The Examination (Part 1 - M18)

[Culnarion]

[Not recommended for the faint at heart, or for minors, leave now]





Silently, the blade rose higher and higher into the air, flickering candlelight reflecting off the sharp, serrated edges of the knife.

Szintala smiled happily, her face full of delight as she continued to tease and torment her victim . Stretched across the alter, his bloodied wrists and ankles bound by manacles, he could only moan and struggle, his throat hoarse from screaming, part of his tongue bitten off when she removed his fingernails nearly four hours before.

A mass of wounds covered his entire body, some still bleeding, others already partially scabbed over. Delicately, she had already sklnned portions of his body, and wickedly curved meathooks still pieced him in various places. The bloody whorls and markings had a certain look to it, a certain finesse and shape and structure.

Szintala stabbed downwards, impaling the human's ear and dragging the blade to the side barely a heartbeat later. A shudder and a wretched gasp being his barely cognitive response. Feeling almost dissapointed that he did not scream, Szintala drifted a hand through the blood that flowed from his body, travelling along the deliberate gaps in the alter to drip and flow into a bucket, artfully carved from the head of an ogre.

She sagged down slightly, tired by her ordeal, and looked over his body, one hand drifting across the various implements and devices as she tried to decide what to do next. Blood dripped from the tip of her nose, from where it had been splattered across her face just a few moments before. Idily, Szintala wondered if she could make it in time to have her hair washed by her current favorite, then was distracted by the shadow that suddenly loomed over her.

"Are you quite done, D'Phasma?" came the crisp, authorative tones of the Priestress. Bowing her head, Szintala nodded, her hands tingling with tiredness as she took a glance about the room.

Widening with alarm, she realised that it was empty aside from herself and the priestress, the other students having long departed. She looked up at the priestress, breathless as she placed the dagger on the small hand cart, opened a drawer and dropped the remaining pins inside, and hurriedly backed away.

"I am, Jabbress. My apologies for keeping you waiting."

An eye darted to the table at the front, her eyes taking in the lantanses clock, her eyes widening in some shock as she realised how much time had passed. Fearfully, she glanced at the priestress, her mouth suddenly dry when she realised that the priestress had been waiting on her for nearly four hours.

The priestress didn't seem to notice as she paced around the alter, looking down at the human's wretched body even as the human watched her with eyes wide open. Not that he could close them, with one eyelid sewn open and the other simply....missing. The priestress had an unreadable expression on her face when she stopped, her brows furrowed as she seemed to deliberate over what to do.

Szintala wiped her brow with the short sleeve of her tunic, cold sweat now mingling with blood and prespiration as she haplessly stared at the priestress. Twitching, she fliched back when the priestress raised her head to look right at her, a sudden smile playing over her features.

Resisting the urge to run or draw a dagger, her hand clasped the small mithral spider that served as her little symbol to Lolth. Her eyes grew wider and wider as the priestress walked towards her, robes swishing against the cold marble floor.

A hand reached out, taking her chin with a thumb and forefinger. The priestress turned her face from side to side, examining her. Hair, matted with blood and pasted flatly to her skull, didn't so much as flow as it did bend.

"How many of your crech-sisters and crech-brothers have you killed, daughter?"

"Four, Jabbress," came the answer, her eyes seemingly delighted at having to call up memories of screams and gurgled breaths.

"You take great pleasure in the infliction of pain, I can see it in your eyes. You have much to learn, daughter. But you have done well...this time."

The priestress turned and walked off, the heads of her snake whip almost purring lovingly at Szintala. A relieved sigh escaped the young drowling, and she darted to the other end of the hall, where she retrieved her belongings that she had brought with her.

She had to climb a stool to get to it though, after all...

...she was only nine years old...

[Mord]

Ouch, better not hope she gets her claws on Aglin, nice piece Cul.

[Joos]

Cruel.



Nice.