[[There is nothing related to this material in game at the moment. This sets up an event which will occur late this week which will be called "The Awakening: Night of the Mutilator."]]
“I think my name is Callie,” Callie said.
“Are you sure though,” one of the Mysterious Knights asked, before resuming the torture. The Mysterious Knights tortured formally and methodically, but the great joy they took in it was written on their faces.
Callie lacked the strength to scream, or she would have screamed. “No,” she admitted, as she started to sob. She lacked the strength to scream, but she could still cry, so cry she did. Thank the Virtues she was still, somehow, capable of crying; it was her only release.
“No what, little toy.”
“No, I’m not sure what my name is anymore, Sir.” The Mutilator, she could tell it was he because his machete felt so different than did the weapons of the other Mysterious Knights, also started to cut into her.
When Callie’s torment at the hands of Exodus’s machines had ended, she thought the worst was over. She thought death would be the end. But she was wrong. She had but a day or two to rest in death, before the Mysterious Knights had somehow managed to recover her remains. When she was first re-animated she had wondered how long it had taken them to gather her various parts; she had after all exploded and her remains were scattered all around the Gypsy Camp. Curiosity had been the first thing the Knights’ tortures had taken from her. Her name came second. Soon, she knew, any kind of self-identity would be gone too and the thing was she no longer cared. She had no reason to.
For awhile, she had been “gifted” by the Knights to the disgraced Juka Warlord Kabur; their new ally. Thanks to Kabur she learned that Juka tortures were much like human ones. After Kabur returned her, though, the Knights had given her to one of their own, or a minion of theirs, Callie was not sure, named only “The Mutilator.” In the hands of The Mutilator, Callie finally learned that humans could torture worse than could machines. Until then they had only been as bad.
The Mutilator had two primary weapons: A machete, more or less like a falcata or an elven machete, and an executioner’s axe. From what the Knights said, from when she could hear them talking, he also used them in battle to great effect. The Mutilator was skilled at using both to torture, but those were not all he used. Indeed, the same was true of any of her captors, any of the Mysterious Knights, or Kabur. They had many instruments of torture, and they used them all.
The Mutilator was also a skilled necromancer, who was quite adept at putting her back together after she had been hacked up. She knew that she could not die, could not know peace or rest, until he decided to grant it to her, or he was dead himself. He spoke no words save the words of his Necromancer spells.
She had been hacked to pieces, eaten alive by unknown beasts, but somehow kept alive. She had been barbarously treated and scarred. She had been stitched back together, sometimes nearly whole, and sometimes in a hideous, deformed mockery humanity. Each time she thought it was over, each time she thought death was approaching, she was wrong.
And, to make it worse, they at no point said why. With the machines, it was obvious: Revenge, though a vastly disproportionate one, for her studies of Exodus. For her meddling.
But these Mysterious Knights, it seemed, were doing this just because they wanted to.
“I think my name is Callie,” Callie said.
“Are you sure though,” one of the Mysterious Knights asked, before resuming the torture. The Mysterious Knights tortured formally and methodically, but the great joy they took in it was written on their faces.
Callie lacked the strength to scream, or she would have screamed. “No,” she admitted, as she started to sob. She lacked the strength to scream, but she could still cry, so cry she did. Thank the Virtues she was still, somehow, capable of crying; it was her only release.
“No what, little toy.”
“No, I’m not sure what my name is anymore, Sir.” The Mutilator, she could tell it was he because his machete felt so different than did the weapons of the other Mysterious Knights, also started to cut into her.
When Callie’s torment at the hands of Exodus’s machines had ended, she thought the worst was over. She thought death would be the end. But she was wrong. She had but a day or two to rest in death, before the Mysterious Knights had somehow managed to recover her remains. When she was first re-animated she had wondered how long it had taken them to gather her various parts; she had after all exploded and her remains were scattered all around the Gypsy Camp. Curiosity had been the first thing the Knights’ tortures had taken from her. Her name came second. Soon, she knew, any kind of self-identity would be gone too and the thing was she no longer cared. She had no reason to.
For awhile, she had been “gifted” by the Knights to the disgraced Juka Warlord Kabur; their new ally. Thanks to Kabur she learned that Juka tortures were much like human ones. After Kabur returned her, though, the Knights had given her to one of their own, or a minion of theirs, Callie was not sure, named only “The Mutilator.” In the hands of The Mutilator, Callie finally learned that humans could torture worse than could machines. Until then they had only been as bad.
The Mutilator had two primary weapons: A machete, more or less like a falcata or an elven machete, and an executioner’s axe. From what the Knights said, from when she could hear them talking, he also used them in battle to great effect. The Mutilator was skilled at using both to torture, but those were not all he used. Indeed, the same was true of any of her captors, any of the Mysterious Knights, or Kabur. They had many instruments of torture, and they used them all.
The Mutilator was also a skilled necromancer, who was quite adept at putting her back together after she had been hacked up. She knew that she could not die, could not know peace or rest, until he decided to grant it to her, or he was dead himself. He spoke no words save the words of his Necromancer spells.
She had been hacked to pieces, eaten alive by unknown beasts, but somehow kept alive. She had been barbarously treated and scarred. She had been stitched back together, sometimes nearly whole, and sometimes in a hideous, deformed mockery humanity. Each time she thought it was over, each time she thought death was approaching, she was wrong.
And, to make it worse, they at no point said why. With the machines, it was obvious: Revenge, though a vastly disproportionate one, for her studies of Exodus. For her meddling.
But these Mysterious Knights, it seemed, were doing this just because they wanted to.
