Entropy [Vell]

[Virisca]

VIRISCA

Raven black hair caught on the wind, billowing out in long strands like morbid ribbons of black swaying in the wind. Dark navy eyes caught the silver light of the moon, shining with a cold, hard malice. Pale skin was illuminated and shimmering in the hot, night air. A fitting black dress danced gently in the wind, flitting around thin legs. A dagger gleamed evilly. Virisca, Empress of Chaos, was a vision in the moonlight, a vision of cold mystery.

“Tell me, Jarrul,” she began, staring at the crashing waves of the sea. Foam rode the high crests, white against the blackness of the water. Virisca’s voice was a cold as the dagger she held, as dark as the sea. “Did you ever think of the consequences of your actions? Ever think of what I would do to you if I found out?” The Empress spun around, her face falling into shadows as she turned from the pale light of the moon. But her narrowed, dark eyes still glowed ominously and the blade in her hand glinted.

She received no response from the man at her feet. His hands were bound as were his feet. A long, red scar cut his face down the center. He was not the prettiest sight ever. Virisca knelt in front of the man, Jarrul. She smiled, a cruel, dark smile. Her deep eyes stared into his dull brown ones. “You thought you were above Lady Virisca’s notice, did you?” She took his chin in her long, pale fingers, digging her nails into his skin. “Well, Jarrul, you were wrong,” she hissed as she leaned close to his face, pulling his head back by his greasy blonde hair.

Jarrul stared at her, expressionless. Virisca gave him another cold, hard grin. “I’m going to ask you ten questions now, my dear mutineer.” She slipped behind him, kneeling and taking his hands in hers. “Now it’s just very convenient that you have ten fingers, isn’t it?” her voice dropped to a dangerous purr. She took one of his fingers, prying it away from his clenched hands. Jarrul struggled and moaned in anticipation of the coming pain but said nothing.

“Let’s start with an easy one, shall we? Your pinkie ought to do.” She pressed her dagger against his skin, just barely cutting the skin. “Jarrul, who was the woman you worked for in the Frost Order?”

He grunted. Virisca made a tisk-tisking noise with her tongue. “Wrong answer, dear,” she purred again and pressed the dagger into his flesh. “Last chance,” there was a strange quality to her voice now. A sing-song tone. She was enjoying this greatly. Jarrul gave no response so Virisca brought the dagger clean through the bone. The man screamed and writhed in front of her.

“Feel like answering me now?” she asked as blood poured over her hands. “Never,” the injured man growled through teeth gritted in pain. She cut off his ring finger. Then his middle. She pressed the dagger against his index finger and asked the question again.

“Okay, okay!” Jarrul sobbed, hunched over. Virisca smiled and let go of his bloody hands. The Empress moved in front of the tortured man again, her black silk dress dripping blood. “Well then, go on.” She knelt before him, looking into his brown pain-filled eyes.

“It was Rachelle. Rachelle. She… she seduced me,” the man managed to say through panting breath.

“But you fell in love, didn’t you?” Virisca asked in a mock sympathetic voice. Jarrul bared his teeth at her and nodded. “I didn’t know who she was, not at first. I just thought she was any other woman, not a lieutenant.” “How long did you work for her?” “Three years.”

Virisca stared at him coldly, moonlight shining on her visage. “Three years? You’re worse than I thought, Jarrul.”

“Surprised I got under your radar for so long, Lady?” the tortured man mocked. His eyes rolled into his head and he slumped over, breathing irregularly.

“Good thing I caught you though, eh?” she said with a smirk and pressed the bloodstained blade to his neck. “It will never happen again, Jarrul.” She ran the dagger through his neck and slit his throat. Blood spurted out and coated her dress further. Virisca stood and kicked the dying man away, into the roaring ocean. She ran her hands through her raven hair, staining it with crimson blood unintentionally. A pale smirk lit her features.

“I know you’re there, Vell.”

[Desgevell]

The waves had such a great strength, crashing against the rocky shores, roaring in the distance like a leviathan. They were black in the night, the foamy crests glimmering briefly with moonlight before falling into the black abyss that stretched out past the continent. Other than that, there was only silence to meet the Chaos Lieutenant as he stood on the shore, leaning on his oversized halberd as he watched the moon shine above. While his head was almost never in the clouds like this, he could not help but be struck with awe at the silvery globe. For some reason, it appeared to resemble Vynikani, a goddess whose name he used in swearing and oaths more than worship or respect. Here, standing under the infinite sky and staring into the near-infinite sea, he felt suddenly small. But, in his smallness, he felt at peace. This continent would soon be the dark deity’s, and as fire struck ice, the Order of Chaos would prove themselves the real threat and the real winners.

A scream pierced the night, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. Reflexively he gripped his weapon and hefted it, prepared to crunch in a skull if need be, though the sound was further down the beach. Curiosity as well as lust for violence brightening his hazel eyes, the muscular man started down the rocky sands and came to pause in the shadows, witnessing the slow slicing and finally the slashing of a throat, the black blood spattering. He smirked at the splash as the water swallowed up the corpse.

“I know you’re there, Vell.”

The voice of his empress was far changed from its sarcastic yet good-humored tone. It was icy, an aftereffect of the torturing, which changed the already formidable woman into a nightmare of the most extreme dimensions. Squinting slightly, he closed the distance between them, standing a couple of feet away and watching the way the water lapped at the body, rolling it over in the waves. “Jarrul,” he observed softly before glancing back at her. “I suppose that’s one less thing to worry about, Your Highness.” He inclined his head, yet only slightly, paying her respect yet not wanting to belittle himself any more than that. She could torture a battalion of enemy soldiers, but that would not change his overall regards to her. She still claimed a throne he had wanted for years, and it would take more than a drink to make him friendly to her.

Sticking his halberd back on the earth, he leaned lightly on it and wiped his forehead. “Warm for night, isn’t it?”