Arcana
Daedric Prince
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[♫]
I.
SUNBRIGHT, 2309
The boards and broken windows rattled against the wind and rain, bleak winds wormed their way through the nooks and crannies of the abandoned house - howling between. The woman huddled close to the hearth, a waning flame danced and intertwined between blackened fatwood. The downpour was relentless, drumming over the roof in a harsh melody. Despite the presence of a dark and mighty spirit bound to her soul, for the first time in quite some time - she felt truly alone. The sheer euphoria of her new life had begun to dwindle to a degree. Lilith scryed the fire as if it were a mirror into her own anima, musing to herself with great intensity. She wondered if he could hear her thoughts. An amusing speculation. She once struck so much unease into the hearts of others when they knew she could smell what emotions lay at the edges of their souls, a gift lost.. and now reversed in a strange.. funny.. frustrating way. Her emotions, her thoughts, her free will. It all lay on the surface for him. Or at least, she believes.
Yet, she finds herself drawn to the demon. She muses of him often. What was it that tempted her so deeply into his grasp?
Was it his initial, unexpected kindness?
Was it because she found him peculiarly inviting? That she felt safe and protected in his company?
Or was it that she felt somewhat of an equal in his great presence?
...Or an intermingling of all?
Perhaps it was. The Night Star had never once harmed her or showed any intention of doing so, only nurtured. She felt a love for the demon who had shown her all of these things, it was near unlike any other entity she had ever encountered. She felt as if she had placed her soul in the right hands, as she had no interest in seeing what the Lady of Death had in store for her in the afterlife, yet - her pact came with an accidental price.
The warmth of the family she had assembled for herself is what began to dwindle. Flickering golden sparks crackled from the hearth as a piece of charred wood fractured, the embers snapped and hissed. Lothaire was gone. She senses notable apprehension in Halvar and Maebh for her choice. Veldric, Amren..
She felt the sudden urgency to see her children.
Lightning illuminated the room for a brief moment, before being chased by a resounding reverberation of thunder. She turned her gaze from the boarded window back to the hearth, and placed another few pieces of kindling wood upon the flames and watched as they slowly but surely consumed, becoming larger. As she was still in her meditation, the act of doing so gave her a touch of hope for the path she has step foot upon, but soon a wave of thoughts had washed her spark away.
Tomorrow. She thinks to herself. The rain will subside, and I'll ride back North. To see them. But what was she to do, to say? How could she explain herself, her choices, what has happened and how she has changed to her youngest children? Her gut constricted itself like a serpent, she had become so blinded by regaining her power that she had become the very thing she promised herself she wouldn't be, a poor mother. Up until the shift in the Arcane, she had prided herself in being a pillar of wisdom and strength to her family. She had grand ideas which would provide even more betterment to them. She wanted to erect a castle, build a House in the name of Alraun. All of that was gone, now. The allure of darker magic had its way with her mind and soul, it tormented her. Nothing was enough, the shift had left a void in her being that could not seem to be sated... a deep and guttural hunger that felt eerie. It frightened her. There was a reason why she remains as the oldest Animancer alive to roam upon Altera, she knew her limits and seldom crossed them. Not out of fear, but the importance of knowing that everything comes with a price. Now, it has become more difficult to see the balancing scales of what she could and couldn't manage. Perhaps the dust will settle enough soon that she could see again. When things begin to make sense. Will they make sense?
Her mind raced, and she soon found herself lulled by the cadence of the storm outside of the abandoned house and the abating coherence of her thoughts. Her pale violet gaze lowered, her eyelids felt as though a supernatural weight had been cast upon them. It wasn’t long before she was whisked into a slumber.
His presence felt ever more near, he was close. She felt his pains.. His struggles in a war beyond the veil. Wailing and screams from the guts of hell began to fill her ears. The clanging of metal and otherworldly bellows would follow.
Her horrible visions had become quickly distracted by a frigid Skeletal hand grasping at her upper arm, and a black clawed hand crushing her other. Lilith began to feel a suffocating weight of the presence of two Gods that she angered. The sins and misdeeds of the Arcane she carries in the eyes of the Grey Lady, the boiling ire of Jishrim for sparking and corrupting his Exalted. She tried to scream, but no sound came as she felt her soul being ripped by the seams.. as if two starving dogs had sank their teeth into her and fought over what they thought belonged to them, tearing her apart with unyielding jaws.
Lilith’s eyes shot open, beads of sweat rolling down her forehead and cheeks. As she rose, she came face to face with the cracked mirror by her feet. She looked to herself in between the shards, her face only visible by the dim candlelight; the dark circles and sunken eyes.. the unkempt hair, the cracked lips and blackened veins. She appeared sickly, weak. Her stomach sank. How was it that she had fallen so hard, so quickly, to rock bottom when she had found her way to the top for some time? There was a long, grueling way back up. She began to shudder, and her eyes welled with tears. Hopelessness began to wash over her, and she desperately guarded what was left of her flame.
I.
SUNBRIGHT, 2309
The boards and broken windows rattled against the wind and rain, bleak winds wormed their way through the nooks and crannies of the abandoned house - howling between. The woman huddled close to the hearth, a waning flame danced and intertwined between blackened fatwood. The downpour was relentless, drumming over the roof in a harsh melody. Despite the presence of a dark and mighty spirit bound to her soul, for the first time in quite some time - she felt truly alone. The sheer euphoria of her new life had begun to dwindle to a degree. Lilith scryed the fire as if it were a mirror into her own anima, musing to herself with great intensity. She wondered if he could hear her thoughts. An amusing speculation. She once struck so much unease into the hearts of others when they knew she could smell what emotions lay at the edges of their souls, a gift lost.. and now reversed in a strange.. funny.. frustrating way. Her emotions, her thoughts, her free will. It all lay on the surface for him. Or at least, she believes.
Yet, she finds herself drawn to the demon. She muses of him often. What was it that tempted her so deeply into his grasp?
Was it his initial, unexpected kindness?
Was it because she found him peculiarly inviting? That she felt safe and protected in his company?
Or was it that she felt somewhat of an equal in his great presence?
...Or an intermingling of all?
Perhaps it was. The Night Star had never once harmed her or showed any intention of doing so, only nurtured. She felt a love for the demon who had shown her all of these things, it was near unlike any other entity she had ever encountered. She felt as if she had placed her soul in the right hands, as she had no interest in seeing what the Lady of Death had in store for her in the afterlife, yet - her pact came with an accidental price.
The warmth of the family she had assembled for herself is what began to dwindle. Flickering golden sparks crackled from the hearth as a piece of charred wood fractured, the embers snapped and hissed. Lothaire was gone. She senses notable apprehension in Halvar and Maebh for her choice. Veldric, Amren..
She felt the sudden urgency to see her children.
Lightning illuminated the room for a brief moment, before being chased by a resounding reverberation of thunder. She turned her gaze from the boarded window back to the hearth, and placed another few pieces of kindling wood upon the flames and watched as they slowly but surely consumed, becoming larger. As she was still in her meditation, the act of doing so gave her a touch of hope for the path she has step foot upon, but soon a wave of thoughts had washed her spark away.
Tomorrow. She thinks to herself. The rain will subside, and I'll ride back North. To see them. But what was she to do, to say? How could she explain herself, her choices, what has happened and how she has changed to her youngest children? Her gut constricted itself like a serpent, she had become so blinded by regaining her power that she had become the very thing she promised herself she wouldn't be, a poor mother. Up until the shift in the Arcane, she had prided herself in being a pillar of wisdom and strength to her family. She had grand ideas which would provide even more betterment to them. She wanted to erect a castle, build a House in the name of Alraun. All of that was gone, now. The allure of darker magic had its way with her mind and soul, it tormented her. Nothing was enough, the shift had left a void in her being that could not seem to be sated... a deep and guttural hunger that felt eerie. It frightened her. There was a reason why she remains as the oldest Animancer alive to roam upon Altera, she knew her limits and seldom crossed them. Not out of fear, but the importance of knowing that everything comes with a price. Now, it has become more difficult to see the balancing scales of what she could and couldn't manage. Perhaps the dust will settle enough soon that she could see again. When things begin to make sense. Will they make sense?
Her mind raced, and she soon found herself lulled by the cadence of the storm outside of the abandoned house and the abating coherence of her thoughts. Her pale violet gaze lowered, her eyelids felt as though a supernatural weight had been cast upon them. It wasn’t long before she was whisked into a slumber.
His presence felt ever more near, he was close. She felt his pains.. His struggles in a war beyond the veil. Wailing and screams from the guts of hell began to fill her ears. The clanging of metal and otherworldly bellows would follow.
Her horrible visions had become quickly distracted by a frigid Skeletal hand grasping at her upper arm, and a black clawed hand crushing her other. Lilith began to feel a suffocating weight of the presence of two Gods that she angered. The sins and misdeeds of the Arcane she carries in the eyes of the Grey Lady, the boiling ire of Jishrim for sparking and corrupting his Exalted. She tried to scream, but no sound came as she felt her soul being ripped by the seams.. as if two starving dogs had sank their teeth into her and fought over what they thought belonged to them, tearing her apart with unyielding jaws.
Lilith’s eyes shot open, beads of sweat rolling down her forehead and cheeks. As she rose, she came face to face with the cracked mirror by her feet. She looked to herself in between the shards, her face only visible by the dim candlelight; the dark circles and sunken eyes.. the unkempt hair, the cracked lips and blackened veins. She appeared sickly, weak. Her stomach sank. How was it that she had fallen so hard, so quickly, to rock bottom when she had found her way to the top for some time? There was a long, grueling way back up. She began to shudder, and her eyes welled with tears. Hopelessness began to wash over her, and she desperately guarded what was left of her flame.