Legends of Belariath

Eraelabryn

The Wild

You wander - how many nights, how many phases of that moon - in search of information. Information that you must possess to stop the nightmares, to stop the racing of your heart as shadows in the night seem to take shape, to twist you into their erotic fancies. Eraelabryn. A whispered name, nothing more, but all that you knew of her, the sole piece of hard information. Her dark Master, his name you would speak if you dared, but it was her insidious cruelty which haunted you, which forced your soul to scream out.

Better to die by his hand, than live by hers. And so you left the shelter of the Inn, traveling the realm, trying to shake that feeling that wherever you went, she knew. Information, you needed it, craved it, ever searching for one who might share a fragment of her story, surely she wasn’t always the demons consort. But then a tip, a lucky one at that: and you and your horse arrive, travel weary and covered in the filth of your supplications at an Inn, set in the far corner of the Empire. Filthy little thing it was, the walls barely capable of standing on their own.

Raising your eyes you see the Name, written in a faded guild hand, "The Virgin Whore" – a foul place really; one of those that you would rather sleep in the stable than risk being bushwhacked within. However, your need to learn drives you within those walls. Smoke, smells, foul pleasures being partaken, the other patrons appearing to be the dregs of society that the Lonely Inn itself refused to serve. If you peered hard enough the one you sought was sitting in a corner, blind eyes, white eyes, staring directly at you.

There she sat, older than Sin itself, the scars showing the trails and trials of her life, worn like some map to show her very strength, even as that body aged. White hair stringy, that scalp bare in patches where strands had been ripped out by the roots. Human, so she seemed, the knotted fingers reaching to grip her bottle of foul liquid, swigging from it with a cackle.

Had you even approached her totally? Those white orbs, rheumy looking, peering at you, she had no sight, or did she? That voice, the roughness of it as she spoke, gums flinging bits of spittle, those teeth lost or taken you could be sure, in some manner of abuse. "I can smell her on you...sit down Boy - let Ith`adala regale you with a tale...". With the movement as she slammed that bottle upon the table, the other sounds in the Inn seeming to fade as those sightless eyes claim your mind, painting a picture, telling a history far better to be left alone. You sit, how could you not, and listen to the old one, allowing her to dive into the depths of your mind; to consume you with the pictures she paints, losing yourself in the horrid tale, the sounds and smells of the inn fading further into the background with each word.

"I could tell you, you know, of her very conception - the darkling bitches stole me from my cradle. Trained me to serve as a cumslut, a cleaner for their vile worship of their Goddess. To my shame I must confess I was taken in battle, made a slave for the house of Huri-can `Lodar the most vile of bitches who fancy themselves the chosen of that Whore Kirva - nasty lot, let me tell you."

A long draught from that bottle, her hands shaking as she tried to steel her nerves. "Took my damn eyes, took my sight, so I wouldn’t see what the cunt did, when she was just a babe …" A shake of those stringy strands as she cackled, almost as if she was proud of the one known as Eraelabryn.

"Strange how torment for years creates such a bond. But you aren’t interested in that - are you." Her voice fades as memories are fought, shifted, to become clearer, her hand leaving it’s feverish clutch on the bottle, the filth stained upon her cracked flesh, as she grips your hand, whispering a soft word in Moriel...suddenly her memories are played before you.......her words the narration of vile darkness...she allows you that sight.

"She was conceived by a high priestess of Kirva, within the sacred abode southwest of Elghinnaft - The house of Tor-Nocturine brought a Dobluth, captured from up here, they did, forced him to mate with the vile creature - of course she slit his throat in sacrifice for the seed in her womb, as soon as that prick let off that last explosion. Silly Bastard

didn’t even see it coming, was deep in the thrall of orgasm. However, Kirva seemed to bless the sacrifice, I can remember the other Priestess so pleased with the coming of that child, a female. How they knew beforehand...how am I to know? Still and all- the moons passed and the Priestess grew - upon the altar that she bathed in the blood of that male, she gave birth -her bloody water spilling as Te`Raelabryn took her first breath. Huh...strange isn’t it, if I had been braver, I would have tried to strangle her with the cord they made me cut. Still something about the babe, the perfection that she held within, that birthmark – what? You haven’t seen it? Oh - of course not, her hair would cover it now. It dwells on the back of her head, part the silver strands, the inky blackness of her skin there is marred, there is a web marking, etched in silver itself - strange business if you ask me; it seemed to glow at her birth, apparently a sign of some kind. The little bitch wasn’t forced to take the tattoo of Ink like the others to mark herself as a member of the House. Muo`Githara..the Matron Mother wouldn’t allow it...said it wasn’t needed - little did she know, huh."

The pause of her words as she took another drink, slamming the liquid as if the fire of it would sooth her telling, would make the ancient one strong enough to form those words, the spittle glistening upon her lips as she started to speak again, not giving you time to break her train of thought.

"Now the house of Hur-can`Lodar is a wicked group, as I am sure you have heard, each one vowing to Kirva, serving beside her sisters for Kirva’s will. The Matron, Muo, she is a dark one, troubled I think – blessed, or should that be cursed? - with visions harsh enough to make even a Moriel cry. In the babe she saw one who would serve, who would bring about the second realization of worship, one who would force all others to serve Kirva, as the One and Only True Goddess of the Dark Race. Te`Raela was allowed many – special - training lessons, that the other sisters were not allowed. Ever seen Moriel bitches jealous? It isn’t a good time, let me tell you, hah! Cost me these scars here - and a few more I am sure a young thing like you wouldn’t wish to see."

A wink of her sightless eyes as she speaks again. "I was given to her as a plaything, something to practice her dark will upon. Even as a child she knew how to illicit such screams that the others would run from her - she was gifted, I give her that, something not right within that head of hers. However, she grew, she worshiped and she was blessed, if one can call Kirva’s blessing a good thing.

"I am sure, now, that she isn’t as kind as she was then, really the creature longed for that praise, for the affection of her birth mother, who was rampant in her jealousy of her own offspring. Eraela - that’s what you surface dwellers call her now, isn’t it? Eraela longed for affection from the priestess, she would show off, she would try to please, needing to hear from the one that spawned her how pleased she was to have issued one who wielded such power. Still, her mother despised her, I think it was because she herself wasn’t granted those - special talents."

Another cackle as she motions to your exposed forearms where the razor marks there the blind crone instinctively seems to know are there. "I see you have felt the dance of that blade," a shake of her head as she leaned back in her chair, "anyhow - there is rumor, there is a ritual; a way of Kirva blessing her little whores, allowing them to sacrifice something in exchange for more power. Now, keep in mind their society isn’t like ours, they are sneaky vile back stabbers, never trust one - ever. It’s the power they crave, the fact that they believe they own the sun even as it burns them. Eraela’s mother, she was a High Priestess, Eraela herself - just a pup really, albeit a talented one, gifted, she would outshine her mother soon, perhaps even take her place. I have never seen one so zealous in her pursuit of worship. The Matron Mother, she pressed both of them - playing some wicked game with the mother and the child. So young my Eraela was when forced to choose: to play the foul game of Mistress and Keeper with the one who spawned her. You do understand, don’t you - Eraela thinking Kirva would bless her further, would allow her more power - she slit her own mothers throat, on the same altar that she was conceived upon, that she was birthed upon. Such a dark and dastardly deed, to consume ones maker, on the alter of Everyone’s maker. The darkling believed in sacrificing the one thing that made her weak, the Dark Mother would grant her the darkest talents. There was no choice of course - Muo`Githara had to send the creature topside, had to banish her. Said something about the will of Kirva, let her burn in the sun, alone - since the sisterhood of service meant so little to her. Either she would burn and fade, not worth the blessing of her Goddess, or she would grow and learn to be darker then the others. Strange isn’t it - how the Gods warp what they believe we need. I don’t know...much of what happened after she went topside There were rumors of course, we slaves have ways of passing information back and forth that others only dream of...I heard such wonderful things on how she was forced to bend, the sun making her as weak as a babe. Strange: I would find that idea so pleasing that the bitch that took my eyes was forced into whimpering begging. It is the height one falls from that makes colliding with the earth hurt more."

A movement as she offers the bottle to you, allowing you to take one swig of the rot gut shit, burning, making you choke. That smile, so strange, peaceful on her face as she leans back...the frailness of her body making her appear for an instant as if she might take in one last ragged breath and dust be issued from her exhale of it.

"Those rumors though, they were enough to make even the heartless tremble. The idea that one blessed by Kirva herself, could be banished. Well - it made the others stand on their traitorous toes let me tell ya. Moons passed, seasons changed...we even caught wind of a rumor that she had taken up with some...Nightmare...disavowing her claim that Kirva placed upon her at birth, swearing to serve only Him, to allow herself to submit not only to a Male, but to – by - the dark Goddess herself, a surface dweller. You can imagine the outrage: the little whore should have been killed, saved all us down below the shame of it. For her to grow, to become powerful is to say that Kirva cant handle her own handmaidens."

Her voice, stronger now as she stands, it takes you a movement to realize that liquid had been poisoned, your windpipe closing off, breath denied as lungs burned for air. The old one, shimmering, changing - the guise stripped off as she places a fingertip upon your chin, forcing you to look upon her as your heart beats for the last time.

"We are not pleased - and I should thank you for telling us were she is." The disguise now totally lost, the presence of a Moriel, so stunning, the black widow tattoo of her House emblazoned between her eyes, "if Mother won’t handle it - there are those of us who will."

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