Misguided Ideals
Lupen, July 9, 2006
Consumed by true hatred, true disgust, true anger, true revenge
is his. Never much of an apothecary, a conjurer by nature, a
tailor by skill. The vile poison brewed on the table, bubbled,
churned, and swirled. He ran his decrepit hand through his greasy
aqua hair. A tick of some-sort fell out, and directly into the
concoction. The tick moved erratically for a half-second, and
fell motionless. Lupen grinned madly, grabbed a pair of tweezers
to remove the tick and examine it.
The small body, under a magnifying glass, revealed numerous
gashes and ruptures riddled in its carapace. The openings were
white hot, perfect, flawless. Lupen grinned once more, but then
frowned. It was good, too good; it was too powerful to be used.
He poured a small amount into a vial and examined the components.
Too hot, too warm, too evil. He shook his head, searching around
the herbs for a proper inhibitor.
Stranglekelp, Kingsblood, Khadgar’s Whiskers, Dreamfo… Dreamfoil,
perfect. He ground up about 4 or 5 dreamfoil leaves and smelled
the contents. Completely odorless, just as he had hoped. Sighing
heavily, he dropped each rind slowly into the pool of poison. The
liquid bubbled slowly and transformed from a deep green to a
light blue. The Dread Mage frowned a bit deeper, not certain of
himself as he poured a bit of the inhibited poison. “Keever!” He
yelled over to the deranged scientist.
“What does Warlock want from Keever?” “Test this on the Elf
Prisoner, the one I ‘experimented’ on a few weeks ago. Injection
through bloodsteam.” Keever muttered as he snatched the vial.
* * * *
He walked into the private testing room as Keever walked out. It
had been a week since the potion was administered. The elf had
perfect twilight-purple skin, short teal hair, and a perfectly
formed body. The Warlock grinned wickedly at her, completely
naked and crying to the point where her eyes had swelled. With a
tome in one hand, he spoke in terribly fractured Common, “How…
Are… Y-You… Feeling?” A terrible rasp encompassed Lupen’s tongue.
The elf-woman looked at him defiantly, not saying a word in
response. His eyes narrowed, angrily, he repeated himself. “How…!
Are…! Yo—Ya… You…! Feeling?!” The elf spit directly on his face,
the saliva weak with a lack of sleep, food, and water. He grabbed
her with one hand by the neck, as she meakly tried to fight him
off, he threatened her with his dagger. “I… I hate it!” She
screamed out. Lupen smirked a bit, but that was not answer he
sought. He pointed at her abdomen, “H… How, is, that?” The
Nameless Kaldori was terribly confused, she placed both her
perfect hands over her gut and stuttered, “You… Mean…?” Lupen
nodded grimly. “I, I… I’m fine.” Lupen frowned again, “No… Pains,
no… Blood?” She looked confused once more and shook her head no.
Lupen became terribly bothered; it seemed like a complete
failure. He shrugged thrust his dagger directly through her
forehead, ejecting brain matter and large amounts of blood over
the Undercity walls and floor. As he removed the dagger, he stuck
one hand on her right breast, smooth and pure; the Dread Mage
almost wished he had not violently ended her… He felt the heart
beat slower and slower. Before the pulse completely ended, he
allowed her soul to leave its mortal shell, and to enter his own
collection.
Keever walked in once more, completely unphased by the brutal
killing, he unlocked the cell and dragged the limb bodice onto an
operating table. He placed his casting dagger into the sheathe,
searching the counter for a razor. Ah, excellent, one discarded
by the Abomination Stitching. No protection was needed, no
gloves, no mask, no goggles, the risk of infection ends along
with the life. Examining the now blood-stained skin, he found the
exact area of incision, and dove into the flesh. Pubic bone
shattered beneath the razor-edge. A downward slice came after a
moment enjoying the carnage. Throwing the razor down, after it
had truly lost its usefulness, the Forsaken dove into the cut
with his two claws of hands. He searched for about 3 minutes
going upward into the body for the proper organs, with success in
the end. Removing the ovary and exploring the eggs… Examining
them below a magnifying glass allowed Lupen to grin with true
glee... Dead, useless, ruptured, melted, eggs. Finally, it
worked, the rest was bottled and stored safely away.
After the… Events… That transpired when Druscilla had a “child”,
he realized he could not let anymore demons be revealed through
his Grims. None. He cared about The Grim, he did not want to kill
any of the members… At times, he threatened it of course, but
never intended to follow through. Any more of the Female members
impregnated… Would be quite dangerous… A new generation of Grim
could be hazardous, such as the corrupt Demonkin of Druscilla.
“Keever!” He yelled out, “Don’t mention this, dispose of the
body!” Keever nodded unhappily, and tossed the Elf corpse to the
next shipment to The Blightcaller and his Plague Hounds.