Thread: The rise of the Roserka (RPG-Girl and an angel)

The Roserka had been born before The Separation, before the abyss had been sundered and diminished, in the time that demons danced and reaped and laughed, slaying and butchering the mortal creatures that rose, even as the Great Mother, who in later ages would become Pale Night, shaped new children, taking some in inspiration from other places of the cosmos, twisting and weaving the essence and forms, adding them to the ever growing brood. While Obyrith were the greatest children, born almost purely of the thought of their Voidborn queen, the Roserka had in some respects come close, born of the wild places of nature, of rutting and desire, of life's desire to spread itself and continue. Laughing, screaming and moaning, they ran, fleet footed, though the primal abyss, engaging in rape and murder, birthing new daughters, even as they used their fathers skins as gowns. For why would they not? Were they not greater then these mortal creatures, to whom they dealt with on behalf of their Obyrith Lordselders? When the great rebellion came, they fought and screamed, strangling and crushing the rebelling Tanari, staying loyal to their overlords, crushing many underfoot. But, as the war ragged on, and traitors in the highest ranks were revealed, many of their greatest died screaming, torn asunder, devoured or crushed, even as they made their own defeat a dear thing for the other demons. The predecessors of the Succubae, they would sneer and laugh and collar the pitiful things with living vines, drinking of tanari blood. But, in the end, with the great of their number gone, all that remained were the Rosenari, the least of that brood of wild seductresses. Many where taken, and raped even as they were devoured, screaming. But at least one, one was sealed away. Not by a demon, but by a mortal man, an agent of the devils, meant to test some magic that the fiends of Battor had devised, but he was slain before he could report back unto his masters. And with The Separation, as the Prime was sundered from the Abyss, so did her prison soon come to rest in a hidden vault. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- For countless years, she had been bound, the hated iron on all sides, tearing and twisting, burning, as she screamed and thrashed, cut off from the soil under her feet, the air on her skin, the water falling onto her flesh, and worse, countless ages without a lover, without sex and passion, without desire and sex. Had she been greater in the ages before the bounded prison? Before this madness of sterile nothingness? No smells, no sounds save for her own screaming, no feeling save for the flesh in her throat breaking, sweet blood trickling down her parched throat, no sight save for the most occasional flicker of her own thrashing body? She may have been, at some far point, in the ageless mists of time. But, so long alone, in the endless nothing, cut off from everything she was and could be, she lost herself and her being. Broken and more then a touch mad, nearly feral, she felt..... something. It was the smallest quiver, the smallest of sensations, but it served to silence her. Her focus latched onto the smallest of changes. For it was the first new thing for... time had lost meaning. Forever ago, a few seconds past or future, all the same. Over the course of shivers and shakes, she could feel it creak and crack and leak, the smallest shivers and sensations, cool wind, rich with water vapor, the smallest traces of spoor and fungi, and her thrashing continued, reaching out, her own essence fighting and clawing, latching onto the cracks, and then.... Blood. Salty, rich and sweet. Mortals life essence, pouring into her mouth, as she gave a great scream, loins leaking, flooding, shuddering in delight and ecstasy, even as around her, the prison shattered, and she emerged, blood around the edges of her mouth. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- As she emerged from the prison, into the chamber, she stood entirely still for a moment, mind lost to the world for a moment, freedom washing onto her, excitement building, as she breathes deeply, eyes closed. At the words, her eyes open, looking at the figure with the intensity of a beast, as it seems to weigh her up, examining her, even as there is a smile breaking out. For the demon could smell it. Fey. Fey were good. Sex. Rape. Take. Good sex. Now. Moving quickly, lips still slick with blood would seek out the fey womans, hands moving, exploring and touching, even as she moaned, the sensations, after so long with barely anything at all, causing pleasure to pulse and shudder inside of herself. Lips, eager, would claim and touch, tongue emerging and dancing, spearing inside, as fingers move down, towards her groin, as if to touch and explore and take everything she could.