Description

Personality

.†. PERSONA.†.

There is nothing Atra'Lamia cares about; those whom she once took into her heart had long been driven out by their own deeds and actions. She rarely shows emotion, the aspects which demand emotion she lacks. It is useless to her it except for Lust, Hatred and Death which are the three emotions she governs being the Goddess and primary force behind them. Atra'Lamia sees little else to delve in, or concern herself in petty sentiments of the heart or flesh- only the decadence of death and pestilence. Having run the gauntlet within the void, her whole philosophy changed from where once she was approachable, now she is not.

There is no use in thriving for life and death when the emptiness betwixt is far more gratifying, satisfying to her desires and requirements to sustain her own energies. There are no emotional ties where there was once before, she has relinquished all emotional & physical bonds and disposed of them from form and psyche. She thrives of fear, hatred, anger and pain- to tempt her in succumbing to any of those or demonstrating them (oozing from the heart like festering cancer), will only make her stronger for she feeds off expressed emotion, consumes it only to corrupt it, then use it against the source of its creation.

Her first rule is survival. Anything that threatens her is to be dealt with harshly and with no quarter offered let alone given. She enjoys twisting words to fit her diseased view of the world around her, her words mean little and one should carefully analyse thoroughly before assuming. Violence and lust plays a large role in the mentality of her makeup and all her desires and passions. She has no conscience of remorse, regret or guilt.

Equipment

.†. ORNAMENTATION.†.

¬ Hylacterium ab Atra’Cruor (Amulet of the Darkblood) Created and forged with the dark powers of spirits, wraiths and lesser Daemons to aid the wearer with the protection of dark spirits and darkness; created in 1998 and given to only two people besides Atra’Lamia.

The amulet itself was ornamented with Nightside/Darkside/ShadowLands diamonds that had been given to Atra by Raven_Reborn a Shadowland Lord. Into these precious stones was infused and Shadow-Weaved the essences of darkness, then empowered within the Shadowlands by a Deathlord bestowing the powers of summoning and instilled with a Wraith servitor whom was not forced but offered its services, submission upon its own part.

However to use this amulet, or if over used it will drain energy from its wearer to regain its own strength; it possesses its own intelligence and may communicate with the wearer via telepathic or psychic means. If willpower depletes the Amulet may literally feed of its wearer draining him/her completely of energy and life source granting the ability for the infused wraith to take over, and in some cases may take over completely or those close to the wearer (lamiae abilities).

Souls may also be stored in the pendant by a simple activation word or phrase, and be activated automatically by the same method. However, this phrase or word should be kept secret at all times and encoded via telepathic methods. The necklace also cannot be worn by anyone else other than who it was given to, for the simple fact it has a magickal signature etched into the back to which rests upon the skin of the owner. After a short amount of time, the amulet becomes accustomed to its owner’s skin properties and texture. Thus, when the amulet is worn by another it simply vanishes and returns to its original owner automatically. Subsequently, the person who steals or places it around their neck may suffer damage by the wraith contained within or the spirits identified with the amulet, it is also possible the perpetrator may be pulled into the stone and hence is lost forever, soul and body and then absorbed by the very poisons of darkness and the creatures that remain unseen to the naked eye.

If used this item cannot be considered as using a magickal power or ability for it has an intelligence of its own and acts accordingly to that of a separate entity.

Other significant items: Clax ab Umbra (Ring: Stone of Shadows- right hand ring finger) Negin az Târik’La’Nat (Ring: Signet of Darkbane [given by The Nameless]- left hand ‘marriage’ finger)- crafted from crimson Lapis Smaragdina and black silver. Plus her silver finger armor adornments and other assorted rare items worn on her hands.


.†.WEAPONS.†.

¬|Magick Imbued|

Machaera Vomica Vulcanus- Intorqueo Flamma

Also known as the sword of Balefire, except this weapon poses a significant difference to most already in circa. The difference being, this weapon is empowered with balefire in its most unholy and natural state, that of a sickly blue-green flame when summoned. The blade is fashioned solidified Umbra Ignis also more commonly known as Shadow Fire to those who are not of Daemonic/Seraphim origins.

The sword blade is approximately the same size as a claymore except serrated and embossed with Daemon runes and tormented figures seemingly reaching out from the blade matter. The Daemonic runes are the indications that it is a runic activated weapon that requires a brief incantation. The apex of the sword glistens with a slight balefire hue signifying its potential. The hilt was created from forged Mithril though smoldered black and etched with Daemonic glyphs and power runes. The hilt and pommel crafted into the shape of the Vesper Cross, the arms outstretched like bat wings. It is a truly magnificent weapon to behold and to wield.

It is a rather heavy sword in weight, and only suitable for one who has the stamina and strength to handle without taking a penalty. However, the sword is highly intelligent and can not only communicate to who wields it but also the intended target. When the Balefire is summoned it mostly communicates by shrieks and howl. When a hit occurs the sword only causes minimal when not summoned, however, when summoned the aggravated damage increases,capable to pierce even the most resilient of armors and cause severe wounds to infernal beings, celestial beings or other immortal creatures. The sword literally feeds of the wounded target as each hit occurs and has been known to 'blood frenzy' which causes the sword to increase to another level of power altogether and to frightening abilities which include Daemonic Reaper & Soul Reaper ....{Soul/Essence Eater}... {BaleFire}... {Blood Frenzy}... {Pestilence}... |only one in existence|


¬|Metamorphic|

Metamorphic War Gauntlet

Left Hand Forged and extended from her own arm, solidified by the enforced structure of plated bone and petrified muscular fortification that turns her arm and hand into a brutal and merciless weapon, that is simply activated by means of will and thought. This weapon drains not only the victims blood supply but also liquefies the internal and vital organs into a manageable fluid to digest, pinning the victim within its deadly prongs as they slowly wither away to nothing but empty skin. On the outer edge of her gauntlet are vicious spikes and jagged blades all infused with the poison she produces making it near impossible for any to physically grab her arm without running the risk of being sliced and thus infected not to mention impaled to suffer her pleasurable fetishes of torture and excruciating agony. It has no magickal properties other than being an innate weapon designed to vivisect and eradicate victims from existence to extinction.

'Metamorphic transformation from flesh to arcane Gauntlet- flesh peeling away as the sharp turrets protruded from muscle and bone; shining with a heinous grin...muscle and tendon parting only to entwine around the bare skeletal formation before that shimmering gleam of black metallic-like substance. Damnation borne from that single limb that could decapitate or disembowel with a single flick of finger- serrated prongs like Wamphyric incisors though far longer and elongated to curl and twist, blades designed to ensnare deep into the pits of prey rendering them skewed and impaled, tempered by the prime evil which now flowed through her veins. An instrument designed to engorge, not only feasting on the soul but also liquify the insides into sludge before being drawn back for consumption.' |unique|

¬|Normal|

Non-Magickal
• Twin Shadow-Damascene scimitars
• Tire Fout Shamshir (Katana)
• Whip/Chain Sword

History

.†. MEMOIRS.†.

...even as a child Ankhnesmira had an unnerving fetish for torture and blood. An insatiable madness that inspired her interest in the dark arts of thaumaturgy and genetic alterations; to alter the living & undead creatures into ghastly abominations using her potent abilities of magickal prowess and knowledge and use her ‘pets’ against the legions of her father and mother. She was a dangerous sorceress even then but she began to crave something more, a far darker purpose in her existence… destruction. Not just for her parents but also everything above, below and within. The complete obliteration of hell, void, earth and heaven… and it was this thirst which aided her in the means of breaking from the underworld and entering the world, known as Ayenee (the mortal realm).

It was then that she aroused the attention of the ‘Eternal Goddess’, Pandora who ran a cult of death fanatics, murderers and rouges who had been exiled from other clans due to their ferocity and lust for blood. Earning her right to be inducted by gruelling initiations involving fighting other members to the death, no exceptions but for the souls of the weak and fallen. This involved beatings and task and after many tasks all to gain favor in the eyes of Pandora. Triumphing over all adversaries and gaining favour in the eyes of the Goddess having been seen as fit to become the consort to one of the male members now known as Nos; an accolade for the winnings of his deeds and not her own merits. At least this was the initial plan, but all plans are subject to failure, for as time passed Atra now known as Atra’Lamia fought her way through the ranks, a grunt at first but soon rising from the ashes as the Arch-Priestess of Darkbane and not long after that, 2nd in command below Pandora herself. Taking the reins of the cult, elevating the name of Darkbane to one that was feared throughout the mortal world known as Ayenee; a terrible and formidable force that carved infamy throughout the trembling lands.

Names arose from the piles of defiled corpses, amongst the most feared of all Pandora’s children, a wraith pulled from the darkness… a name soon known as Malice; the ravenous appetites of his obsidian maws never knew satisfaction, carving through life like a plague of Death itself. All forms of life to feed his gluttonous appetites not only for death but the entire essence of his victims bringing him from something spectral to a creature tangible to possess. Atra's 'dark' love. For years they prospered, scourging the land and raping it of life and destroying any hope in the human race of survival. Atra’Lamia only a warrior sorceress with her chapter of iniquitous servants and conjured creatures became an even more formidable force with Malice by her side. It was such a shame that even evil has its perils. A great unrest swept through the ranks, talk of dissension whispered amongst those loyal only to Atra’Lamia with plots of Pandora’s assassination- it had been here that their destiny was first fated to crumble, fail due to their own hands and indecisions of command and readiness to act on those commands sworn by their own declarations that the blood was thicker than water. Many spoke with treacherous lips.

Her and Nos now known as Nebula, had been a deadly team but one that rarely saw eye to eye and when he had given his life to Pandora it left a bitter taste in Atra’s mouth. One that forced her to turn him away and ultimately his son many years later and conceal the birth of their daughter Malistique whom she left experience the world by her own accord and desire, erasing the memory of her, as her birth mother and returning many years later to ultimately save her from a fate similiar to that of her own. Years later, after keeping Malistique from the clucthes of the clan, Atra called a secret meeting with Pandora and a few of those most loyal to her within Pandora’s temple, Atra’Lamia slaughtered them all by her own means with her own two hands except for Pandora, but leaving the temple to crumble and shatter, bringing it down on those remaining who had escaped the death of her voracious weapons and soul-starved fiends. Rallying the remaining Darkbane’s to gather troops and forces to prepare for cull of the weaker species, Atra’Lamia left on the very eve of the battle, simply vanishing from the detection of even the most adept of scrying eyes. Leaving no explanation as to why and still to this day any excuse has never been given. Whispers of the ‘Darkbane Reborn’ under Malice had filtered to her ears, enraging her beyond belief since no word had officially been sent, not even a call… just nothing.

During her absence Malice and Atrox had found a way to kill Pandora, or so the whispers trickled through the remaining members of Darkbane, how wrong they were. For some years after her disappearance Malice & Atrox had prospered until a falling out occurred and things turned sour amongst brothers. Years turned into centuries, cold long years of following her own endeavours to be something more than just this ‘discarded’ Darkbane abomination amongst greater beings more deserving of her exquisite nefarious graces. Darkbane would not survive without her, however, with the wars of the infernalists and Retribution, Atra could hardly say no… at least back then. Serving the wars and later returning at the call of an old friend, bringing her back to the mortal shores of Ayenee. Once again Atra’Lamia returned to Darkbane, having a new temple resurrected, overlooking the citizens of Ayenee beholding fear in their eyes as the massive obsidian spires were revivified. Again, Malice returned to her side and with his might and her cunning mind, they re-established their sinful wicked reputations controlling Ayenee as their personal killing field until parting ways again.

Atra had been requested to attend the court of Aoyn by request of the Overlord, and given the title ‘Sorceress of Aoyn’ by his decree, with the aid of a few scattered men and Uriel, Atra established her reign in Eden, being the true Queen of Eden by birth and having conquered the Calorian legions and taking the seat of power by force. Rebuilding the city was an easy task; The Nameless had provided many of his soldiers who worked night and day to build something spectacular and worthy of their ‘Queen’. Eden thrived, the land nourished and Atra maintained her position for many years after. Wars came and were lost, all successful campaigns mastered by herself and the Wamphyri Lords known as Malagen and Radu, their monstrous warbeasts and the others who swore their allegiance to Atra’Lamia. The war against Brunner and his armies had been won. Alas, the interest in Eden waned and marching her forces out of Eden began her campaign to attack and control Tenaria. It was after her takeover of Tenaria that Atra and Malice’s paths crossed again, though short and brief- it seemed their reunions were never permitted by some benign force. Perhaps it was the devilesque bonds separating her from the tenebrous arms of this Dark Lord? She sought something… more.

Inspired by the urge to obtain more omnipotent power of a different nature began to study the mechanisms of obscure races and their superlative attributes having studied Radu and Malagen only to imbibe their essence and infiltrate their strange and unusual gifts and attributes. Atra’Lamia wanting something more and less of emotion trapped between her being, wishing for the later and not the lesser- using this as a new focus for climatic transformation albeit. With aid from The Nameless, the Dimmu, then the Darkbane avatar that had long replaced the spirit, Morirorogl. This monster of the void thrived to correct this glitch of her charisma, deciding to run the gauntlet of the void and extract the blood of fallen clans from her veins along with that of ‘feeling’ and ‘emotion’. Extracting all means of fear, pain and tolerance from her being… a feat that near killed her as she dragged her body slowly upwards, not cowering upon the ground like a kicked puppy, instead rising as a proud, undefeated warrior… an Advent to the Voidic Dimmu. A new world presented to her on a gilded platter, one rife with new blood and rich resources for the plucking. Besides the ascension of her uprising status in the pantheon of deities, the underworld and Ayenee.

Gathering the legions presented by the Dimmu, her majesty then claiming the feigned heritage of the Wamphyri and representive of the advent of the Dimmu… being born in a new image of death and carnage by her fangs and gauntlet; drinking and reaping through the masses swiftly and rapidly. For those who remained alive in the great siege of her invasion were captured and placed in the vats to be forged and fashioned into hideous beasts of war, chitin-armoured warrior, flyers and other ghoulish creations to serve her demands and will. Others were used to create, siphon and fortify her aerie that was built high in the mountains of Naethyrn and named ’Mortuus Lacrimae’. No longer was this land in the shadow of Varloorni , the Dark Mother Lilith had fallen to the hordes of Atra, nicknamed the ‘Inferi Corax’, and did not survive the blood-battle. Even the King of Pendragon fell to the demise of her gauntlet, imbibing all his dragon-innate abilities and powers. Becoming something far more diabolical than just her birthright with the ability to diatribe others powers and special ‘gifts’. Bringing these powers into her reservoir of endless talents before journeying to Sharvani and taking down the Wamphyri Lord, Thibor- destroying his power source and essence to never return back to existence, his clones, spores and vats all destroyed.

Her beloved Nicolai also fell to the wicked betrayals of Atra’Lamia, twice. Once to the seal of the underworld and the second when she trod on his heart, again sending his back to the underworld to reconsider his weaknesses. Thus became her symbolism, the Crow. It became the focal emblem upon Atra’s crest crafted from black Damascus and mithril, bearing the arcane inscriptions of ‘Anathema' for that was the closest personification in regards to Atra. Now residing in Nach'Prytania, preferring her solitude and not wishing for the company of disloyal serpents. Preferring the company of her own killer instincts and unleashing her enraged passion on those who dare infect her territory with their uninvited disgraceful souls. Days had been long drenched in the passions of sanguine rapture; death comes all too easy to this ‘Dark Nemesis', harvested souls like a Paramount at her feet.

... now 'The Eternal Goddess' has returned and once again Atra shall carve her name, though this time in the quivering flesh of Darkbane's Matron, Pandora.

So begins...

Atra'Lamia's Story

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Setting

Ayenee

Characters Present

0.25 INK

#2012-03-11 01:08:19, as written by Atra'Lamia

A faint whisper from the darkness of Ayenee; was that all it was? Simplistic in melody from the hapless tongue of frosts, maybe in origin it was more the change of tides in the flow of waking. For years beneath the ruins of her family crest, she had slumbered. Shrouded in the garb of satin and gossamer like some treasured secret meaning to remain buried by time {forgotten} with no real purpose of existence. The past was nothing more than a guild of disappointment, one that given reason she had put behind her and struggled to find another more sacred to the blackness of her heart. Here she discovered the failure for stigma which had been branded on stone by such wretched charlatans. A boil on the name which she once considered unholy, now a farce. It wasn't that she who thought of herself as having failed, instead all those around her whom had not remained true to their word and oaths. Many spoke with venomed tongued, hiding their fangs yet bearing their infantile poisons every so uninventively.

There was no reason for all these years of torpor, she was no weak vampire nor needed to reserve her energies for future battles. It was more of being tired of the same lies and the same faces behind the shadows, she had begged for her life at Atra's feet, amusing. Amusing enough that it warmed her blood on cold, boring nights. Did Abakana think herself so gifted in manipulation that her eyes could not see behind the masks? Then again, time and time again, she permitted those ghosts to intrude on her existence like a plague. And that was what they were a plague on the essence of her epitome. Abakana was long dead to the maggots swarming from violated eye-sockets which the flies bred from. Well no more would she be this infestation. Sometimes in ones subsistence, to renew the vitality of purpose, one has to take a few steps back to change the path they are on. It was this stain, this blight that she would be liberated from. All it took was simply to turn her back and never regret such choices. And why not? She had been accused of it before, falsely. Why not hammer the final nail in the coffin.

From the ephemeral plethoric shroud of darkness she stirred. Poignant in motion, as if a painting had come to life. Scenes slowly blending from mottled brushed colors to dull drapery and the pretense of elegance, deluding and illusionary. Exhibiting the true colors that had lingered beneath the surface where decoration no longer existed, just only which was true. Essence. There was no requirement for all the insincere glory achieved through blood and sweat, not necessarily her own, but granted by her hand. Surely that had to count for something? Unlike the others of that blighted clan, her achievements had been that of her own merit. Their names were no more than a joke, and most conceited parodies were easily forgotten. Each in turn would be forgotten, but never forgiven. To her they were erased from extistence.

Reborn in the flesh as she had been created. A single drop of venomed elixirs from the blood of death and the essences of souls stolen would make all the difference; a bottle had been obtained during her scholars of the Thanatonian Monks. Used for many various concoctions regarding the memory, it made sense to completely make them all vanish. Since a mother is the goddess of creation, so to could a mother become that of death/ uncreation. There was nothing left that even resembled her true self, it had been morphed and warped into something not even those once closest could recognize. There was nothing worse than looking at your reflection in the mirror and no longer recognizing the face which stared back at you. Mocking you with empty eyes. Ballathor had been right, and in her own lies she had betrayed the only mother she had ever known. Pandora. She was no longer, all that she was left with were their shadows still laughing from the darkness. She was the fool. And what a shame her woken somnolent revelation was the final realization. It had come too late and now she was truly alone except for the ghost that tormented her awareness.

Deft fingers twisting the stopper of the small vial. It was like they were dancing around the frame of the black glass bottle, as if caressing the neck of a fragile lover. The liquid could not be spilled on unholy ground, the spores had to blossom before they could burst and unleash their deadly ingredients. Only a tiny drop should be spilled, no more and no less. All the centuries of learning and knowledge couldn't be lost, not because of the ungratefulness of those fools who thought themselves as formidable. It was the very essence of Darkbane given to them that she wanted gone, the privledge granted by Pandora. The amulets awarded would simply turn to dust. Whatever Darkbane blood that coursed through their veins would be no longer. Whatever tattoo's were given in tribute would fade to nothing and the mark of their shame, from her flesh would be removed. The taint of their rotten flesh gone from her caress and lips.

Atra had forgotten what it was like to feel the infantile sunlight upon her skin. She welcomed the faint chill of night as it was gradually warmed by golden tridents bringing forth a new day. Rebirth and renewal. Permitting herself the briefest of pleasures. A moment of silence to enjoy these simple privileges that comes with living and dying {in a metamorphic definition} the chrysalis of change and transformation. Bringing herself back to a sense of reality, no longer dreaming of the nightmares that screamed in defiance within the back of her mind. Finally she would be free. Slowly the vial was raised to grant one single globule to the terra firma beneath her feet. It was then that she heard a murmur from the darkness of her past just as the minuscule drop of the potion fell upon the tip of a radiant crimson poppy. It was then that she decided to taste some for herself... Finally she would be free. Slowly the vial was raised to plump rubicund apertures. It was then that she heard a murmur from the darkness of her past just as the minuscule drop of the potion fell upon the tip of tongue.

There was no turning back now. Atra had not recognized the source of this husky, chthonic voice or even if it was intended for her. There was a strong possibility she never would know for the potion worked quite efficiently, immediately just as any notable contaminant would. Vision became blurry, eyes widening to try and decipher her whereabouts just as the feeling of nausea washed over her like a surging tide. Faltering in step, head shaking as if to chase away the feeling of floating on tempest inflicted waters. With this sensation came the violent pounding in her head, slamming against consciousness before everything turned to blackness.

Her body falling limp to the ground. The fall protected by the multitudes of wild perfumed lilies blanketing the isolated hillside-- flowery heads bidding by the wind stroking along the landscape of valley..... and so softly sweet they wept.

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The setting changes from ayenee to The Dwarven Stout

Setting

The Dwarven Stout

Characters Present

0.00 INK

#2020-04-03 11:22:07, as written by Danteezy

Serratin Algorio sits at bar

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Setting

The Dwarven Stout

Characters Present

0.00 INK

#2020-04-03 11:25:43, as written by Danteezy

/south

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• Seen 3 Times • Page 1 of 1