Of Silk and Shadow

[ShadowOfMemory]

Storm clouds had been rolling over the harbors of the capital city of Arelith since early morning, with thunder and lightning giving a chaotic back drop to the lives of those residing within the walls of Cordor. Both citizens and travelers had been in a rush to get all of their daily business finished and done. Though the islands that make up the western most domain of the continent named Faerun are well know for their storms and gray horizons, this particular monstrosity, by sight and magical divinations, did promise to be something more profound than what was usually expected.

Sailors raced to tie down sail canvas as well as to better fasten their ships to the docks and the strong reels used in case of such devastating winds and swelling waves. The officers of such ships kept all active with cries and random profanity, to best ensure their life’s blood would be kept as safe as possible. Cargoes where carried from the docks out either the various business’ depending on them, or under vast tarps as far from the surf as possible.

The Nomad and the Social Club, the two most prominent taverns in Cordor, were busy with preparation of both food and drink, and the Nomad of checking to make sure its guest rooms where ready. Some bardic talents where as well getting ready, to earn coin by giving the patrons a chance to ignore possible damage that might ensue, and let the escape of their craft embrace and strengthen the audience. Several priests of the various deities worshipped by decree and council ruling, got their own implements and spells ready for any injuries that might ensue. As well as prepare their various sermons of why their gods should be called out for in times of strife and peril.

All among the many housing building and homes was preparation being made by families and individuals and room mates, to ready their houses and land to best weather the coming eruption of Talos’ clenched rage. The streets filled with rushing people began to slowly become less populated, as finishing touches and last chance precautions were being fulfilled. The sky began to darken, even far from dusk, and the first wails of the storm winds began to reverberate through the streets and alleys; a cacophony of a hymn of vicious intention.

Far from the docks and harbors, and towering over the Social Club and several large estates, the Cordor Colosseum was a massively iconic prominence that seemed to dare the rising winds and raging rainfall to come and attack it. Made of the best marble and iron and wood that were found at its creation so long ago, it stood as if a champion waiting for its next assailant to come and dare its strength. Many duels have visited upon its grounds, and much bravery and foolishness had been seen by so many. Most times even the strongest winds never made it deep into its protected grounds, and both shops and living quarters made their appearance in its thick walls and vast flooring.

Those residing and within the homes of the arena, though knowing what was to come, for a moment took a breath of relief in safety of their dwellings. Many played some instrument, sang some songs, or just told stories of brave knights and daring priests. Tales and legends ever shared with one generation and another. Many candles and torches and even some ovens or forges where alight to give warm and drive away shadows. The storm was coming, and what would happen was not yet sure. But being brave was just another part of living upon the islands of Arelith

[ShadowOfMemory]

Often one would be asked of what their first memory ever may have been. The answers of course would be either a large variation of replies, or the simplest one of just not being able to remember. Even if never given the question of remembrance, one might find oneself asking the same of them self. Sometimes it may just be a casual curiosity never given much thought at all, as so many other various thoughts that go mostly unnoticed. The five physical senses are constantly giving an endless assault of what surrounds one. Some have one or more of them, as a blind or mute person may, but in all the bombardment is endless. Of course, to overcome the assault, the mind works in concordance with the body to ease the orchestration to give a harmonious ensemble, instead of an abhorrent noise.

And then there is emotion. The differing collection of the senses can lead to so many altered and intense aware. Of course the mind once again seeks a simply way to explain them, and so language became so vital to expressing such feelings. Warmth, soothe, kindness, caress. And of course, Love. So many others, but the last is the offered hope of what memory of youth would be; so much happiness and joy.

Then of course, many can only remember a darker and less comforting past. No joy or laugher or happiness. Or love.

Fear and suffering was the coin of one young woman’s memory.

The first memory that came to the woman, as her mind was torn back into her lost past, was a searing intensity, that she seemed to be lying in. All was in darkness, and she realized that as soon as she felt the trembling of her closed eyes. At first those eyes roamed under the thin lids, wanting know where she was. But not daring.
Next came a prickling that seemed to enfold mostly all about her. It was like a blanket of scratching nails, not piercing as she refrained from even the slightest shift, and mostly covering her in full. That she was covered in an unhealthy damp became clear, as did the horrendous heat that she was curled up in. Curled up? She realized that she was so. What she knew as her arms where folded over her tightly drawn legs, and her face buried into their knees. Like a trapped animal, or one seeking sanctuary it would never find.

Pain of a greater intensity became aware, and what was named lashings and bruising became defined. Her sweat and the salty sea air outside, that came in through cracked walls and weathered wood, gave a burning recognition to where whips covered in crushed glass and glass held slightly by some paste she somehow knew came from treated whale fat, had been often and brutally struck and dragged across her naked skin. It was then, that another of her senses came to life.

The sense of smell; it struck her with a revolting strength that reeled her mind and made her now fully aware empty stomach reel and heave a painful exertion that gave convulsions of a most unpleasant nature. Her delicate nostrils gave way to an abhorrent collection of foul odors, that alone may have been nauseating, but together almost unfathomable. That she knew these smells, and it seemed that she had for as long as memory would allow, gave her a knowing of what some of them where even if held together in full. Her sweat came first, as it all upon her and had been so without a cleaning to ever deaden the scent to any degree. Its rank odor was still a comfort as it helped her to define she still lived and was in fact someone and not just some artists vulgar imagination. Her blood cloyed with her sweat, came into focus next. The two entwined and somehow that there was two different if collided smells gave her more strength to dare expect that she may be alive in truth, and not just a tragic dream of horrid inclination. And though more odors of a further grotesque combination began to give claim to her dark existence, those two smells of her own flesh gave some bravery that she might do more then lay in sorrow and pain.

Old hay, mold, old and newer urine and feces, and the simple scents of her toiling emotions drove into her nose and again gave her empty stomach and heaving failure of expulsion. The smell of her own vomit, if not fresh, crawled up her spine, and she began to work her muscles and joints to expand from her curled state, as that if she had vomited before, then that could only mean something had been inside it once before. Reflexively her sense of smell began to reach out in search of…. A name or term of some necessity she knew she must have, came to life to give her craving a true existence. Hunger? No, hunger was the name of the need that she had. Sustenance? It seemed correct, but their was a simpler more crude and impulsion word to better fit the fact that she was in fact hungry.

FOOD. That was the word. She needed, desired, and craved food. Her eyes flickerd so slightly, and though the fact that the name of those pools used to give sight was important, it was not as that she used them to find what she needed.
Her eyes and nose would work together. One alone was useful he knew, but the two united gave a stronger chance of success. But she must move to better use those two senses, as well as to…. Capture! Or to grab or hold on to once found. Though the three came as if near the same use in terming it, ‘capture’ was a stronger and more determined expression. With a slow and overly careful expulsion of her bodies combined tools of motion, she uncurled in full upon the prickling substance she was lying in. Hay, was the name of that bedding of hers, though in the humidity of the sun and muggy outside gave birth to many molds and fungus upon and within its rough cushioning, it was as if she was kept in some large sewage room.

Rising to her knees and holding herself up with her hands on the filthy straw and flooring, her eyes slowly opened and ‘sight’ became another remembered tool. Several times she had to blink her eyes, even having to struggle to open their lids as if they had been closed a long time and needed to remember how to operate. That and some filth had in tangent with her own tears; tears she knew she had shed often and would again; had caused a sealing of hardened fluids that had them sealed keeping her ‘safe’ from knowing what was her existence. But hiding would not do anymore. Survival, which is a powerful if simple word defining the struggle to live.

Those two pools of sight opened, and the burning of the faint lighting of the cell she was in, almost made them close again. But she would not let it define what she was or would do. It was a small bricked encasing, where the only exit was an old and rust hinged door, and a small opening she knew would be called a ‘window’. The floor was covered by straw in full, and that wretched foulness hid the floor in full. Mold clung to the brick walls, and even the strong wooden ceiling was caked in that filth and decay. As her eyes and ears stood on end taking in her domain, she saw that she was alone. And if she was alone that meant that other living things must exist, for how can one define such solitude, unless there where others somewhere to be found. The notion of more existing in this dark existence gave memory to the reason she had stirred to ‘life’. Hunger. Her eyes and nose took in the cell, and at first a dread came to her that there was nothing but herself in the cell. And then, her hearing regained consciousness. And she heard, so much.

A cacophony of sounds came crashing upon her newest awakened sense, and it was a dread entirety of some foul hell waiting outside her cell. Screams of pain and suffering and fear came first. She reeled from the intensity of those cries. Then mocking and foul laughter resounded off her delicate lobes, and then the eerie echo of the sounds of not living things being used to draw out the shrieks and wails. For a moment she curled up again, even if still on her knees. The sounds gave way to memories where she had made the same noises of the damned. It wasn’t even until her throat began to burn that she realized she had joined in with the others giving hopeless cry. She kept screaming until her chords were exhausted, and a taste of her own blood resided on her tongue. Her breathing was erratic, and her heart thundered in her chest like a wild beast trying to break out.

It was only later, so much later, that she realized she had stopped screaming and was simple listening to the others crying out in vain. She felt cold and empty, and though deep within her mind and body, the aches and fear still resided, her will had grasped them and held them not at bay, but under a tight restraint. Her breathing had calmed, she could feel all the sweat released in that torrent cold on her skin, even if the heat of the stuffed room still held her in its unkind grasp.

Hunger again began gnawing at her flesh. She looked down at her hands, and wondered when she had found and caught the large broken rat in her hands. It was still faintly warm, and assumed that the killing of the beast had broken her tantrum of suffering. She could even feel the memory of how she clenched the rat in her hands, and broken its body as she had sought a way out of her own suffering. The rats pain and death had helped her come to terms with the moment, and now, it would serve to sate her hunger even if only a small fraction of it.




A pair of cold eyes watched the girl feast on the rodent, and a slight smile of some horrid amusement or contentment came upon the lips of the one viewing the girl. She would be a perfect candidate for the Church. She might please the Lady. Please Her indeed.

[ShadowOfMemory]

Time had become a measurement of no consequence. Her days had begun to pass in schedules of work and payment and sleep. Of work she spent many hours of cleaning cells and the kitchen and the training yard. The cells where were the other children living under that stone ceiling reside, as did herself, was nothing much in truth, but was so much more than the room she had awakened in, what seemed to her know a lifetime ago. Where she no was kept when her ‘day’ was done, had a stone floor empty of matted straw and bowel release and was even mopped daily to keep any smell and fungal growth from lingering even within the cracks in the stone.

The beds that she and the other children rested upon where of a simple yet sturdy wooden construct, and had thick leather encased straw mattresses. One simple sheet was kept wrapped around the main of the bedding, and then a thin blanket placed over it along with a simple and functional pillow held within another wrapped sheet. Every bed station came with its own personal chamber pot, which was emptied everyday by its ‘owner’, and then scrubbed clean. The water that was used for cleaning their laundry and their floors and walls and chamber pots, as well as their own flesh, was of a salty brine, which after being carried up several flights of stairs, in a two bucket holder placed over a child’s shoulder, was then emptied into a massive cauldron that was kept burning easily, as far as they knew, all day. It was this heated and purified water that they used for their own lives, as well as those who resided above. One a rare occasion, a few children where put into the then emptied cauldron, to scrape away the salt residue built upon its inner surface. This salt was of course then used for the cooking, and some cleaning, and a variety of other uses.

Of varied scheduling, some of the children where taken to the large kitchen to help prepare the meals for those within the massive complex. It was here that thee children could see how their food was slopped together, and then what glories others within got to dine upon. The heads of the kitchen, a cruel and obese pair of siblings, ran the kitchen like the slave labor it was, with cruel and devious punishments in store for those performing under their scale of performance. The sister ran the kitchen as far as the proceedings that led to the completion of the meals, as well as organizing and instruction the children how to place purchased foods from outside the walls of the building, as well as cleaning the area in full. The children only knew her as, Cook.

Her brother, a tall and massive blob of muscle and fat, ran the bringing in of the foods from outside the complex, through the halls, and into the kitchen ground. No child ever saw the day or night, but carried the purchases from in front of a pair of massive and always locked doors, to where they knew they had to go. And of course, to always be sure to place them in their correct place. Those who failed in this would receive a vicious and intense series of punishment. Yet some how, through all that fear and pain, did the children not mind the kitchen as much as a less troubled child might, for on occasion they could find and successfully hide some small bit or so of the better foods, and bring it back to the sleeping rooms. No one ever told on another, because if they would not get anything today, tomorrow might bring a better chance.

And so was the life of these wayward souls, to work hard in all they did, to sleep but a moment, and to survive on lumpy porridges and stolen tidbits. It was a cruel existence, but it was one that they knew, and something they did hold to as the truth of all. None of them would speak of life outside the walls, as either they had none like her, or they didn’t want to remember all that they lost. Maybe even something in their food or water had been added to keep their minds from grasping at anything but what was now their all. Or perhaps they held to their lives in all that was theirs in those two parts of their existence, to try and escape the whole of what was the last of their trinity of life. Those who ran the whole of the hell the children knew, would meet them only in one place. The Training Yard.

It was here that the youths would come to meet the Order and Teachings of the Disciples of the White Rod. This group of dark souls, whose Order’s name was given by the artifact that their Patroness had given the founding father of their sect, is a monastic order of much history and structure and fear. It was founded in Calimport and has held strong for over the many years it has been. Although not clerics of their Goddess, they may be in fact the strongest in belief of the Maiden of Pain, or the Willing Whip. Loviatar.

Here the young girl with no name, would come to instead escape all the work of her normal daily schedule, and fall into the dark embrace of who she would call, Mother. Though the other children looked to this time of their lives as a horror and cruelty beyond everything else, and thus become thankful to return to their other lives. For here they where taught of the cruelty that is all life. Of the sorrow that is absolute. Of the torture of existence, and how it should be worshipped by all. Here they would instruct in both doctrine and deed, the necessity of Pain and Sorrow. By words and whip they where given to the teachings of the Order. And here, alone amongst the other children did she find a place she could know and understand.

[ShadowOfMemory]

The last two ten days have been a defining moment in her young life. She has been put through so many excruciating exercises and training and an endless supply of torment and anguish. Her body was covered in bruises and cuts and gashes and burns. Her food was scarce and water became the most important necessity of her life. The muscles through out her flesh were constantly quivering from the extensive exercise and missions she was put through.

Searing and anticipated now, water would leak down the walls and ceiling and form small pools of brine and fungus. Her open wounds did not through a day where she would fall or rub against surfaces where that salty mess would await her bleeding body to give a place of residence and burning assault. Her body, always nude now, was kept in a maze of obstacles for her to survive and give conquest. Every day, with no warning or time given, a woman dressed all in black formfitting sheen cloth, wearing a sneering faced mask, would come and for a while the girl was put through the training of a fighting style she was told was called a ‘martial art.’ This involved no weapons other then her own hands and feet and knees and head, with which she was chiseled into becoming a living weapon herself. Her black hair was cut shorn to avoid any mistakes that they may cause to be. And at the end of every session she was shown how to go through kata, a collection of strikes and jumps and defensive stance and motion to show her how to incorporate them all into a single gymnastic dance.

On her down time, if not her sleep, she would think intensely of the Goddess that she was being crafted for. Her domain she was told was of pain and suffering, how to inflict it and how to use it to grow strong from. Her body was becoming a lithe if curvaceous design, and she took pride in her growth and with all intension of becoming the best that there ever was.

At the moment she was held up in an exercise where she had to move through a net of what they called barb wire, from one end of the room to the other side one hundred feet. There where piles of loose boxes and other debris to try and hold her from accomplishing that ‘simple’ goal. Her body was already covered in a maze of torn skin and bleeding gashes. The salt water had at several occasions been there waiting when she crumbled to soak into her torn body and have her give a scream of suffering and some dark ecstasy as her body rose again to avoid passing out.

It was hard for her to give herself a proper distance from the doorway she had been heading for, but was certain that she had covered close to four- fifths that length. For the moment her body was held up by the last strength of her punished flesh, as well as many winding grasping of the barb wire netting she had gone through to get here. She was not sure how she was still active, nor how the pain was seeming to dull; if by only the smallest fraction of the whole.

Her head turned up on the aching spine of her neck and she took another careful step into more wire. The sound of the rending of her body gave her drive, as the sound and pain it gave drove her to finish this room, if but to lie down and die in an ending of triumph. Looking again she could see she had taken more than one step as the doorway seemed right near an extended reach of a torn arm. And yet, it just couldn’t reach. She blinked once, and somewhere inside her she heard the order to finish now. She would never know if it was anothers voice or her own, but in that moment it mattered not to her.

She coiled her body as if in impersonation of some wounded snake, and with a single deep breath… Her legs drove forward as she made the whole of her weight lean into it, and arms lashing ahead, her entangled frame was cut horrendously and with such intensity that her scream resounded through the room. The sounds of her tearing body and her voiced anguish gave a come somewhere inside. She never remembered grasping the door frame nor her body crumbling from the room still wrapped in blood drenched wiring. Somewhere the thought of a smile came to her awareness, as her mind at last let her flesh crash to the floor is a sickening wet slap. Passing out a smile she knew as her own curled as a smirk and a triumphant release.

[ShadowOfMemory]

It had been a few years, or so she thought. Time was not a real concern down in that maze of rooms and halls and such. It was in her best interest to complete tasks with the fastest possible completion, but it was more of a personal time table and to see how well you could do. So far, the young woman had excelled above any of the others. She didn’t see much of the other initiatives, only maybe in getting her meals or when it cam time to spar.

And that was where she was right now looking across from herself at a tall human male. This ‘boy’ had been going around with some of his ‘friends’ and speaking of having gained her ‘affections’, like she was some sort of trollop. At this time he was not speaking such, as when getting ready to spar it was forbidden to speak. But he did grin at her and give a small kissing motion with his lips. Watching him she put most of her body weight upon her left foots ball and drawing her right foot behind her, which oddly enough covered her own foot. Noticing that the male she was about to spar looked at the sensai in charge of the match, who simply gave the faintest shrug.

Turning back to her, the male took up a stance which would help him use his greater strength against her speed. She finished by leaning forward to have bent in 90% angle, and threw back her arms keeping her fingers straight and together. Her right foot clicked on the ground and she heard a faint sound like a small muffled spring releasing. Looking to him as the sensai began raising her hand, she gave home a cold and merciless smile. Faint twitch of his eye brows was all she saw that he had noticed and was unsure.

The sensai’s hand came down and the male launched himself forward with a growl and a dark expression. Began a swift spring to meet his charged with both hands still held back and using both feet, covered and uncovered, to propel herself towards him faster than he was moving. He gave a confused expression as she had never attacked so aggressively before. And as such he had less time to build his attack. As she flew towards him he decided to not do a Swinging Crane kick, but altered with both hands going back as well, but his were curled into fists.

Instinctively as she closed the distance, she weighed and measured each step to give her right foot the planned length to strike where she wanted it to go. He came upon her and suddenly swung both fists around from behind him aiming for her temples on her head. Both of her hands lashed out to catch each of his wrists with a slight twist for distraction. He smirked as she had used it before to only hold them back while he crushed her back to throw her over. Then that smile of hers grew colder and he instinctively looked to his own groin, while beginning to ease knowing all who wanted them could use a ‘cup’ to protect their ‘assets’. It was then he saw her foot rising like some viper towards his manhood. He might have begun to smirk again knowing he wore a ‘cup’, it was then he saw a coated blade sticking out from the boot she wore, and that it was heading right for his protected groin.

For a long time it was spoken of what that cry was about, that had echoed down the halls and into all the rooms of that area. The male never came back, and it was a ‘rumor’ that some girl had stabbed him in the nether regions repeatedly with a small knife. As well was it spoken of, that the screams and cries of a woman were heard some time later. It was also spoken of that if any time was given between screams, a disturbed laughter was heard.


Watching the whole show, both parts, were a pair of cold blue eyes, and a pale set of lips. They laughed in silence and planning.

[ShadowOfMemory]

The torn and motionless body hung from its crucifixion upon an X shaped cross. Pools of blood and gore lay around the base of the bloodied cross as did the various tools used to bring judgement upon the naked flesh of the passed out and slumped young woman. There where no flies as there where never any down in these halls, but the smell of her wounded body and urination and escaped fecal matter gave a horrid smell of its own, outside of any maggot induced decomposing. Of course, it had only been about twenty minutes since the 8 hour punishment had ended, and no time needed to start the rotting of that flesh could yet be given full attention.

It was at that time that several other students of the hidden monastery came into the room with buckets and mops and various scouring brushes. They began to start cleaning up the mess left by the Lady who had attended this punishment. And a single sensai came with them to make sure no vomiting or laziness would occur.

She walked up to the body on the cross and examined it with an eye for attention and marvel at how much the body had been put through and yet it had taken so long to bring her to emptiness. Just stood there and took note of all that could be gathered of how that Lady had done so well while she had laughed in passion. Two of the boy recruits came up to get ready to take the body down. They began with the stakes driven through her feet, as was logical so the body didn’t crash and make more broken mess at its feet. Using a primitive crowbar one boy began to withdraw the first stake from her left hand; and would have pulled it all the way.

The head of the woman upon the cross jerked up and with an anguished cry tore her loosened hand with the stake still through it and with a twist of her shoulder to redirect the stakes impact point, sharp edge leading, she drove the iron stabbing tool into and through the eye of the boy that stood there. The other male screamed in terror and stumbled back, and the sensai took a partial step away and reached for a kama on her waist. Another of the males attending the scene ran out, and a heavy gong was sounded through the halls.

And yet, before anyone else could arrive, the woman’s mouth began to break with a calm yet devious laugh. She looked at the sensai, and with a groan and a chuckle spoke to her face. ‘Is that all you can do…? Loviatar is not impressed.’

And so things would change for one young woman, and her place within the Order of the White Rod.

[ShadowOfMemory]

Several years or so had gone by since the Death Ritual. She learned most where either resurrected or allowed to die, but it was rare to come back on ones own terms. Taken from the school that was her own fellow students, she began to train and eat and bathe alone. The woman was never sure why it was done, but was relieved in not having to spend another hour with the ones she deemed unworthy. Her life became a full study in pain and torment and anguish and how she could use them to progress faster and more complete then without.

The years that she was told that had passed by became a cruel paradise and recorded growth of her studies and grades. She has grown taller and her female portions became both noticeable and alluring. In full her physique was almost unprecedented, and while not strong her speed gave her force to her strikes. In all, her life was complete.

One day she was instructed that she would meet with a courier in the halls and spend a night gaining his trust and whatever secrets she could uncover. Her training in her blood she never questioned the order, and made to get ready for the encounter. She wore just a small bed skirt and top, both exposing skin and inviting attention. Thinking ahead she found what drink he would prefer, as she was told he came often, and took her time walking erotic and with a predators grace. She found his room when she saw two guards outside the doors that almost were never seen.

Walking to them they opened the door, and she went into a vast and wealthy bed room with many pillows scattered and a large spa in the floor. The man was obese, and she almost became disgusted at the sight, but held it in to be denied. He motioned for her and she poured a vast glass of the brandy and moved to sit upon the edge of the bed, and handed his the glass. His eyes seemed only upon her pale skin and hidden curves. As the two of them spent some time talking, he kept offering her some brandy which she denied and instead kept on speaking of what business his partners may have with the Order.

Many glasses later, and in the middle of the first talk of possible real use, he threw the glass away and commanded, ‘Please me!’ She blinked once then twice. Only when he grabbed her blouse and skirt and tore them away with the ease of breathing, did she react to his aggression. Leaping to stand on the bed she took the Crouching Mantis pose and looked upon him like he was just a fat kid. He didn’t read such and when she held still long enough he jumped up like he weighed nothing and grabbed at her hair. Spinning on foot she used his grasp to over draw him together, not caring it seemed that some hair was pulled out. For that brief moment he fought stay balanced giving her a look of pure rage and promise of revenge.

Her foot then went up and into his neck, at an angle impossible to believe, and he fell away gagging and face turning red. Never stopping she carted off the bed bringing the heel of the other foot upon his head, where then a horrific ‘pop’ was heard. The fat man blinked once then fell over dead. And she just studied her kill not seeming to care what may befall her now.

And in the shadows of the room, in one corner hidden away, did a females lips curl into a mocking grin. ‘She is ready I believe.’ A shadow next to her nodded once then took off from the room. ‘And soon she will know true anguish.’