[M] razorblades
#1

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

Specifically, this thread is marked mature because of: .

492 words. HERE WE GO. (Use of Abner approved by Mel; I imagine he can stick around long enough to incapacitate Ves for Sara?)


She roused herself with effort, disoriented from pain and the contorted position she found herself in, curled awkwardly in what seemed to be a sack fashioned from deer hide. It stank like sour meat, and this dizzied her as much as the constant jostling and movement. A horse, she realized after a few moments.

Vesper attempted to right herself, then stopped when she heard a voice. Worried that she had been discovered awake, she froze—but the voice proceeded to shout irritably, and she realized it was not directed at her.

“Go on, scavenger, git!”

A croak answered, and once again the coywolf had to fight the urge to writhe and bite her way out of the bag. Was that Stormeye? Had the juvenile followed her? She tried to listen, head fogged with stagnant breath and a pulsating ache, but she couldn’t make out the bird’s voice to recognize it. Go, don’t get yourself hurt, go. They knew by now the ravens spied for them, they must have; they didn’t attack under cover of night for nothing.

She curled up, biding her time, as soreness settled into her folded limbs and her head rested against the too-hot flank of the horse.
* * *
Time passed. Vesper knew they’d crossed into marshland, and gauged distance from that. Mountains to marsh—the isthmus, it had to be, that was where they headed. Years of practice at meditation let her focus on small details, the changing step of the horse (whose gait she became quite intimate with, feeling it with every bump on its side), the shift of scent that permeated through the bag’s neck.

She knew the raven still followed them, and she knew that it was not Stormeye. It suffered the occasional verbal abuse from the rider, sometimes muttering back in its harsh corvid tongue. At one point it landed on the horse and pecked at the bag, but the wolf shouted it off. Vesper found herself growing fond of it despite her predicament; her mind seized on such things to keep herself sane with the claustrophobic torment she found herself in.

But this came to an end soon.

The horse stopped, snorted, and leather creaked as the rider dismounted. “Sara. Got somethin’ for you.” Hands seized the neck of the bag, and the wolf grunted; Vesper hit the forest floor, and was dragged a few feet.

Fingers untied the sack’s mouth, and Vesper counted a heartbeat, tense, before she flipped over and threw herself out into the cold, crisp air, snarling. She turned at once on her dark, scarred captor, jumping for his legs, but the man dealt her a kick. She winced, yelped; cramped from the bag, her limbs didn’t obey her as she tried to find her footing. The man struck her again, and sank claws into her scruff, forcing her bodily toward a tent.

Vesper writhed, growled, until she entered the darkness.
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[/html]
#2
[html]


Sara Styg
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me

It had not been a direct request, but the need for it had hung so heavily in the air that it might as well have been made into words. The Boreas were moving, writhing like a serpent meant to the take down the folly of the heretics. Unpleasant things would have to be done, vicious things dealt in blood and flesh, things of pain, and who else to do it but she. Preparations had to be made; while simple injuries could be dealt with in the camp itself, more grievous wounds would need to be kept away from the heart of their presence. The smell of blood, cries of pain, whether from friend or foe, could not give away their position.

And so, Sara had moved out from the camp; not too far, but far enough from the winds of winter not to carry the scent, and carry sound even less. In a secluded grove of fir trees laden with ice and slush, she had erected her medical tent. It was large enough for her to stand upright, for her supplies laid out neatly on several chopped logs, and of course, a raised cot. This was necessary for her to work with whatever subject unhindered; so far it had not yet been used.

The inside of the tent was pristine, as was her custom, but was dark now, and she sat outside it by a nearby, dwindling fire. She was crouched, wool rimmed coat pulled tight, and her seafoam eyes scanned the edges of the trees, watching the shadows dance in her vision. She only had to stay here just so long as there were members of her party away from the camp on whatever mission, she would return with the morning light, or if she was called; her gelding stood sleeping nearby.

The sun had just set when she heard the nearing sounds of hoof beats; the fur on the back of her neck rose. She clutched close to her a dagger she had been given, but she did not know how to use it, so if she had to run she would. Luckily, she realized quickly that would not be necessary, as Abner soon appeared on his mount, a large bag tied to his saddle.

Sara stood straight and tall, a silver face framed by black wool, as the male dismounted and said he had a gift for her, before throwing the bag to the ground. From it nearly sprang a writhing figure, all teeth and fur and flailing limbs. Sara’s eyes widened as Abner was quick to subdue the creature, calming it enough for Sara to get a quick glimpse in the light of the fire.

Quickly grabbing a smoldering fag, Sara opened up the tent for Abner, who was now carrying a half unconscious coyote female. The Styg woman lit the half dozen or so candles inside, and Abner place the varmint on her cot, and with a slight prompting, helped her to attach the heavy belted straps to the coyotes limbs, stretching in out on its back. The creature already looked worse for wear, and Sara pulled back the hood of her coat before removing it completely. Underneath, she was naked, and she felt the hot eyes of the male on her before looking at him sharply, Leave, but don’t go too far. She demanded, and with a huff he threw back the flap of the tent and exited.

Taking a deep breath, Sara looked at her prize. The thing was hardly beautiful, fur mottled with scars, good muscle but little meat; nothing but a scavenger, a villain, as all coyotes were. The medic reached out and touched a significant scar on the coyote’s belly; her mouth watered and her loins bloomed. She turned and quickly began to prepare.


(+634) ooc goes here


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[/html]
#3
212 words. Pls be gentle

Vesper fought once again against an encroaching fog and darkness as she was pushed, struggling, and then carried into a tent that stank of metal, wax, and dried blood. Points of candlelight stung her eyes, and she could barely make out the figure of the she-wolf that she was brought to: a grey woman, unremarkable in appearance, but soon enough to be remembered.

She was settled onto a cot, awkwardly pinned to her back. At once she began to wriggle, too stunned and hazy-minded to realize what was happening—until it was too late, and she was stuck growling and snapping her jaws as restraints pinned her in place like a prey animal about to be gutted. Paws jerked against the leather straps, and she attempted to twist her head to get a better look at captors and surroundings both, slow to comprehend what was going on.

The skin on her pale belly twitched under a curious hand, and Vesper bared her teeth in a confused snarl. She felt prone here; all her instincts urged her to twist, to protect her soft stomach.

She didn’t understand.

She managed to snap her teeth. “You’d better hope your friends covered their tracks well, wolf. We found your camp last time.”
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[/html]
#4
[html]


Sara Styg
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me

Sara worked quickly, opening small chests and rolling out leather satchels to reveal her full repertoire of instruments. From one pocket she pulled a white apron, frayed from many harsh washes, and from another, a mask made from the same material. Before donning these, she pulled her long, whispey hair up into a messy bun, securing it with a thong from around her wrist, it was then that she heard the coyote speak.

She turned, turquoise gaze affixed on the writhing creature; of course it made to threaten her, but Sara felt no fear now; she was the one in control.

Her movements slowed as she settled into movements well practiced; she affixed the mask, and the apron, and then moved towards the side of the cot, her hands clasped before her, Yes… you killed many of us last time. She said gently, her voice like a sweet melody, But not this time. Her words sounded like a friend talking to someone dear, like a mother cooing at a child.

The medic pulled from a nearby bag two white leather gloves, also worn, but supple, and pulled them onto her slender fingers,Tell me, coyote, do you fear God?


(+0) ooc goes here


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[/html]
#5
164 words.

Turquoise eyes fell upon the supine coyote, and Vesper attempted to twist her neck so that she could keep her in sight. When the woman was busy, adorning herself with some pale garments, Ves craned her neck and attempted to nibble at the leather bonds. With some time, she thought she might be able to bite through them; she just needed a moment alone.

Her thoughts worked like this, not rushed, not panicked. She’d been in situations like this before, a rope around her neck, awaiting punishment from criminals. Any moment someone would show up for her.

Vesper had faith in something more solid than these wolves’.

She was not intimidated by the other’s low, cooing voice, or by the soft creak and squeak of leather pulling into place. She breathed, and tested the bonds, ignoring the ripple of pain that went through her shoulders and the muscles of her back.

“Why would I be afraid of something that does not exist?”
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#6
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This will be my only post here! You can assume Beth is a creeper and then leaves at some point~

The story her father had told was one she could scarcely believe, but the party with him had backed up this story. Providence had put their enemy before them, and her father had brought the leader of their most vile enemy back with him.

Beth would never live it down.

She swallowed this with awful force, for there was no way that she could speak out now. Jericho and his party returned as triumphant victors, chosen by the Lord. It made everything she had done feel insignificant.

When the feeling coiling in her belly did not leave, Beth tacked up Hail and rode her horse towards Sara's small off-site camp. The move was one which was meant to keep her patients seperate from the rest of the group, and most of Boreas understood why.

It was this which brought Beth looking for her friend. She was eager to see what plans the medic had for their prisoner.

Abner was standing by when she arrived, and hailed her approach. She dismounted and spoke to him as she tied her horse to a nearby tree.

Is it in there?

Sure is. Nasty thing, he scoffed. Looks like somethin' a vulture'd pick over.

Isn't this their leader?

'Sposed to be, Abner spat, and Beth wondered if he doubted the claim of their so-called spy as much as she did.

Coyotes, by nature, were untrustworthy. A halfbreed was undoubtedly infected by his disgusting blood.

She shook her hair back and stepped into the tent.

There was a coyote tied up, but it was big for a coyote and a grayish-buff color that looked more like a wolf. It was ugly too, all chewed up and covered in scars, and thin. All coyotes looked thin to her, of course.

Managing to catch the filthy looking things words, Beth sneered.

Faithless beasts, she growled, and came to the opposite side of the table. I think we'll hear you pray before the end of it.

Then, looking over to her friend, Beth smiled serenely.

Let us see God's work, was her invitation – said with such delight she could not hide the mirth in her eyes.


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[/html]
#7
[html]


Sara Styg
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me

The creature looked up with contempt; but Sara could see the fear there, hardly hidden beneath courage and strength. At her words of heresy, Sara sniffed back as if she had gotten a whiff of something foul (not that the coyote smelled like daisies anyway).

The soft flap of fabric announced a visitor, and the Styg woman turned to see Beth enter the tent. She gave her a genuine smile as the Anders woman condemned the coyote's faithless words; she then bade Sara begin.

First thing was first; the area needed to be cleaned. With swift movements, Sara procured a set of shears and began to cut away at the longer tufts of fur on the coyote's body; she began on the pelvis and moved upwards, each snip revealing more and more scars; the girl really was a ghastly thing to behold, looking less strong by the moment.

When she was finished the coyote was nearly bald from crotch to clavicle; it was there that Sara discovered something disconcerting; a Rosary. Gloved hands touched it gingerly, You do not believe He is real and yet you wear a cross around your neck? Tch… She snapped back her wrist, removing the adornment in a quick movement and set it on a nearby bench, Sacrilege, you do not deserve to have such a Holy image adorn you.

Sara was beginning to become comfortable, and she forgot about Bethlehem’s presence; it was now time for the fun part.

Shears put away, Sara pulled from an unrolled leather pouch a small sheath, and with a gentle tug pulled forth a small knife with a slightly curved blade, and turned towards her patient, An eye for an eye… She mumbled breathlessly, before placing the blade on the creatures shaved, inner thigh. Hardly any pressure was needed here, and the blade pierced flesh like butter; red blood hesitated before bubbling out; Sara’s breath hitched. She made another cut, and another, and another; three clean cuts in quick succession; there now rose a latter of red up the creature’s thigh.

Her breathing steady, but elevated, she set the blade aside for the moment and turned to grab a cloth and her medicinal alcohol; she was liberal in soaking the cloth and ran it roughly up the fresh wounds. The cloth turned instantly crimson, and the wounds bled more freely from the addition of the liquid. If she kept up with this, it would not take long for the girl to pass out, but Sara would make sure that would not happen too quickly.


(+426)


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[/html]
#8
259 words.

Another wolf, pale with light blonde hair, entered the tent and stared down at Vesper too -- but the scruffy coyote only hissed up at her, spittle falling along the side of her mouth. She might have snapped or bit if she'd more range of motion, but the leather bonds restricted her, as did her supine position. Every instinct screamed at her to fight, to lash out, so she could roll and protect her exposed stomach.

Then an odd sensation -- the sound of snipping, and cold exposure against her skin. She tried to twist her head to see, but felt what the woman was doing -- shearing her much like a sheep. Would they roast her on a spit, too? She wouldn't put it past these so-called soldiers of God.

Then her rosary was ripped from her neck. A bead spilled to the floor, and Vesper watched it roll.

"I stole it from the neck of one of your soldiers," she boasted, hoping to bide time until opportunity presented itself -- because it must. They toyed with her; in that time, Stormeye would find her, and find help. She had to. There was no other option. "We took his head, too."

And then a flash of steel.

Vesper's smile died.

A snarl ripped through the coyote, and she thrashed at once -- jerking limbs against her restraints, hurling curses, and as the blade descended wincing. She stifled a whine, but kicked her leg, and snarled again at the sting of alcohol.

"You'll all be fucking dead," she snarled.
[html]<div class="vessig">

<div class="bottom">
<div class="sigicons" id="signature-icons">
<a href="//wiki.soulsrpg.com/index.php?n=Players.Raze" target="_blank" title="PLAYER WIKI" class="player-wiki"></a>
<a href="ucp.php?i=pm&mode=compose&u=577" class="player-contact" title="CONTACT: PM Vicira"></a>
<a href="//wiki.soulsrpg.com/index.php?n=Players.RazeAdoptions" class="adoptables-available" title="ADOPTABLES available!"></a>
<a href="viewtopic.php?t=23974" target="_blank" title="POST LOG" class="post-log"></a>
<a href="#!" title="I prefer if you do NOT use graphical tables in our threads. Thanks!" class="no-tables"></a><br/>
<a href="//wiki.soulsrpg.com/index.php?n=Characters.Vesper" target="_blank" title="CHARACTER WIKI" class="character-wiki"></a>
<a href="//imgur.com/a/X5Zf0" target="_blank" title="CHARACTER GALLERY &amp; CREDITS" class="ic-gallery"></a>
<a href="#!" class="lupus-preference" title="LUPUS unless otherwise stated."></a>
<a href="#!" class="accompaniment" title="Typically accompanied by a raven or two."></a>
<a href="LINK" class="permanent-disability" title="Crippled right hind leg."></a><br/>
<a href="#!" class="skill-fighting" title="Fighter mastered in feral combat."></a>
<a href="#!" class="skill-generic" title="Experienced survivalist able to scout, hunt, and navigate."></a>
<a href="#!" class="skill-animals" title="Able to talk to, care for, and train ravens."></a>
</div>

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[/html]
#9
[html]


Sara Styg
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me

She loved it when her patients spoke back. Better they fight with every ounce of their strength, with so much determination that they lasted long; it made their eventual demise all the more sweeter for her.

Blood was now dripping from the edge of the table, landing on the cold, dead ground, and turning a sickly sweet black against the blades of the grass. The tent smelled like a butcher shop, and Sara was in ecstacy. She was methodical in her toture; cut, cut, cut; then wipe with the alcohol to freshen the wound and bring pain to the victim. She was not sure how long this coyote would endure, but it seemed to want to keep fighting. It never begged, never cried out more than necessary; stronger than Sara had originally believed. She worked on her for a good long hour, and when she finally sat back to take a break, Beth was gone, and the coyote's lower half was crimson, along with much of her upper half as well. Sara had gotten the good idea to freshen up some of the woman’s old scars, and they too, now bled freely.

Sara took a swig of water from her canteen and decided it may be time for a breath of fresh air. The coyote was silent, but breathing steadily; Sara was not sure if it was still conscious, but either way, it wasn’t going anywhere fast. The medic stood, wiping her bloodied gloves against her apron before removing them; she then pushed open the tent's flap and exited into the chill of night; it was snowing and silent, save for the crackling of a nearby fire, where it seemed Abner was dozing.


(+0)ooc.


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[/html]


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