Post by Lamashtu on Mar 4, 2013 12:22:39 GMT -5
The Daemoness Lamashtu had perched herself on a ragged outcropping of jagged, crumbling rock high over the barren plains of Toth. Her great leathery wings flexed in silent agitation as she pondered the suffering of those condemned to the horrors of the plain far below. The heads of the condemned, only the heads, sat impaled atop tall spikes of Blackrock. These had been the geniuses and scholars of the mortal world. These had been the men and women who thought they had all the answers to the universe. Mathematicians, musicians, composers, artists, scientist, mages, necromancers and spellweavers. They had lived their lives in a endless search for answers and had created, what they thought, were solutions to solve all of mankind’s problems or advance their despicable plans to rule over the very same. But, in their unquenchable thirst for knowledge, they had, more often than not, committed some crime or caused some unforgivable suffering to the world of their fellow mortals. Or, in some cases, brought forth a terror from the Pit itself and, in doing so, cast their lot with the dammed. Now they suffered in a manner none of them could have ever imagined during their mortal lives. For here, in this place, they were each given some kernel of genius, a formula, a spell, a painting, a symphony, an equation carefully placed in their still living brains. The creations they thought of here were as real to them now as those they thought of in their former lives. But there was one tiny problem. Here they could never set to paper or canvas, sculpt, write, or play or sing the creation that had been placed in their brains, for alas, they had no body with which to perform. That, along with the fact they had their tongues removed, made it impossible for them to cry out their discovery and thus satisfy their longing to be heard. They would spend eternity solving problems and creating works of sheer genius only to never see them come into existence.
Lamashtu chuckled at the brilliance of this creation. Her Lord was truly the master of his realm. But, despite her amusement, she was still vexed and quite unsettled.
It had been a difficult year. Too much effort and time wasted. Too many failures. The Cult destroyed. The failure of the creature Avella. The Daemon Wolf destroyed. A plaque contained. A king installed. The riots ended and the girl; the girl remained hidden. Lamashtu curled a lip in disgust and picked a bit of rotting human flesh from her fangs. She had come to this place to think as she had done now for a millennium past. To think, to ponder and to brood. She flexed her talons digging small crevices into the stone of the cliff. Surely there must be a way. Some venue to reach the mortal realm again. To gain favor with her Lord for, thus far, he had been merciful of her failings. He had not yet fed her body, in small, still living pieces, to the hounds of Morgoth that wandered the Seventh Ring in an endless search for carrion. The thought of those skeletal hounds caused her to shiver. She flexed her wings and the thin crown of fire suspended over her head dimmed somewhat. Surely, there must be a way.
And then, a thought occurred to her. A thousand feet below sat the greatest minds of centuries all spread out before her in a vast display of suffering. Somewhere down there, among all those overactive brains, lay the answer. It might take a little time. She still had some time before the Child was born. Some time to find a way before it was too late. Standing, she grinned and spread her wings. She would descend and begin, one by one, to devoir the brains of those condemned geniuses, and by doing so, find the answer she needed. There was no worry for, even after she devoured these living brains; they would simply grow another and continue their suffering for all eternity. Such was the genius of this place. Such was the realm of the condemned.
Lamashtu chuckled at the brilliance of this creation. Her Lord was truly the master of his realm. But, despite her amusement, she was still vexed and quite unsettled.
It had been a difficult year. Too much effort and time wasted. Too many failures. The Cult destroyed. The failure of the creature Avella. The Daemon Wolf destroyed. A plaque contained. A king installed. The riots ended and the girl; the girl remained hidden. Lamashtu curled a lip in disgust and picked a bit of rotting human flesh from her fangs. She had come to this place to think as she had done now for a millennium past. To think, to ponder and to brood. She flexed her talons digging small crevices into the stone of the cliff. Surely there must be a way. Some venue to reach the mortal realm again. To gain favor with her Lord for, thus far, he had been merciful of her failings. He had not yet fed her body, in small, still living pieces, to the hounds of Morgoth that wandered the Seventh Ring in an endless search for carrion. The thought of those skeletal hounds caused her to shiver. She flexed her wings and the thin crown of fire suspended over her head dimmed somewhat. Surely, there must be a way.
And then, a thought occurred to her. A thousand feet below sat the greatest minds of centuries all spread out before her in a vast display of suffering. Somewhere down there, among all those overactive brains, lay the answer. It might take a little time. She still had some time before the Child was born. Some time to find a way before it was too late. Standing, she grinned and spread her wings. She would descend and begin, one by one, to devoir the brains of those condemned geniuses, and by doing so, find the answer she needed. There was no worry for, even after she devoured these living brains; they would simply grow another and continue their suffering for all eternity. Such was the genius of this place. Such was the realm of the condemned.