Nyllian didn’t understand what they expected of her. Of course she would try to escape if a good opportunity presented itself. It was just unfortunate that she hadn’t managed to attune the right balance of magic. Later, when realised, there was no scream, nor cry of upset, only bitter disappointment and a heavily expelled sigh.
She had still killed someone though they were unaware of her involvement. No, her victim had slept and dreamed of horrors plucked from their own fear and mixed with the malevolence of Nyllian’s own making. It was Childs play really, watching the effect take hold slowly, nightmares growing so fervent that her cellmate became increasingly animated, violent. It was puppetry. Nyllian remained where she always was, sat at the end of the threadbare cot in meditation. The collar around her neck sank deep heavily on her shoulders, its runes marked along the metal dampening, but not completely cutting her off entirely from the weave of magic. Just enough to toy with her jailors.
Nyllian sat unfazed, her indifferent stare fixed on one of the walls which was only interrupted by her occasional blinking. Even collared she could still hear the song of the dead, the undulating moan of the parted not yet crossed over, those who lingered in the void between. She wished to sing with them, give their bones the ability to dance, and all she would ask is their aid in dismantling this place brick by bloody brick, along with those inside. But she had to be content with one.
Her companion would start screaming, shrieking in such curdling fear, Nyllian couldn’t help the little scoff. What did cries really do? And she strengthened the hex conjured, noting the hunger growing in her gut, pushing her will deeper. Too deep. In hysterics, her companion would rise from their bed in a frantic panic, their body hurtling towards the door disregarding the metal bars blocking her path. Nyllian snickered wickedly at first, until the woman began bashing her head repeatedly, then she fully let loose a cackle.
There was a game being played, one that she was an unwilling participant in, yet had no power to excuse herself from. The guards would soon march through, bursting through the door but finding a half-dead woman blocking the path and a Nyllian giggling on her bed. They wanted to know how dangerous she really could be, yes? It would be a sweet day if the opportunity came, if she wasn’t aware of the consequences. Death wasn’t terrifying, just inconvenient. There was much of life that had been denied to her, experiencing the cruelty of others had only ingrained a deeper hatred for those in authority. Biding her time was beginning to wane though, this latest outburst one of many, yet the first to end so fatally since her collaring.
The door would soon open again, once they’d drug the body out and left her to giggle back into meditative silence.
With the utmost calm, Nyllian appraised her visitor, curious of the fact it was someone completely unknown to her. [color=#b20080]“...You’re not who I was expecting.” [/color]
She had still killed someone though they were unaware of her involvement. No, her victim had slept and dreamed of horrors plucked from their own fear and mixed with the malevolence of Nyllian’s own making. It was Childs play really, watching the effect take hold slowly, nightmares growing so fervent that her cellmate became increasingly animated, violent. It was puppetry. Nyllian remained where she always was, sat at the end of the threadbare cot in meditation. The collar around her neck sank deep heavily on her shoulders, its runes marked along the metal dampening, but not completely cutting her off entirely from the weave of magic. Just enough to toy with her jailors.
Nyllian sat unfazed, her indifferent stare fixed on one of the walls which was only interrupted by her occasional blinking. Even collared she could still hear the song of the dead, the undulating moan of the parted not yet crossed over, those who lingered in the void between. She wished to sing with them, give their bones the ability to dance, and all she would ask is their aid in dismantling this place brick by bloody brick, along with those inside. But she had to be content with one.
Her companion would start screaming, shrieking in such curdling fear, Nyllian couldn’t help the little scoff. What did cries really do? And she strengthened the hex conjured, noting the hunger growing in her gut, pushing her will deeper. Too deep. In hysterics, her companion would rise from their bed in a frantic panic, their body hurtling towards the door disregarding the metal bars blocking her path. Nyllian snickered wickedly at first, until the woman began bashing her head repeatedly, then she fully let loose a cackle.
There was a game being played, one that she was an unwilling participant in, yet had no power to excuse herself from. The guards would soon march through, bursting through the door but finding a half-dead woman blocking the path and a Nyllian giggling on her bed. They wanted to know how dangerous she really could be, yes? It would be a sweet day if the opportunity came, if she wasn’t aware of the consequences. Death wasn’t terrifying, just inconvenient. There was much of life that had been denied to her, experiencing the cruelty of others had only ingrained a deeper hatred for those in authority. Biding her time was beginning to wane though, this latest outburst one of many, yet the first to end so fatally since her collaring.
The door would soon open again, once they’d drug the body out and left her to giggle back into meditative silence.
With the utmost calm, Nyllian appraised her visitor, curious of the fact it was someone completely unknown to her. [color=#b20080]“...You’re not who I was expecting.” [/color]
01-24-2024, 07:42 PM
