Djalli stood before the mirror, allowing the abomination she had recently created to tighten the laces on her corset. Thirteen inches nothing! Today she would have twelve. Yes, lovely.. it was always a good day.
Even as she rode upon her skeletal horse towards adventures unknown with comrades who looked at her with distaste, it was always a good day. Especially on those days that she met with freshly created corpses. An arm here, a leg there.. pieces that could be put together to create something magnificent! Or at least something useful. Collecting was a specialty of the priestess. Collecting flesh, and collecting information.
What was it that he had said? She was no innocent? What a silly savage this Kromag was. To say such a thing.. what could be more innocent than a priestess of the holy light? After all, what did she want more than to heal those in distress? To be kind to others, and offer a cheerful smile? Well look over there, the skin on that child's torso was so clean and unmarred.. it would make a good replacement for the skin that she had damaged in Uldaman...
Djalli sat inside of her laboritory in the Undercity, working with skin old and new. Her new allies ensured that she would be busy with healing, which brought her great joy. She reclected on this as she peeled the skin from a young woman's thigh. It would make a fine forehead for her new creature.
What a good day this was shaping up to be!
((Djalli's lab is open. If anyone would like to join, please do anytime.))
Always A Good Day by Djalli
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Re: Always A Good Day by Djalli
by Acherontia
Acherontia was sick of it. She was sick of wasting good cloth to bind it up, sick of the itching, of the ever-oozing ichor and old blood that leaked constantly and stuck the bandages to the wound. She was sick of the memory of it - unless she was careful, she could still feel the teeth biting away at her, hear the snuffling, see her own weakened hands trying feebly to push his head away even as she lay dying. Melchisedech had broken her mind, then healed it again, and Kaal Soulreaper had eased her spirit down from her lofty ideals of her lingering humanity.
Perhaps this new priestess would be able to heal her body.
The warlock could not believe she hadn't thought of it before. What was this cobbling together of skin and flesh the priestess was said to practice but a more gruesome and grotesque form of that in which Acherontia herself engaged? Skin, cloth, sinew, thread...it was all the same. She slowed her demon-horse as she considered...why couldn't she do it herself? Acherontia shuddered in disgust. Ah, that's why. The thought of stitching her own flesh...and she would never be able to abide Melchisedech's hands. It was too intimate, too... She shook her head. No, this stranger would do just fine.
Acherontia dismounted, banishing her horse as she approached the door to the priestess' quarters. She hoped the directions she had been given were correct. Ignoring the constant ache that throbbed in her abdomen, she raised a gloved hand and pounded her fist upon the door.
Acherontia was sick of it. She was sick of wasting good cloth to bind it up, sick of the itching, of the ever-oozing ichor and old blood that leaked constantly and stuck the bandages to the wound. She was sick of the memory of it - unless she was careful, she could still feel the teeth biting away at her, hear the snuffling, see her own weakened hands trying feebly to push his head away even as she lay dying. Melchisedech had broken her mind, then healed it again, and Kaal Soulreaper had eased her spirit down from her lofty ideals of her lingering humanity.
Perhaps this new priestess would be able to heal her body.
The warlock could not believe she hadn't thought of it before. What was this cobbling together of skin and flesh the priestess was said to practice but a more gruesome and grotesque form of that in which Acherontia herself engaged? Skin, cloth, sinew, thread...it was all the same. She slowed her demon-horse as she considered...why couldn't she do it herself? Acherontia shuddered in disgust. Ah, that's why. The thought of stitching her own flesh...and she would never be able to abide Melchisedech's hands. It was too intimate, too... She shook her head. No, this stranger would do just fine.
Acherontia dismounted, banishing her horse as she approached the door to the priestess' quarters. She hoped the directions she had been given were correct. Ignoring the constant ache that throbbed in her abdomen, she raised a gloved hand and pounded her fist upon the door.
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Re: Always A Good Day by Djalli
by Lupen
Since her induction, Lupen had been wary of the new minion. Each member of The Grim was unique, was different, but this one was simply... Strange. They had met first in the Undercity, a casual glance at best. Lupen, had, as usual, made poor impressions upon the young Priestess, despite the fact that her mood was unchanging throughout.
The Arch-Dread Magus rode toward the Undercity, no direction in mind, merely to think. A nook, a hole in the wall would do, he needed to rest, to study. The Warlock trotted along at a slow pace, Lupen's skull moved back and forth, left and right, looking for solitude. He pulled the Dreadsteed's reigns to a stop as he spied Sister Acherontia, desperately pounding her fist against a Lab's Door.
He waited and watched.
Since her induction, Lupen had been wary of the new minion. Each member of The Grim was unique, was different, but this one was simply... Strange. They had met first in the Undercity, a casual glance at best. Lupen, had, as usual, made poor impressions upon the young Priestess, despite the fact that her mood was unchanging throughout.
The Arch-Dread Magus rode toward the Undercity, no direction in mind, merely to think. A nook, a hole in the wall would do, he needed to rest, to study. The Warlock trotted along at a slow pace, Lupen's skull moved back and forth, left and right, looking for solitude. He pulled the Dreadsteed's reigns to a stop as he spied Sister Acherontia, desperately pounding her fist against a Lab's Door.
He waited and watched.
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Re: Always A Good Day by Djalli
Djalli finally opened the door.
"Welcome welcome, lovlies," she said in that unwavering cheerful voice. Djalli wore her corset tight against her spine, allowing little the the imagination of just how much her organs had been compressed, shifted, or perhaps simply removed. With a happy smile, she made a low bow. "Welcome to my lab. Is there something this lowely priestess can do for you?"
"Welcome welcome, lovlies," she said in that unwavering cheerful voice. Djalli wore her corset tight against her spine, allowing little the the imagination of just how much her organs had been compressed, shifted, or perhaps simply removed. With a happy smile, she made a low bow. "Welcome to my lab. Is there something this lowely priestess can do for you?"
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Re: Always A Good Day by Djalli
Laughter.
The priestess' colors, along with her cheerful tone, reminded Acherontia of laughter. Undeath had been kind to her voice, much kinder than it had been to Acherontia's. In a flash of bright green, Acherontia's Fel-eye flared into being over her right shoulder and the warlock felt a surge of envy as she beheld the other woman. It wasn't her tiny, waspish waist, nor was it her lovely voice - no, it was her smile...or rather, the reason behind it. With her double-sight, Acherontia could tell - it was genuine.
What was that like?
Ignoring the bitter taste in her mouth and the prickling on the back of her neck, Acherontia sent the Eye forward into Djalli's lab, scanning the dismembered bodies, the partially completed abomination laid out on one of the tables, the same tools she herself would use for stitching cloth that the priestess used to stitch flesh. Satisfied, she banished the green orb and inclined her head. "My name is Acherontia." She knew her tabard marked her as Grim, and continued. "I was wondering if I might speak with you about your particular...craft." The warlock nodded with blind eyes over Djalli's shoulder in the general direction of her creations and waited.
The priestess' colors, along with her cheerful tone, reminded Acherontia of laughter. Undeath had been kind to her voice, much kinder than it had been to Acherontia's. In a flash of bright green, Acherontia's Fel-eye flared into being over her right shoulder and the warlock felt a surge of envy as she beheld the other woman. It wasn't her tiny, waspish waist, nor was it her lovely voice - no, it was her smile...or rather, the reason behind it. With her double-sight, Acherontia could tell - it was genuine.
What was that like?
Ignoring the bitter taste in her mouth and the prickling on the back of her neck, Acherontia sent the Eye forward into Djalli's lab, scanning the dismembered bodies, the partially completed abomination laid out on one of the tables, the same tools she herself would use for stitching cloth that the priestess used to stitch flesh. Satisfied, she banished the green orb and inclined her head. "My name is Acherontia." She knew her tabard marked her as Grim, and continued. "I was wondering if I might speak with you about your particular...craft." The warlock nodded with blind eyes over Djalli's shoulder in the general direction of her creations and waited.
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Re: Always A Good Day by Djalli
Djalli nodded excitedly. "Oh, of course of course! Please, do come in. I am afraid my laboritory is rather messy from my work, but it will give you a glimpse of the more intricate pieces of my work right beside the sloppy ones."
Her eye-less sockets managed to steal a look of some sort of emotion that the other female was feeling. What was it? Anger? Contempt? Jealousy? Djalli tucked the bit of curiosity away. Whatever emotion this lady was feeling, she was jealous. While her smile and tinkling melodical voice were genuine of the joy she felt for life, there was a shred of her that wished perhaps she might feel something else. Indeed, her constant joy was not joy in it's truest form; rather, it was simply the absense of anything else.
Ignorance was, in fact bliss.
"And you, Arch Dread Mage," she said with a glance at the shadow that gave Lupen's presense away. "..are always welcome, in my home."
Her eye-less sockets managed to steal a look of some sort of emotion that the other female was feeling. What was it? Anger? Contempt? Jealousy? Djalli tucked the bit of curiosity away. Whatever emotion this lady was feeling, she was jealous. While her smile and tinkling melodical voice were genuine of the joy she felt for life, there was a shred of her that wished perhaps she might feel something else. Indeed, her constant joy was not joy in it's truest form; rather, it was simply the absense of anything else.
Ignorance was, in fact bliss.
"And you, Arch Dread Mage," she said with a glance at the shadow that gave Lupen's presense away. "..are always welcome, in my home."
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Re: Always A Good Day by Djalli
The demon horse plunged and snorted as Acherontia tore at the reins, turning it back, then forward again. She gripped it tightly between her knees and felt its need to pursue the two fleeing Alliance, as though it were feeding from her own instinct. Melchisedech's words from earlier, though, were still fresh in her mind.
"We should not bother with those so much weaker than we, Acherontia. Let them be."
Moreover, she doubted herself. They were two, she was but one. She forgot her powers, forgot herself...the numbers were all she could think of. That, and the tiny imp who was trying desperately to avoid being trampled by the flaming hooves. She had expended all her shards two nights ago in the many summons she had done to collect as many members of the Grim as she could to Orgrimmar, where the hammer of the Alliance was said to be sure to fall. None of the creatures in Stranglethorn had been able to provide her with more, and so she made do with Zorlop...for now.
Lupen watched her as she wrestled with the Fel-steed, but, as always, the younger warlock could not read him. What was right? The Dread Mage was there to protect her from any threats she and Melchisedech might face, and remained silent as she stared blindly at the two Alliance who disappeared into the jungle. She spurred her horse forward, and heard the hoofbeats of Lupen's Dreadsteed as he made to follow her, but she found herself reining her horse in again. Should I let them go? Or should I ensure that the last thing they see in this world is the red and black of the Grim tabard through a blinding haze of agony and fire? Which is right?
Which is right?
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Before her dismay could show on her features, Acherontia slipped her unseen mask into place and turned to face the Dreadweaver, trying, as always, not to focus on his core as though he were any other person. She was a disappointment. "Hail, Dread Mage. Forgive me; I did not know you were there." Her face felt as though it was burning - or felt as though it SHOULD be, for how could a dead woman blush with embarrassment? She had made one too many foolish mistakes last night - it seemed all her striving to be a credit to the Grim, to those who wielded the same demonic power, was all for naught when her confidence was shaken. Turning to the priestess, she lifted her chin and returned her smile before sweeping past her into the laboratory.
"We should not bother with those so much weaker than we, Acherontia. Let them be."
Moreover, she doubted herself. They were two, she was but one. She forgot her powers, forgot herself...the numbers were all she could think of. That, and the tiny imp who was trying desperately to avoid being trampled by the flaming hooves. She had expended all her shards two nights ago in the many summons she had done to collect as many members of the Grim as she could to Orgrimmar, where the hammer of the Alliance was said to be sure to fall. None of the creatures in Stranglethorn had been able to provide her with more, and so she made do with Zorlop...for now.
Lupen watched her as she wrestled with the Fel-steed, but, as always, the younger warlock could not read him. What was right? The Dread Mage was there to protect her from any threats she and Melchisedech might face, and remained silent as she stared blindly at the two Alliance who disappeared into the jungle. She spurred her horse forward, and heard the hoofbeats of Lupen's Dreadsteed as he made to follow her, but she found herself reining her horse in again. Should I let them go? Or should I ensure that the last thing they see in this world is the red and black of the Grim tabard through a blinding haze of agony and fire? Which is right?
Which is right?
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Before her dismay could show on her features, Acherontia slipped her unseen mask into place and turned to face the Dreadweaver, trying, as always, not to focus on his core as though he were any other person. She was a disappointment. "Hail, Dread Mage. Forgive me; I did not know you were there." Her face felt as though it was burning - or felt as though it SHOULD be, for how could a dead woman blush with embarrassment? She had made one too many foolish mistakes last night - it seemed all her striving to be a credit to the Grim, to those who wielded the same demonic power, was all for naught when her confidence was shaken. Turning to the priestess, she lifted her chin and returned her smile before sweeping past her into the laboratory.