Claws and Darkness- the Past exploits

A night of soft sounds; bats hunting, the jingling of the guards faint in the magical light of the moons that looked as if they were trying to swallow the sky. The torches before the mentors building, the garden, and the Lion were nothing to the pale glow that illuminated everything in pale light and shadows. On the cliff a form sat dressed from neck to toe in a black robe, not even the pale moonlight could give it life, except for the fall of hair as silvery white as moonlight that fell around a pale face and twin horns. Hanging limp from the slender back twin stumpy frayed white wings, as if the form had no wish to use energy to keep them properly lifted and tucked right. Gloved hands played with a dagger so black that even the moonlight seemed to avoid it. A wicked and deadly looking blade whose length was reminiscent of a snake with runes etched into one side. It glowed with an unhealthy scarlet that licked and rolled up the blade, a weapon imbued with great magic but one that gave a feeling of wrongness and death, bloodlust and pain. But the form played with it as if it was a normal weapon though it could be seen that the cold ice blue eyes bisected vertically did not in fact watch the blade but were turned inward. 

**The corridors smelled of ash still, the floors covered in it and long forgotten dust. The hallway that she continually burnt was back and had doors. Simple wooden ones at first followed shortly after by dark pitted metal ones, to these she moved, ignoring the timber of her recent memories the ones she made after she had awoken. Her steps taking her unerringly to the old one of the past she strode with purpose to the one farthest back.
Walking into the darkness that enveloped that door, so rusted yet it held strong, a pale hand the nails curved in a mockery of a claw laid on it; she didn’t remember opening the door until she felt the push of emotions, holding them at bay so she could just peek inside. 
Her mother filing away at her horns and clipping her sharp nails telling her she was a normal Elf, and not some product of a night of blind stupidity with a White draconic male. Stray thoughts wafted along. -Did her father live? Her real one? Did she care? –No, not a bit- She turned away wondering how her mother’s husband never noticed the odd eyes, probably too blind to his own ambitions. 
Another door, this one scored by claw marks and she grimaced. This memory cursed her she decided, the sound of that man telling her, forcing her, to give up her identity as Tristana to become Trist; the son to make that man proud. Again the odd thoughts came as she walked up the corridor looking at the doors; “his” training, the sensei taking a personal interest and helping on the sly, the gift of the harmonica. How in a hundred years no one once found out the boy was really a woman. Perhaps the old man had but never spoke a word for “he” had been the best or near the best.
Thoughts of the place, one that had been hidden in the Far north in Zenegral, hidden by magic and in that cold land made to look so very much like the Old land, old traditions of Assassins, it was too bad only boys could be one of them. Why she had been forced to give up her feminine self.
She stopped at another this one made her smile just a little hint of real emotion leaking free the memory; a memorial for one of there own who let his rage, his Gods gift, consume him. He got sloppy and died, it had been sad but the ending,

–“He” again felt the amazement and confusion as the Sensei called “him” up and offered him a box, with in it the highest honor the Dagger only the most elite got in truth only 4 were in use for the guild, 2 were held by a paired Dragons, one to a Raekhan follower a lone hunter and now. “He” was given one “he” had thanked his own god the Trickster that night happy.–

The smile slipped away as she moved on. The next door she wanted to walk past but it was not to be, it swung open swallowing her into the memory.

-The hollow pleasure “he” had felt was stolen when the guild was attacked. His brothers killed and scattered he himself bound forced to watch. – 

She growled her body rippling there in her mind, the dragon side held more sway her form altering to become more like a dragon’s; scaling and spikes rippling taking on solidity as they formed down along her spine and into a forming tail, gold against the white of her skin, as her tattered and deformed wings straightened out and became what they should have been, strong diaphanous with the veins visible through the fragile film of skin. She tried to escape the memory, the pain and anger that again consumed her.

-arms and feet bound, flat on the ground, someone holding “his” head up watching as a brother, the other hunter slowly, with a skill that would make any Dark Knight Dungeon Master proud, harm and kill the Sensei over a long amount of time. “He” screamed fighting to break free and unable to tears flowing down cheeks that had not felt such in almost 100 years.-

She stumbled away, clawed feet digging into the ash, a long plated tail whipping, as she tried to escape but to no avail another door broke under her clawed hand as she fell against it the memory making her scream.** 

The black clad form fell to the side as her dream figure fell, curling into a ball to try and protect herself shaking like a leaf in a storm, a light crisp frost began to cover it sticking it to the surrounding grass. 

**-Pain, never ending pain, darkness, jeering words and cruel jokes. The feel of a blade the pain as something was peeled, body on fire screaming “himself” hoarse as they slowly peeled his skin from him happily displaying it in his cell, asking things he could not understand or care to answer-

Even as the memory washed over her making her sob she could not help but wonder at her captors. She had been bound, stripped of all her clothing, yet never did they do anything besides torture and peel her skin leaving two places free of there harmful games as if they in there twisted minds decided to leave some things intact and untouched.

She struggled from the grip of those memories forcing them back behind their doors and moved on. The Dragon stopped before a door that constructed of wood and metal, a mingling of past and present; these memories she welcomed with a bitter happiness. 

The hunt for her dagger, the journey long and arduous, she had to kill a few of her old Clan sibs who had gone to His side. Then finding him, finally, back in the ruins of the Old Clan grounds, a fight that almost cost her life; a weapon master and still assassin against her, a meager mage, but she had won. His final end she did not make easy visiting on him far worse then had been done to her, yet it was still a hollow victory. The dagger, safe again in her boot, the feeling of its eternal thirst for blood calming as she slowly walked away from the scene of the battle. 

Empty, hollow, that was life for her now. She moved on ignoring a door that had an odd grain in the wood. Behind it an echo of a night or two, a dalliance in emotions, a pathetic attempt to be ‘human’; emotions a waste of time.
A picture instead of a door, a woman that was unmistakably a dragon kin like she, a Red though; this made her smile. The child was growing maybe she should stop calling her a Whelping, the term used in her clan for the lowest class, the new kids. Maybe she was ready to be called a shadow, or not, she could not help but gain enjoyment from antagonizing the red; the only emotion she felt now; joy in making that one get angry. With one last look, feeling the past trying to escape there doors, to render her weak again she turned and fled her mind.** 

The Dark form stood up breaking free of the ice, the evil dagger being put back into a boot walking south slowly, not to far, just to an empty farm field and looked up at the moons. Wings opening to there fullest, looking like she for that moment wanted nothing then to fly, escape the existence she was bound to, as she was bound to the land.


The spatter of pale pink snow, steam from a burnt corpse marred an otherwise pristine beautiful snowy mountain side. A low laugh that hissed at the end echoed. She flexed her hands smirking at the feeling of pain from the harmful fire spells she had cast. 
Then with a twitch and resettling of still too small and near skeletal wings she set off down the mountain, leaving behind a fool of a Knight who thought to attack a women trying to bring a snow slide down on a small village full of others like her. Cold blooded hunters and killers, Trist couldn’t understand, she was doing a service to herself and others. Cleaning competition up and saving Fools she can and would make suffer later. 

“I hope you have no one who will miss you worthless meat bag, though I have to thank you a landslide would be to impersonal, slaughtering them all face to face is better” 

She spoke over her shoulder to the rapidly diminishing corpse then to the black male pixie with yellow eyes and fangs that buzzed into a landing on her shoulder. 

“What say you Thanatos slaughtering worthless lowlifes to more weaklings in shiny metal sound good?” A rusty laugh as the wings twitched again leaving behind a rattling sound of death to hang in the air.

Trist stood in the room she had rented at the Chail Inn looking down at the clothing she had laid out on the bed, two outfits’ two choices. A loose black and grayish shirt and black pants black boots and gloves, a cloak with a hood. And a strip of black cloth used to bind what chest she had flat, making her from Tristana into Trist or just Tyr. Male Assassin, the lone killer. 

Or the Brown skirt and strapless top bought down in Kyr one time. Simple bracelets for the ankles, and ankle high shoes. No place to hide a dagger, showing off the pale almost white skin with the precision slices and marks, that came from torture and having ones skin peeled. 

She shook her head turning away to the mirror and with care braided her hair in a intricate pattern. Before returning to her choices the pale cold eyes closing a ragged breath taken before they opened and the dress was put away. With learned hands wrapped the chest binding around tightly. Enough to just start to restrict normal breathing, then the shirt, and pants. Belt enclosed around the slim hips holding the Dagger and a few bags one with a purring pixie. The cloak came last hood pulled up and the Women no longer existed. 

He sauntered out the door and down to leave, pulling on the gloves over the long thin fingers to hide all flesh glad he normally kept the claws trimmed or he’d have to buy more gloves. A pause at the exit to cast True Sight before leaving giving an idle wave to the guard. With a voice that was low slightly rough warm male and yet effeminate bid him good day. 

Mind on business to find the next creature to use for his work, or just some fool to play with.

The book was slim, bound in black leather blank pages filled it but for the first few. A spell and list in a simple but archaic style of common filled those pages. It lay in the grass held open by a small rock, edges fluttering in the light breeze that blew across the Chail Lowland Farm land. The farm field before it was empty left empty this season the perfect spot far enough away from travelers along the road or graveyard to see what was to happen. 

White hair stirred from the tight braid that fell along the slim forms back. Pants tight enough along the thighs and shins to show off the sleek muscles but loose enough in the pelvis to hide any indication of sex, high boots dull black leather blended into the dark grayish pants. The black and grey shirt hung loose out of the pants, the low cut untied top shifted in the wind, showing a chest bound in black cloth flattening the chest, the tight sleeves just loose enough around shoulders, elbow and wrist to allow movement, moved as the black gloved long slim fingers lifted to the sky then stretched far before the form. 

Cold dragon slit pale blue eyes looked downward the hands moving to the belt, pulling from a dagger sheath a assassins blade, wavered with runes along the edge glowing a red that moved almost hungrily up the blade. A cold smile as the blade was turned on the form, slicing a small nick in a hand then slid away. Eyes closing as the hands went forward, blood dripping adding to the spell that started to be cast. 

Into the empty field the air wavered taking shape three shapes, two standing on one side, a stocky tall man with blonde hair and handsome face if not for a ragged scar that blinded one eye. The other was smaller willowy brown hair cropped close to the skull a face that was rounded, downy cheeked a face most women would sigh over or mother. Both wore blades the taller a long sword and dagger, the smaller two kama’s, both dressed in grey and black cloth with capes. Across from them stood a form topping over them both, cloaked and hooded, what may have been a breeze moved the cloaks, showing for the tallest a slim but strong form skin completely covered, daggers and a rapier held places on the belt, what may have been a wisp of white from the hood was quickly pushed back in by one long tapering fingered hand.

Slowly the area about the three forms took shape, sand underfoot, walls on all sides, then slowly sound a faint shouting as if from people watching, but the three there was nothing even as the two spoke there mouths moving to the third.
A irritated flick of gloved fingers and the hood bowed, the small man grinned and stepped back into his partners shadow disappearing from view, as the stocky one moved forward drawing sword and dagger. The hooded form stayed completely still a hand moving and a rather showy bit finger wriggling as Darkness suddenly descended inside that arena. 

No sight but sound. Swords clashing, grunts then a yelp, a cry of pain of anger, then suddenly the darkness was gone. The stocky man stood over his downed partner who lay hands over chest in a sign of defeat though he still breathed looking unharmed in fact. The hooded one stood still rapier pointed tot eh ground, a dagger crossing the sword hilt looking at ease. Something said a look of rage of humiliation crossing the Stocky mans face and he charges, again sudden darkness, putting both rogues on equal footing but the one man ran out of it then suddenly froze as a shape appeared behind him immobilizing him. He nodded and the fight ended. The hooded one nodded moving away letting both retrieve blades and leave. Words heard distant faint. “This is our finest ‘Dragon’, Tyr All Assassins learn from him when any single can take on two then shall you be granted the honor given the Blade.” The word ‘Dragon’ sounding like a title

The hooded form slid blades home and pushed the hood back. Short Moon pale hair that blew behind the ears, the pale cold blue eyes that held irritation, unhappiness. The win was not something this ‘Dragon’ had wanted or perhaps the fight was what he had not wished, he spun fingers clenched into fists then ran though sweat soaked hair pausing at two spots deep in the hair as if checking something, satisfied apparently the man moved as if to leave then froze at some unheard sound… 

The image broke scattering in the wind as Trist gasped knees giving way to fall gasping fingers curling to halt the blood loss, eyes closing fighting to control the rest of that memory that had been brought to life by the spell tried to close the door it was kept behind in her memory corridor. 

“a’ i’ du auta n’alaquel sut amin shor amin car baelaes vaestaestaesaer” 

( "to the darkness go back. how I wish I had never remembered")

He stalked back and forth, the moon casting shadows across the Chail farmlands. Dressed in that black and grey trench and hood he was talking to himself. 

“hasol Eisi.. Myr baelaes mael sai cos eindral…. Vas os si vyrdes.. thasol Tali. shael por sor cadael shael por sor mas eindral….” 

Gloved hands raised pushing the hood back the pale braided hair escaping to fall down “it’s” back. Sinking to the ground uncaring who could come along at this hour in the night along the road to see the solitary form in a field, the fingers threading into the hair, mussing it around the horns as eyes close. 

~Tail flickered, wings stretched as She walked along her memory corridor finding it odd. The smell of ash still lingered, past shiny smooth doors of the presents memories, past one that looked rougher. From that night’s chat. That had been closed right after and ignored for this long but finally it had gotten to her. Back to years past to one that looked crooked. 
With a sigh she opened the door, memories of the night she had stumbled from the Eteric forest not remembering anything, lost confused and completely thinking herself the man she had so long pretended to be. Not realizing in her 5 year captivity horns had grown and so had nails. The start of it all. Finding out what her real father had been. Then months later as memories had returned the shattering feel of soft emotion.
She closed the door and shook herself. Emotion the trap of the weak though she had them as a killer they never came in handy the softer ones. That may of let her make friends. No one was allowed close secrets to hazard to the Clan must never be found so friendships were never made. 
It had been easy to be that half and half in the past, never one or the other a women that acted like a man only. But now.. something had caused the urge the need to be completely else. “brother” or “sister” to revert back to what she had once been.

Emotions were the weakness, showing kindness even in a offhanded way broke the barriers. What may have been a joke was more then that. She was glad only a few knew her joke. It was Fun to be what “he” had so long watched and learned from the other Assassins do when they were trying to pick girls up and put that emotions into use, flattery, softness, the things that put the other off balance unaware of what true intent may be.

A faint curse as she passed a mirror and looked into the reflection of who she had once been. Even here were how she viewed herself as truth only showed back a slim cloth shrouded man with short cropped pale hair and those laughing eyes that could of grown cold at any moment. She turned the mirror around.~ 

Frost edged the grass around “it” only to break as. She surged to her feet, unlike the past she could not go un hooded in this land even as bound up as her chest was, to many knew her as “women” with out the hood, and time had added more softness to her face, no longer did she have quite that boyish beauty to it. 

She shook and swore again pacing away from the spot she had been at to climb up and sit on the fence of the Horses corral pulling her Harmonica out she closed her eyes and started to play a old tune. The moonlight leeching any chance from a distance to realize she was a girl. 

In the nights light she could from a distance pass as she once had as a boy with out the hood. 

(“Farging Arse.. Should never speak to him again…. Part of the problum.. farking Male. when did this happen when did this start again….” )

Heading back home ’They’ took a hard left turn into the bedroom, sparse with only a single small bed, a worn amour and a full length mirror. Hood pushed back the braided hair with the black and grey ribbon woven though, falling across one shoulder. With a slight flick pushed it back and slowly removed the trench. Tossing it to the bed removed the gloves, a ritualistic slowness in the disrobing. Bending down removes the boots and the dagger, then socks, before finally undoing the shirt, black cloth wrapped around the chest giving that flat torso look, finally the pants where pulled and dropped on the bed as well. Standing in but loincloth and chest band, ‘He’ took a shallow breath slowly undoing the black cloth, as it loosened the breathing became deeper rolling the cloth like a bandage till the last fell away deep imprint of a line above and below the chest showing how tight that cloth had been wrapped. The wrapped up cloth put besides others like it in different colors, the pale slit eyes gazing into the mirror thankful as always that ‘it’ had been blessed by a small if long frame. 

“Perhaps I should not be happy if … Been… given a rack never would have suffered as long as… did you know.” 

“But dishonor would have befallen the Family and … might have been killed you know. So should be happy at not having much there at all.” 

Shakes head as slowly a wing only a foot long lifted from her back, the eyes darkening in pain as it stretched the bruise lines along it showing she had pinned it down with the cloth. The other unfolded stretching and flapping making a little a rattling sound, the membrane between each finger tattered worn and small giving them both a rather decayed look. Shaking her head as the wings hung limp she turned away and laid down on the bed eyes closing not wishing to look into a mirror and see someone else, for that was what she saw. Herself and the one she had became to survive, with so much time there was a door that each was locked behind to keep them separated, thoughts feelings each separate safe… Tyr felt even if he was cold and heartless when it came time to kill He always was a better one joking flirting was part of the job after all sometimes. And… Tristana… Trist was everything an Assassin needed to be cold and heartless. She liked it like that. It had been easy to know when Trist or Tyr was in charge but now it was getting harder slipping back and forth between them. Feeling wishing that the body was one or the other and knowing it was not so. 

Twas enough to drive anyone crazy, but the work being done was enough to keep her sanity for now after this was done perhaps the next step in her studies could be done

Asleep in the relocated chail graveyard the trench coated, hat wearing half white slumped on a bench. 

The hallway never seemed to change greatly. the scent of ash still lingered even after all the passing years. one way stretched misty the other end help a wall dominating full length mirror and a window. Flanking the hall end were two doors unlike all the others. one door was rough unfinished and set into a frame that was twisted and melted. The other had a beautiful deep finish door with beautiful carvings.

The doors faded and from the finished door Tyr stepped forth moving with that assassins grace to the mirror checking himself over. The 6′ tall form was dressed in black and gray weighted trench coat, a nice shirt and pants. Hair done back into a tight braid with black and gray ribbon threaded into it. Looking like a tall pure blooded elf. You should of let me put us to bed before you got uppity now were sleeping in the rain." He turned looking at the the true owner of the body.
Standing in the melted doorway Trist just glared. dragon shaped eyes, horns curling from the unbound waist length hair beautiful white wings rested on her back and a tail flicked. Pure Elven to the Perfect Dragon-kin looked at each other.

joining Tyr at the mirror Trist sent a glare his way."You stopped calling me your sister, planing to scare people now?"

A short warm laugh"I’m bored so yes, we hid while the world changed again.

"We no longer wish it, time to play once more"

They shared another look, time or something had changed there competitiveness into cooperation for the moment at least. 

Waking She stood looking down at her cloths she grumbled as she headed back to were they been staying to change into something more proper. "You need to learn to dress better I think we need new colors then Clan colors.."

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