Love and War. (Closed RP - Lord Sordin and Lord Noir)

Advanced search

[Mahk Noir]

*A million ducks wearing a million pairs of opera glasses and a million tuxedos stand up in their million balcony seats and give standing ovation.*
It's about quackin' time this got back going.

[DeadInMySights]

Laurana Colt, P.A – Personal bedchamber.

Curiously, although the pages turned, the words remained the same. Not in content or context, but in their very nature. Regardless of how many times the magus-in-the-making leafed through the tiny volume, the dull, businesslike manner of the diary gave her nothing but a very strong desire to end her life with a potato peeler.
Crimson ink drifted past in a haze of tedium, followed at long last by the flesh entombed hardback of what seemed to be a very much anticipated end.

The diary was useless.

She gazed down at it for some time, pondering quietly to herself, absently twirling one raven black lock of smooth, straight, silken hair around a pale, slender finger. Before her, a legion of highly disciplined, highly valued pieces of jewellery stood to attention like glittering insects in the ever dimming light of the candelabras.
Arranged around the items of glamour lay several folders containing scrolls and parchment, two inkwells, both filled with dark, insidious liquid, three quills plucked from the wing of a raven, and an empty tube of lipstick; the ultimate indication of poise and expenditure at its most aesthetic.

The diary lay closed on its front, the embodiment of the hide-and-seek party game she had been busy playing with it since the damnable thing had found its way into her possession. More like custody. If there was any object upon this world that needed guarding, it was this one… Or so the Sovereign Lord Sordin would have it. And that was not all he would have should she allow it to slip into an elusive anonymity.
Desperate to unlock the secrets of the flesh bound portal, even if the cost began to spiral from time to sanity, she shook herself to regain her composure and turned her attentions back to the troublesome tome.

[Lauren]

Ducks are amazing. I love ducks. I have duckie socks. They are so cute! Ducks as well as my socks. I want two pet ducks, because if I have one then it will get lonely, so it has to have a friend..

I'm glad you're writing again, it's good so far.

[Mahk Noir]

Inevitably, the magus-in-waiting began to feel herself drifting slowly into the warm embrace of sleep. Her delicate hands slipped away from the dusty old tome and fell into her lap just as her head drooped downward, resting awkwardly upon the pages of the book. Curly waves of her raven black hair slipped off her neck and draped the sides of her head, providing a cozy tent of darkness around her face.
Before she could realize how utterly uncomfortable a position this really was, her eyes closed.
Seconds passed, or minutes, or perhaps an eternity; she had no idea. All she knew was that a sudden wave of icy daggers flooded across her body, starting at her feet and raging upward to consume her entire being. Lauranna tried to scream, but she couldn't even lift her head from the book. A muffled gasp was all she could manage. Through the gaps in her hair, she watched in horror as her body was engulfed in frost, turning her flesh and bone to motionless, unfeeling ice.
It was then that she heard a creak in the floorboards behind her. "Chillwinds is hardly useful on the battlefield, but I daresay rather handy at home, wouldn't you agree, dear?" A familiar voice said.
She wouldn't have thought it possible, but Lauranna felt herself grow even colder upon hearing the voice. Noir, she thought to herself.
"Well now, you're not as horrifically dull-witted as I'd imagined. Actually, nay, you are. You simply have decent hearing. Now then," two hands clamped upon her all-but numb shoulders with an iron grip and lifted her to her feet.
"Now," she felt his hot breath upon her face--it stunk of molasses, for some reason--his mouth came within an inch of her ear. "Walk."
There was power in that word; her head rose, and she felt herself shuffle sideways.
"Come," his voice was sickeningly sweet. He backed away. She turned to follow him. Noir was clad in his leisure wear, flowing silk robes that absorbed his body in a sea of obnoxious pink. He didn't so much as look behind him as strolled casually out of the room: he knew she was there.

In the hallway were two Coven Sisters--the vampiress librarians of the Sanctum, utterly corrupted now by Noir's influence. Their pale bodies were indistinguishable from the white gossamer robes they wore draped across their unnaturally thin frames. They were smiling, their fangs and lips stained red. Lauranna had never seen them smile before; it was a disturbing sight.

"You know what to do, ladies." With a snap of his fingers, Noir disappeared in a puff of purple smoke.

Insantly, the ice fell from Lauranna's flesh. Quickly she swung an awkward punch at the vampiress nearest her, hoping to catch her off guard. "HEL--" Lauranna began to yell, but her cry was interrupted as the vampiress ducked under her punch, sprang upward and shoved an extremely dead duck into the magus' mouth. The overwhelming stench of death, decay and vegetable oil caused her to stagger, and then finally fall to the ground. As her world went black, the last thing she saw was the coven sisters approaching her, ropes in hand.


About that time, a sudden thump on his door caused Sordin to rise from his musing at his desk.
"What is it?" He barked. "I am not to be disturbed!"
There was no reply.
The magus hovered swiftly to the door and yanked it open. "What is--what the hell is this?" He looked down in puzzlement at the spectacle before him. On the floor was the bloody head of a chaos chosen on a silver platter. A full array of silverware sat around it, along with a glass of bloodwine, all this atop a tattered and ancient banner Sordin recognized instantly as the standard of the Raven Guard.
"What is the meaning of this?" The magus yelled into the darkness.
The chosen opened its mouth. "To my dear old compatriot the former Soul Eater, now a glorified paperweight and scrubber of toilets, The Sardine formerly known as a lord," the head spoke in Noir's voice. "There is something I now have that was once something somewhat yours and yet never fully so, that being mostly a result of your absolute ineptitude in regard to interpersonal relationships as well as your ego far outdoing your abilities in virtually every possible way. Should you desire it back, then I daresay that is simply too bad for you, for I don't intend to give her up. She isn't exactly the prettiest of toys, but she shall do for a few weeks of amusement."
For once in his life, Lord Sordin was paralyzed with shock. "L-" he began, "L-Lauranna?"
The chosen's head bobbed in place--more like a hop, really. "I am of course, referring to Charlie. I mean Lauranna. Wait," there was the sound of shuffling papers. "Who the devil is Charlie? Sisters! Who the hell is Charlie?"
The gentle voice of a vampiress poured out from the mouth. "That would be the Imperial envoy you captured last week, sir."
"I captured an envoy?" Noir's voice again. "Really?"
"You were... less than sober at the time, my lord." The head switched voices like an undead ventriloquist. "He's been sitting in a bathtub of curdled milk for three weeks now, per your orders, awaiting his fate."
"Well get rid of it! I have no use for such things. Now then, where were we? Ah yes. Lauranna, not Charlie, is now owned by me. You can have Charlie if you want, actually, just not Lauranna."
Sordin's pale blue orbs narrowed in his helmet. "What do you want, you filthy Slaaneshi scum?"
"I want nothing," said the chosen head. "Nothing more than to torment you. To let you live with the pleasure of knowing that I have, and shall do all that I wish with, that one thing you've always wanted and yet has always been out of your grasp. I am, of course, referring to this cake!"
Sordin whirled around. An empty platter was upon his bedside table: his cake was indeed gone.
"AND Lauranna!"
"You took my secretary and my cake?" Both rage and perplexity raged behind his voice. "What is wrong with you?"
"I was hungry! Now shut up and be angry so I can laugh at you."
A cry of pure rage echoed from inside of the magus' daemonic mask.
"That's better. Goodbye." The head burst into flame.
Sordin cried out the name of his love, of that one fleeting bit of joy that he had ever let himself hope for. He cried out for her, that dark-eyed beauty that was all he ever wanted, all he had ever dreamed of.
Soon, a platoon of chosen came clanging down the hallways. "My lord!" said the biggest of them. "What has happ--"
Red flame shot from the magus' hands and instantly consumed all but one of the soldiers, leaving behind only twisted heaps of molten metal that crashed to the ground. "You there!" He yelled at the chosen. "Get Darcros! My Raven Guard is needed at once!"
"Your Raven--but sir, you are no longer the--" The chosen stopped his protests when he saw the purple flames growing in Sordin's hands. "Yes sir, at once!" He then sprinted down the hallway.

[Zemok]

And the world turned....wars were waged, fathers son's fed like lambs to the slaughter, never to return home. Cakes were eaten, and secretaries kidnapped.

And the world turned....the dead ducks rejoiced, corpses rolling over in vats of congealed vegetable oil and wisps of flamboyantly pink silk.  Lonely villagers awoke, wailing in fear knowing they have been violated in the most embarrassing of ways, yet not being able to explain how.

And the world turned....and the world turned.

Ah....Too long has the world been bereft of Noirs odd sense of Mahk's logic..or is it the other way around?  The world may never know..(Yes, the last sentence is indeed stolen from the old tootsie pop commercials.)

[DeadInMySights]

OOC: Yes yes yes, I know it has been a decent while, no need to shout about it!

I was always going to get around to it eventually.

I just... Hadn't gotten around to it.

Enjoy the rest.

Lord V. Sordin.

[Mahk Noir]

Lauranna awoke, or at least she thought she did. She wasn't quite sure at that point whether or not she was dreaming.
Before she even opened her eyes, she knew that something was amiss. Her wrists and ankles felt as though they were on fire, yet the rest of her was absolutely freezing beneath her thin cotton nightgown.

"Awake, awake, my little drake, and of this lovely meal partake! Preen thy feathers, rub thy feet, then come along, 'tis time to eat!" A series of quacks rang out, followed by Noir's sinister laughter.

Her eyes snapped open, her heart began pounding.  Lauranna was sitting in a strange room, a dimly-lit, windowless chamber of stone. Unlike her humble abode, this one was adorned with paraphernalia as eclectic and esoteric as the mind of its owner. She was seated in an elegant chair of ivory and silver with a pattern of ducks in flight carved into it.
Ropes stained with her own blood dug into her wrists, binding them tightly to the armrests. Her legs were bound similarly at the ankles, spread apart with one leg tied to each front leg of the chair. Her lips were sealed with what felt like wax, her mouth stuffed with what had to be feathers.
It was clear she wasn't going anywhere, so she let her eyes wander and took in her surroundings.
An absurdly large bed in a blackened hardwood frame sat in a corner against the far wall to her right, its ruffled sheets littered with fraying ropes and half-empty bottles of cooking oils and wine. Next to it stood an even larger wardrobe with the words "KEEP OUT: CYNTHIA'S ROOM" splattered upon it with red paint.
Tapestries of all sort covered up nearly every inch of the walls: bloodstained Asurian banners, Imperial standards, Dwarven flags, and pre-sundering druchii banners with Asurian symbols still upon them. "Live for the King, Fight for Malekith" stood proudly emblazoned in purple script upon several of them.
Not ten feet in front of the seated magus was the most bizarre spectacle of all, however: Lord Noir, clad in purple satin pajamas and a surprisingly feminine robe of purple lace, was sitting on the floor, a group of ducks eating corn out of his hands.

"There we are, excellent. Good, ladies, and lad of course," he nodded to the drake amidst the ducks. "Eat hearty then, grow up to be nice and tender--er, I mean, strong. Yes, strong. Right." A cluster of eyes suddenly grew out of the flesh of his cheek. They stared straight forward at Lauranna.

Nearing panic, Lauranna tried to stand, only to feel herself instantly jerked back into place by her bonds. Well what'd you expect? She thought to herself, followed by something like: oh god oh god oh god, eyes, eyes! Eyes, ducks, eyes! Oh god, oh god!

"So you're awake then? Well of course you are," Noir's face stretched into a grin. "I imagine you're wondering exactly where you are then, are you? Of course you are." He scattered the remaining kernels upon the floor near his fowl most foul.

"So." Slowly, he rose to his feet. Lauranna had never realized before how very tall the dark lord was, nor how thin. It was practically a skeleton draped in lace that stood before her.

"What then?" His glance met hers. "You find me what? I believe 'emaciated' would be what you just thought. Is that so? Well now," he glanced down at his body as if it were something foreign altogether. "Oh my! This shan't do a'tall!" He said with authentic shock. "Oh, yes! Eating! Right. I need to do that sometimes, don't I? Right. Mental noted." Bulging muscles suddenly burst into life under tender druchii flesh, tearing the seams of his clothes. "Tell me, is this better?" He said with a laugh.

Lauranna's eyes went even wider with horror. She tried to scream, but instead she ended up choking on duck feathers. Noir waited patiently until she regained her composure.

He leaned forward, his face a mere inch from her own. "Are you quite through?" She felt his eyes--several dozen more had appeared on his face--boring into her. She'd never before felt so truly exposed as when he looked at her just then. As if sensing her discomfort, he smiled even wider. All thirty or so eyes blinked at once.
The secretary began to wonder exactly who--or what--stood before her.

"You'll find I'm full or surprises, dear Ms. Colt. Including the one that has just arrived." The extra eyes disappeared, and Noir's body returned to its normal lanky proportions. Then there was a knock at the door.

"Punctual as usual." He rose to his full height and snapped his fingers. The door opened, slowly, as if unsure of itself. "Oh do get on with it!" It swung open, slamming against the side wall. "Bloody timid door..." the lord muttered.

In strolled a druchess that Lauranna had never before seen, but who looked oddly familiar. She was clad in the sultry gear of a sorceress, woven black "armor" lined with silver that barely covered her supple breasts, a decorative sash of the same color scheme that held in place a black, floor-length loincloth, and a pair of matching boots that rose to her knees. Her crow-black hair fell down to her waist in unnaturally straight lines.
She glanced at the sorceress, then at Noir, then back again. The female beside him was practically his clone.
 
"Amaranth, my dear," he opened wide his arms and strolled toward her.

"Noir, dear," she smirked, then punched him in the side of the face. The druchii lord staggered, then righted himself quickly.

"Amaranth, my dear sister!" he said again, smiling broadly.

She removed one of her boots and held it aloft. "Brother, dear!" The boot met the other side of his face.

"Such a tease you are," he said, his words muffled by rapidly swelling cheeks.

The sorceress Amaranth pointed the boot at Lauranna, who by now was somewhere between terrified and horribly confused. "What. Is. That?"

"Oh, her?" His cheeks instantly healed. Noir's eyes darted from Lauranna to Noir's sister and back again. "That would be a present for you, my dear."

"A present."

"Yes."

"A kidnapped, injured woman?"

"Yes."

"Nothing says 'I love you' like the gift of a kidnapped, injured woman." She said with a sneer.

"Indeed."

They paused for a moment, staring at one another. That moment passed quickly, and then she was upon him. Amaranth swiftly kicked her brother's body in the knees, bringing him to the ground. She then giggled and jumped on top of him. "You shouldn't have!" She yelled.

For the next twenty minutes, Lauranna tried not to watch as every rumor she ever heard about the dark lord M. Noir was confirmed and then some. Finally, the druchii pair rose to their feet and adjusted their garments.

"Well now," Noir said between breaths, "I shall leave you two to it. Do be sure, dear sister," his eyes met hers, "that you enjoy yourself. And I mean that. Do whatever your cruel little heart can even conceive of desiring. She is all yours. Entirely."
 
If you survive this, which is rather doubtful, give Sordin my love. Tell him everything. All that you see. All that you hear. All that you are about to feel. Noir's eyes met Lauranna's once more. I cannot wait to hear how he stiffens. How he yells. How he cries. How he loathes me, loathes himself, perhaps even loathes you for letting yourself be caught so very... weak.
In a puff of purple smoke, the dark lord disappeared.

Amaranth slowly turned to face the magus. A sinister grin crept across her face. "Hello, li'l puppet." Lauranna knew the look in her eyes: hunger. The sorceress snapped her fingers, and a large leather bag appeared on the floor beside her in a puff of purple smoke.

"As you may have heard, I am the Lady Amaranth. Once of Naggarond. Daughter of Gris, a lord of the legions. But that's all old hat by now," she laughed. The sound of it sent shivers down Lauranna's spine. "Nowadays they simply call me Amaranth, the never-fading. Or," she leaned in closely, "as you might call me..." The last thing the magus saw before her world went black was the druchess' fingers lunging toward her eyes.

Lauranna's muffled scream reverberated through the chamber.
"Yeah, that's a good enough nickname for now. Good choice." Amaranth laughed. The ducks ran under the bed.

Sordin... where are you? She felt her own steaming blood running down her face, intermingled with tears of terror and despair.

For the next several hours--or days, or months, or maybe even years, Lauranna Colt was trapped in Hell. As she dwelt in darkness, pain was all that she knew, all that she could gather about the world around her. Pain and humiliation. Blades, scalding heat and freezing cold, wicked claws all across her flesh, hurting, touching, invading, penetrating... The devil that tortured her laughed, screamed, even sighed contentedly as she did her work upon her writhing victim.

Lauranna struggled at first, letting the ropes dig deeper, her mind not able to stand the idea of capitulation. This, too, would pass. Soon enough, she didn't even have the energy to squirm. She simply whimpered like a wounded child. For all sakes and purposes, that was all she had become: a helpless child.

Finally, it stopped. She heard the sounds of boots walking toward the door. "You there, Disciple!" The voice of her tormentor rang out. "My toy is broken. Make it better! GO!"

A grunt in reply, then scurrying footsteps. What sounded almost like a prayer drifted to her ears. Suddenly, the magus bolted upright in her chair and gasped. Warmth filled her body, engulfing every inch of her battered mind and flesh. She felt her wounds heal, the skin sealing itself around them as though they were never there. Within seconds, it was as if the whole ordeal had been but a nightmare; but then, her sight returned to her. She watched in disbelief as a red-robed disciple of Khaine walked swiftly out of the room, shutting the door behind him... and standing before her, covered in blood and grinning broadly, was Amaranth.

"My toy is fixed. Good. Now then," she licked the blood off her hands. "We have all the time in the world to do this again. Over. And over. And over. And over."

Noir's laughter rang through her head. Lauranna screamed a muffled scream once again. Noir himself then appeared atop his bed in a puff of purple smoke. "Don't let me interrupt," he said, holding a bag of pretzels. The closet door opened, and the daemonette Cynthia walked out. She glanced at the bound magus, then at her master. She grinned, then sat down on the bed beside the Dark Lord and helped herself to a handful of pretzels.

 The day went on.


 


 

[Mahk Noir]

~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sordin, I daresay it's your turn. The gauntlet has been thrown in a rather drawn-out and graphic manner. Your dearest little girl hangs in the balance. What do you do? What DO you do?
I can wait as long as it takes.
This ought to be fun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Amaranth-Noir]

I love the way I'm portrayed in this: it's so very, very true to life, am I right? Of course I'm right. I'm me. Being me means I'm right.
I most especially enjoyed the part about cutting her ears off and gagging her with them while I tickled her feet with her own severed fingers.
Wait, that wasn't in there. Why the hell wasn't that in there? Fix this immediately! Fix it now! 

[DeadInMySights]

Bump. Yes, bump.

I'll get back to this shortly.

My excuse?

Exams, university applications, copious amounts of copulation, and, of course ungodly amounts of sleep.

Lord V. Sordin, still of the Dept of Recruitment and Propaganda.

[Kutulu]

Wait.... he's alive?  You told me he died!!!!

[Mahk Noir]

Nay, I merely said it would have been better for him had he died. 

May 2012

Sun	Mon	Tue	Wed	Thu	Fri	Sat
		1	2	3	4	5
6	7	8	9	10	11	12
13	14	15	16	17	18	19
20	21	22	23	24	25	26
27	28	29	30	31
Post Event

   BATTLE INTELLIGENCE
   Class Guides and 101
  
   ASC PayPal: Donate!
   Guild Store: GET GEAR!
   View Guild Videos
   Guild Member Map
   RP Squads
   Shoutbox WAAAGH!
   WAR Web Links
  
   BBP Alliance 101
   Custom ASC Guild Song!

Sorry, you do not have permission to view pictures!