rape

I come for you.

I bleed, knowing that each drop is in your name.

I will chase you in this choking, binding smoke.  Through the dark, no matter how deep I must push.  

I felt you break away from me...

For the second time.

              The newly resurrected Baron paces the floor of his home in his new hideout. The room is light by a roaring fire in the hearth of the once decrepted building. The new hide out is the ruins of Pyrewood Village, Thanks to the larbor of the baron's goblin engineers and order members, the town has been repaired and upgraded. Sprigge the goblin along with Periwinkle and Jin have added modifications to the homes including running water and eletricity. The town sits in the shadow of the ruins of Shadowfang keep.

She felt herself pressed against the wall.

Crouching over the rocky outcropping, Elriech let his long tattered cloak catch the breeze, pushing hair out of his face, he took another swig from a deep auburn bottle, the vile liquid burning his throat. Coughing once, he shivered under his plate armor, letting the drink seep into his veins like the Forsaken madness seeped into the forest around him. He watched, sitting high upon the mountain, behind the High Command post in Silverpine. It was unlike him to step away from his duties, but the Queen angered him, like the rest of his people, hatred fueled the Knight.

"It is better to be hated for who you are, than to be loved for someone you are not."
    ~Andre Gide

    I can't recall the last time I've had a hot bath.

    Oh, certainly the ocean water is warm along the coasts of Stranglethorn, but there's something about watching steam drifting lazily from your heated flesh, soaking in a warmth that saturates your body until you could swear your bones are growing hot… it's a pleasure I haven't experienced in a long while.

OFFICER’S REPORT (FILE COPY)
Case #: 481516
Reporting: Sir Sidoran Sunlash, Chief Security Officer of the Legion

(p.1) Regarding the Sexual Assault and Aggravated Harassment of Rhosyn (hereafter referred to as “the Victim”),

I interviewed the Victim early on the morning of 26/4. The statement she gave, paraphrased here due to technical difficulties with the recording equipment, was initially very similar to the statement given to Convocate Sebastien Kerwin (File Missing) and coincides with the report from Doctor Jakobus Nachtengaal ([url=http://www.rp-haven.com/blog/jakobus/report_regarding_rhosyn_delivered_lady_aramalia_solisbane]File Attached[/url]). New developments are detailed from Paragraph 3 onward, with notes included for the benefit of fellow investigators.

“Good. Yer awake. Thought about leavin' ya drugged up fer this, but I think ye need to be awake fer it.

“Don't try thrashin' too much. Yer joints are all dislocated, in addition to ya bein' tied down in that most uncomfor'ble and exposed position. Least I padded the sawhorse, a'ight?

“And don't go yankin' yer jaw overmuch, neither. While I 'magine ya wanna snark at me, or bargain about now, I'm pretty good at leatherworkin'. Them stitches ain't goin' anywhere.

“Bitch t'wanna scream and not be able to, huh?

((note- very descriptive rape and violence, caution advised))

I had really needed the money but that was a sorry excuse for going against my gut feeling.  Now I was going to be the one to pay…

I was always there to protect my sister when she needed me, I was always her support when she was lost. We had been through everything together, I held noone dearer to me than her. My beloved sister, Zakiri Evesharei. I didn't like to think of the past now, it only reminded me of the horrible things I had done, and the horrible person I used to be. It filled me with a vile sickness, but at least, I had her.

If only I could say that, but I had thought her dead for so long, going blindly about under Hakkar's spell like a lost kitten scrounging for food, oblivious to everything but the fishbone in that pile of trash. And sis had ended up being the one to watch me.

Bloodhound, she called herself for years, always so close to me, but never letting me know. How could she not trust me like that, her own sister?

I watch clouds scud across an iron-grey sky, clouds of mist blowing past, snow covering the ground.  Not quite like my dreams, but close.  Not flat enough, for one thing, the Plaguelands have a bit of a roll to them, most places.  Gods, but I'm cold, almost shivering despite my armor and heavy cloak.  How long has it been since I've been really warm?

Day:
He had won again,

There are hundreds of miles of pipeline down here, but I can find her just as easily on instinct alone. My eyes dilate and burn brighter in the dark catacombs, fingers sliding along damp stone, my boots alternating between crunching gravel and rancid puddles. If I listen closely, I think I can hear the distant sound of horse hooves and shuffling feet above us - but it's only imagined. There is only the sound of rushing sewer water, the shrill squeaking of rats, the snap of bones under my feet... and the loveliest sound of all - my siren call - the echoed sobs of a little girl.

{{ Repost }}

{{ WARNING: Mature content in the third section and somewhat long }}

Despite the fact it was three days ago and her torture hadn't been physical, she still felt a burning in her back when she stretched. But that had been the least of it; the Lich King did not smile upon disruptions to his plans, even if unknowing.

And by pure luck, there was Cicey. She still wore the mask of a queen to protect the child buried inside. Her rage freed her from the power of the shackles; Carolyn was tasked with returning her to slavery.

Carolyn was in a precarious position. She needed favor and trust to continue her attempts to recover Sowelu. The debacle with Cicey had cost her dearly and the pressure for her to abort her plans and salvage what she could was increasing. She had to succeed in this.

And as she painfully picked herself off the ground from the raw power of Cicey's attack, she realized she was going to need help.

It is written that all of us will come to an end. It is etched into our very souls when, where, why, and how we will die.

It is sometimes hard for mortals to understand that even one that knows the future is unable to change it, for we are all carved in stone. One who peers into the timeway will see what they have already conciously done to change things, not what 'may' be.

There are no uncertainties. There is no magic powerful enough to be of any actual threat to reality.

Your gods have no reign under my fist.

The night was before him, the Draconic being masked in the body of a Kal'dorei. Badly so, however, his bronze coloured skin betraying his true being. What a night it was, too, the moon peaked and full, casting light over the hilled landscape that arced over his field of view.

Familiar scents filled his nostrils. Blood.

Scartaris smiles, and by her posture seems relieved. Aly seems to be responding to my sudden increase in harshness after two days of Scar’s keeping her tied up. By comparison with me, Scartaris must seem like an angel of mercy. Good. "Now. Bad girls turn into wretched. Have you seen a wretched, girl?"

Alynesse fidgets in her uncomfortable bonds. "Y-yes....many..."

I take off my gloves and shove them in my belt while speaking. "Good girls don't turn into wretched. Because good girls do the right thing, and not the things that lead to wretchedness."

I then turn my head and murmur to Scar, "The repetition is important."

How fresh the memories, how they burn, like hot coals strapped in barbed-wire bracers upon my arms and legs! 

((Part 2 is more explicit and a little longer than part 1. Part 1 can be found here.))

"Now be quiet, and speak respectfully." I turn my back on Alynesse, meeting Scartaris’s eyes. From behind me, I hear Alynesse: ".....wouldn't....DARE..."

Scartaris raises an elegant eyebrow, and I smile tightly, making a sharp gesture behind my back "Allow me to explain the technique I'll be using..."

{{ Repost. Tissue alert }}

The fifth day of the fifth month of the year 27

I’m writing because I really need to tell someone, but there’s no one I can talk to that won’t turn murderous over this. Besides, it’s time to write you anyway.

(( Explicit: Violence, language, sex in the flashback.  Mature Content, do not read if you are thin-skinned.  My response to saying that people can't write stuff dirty enough for the explicit flag.))

((Highly explicit! Gratuitous smut was owed to a lucky birthday-having friend. Also, this may make more sense if you've read Ziar's Heart to Heart))

I’m not a runner. I’m a sprinter. I’ve been running so long I can’t feel anything but searing hot pain shooting up the backs of my ankles and along my aching calves. My knees are pure agony as bone grates against bone – each pounding thud of my boots into the ground of hard soil and snapping twigs sends a searing bolt into my scarred kneecaps.

Which way is east? It’s so dark in the jungle… so many eyes. The flapping of wings in the blanket of night sends colds sweats down the back of my neck.

Bloody hell, keep running!

“What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.”
~T.S. Elliot

((Explicit: Mentions of rape and cannibalism))

Grand Crusader Dathrohan,

These are excerpts from a journal discovered after the destruction of a forsaken caravan making its way past the Solliden Farmstead. Many of the travelers, including the writer of these pages, are believed to have escaped. I have enclosed passages that seemed of particular interest.

Ever your faithful servant,

~Captain Ledrath.

((This parallels http://www.rp-haven.com/blog_entry/sowelu/dont which is the original and much more well written version by Sowelu, that inspired me to a bit of writing myself and hence asking if it could have been a shared dream. Thanks, Elly. ^_^))

{{ Warning: adult themes and mature content }}

{{ A wonderful compliment entry by Phineaus: http://www.rp-haven.com/blog_entry/phineaus/tandem

Thank you so much, Phin. **hugs** }}

The twenty-third day of the fifth month of the twenty-eighth year

I sit up in my bed, my dreams still vivid in my mind’s eye. I’m too hot to sleep. My bedclothes are soaked with my sweat and I can feel every nerve in my body twitch. Light forgive my weakness, but I need to do something to relieve this or I’ll never sleep...

((Warning: Violence and Sexual Themes))

“I would make an excellent logger,” I tell my charge. The flat of my blade slides into the behemoth, spraying shards of its life across my face, and I step aside. My prediction is correct. I’ve cut it down at just the right place and it falls neatly into the mossy forest floor. “I have such a knack, don’t you think?”