Jan. Wk. 3 Art Challenge - Conflict

[Ubique]

this challenge is open to any typical form of art or expression, including 2D, 3D, poetry and short stories.

conflict - is it fighting? is it two slaves made to wrestle naked in mud? is it the expression on a master's face when it comes to deciding who he will fuck tonight among his many slaves? is it the struggle of a heart that yearns to express its love of another but is afraid? or is it simply someone in chains fighting to get free? what is conflict? is it war?

let's see a demonstration of conflict! and feel free to use storylines from belariath's current state! or characters from bel who are ever so conflicted!

[Ubique]

[Ehlanna]

And my stab ...

The knight is thinking, "just how good a screw is she gonna be, and is it gonna be worth it ...?"

[Tehya]

Chains or Vines

They claimed Gaea made her,

Yet an unknown God lured her

No one would listen

This wasn’t a tale or song

She came forth, sent a letter

No answer came back

Though the chains snapped free

Not her tin ship but a black crow feather ship

Came back from sea


The dark one told her

Made her feel the other side

Touched and caressed with no demands

His voice loud and angry when they lay in the sand

Do not!

You can’t be tied

She cried out, silence if heard you will die

His answer was, he is a bastard to be denied

Yet to this day she follows his truth and lies

To live among vines … the chains denied

[Ubique]

heh ehlanna, nice interpretation of the theme LURVES IT!

and yay, poetic expression! thanks for the posting!

[mozenwrathe]

*There are many different types of people in the world of Belariath. Not all of them are raving lunatics, murderers of high regard, and savage rapists. Just normally the better known ones are. Of course, there are some that hunt the raving lunatics for money. Depending on what sort of crazy they are, will they have specialized skills for such occasions. Please note, they don't normally hire cheap. And more than one person has found out they were merely replacing one monster for another...*

Everywhere I Go, Shall I Sever Your Control
by Curtana Lævateinn, templa'ndengina (mage slayer) of Hurema'Inca

If there is anything I have learned in my life, is that trusting people can end up getting you raped or worse. At least, when you do not have something to protect yourself from said people. I realized this early in life when I clued in that the animals that the humans took so much care of on the farms ended up as their meals months afterwards. This is just the way of the world, to consume and to conquer or be consumed and conquered. The animals, the humans, and even the land itself understands this basic fact. And all those whom do not, end up learning the hard way one way or another. It is something I thought I could keep myself separate from forever, but eventually my lifestyle and ways caught up to me. Though I was a little surprised when I was not the one crushed and broken, but the three men who had tried to capture me for their little "ritual." This was well over one hundred years ago, however, and back when I was first coming into my powers. Today, it is a much different tale, and I have a lot more control over what I do and how I do it.

When those men had found me, I was in pitiful shape. I refuse to explain how I got there to begin with, as the tale is not for others to hear. Though I will admit all I had were rags and sandals, and a full head of hair. Chasing me through the city streets, the men had been screaming with glee as those around barely noticed my passing. Sure, had I lifted the coinpurse of one of the men, but I had not eaten in days. It matters naught now, for have I coin to last me weeks if necessary thanks to my new found livelihood. Then, it was a matter of hand-to-mouth, and any fallen coin or scrap was fair game. When one is raised in a village where all care about each other's well being, it is impossible to think of stealing from a random person passing by. However, the cruel reality of the cities taught me that the only thing that cares about you is death, and it wants you to come to it sooner rather than later. Thievery brought tears to my eyes every time I did it, but was it necessary unless I wanted to fall into a slaver's hands. And from what I saw of those who owned slaves, I figured my life as a beggar was far better than the barbed whips and harsh magics awaiting me at such malicious hands as those.

The trio of men - humans I should add - clearly were looking at me as sport of more than one kind, for one of them clearly was a stalker of prey by his garments alone. Every so often would they fling stones and broken shards of pottery at me. I did not realize it then, but they were herding me towards a place where they could easily have their way with me. Taunts of "slut" and "stick pig" were hurled at me as they pursued me, never getting too close to ruin their view of my frail body. Those in the streets that morning looked at me with indifference at best, salivating sadism at worse. More than once, hands reached out to grope at my breasts - or at least attempt to. Batting them away, my hands ended up being rendered almost too numb to hold what little fabric I had left on to my chest. My arms and legs were cut numerous times. Never enough to make me fall, but more than enough to have me shrieking in horror. When they had me cornered in a back alley, did I know quite well what they wanted. And all I could was weep in horror and scream as they reached for me. What happened after that, I was never quite clear on. All I knew is that they were dying, and I wasn't covered in greasy and groping fingers.

Crawling over the men, did I do my best in my terror and rage to give them a little more pain for their suffering. Kicking everywhere that was not armored, I reveled in the groans and wheezing coughs of the men. Watching their bodies writhe had to be the most exhilarating moment of my life. Fingers that would have ripped off the filthy rags I called a dress, now did I crush under my heels with stomping. Mouths that had been chanting what horrible acts they had in store for me, now were spilling blood and spitting teeth. I did not think to just run away and hope they would not catch me again. I wanted blood. I wanted carnage. I wanted death. And by the time I had finished in that alleyway, I had all three. My body was spattered with the final droplets of their life's essence, and my spirit was enraptured with the power of violence and fury. I had found my calling. I had chosen my path in life - or better yet, the path had chosen me.

I spent what felt like hours in that alleyway, noticed by only a few who had smiled when they saw the men fall to their knees and then to the dirty cobbled stones. Taking whatever I could safely carry from them, did I leave the carcasses of the men behind, swearing to myself that I would never give any human my trust. The problem with that is, of course, Hurema'Inca is positively full of humans. They are everywhere, like rats or cockroaches. A disease are they upon the land most of them are, and they call themselves civilized and correct. If it were my choice, would I have driven all their adult males into the ocean for the flesh-loving fish to devour slowly and with great bites. Okay, maybe not all of them, for some of them have proven worthy enough to lick my boot heel or places that please me. That, of course, is a tale for another time. My first act as a blood-soaked survivor of a would-have-been rape was to find the closest elven run store to buy new clothes. I cared little about staining them with the gore upon my body, as the matron who was there offered to cleanse me with magic. I believe the deathly grip I had on the dagger in my left hand showed her to not try tricks with me. She was also the one who introduced me to Calastra and Alarea, to whom I have consecrated my daggers and my flutes. Her name was Tenanye, and she served Minor Noble House of Erulissë Fragarach as seamstress and cook for some of their people.

Of all the elves have I known from that point forward, it was Silivrentolwen of the Minor Noble House of Erulissë Fragarach who gave me guidance that has lasted the longest. Tenanya introduced me to Silivrentolwen two weeks after I met her. I guess she wanted to see if I was still alive after a fortnight. I have to admit, I was almost as terrified to meet this woman as I had been when those three men had hunted me through the streets. She, apparently, had been a nighean'òranaiche in her youth, and had become well favoured by those within the Minor Noble House. Tales had spread quietly about the woman who had screamed her attackers to death, and Silivrentolwen was determined to have me under her "pearl swan wings" as soon as she could. The "interview" if one could call it that lasted an entire nightfall. By the time she was done with me, had she quietly arranged for all of my things (such as they were) to be removed from one of the inns and brought to her townhouse where I would be staying with her, Tenanya, and a few others. It would be almost a decade before I lived anywhere else, and two decades before she felt I was properly trained to take on my new role as a templa'ndengina.

This did not mean that my life within the halls of Silivrentolwen were all sweet and peaceful. More than thrice when she was away, did gentleman callers for her or some of the others attempt to ply their wiles on me - through subtlety or through force. At least two of them succeeded when they had bespelled and drugged me, taking me like they would a scullery maid and leaving me dumped upon the floor once they were done. What they did to me I do not wish to describe, save for that every place they could slide themselves into they did. A leaking and corrupted mess was I on a side room's dinner table, their seed oozing from me and my tears pooling on the table. Bruises from their rough handling were everywhere, including a blackened eye and a bloodied nose. Had they been as savage as the men I had avoided so many moons before, but not to the point where I would be dead. Heard I their laughter as they left, convinced milady Silivrentolwen would be quite fine with their ravaging of my person.

They were the first two I ever used Rime of the Ancient Mariner on. I practiced until I was perfect. It took me a few weeks, but I rationalized I had nothing but time on my hands. After all, the House healers also needed to work on their binding of wounds and invoking of soothing psalms. Their screams were muted thanks to stuffing their silken breeches in their mouths for gags. Their cries of anguish were nothing more than a measure upon which to judge how well or poorly I was able to use the magics deep within me. At the end, milady Silivrentolwen told me to thank them properly by giving them much deserved release physically and sexually. She did not, however, insist that I leave them undamaged afterwards. Both of the men were of the drak`sen, not that it mattered to me. All I knew was that they too were never to be trusted again.

Have I learned that not all of what I do is in the best interests of the people... or of myself. More than once a fortnight do I lay awake, agonizing over my decisions in the past. In the end there can be only one answer: if I am still alive and still without collar around my throat, then I must have chosen the right path. Whether it be letting a thief steal away into the night, or plunging a sìor'slaighre through the mouth of courtier's favoured slave for spilling secrets of House Erulissë Fragarach, the result is still the same. The conflict within me dies every time I close my eyes, for I know am I the one in the right, for am I the one still breathing by my own choice.