a deeper confusion and sorrow.
"I'm curious, how is it you know so much about the Fiends?" She asks, more to change the subject than anything else.
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Post by hilathic on Apr 24, 2008 0:48:08 GMT -5
"I was actually raised in the house of my mother. She was a vicious mother, yet I loved her very much. She was very disappointed in me that I inherited none of her or my father's fighting skills. I did how ever inherit her quick wit and tactical know how. I have spent my whole youth listening in on what I should not have. There is probably not a Tanar'ri family out there that I do not know something about.
Lore and the arcane where always my favored reading. It was only about a year ago that I arrived in Sigil.
My coming here is a whole other story though. One I am sure I will tell you someday." Hilathic adjusts himself on the bed one more time and reaches out to take the crumpled parchment from Wraith and begins to look over the words for clues.
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 27, 2008 21:40:45 GMT -5
"I was actually raised in the house of my mother. She was a vicious mother, yet I loved her very much. She was very disappointed in me that I inherited none of her or my father's fighting skills. I did how ever inherit her quick wit and tactical know how. I have spent my whole youth listening in on what I should not have. There is probably not a Tanar'ri family out there that I do not know something about.
Lore and the arcane where always my favored reading. It was only about a year ago that I arrived in Sigil.
My coming here is a whole other story though. One I am sure I will tell you someday." Hilathic adjusts himself on the bed one more time and reaches out to take the crumpled parchment from Wraith and begins to look over the words for clues. Wraith echoes, and sighs. She stares down at her hands, clasped demurely in her lap, and wonders; what kind of life did Hilathic live? "I knew no love in my family. My adoptive father was a harsh and cruel taskmaster. He was disgusted when he learned I wouldn't follow in his footsteps, and carry on his legacy. As for my mother... my mother," She sobs, wiping the tears from her eyes with shaking fingers. "She was a reckless and indiscrete woman, whose obsession with new sensations cost her her life. She used to bang around the Styx Oarsman, the Blood Pit and other such unsavory places, for her dangerous and exotic liasons. So I think you can well imagine the types she picked up from around there." There's no anger in her voice, only intense sorrow and regret; Regret that she couldn't cure her mother's sickness. Regret that she wasn't by the dying woman's side in her final hours. "Yes, I-I cared very deeply for my mother." She whispers, hesitating as though she wants to say more, but doesn't dare. It's as though expressing the word, love, will cement some nagging thoughts in her mind: she doesn't want to go there yet. She isn't ready to let go, and plunge head on into the unknown. "She passed away five years ago. I carted her remains to the Mortuary, and watched them condemn her body to Gehenna. My heart and my faith in Life died that day. With the final cuts I'd ever inflict upon my body, and a tourniquet on one arm, symbolizing the life I'd soon forsake, I joined the Dustmen by nightfall." Her voice is soft, like the soughing of dead leaves on a frosty winter's morning. She runs a fingertip absently along the inside of her forearm, tracing the longest pink scar. "You may think it strange, but I found solace in the shadow of Death. It comforted me; helped me to understand that the reason why we suffer is because we're trapped here, on the wrong side of True Life... a sublime place, where there is no misery and pain." Glancing at Hilathic, a slow sad smile crosses her tired face. "You're very lucky you knew your mother. Mine most likely died in childbirth; as is the norm for all mortal mothers bearing infernal children." Wraith rises from her chair then, and sits on the bed beside Aerin. With a soft, gentle touch, she strokes the slumbering child's hair. The lullaby that flows from her is sweet, and loving, a radiant example of how one woman, espousing Death, can love a child who is not her own. She has a sublime voice, resonating with the passion, tenderness and beauty of her soul; when she dares to let it out, and express herself. "This is not the first time I've wondered what kit would be like to bear my own child, to feel that life growing inside me." She murmurs to herself, or her son, when the song ends. "But I'm not so naive. Unless I could find a way to protect myself from the child's birth, I would perish. So it will never happen... and I've grown to accept that." Kissing Aerin's cheek, she returns to her chair by the window; and watches Hilathic as he peruses the old arrest warrant. |
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Post by hilathic on Apr 30, 2008 22:57:52 GMT -5
Still eying the warrant in his hands, checking for barely seen numberings or codings that might give some clue to where or who obtained the warrant on her father. Hilathic's tail seemed about to whip it's self off in it's furor and excitement. Hilathic now seemed absorbed in learning whatever he could and was slow to respond to Wraith. "My mother never showed any love or compassion for me. She did how ever show pride and disappointment. I was shown the tactics needed to move ahead of others in my young life, how to make them look foolish while I looked capable. I was taught the ways of war and how to out flank my enemies. I was very good at these things and my mother was proud. It was not what I wanted to do, and my mother was very disappointed. Never did she raise a hand to me though. I saw what she did to her enemies, the pain she inflicted, the joy it gave her. Her true joy though was in the mental abuse, and she was very good at it. One, "I am very disappointed in you," from her would nearly tear my heart from my chest. I would have welcomed a lashing from her whip instead of that. Now... Now I am here, away from plots and schemes, yet still I find myself longing for her approval, looking for ways I might gain it. Looking for ways that will show her I can still be myself and she can be proud of me." Hilathic pauses in the narrative of his life story, and looks up at Wraith as though only now realizing she was still there. "That will never happen though. I am no leader of men or demons. My plots and schemes are worthless and insignificant now." Lower his head he goes back to scouring over the document at hand, hoping for a revaluation.
[Stix: Am I finding anything here. Rolled a 17 for bardic knowledge.]
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Apr 30, 2008 23:57:40 GMT -5
Listening to Hilathic open up to her as she had opened up to him, Wraith winces in sympathy for him, and fell into silence; humbled by his words. How could she be so foolish as to assume that any Tanar'ri, half-cast or otherwise, was capable of even the tiniest shred of love and compassion? They abused all who crossed them, doubly so with those who dared to love them, taking great delight in the pain they inflicted. It was a fact of life, one Hilathic had obviously learned the hard way.
Emotional pain cuts and scars deeper than any other. She sighs, staring at her pale hands. Drake didn't abuse her that way, blessedly, and neither had the Dustmen high-ups - they weren't even capable of it - but Marrak... well, he was a different story entirely. He'd toyed with her in his own way, discarding her when he was done.
"I can't imagine what that must've been like for you. In some ways I must've been lucky then. She shrugs, and wonders; what will I do if I ever find my father? Clenching her cold, pale hands into tight fists Wraith realises she was just as likely to want to kill him - for raping her real mother, and giving her life - as she was to forgive him, and try to find some measure of purity in his heart.
Glancing at Hilathic, a pained expression contorts the Dustman's pale features. If only there was something I could do to ease his pain... reassure him that he is not worthless, and that he doesn't need some Tanar'ri bitch's approval to validate his existence... even if she is his mother.
Startled by the vehemence of her thoughts, Wraith blushes a deep shade of pink, and covers her mouth with shaking fingers; suddenly afraid that she might've voiced her thoughts aloud.
It wasn't the first time she'd thought or acted with such irrationality and passion.
Compossing herself again with a shaky breath, she waits with her hands clasped over the blanket. "I've considered approaching the Harmonium or the Guvners for some answers. But I doubt it'd be a good idea. Though I have no aversion to the former, they're notorious for making arrests on ludicrous charges. And the latter? I'm not prepared to stand in line at the courthouse, signing form after form, and passed off from one clerk to another, only to learn I'm in the wrong department. It's an unpleasant process I'd rather avoid." Falling silent again, Wraith rises from her chair and crosses to the fireplace. Taking down the iron poker from its hook, she stirs the embers and charred wood, until new flames leap up, licking the soot encrusted flue.
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Post by hilathic on May 5, 2008 14:18:05 GMT -5
As Wraith stokes the fire place a second soft rhythmic breathing can be heard from behind her as Hilathic drifts off to sleep. With a slight wiggle of his hips and a swoosh of his tail he body seems to finally be at rest on the soft bedding.
[Stix: Am I finding anything here. Rolled a 17 for bardic knowledge.]
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Post by Uathach Blackmantle on May 5, 2008 23:22:27 GMT -5
Wraith turns and smiles faintly; sleep had finally graced her strange benefactor. Hanging the poker on it's hook over the hearth again, Wraith crosses to the bed, and sits down beside him. Her old robes make a dry rustling sound on the plush wool carpet. Unfolding her old winter blanket, as she would for her son, she lays it over the sleeping tiefling, and tucks it carefully around his chin. He might seem uncomfortable in clothing, but surely he wouldn't object to this small gesture? Taking Hilathic's callused, scaly palm in hers, Wraith sings a soft lullaby. She strokes his forehead, with soft motherly gestures, wondering if his own mother had ever given him such affection, but knew instinctively she would not have. Few Tanar'ri showed their offspring any such tenderness... unless it was to manipulate or abuse them. A few minutes pass, or it could've been an hour, before the weight of exhaustion finally comes crashing down upon Wraith's shoulders. Releasing Hal's hand, she staggers in a half dream-like delirium toward Aerin's bed, and collapses onto the mattress beside her son. She falls into a deep sleep within minutes... [Shall we wrap this thread up now, or would Wraith be woken up in the morning when Hilathic leaves?] OOC @ Stix: Hilathic and I have agreed to officially wrap up this thread. ] |
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If not, ignore the bit of dialogue that follows. 