daughter0fslaughter - Tumblr blog

[daughter0fslaughter]

There it is.

Any shred of power or lick of control daring to spark within the palm of her clawed hand was to be immediately snuffed out. Threats of impending violence, doom, agony and pain sprouting from the ground as thorny black vines towering far above her head. They coiled and twisted with a rancid odour splitting from their flesh and staining against Orin’s speckled skin. A scent that found familiar space with the changeling. Within the Dragonborn’s eyes she saw, of course, Bhaal. How couldn’t she? Formed from the very flesh of the Murder Lord himself and imbued with his ravenous fury, it glimmered across each scale and burned beneath his iris’. And beneath Bhaal, Sarevok. A recent revelation, granted, but one all the same. Nobody else had managed to make Orin feel so painfully insignificant and small, all the while existing too loudly and taking up too much space. Not like Sarevok, and not like Druj. Was this still part of the test? Was it ever a test to begin with? Had she squandered a chance of freedom, and if so, how dare she view it as such?

…

…….

It did not matter.

The inevitability of Orin being trodden beneath at least one of the two was clear.

As he went on and on and on and on, Orin stood scowling. Her shoulders shrunk into her small frame and any semblance of wicked joy or even enthusiasm had swiftly wilted behind her pale eyes. Venomous words dulled before hitting her divided mind, making no dent nor impact against the vibrating dome. A choice had to be made. To obey or to rebel. Obeying one would be to disobey another. Orin didn’t want to obey anyone other than herself. For once, Orin preferred to avoid violence. Though her rotted soul and blackened heart yearned to snap bones and pierce flesh, her brain thought better of it, and in a deathly situation such as this one, she had to rely on her smarts above all else. Her consciousness and sanity was deeply flawed and broken after years of struggling, but in times of need they pulled her through. They always had done. They always will. Without them, what did she have? How different would she be to the mindless lemmings that slaughtered with little rhyme or reason and absolutely no beauty?

And here… well.

Sarevok was as good as dead. She knew that. He knew that. Druj knew that. Everybody under the damn temple knew that the moment Orin booted him to the sidelines and eradicated almost all sense of power that beast held over her. Her own ambition for the beauty of the slaughter was the sole reason for his lungs still burning oxygen, and his ginormous rancid heart pumping blood. Orin had plans.

She had plans and no choice. The word “freedom” was certainly being thrown around rather liberally. And, quite frankly, this little display of a powertrip was yet again ironic coming from someone left rotting at the bottom of a tower with a worm squirming around. Any fear momentarily inflicted into her had fizzled away into nothingness, leaving that blunt, hollow and cold ache in its place. Did she even believe he was capable of those things? No, not really. She had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.

Neuroticism flickered a brief smile at the corners of her mouth. A twitch of her left, tearful eye. A high pitched giggle slipping out. She couldn’t help that.

What choice did she have?

A cloud of red mist appeared in front of her now raised right hand, manifesting her Bloodthirst dagger. A new, neat little trick, gifted upon her by that of an overly helpful pixie. As she tilted and twisted it, the netherstone embedded within the gilded centre sparkled beneath the candlelight.

“You are nothing to me.” A breath. In and out through the nose. Perhaps one of exhaustion or even frustration. Regardless of what it stemmed from, it was a brief moment of regulation. Truthfully, she wasn’t entirely sure where she was going with this. An old urge of hers to live exclusively for herself kicked up dust that choked at her lungs and squeezed Orin’s words out. Perhaps the idea of being bottlenecked between picking some faux promise of “freedom” or allegedly being chewed out from the inside had flipped a switch at the back of her skull. Why should she allow this annoyance to provide a senseless, self-serving ultimatum? If she was to die within this room, let it be of her choice, and her choice alone.

“You do not frighten me. You cannot do any of those things to me.” Another pause, her grip tightening around her beloved blade.

“I have bested you before and I will not hesitate to do so again - you would be wise to fold your peacock feathers behind your waxy scales, and know your place.” Her breathing picked up and her face twisted into a pained frown, struggling to decide between utter sadness or absolute rage. Was this her roundabout way of giving him yet another chance to live? Or to at least to walk away without a fight? Did she even care about the netherstone and the Absolute, or was it all just for a lick of praise that this spawn was showered in? Why didn’t she just kill him all that time ago? At least one answer was clear.

A moment of hesitation. Panic, even. She said all of those things for herself true enough but had any of it been for Him? No. No! Curled fists now at her sides and her eyes flickering around. This is what she had worked so hard for? To be bickering with an underling over her rightful place in his embrace? What a joke. But she was not laughing; The realisation of having and knowing absolutely nothing other than Bhaal repeatedly had hit her like a boulder over the course her life and it melted through her innards as she spoke.

“I deserve this!”

What?

B-

Blasphemy, within her bedroom walls, beneath her father?

Whatever sadistic joy stained Orin's face had quickly vanished, leaving an even paler complexion instead. Milky eyes widened, black lips dropped to a gawp, and instead of twitching around, Orin remained deathly still. A petrified apparition of herself; Utterly gobsmacked at the mere proposition and complete tripe that slipped his crusty lips.

...

A test.

It must be. Of course.

"Had I known the worm was to chew at every inch of your brain matter, I'd have slaughtered you in His honour the moment my sweet blade pierced bone." Orin spat the words to the floor, eyebrows furrowed and anxiety lacing her voice. Had she been taken off-guard for too long? In that split second of her mind desperately attempting to process his proposition, did it come across as if she considered it? Surely not. Surely not.

The last time she hesitated - the last time she dared to resist - she suffered an eternity of agony. Ragged from the mortal realm and plunged into a crimson darkness. Thick, molten sludge burning at each inch of her spectral body, a thousand blades sticking through her fragile form and her screams stifled by the oozing, coagulated blood leaking down her throat. How she called for his forgiveness, begging, eyes burning under acidic tears, and ears ringing in the silence that followed. He was there true enough, but he was not there to comfort. She had been unwaveringly loyal to him all fifteen years of her life, until that one moment of weakness. A desire to live outside of the temple, to slaughter in her own name and to do as she wished whenever she wanted to. A fitting punishment for a selfish child. She was returned to the mortal realm, to her own vessel, inside of a box. A tight box no longer than a metre in width and forty centimetres in height. Locked from the outside. Three holes cut through the top for air, for water, for whatever was to be shoved in there with her. Orin was no stranger to torturous punishments even at the age of fifteen years, but this cut into her far deeper than any blade.

Ever since then, Orin changed significantly. Not a single thought away from Bhaal and his absent love. She didn't dare do otherwise.

Orin could hardly believe this brain-rotted fool that stood ahead of her. Not only the ridiculous arrogance and pride that encouraged him to slither back into her presence, but to spit untruths to her and to act as though they were in anyway similar?

"You lie."

Festering rage bubbling at the back of her throat. Those stifled adolescent screams kicking at her rib cage. An accusatory index finger pointed towards him, trembling with increasing frustration.

"How dare you speak of his name to me, when it is I and I alone who shall spill his crimson across the Murder Lord's stones. I have earned the right. I am his daughter, and he worshiped ME." As she spoke, her words cracked and wobbled. A temper fit to burst and a tantrum inches from being had. Her brain raced around within her scarred skull and screamed screamed SCREAMED to vanish away. But where to? They are in her bedroom, under his watchful gaze. She could not flee - that would be shameful. She is not a little girl anymore, as if she was ever allowed to be.

"WE didn't share anything. What you thought was OUR childhood, was actually you having kills, blood, flesh, bones, praise served to you on a stained platter - Bhaal's blood addled beloved. Never struggled. Do not dare speak on what we "were" when you are blinded and swaddled in sinews."

Suffered in belief that she was to be the chosen, suffered to stand in their scarlet shadow and to be nothing more than a bloodied footnote.

[daughter0fslaughter]

[daughter0fslaughter]

sorry for acting batshit crazy I was feeling a little unwanted

[daughter0fslaughter]

silly little wip bc im thinking of her tonight

[daughter0fslaughter]

Advice for women?

lesbian sex

[daughter0fslaughter]

LETS HELP!

D[]nate to any of the ch4rities listed and let me know what you'd like me to draw!! Fill in this form with your screenshots/screenrecording of your d[]nation! follow the pricing module in the pictures! will get them done ASAP, dedicating weekend!

E-sims: http://gazaesims.com

Care for Gaza: http://gofundme.com/f/careforgaza

Menstrual hygiene funds: http://piousprojects.org/campaign/2712 < + a free doodle from me!

[daughter0fslaughter]

[daughter0fslaughter]

How you screamed as my knife slit your skull, your brain juices sticky and sweet. A little hole, big enough for the worm, your body a blood sack to feed it. The favourite of Bhaal turned meat puppet, strung up by the sinews and plucked by my hands.

[daughter0fslaughter]

How far into a relationship you can tell them you want to live inside their ribcage?

[daughter0fslaughter]

[daughter0fslaughter]

What?

B-

Blasphemy, within her bedroom walls, beneath her father?

Whatever sadistic joy stained Orin's face had quickly vanished, leaving an even paler complexion instead. Milky eyes widened, black lips dropped to a gawp, and instead of twitching around, Orin remained deathly still. A petrified apparition of herself; Utterly gobsmacked at the mere proposition and complete tripe that slipped his crusty lips.

...

A test.

It must be. Of course.

"Had I known the worm was to chew at every inch of your brain matter, I'd have slaughtered you in His honour the moment my sweet blade pierced bone." Orin spat the words to the floor, eyebrows furrowed and anxiety lacing her voice. Had she been taken off-guard for too long? In that split second of her mind desperately attempting to process his proposition, did it come across as if she considered it? Surely not. Surely not.

The last time she hesitated - the last time she dared to resist - she suffered an eternity of agony. Ragged from the mortal realm and plunged into a crimson darkness. Thick, molten sludge burning at each inch of her spectral body, a thousand blades sticking through her fragile form and her screams stifled by the oozing, coagulated blood leaking down her throat. How she called for his forgiveness, begging, eyes burning under acidic tears, and ears ringing in the silence that followed. He was there true enough, but he was not there to comfort. She had been unwaveringly loyal to him all fifteen years of her life, until that one moment of weakness. A desire to live outside of the temple, to slaughter in her own name and to do as she wished whenever she wanted to. A fitting punishment for a selfish child. She was returned to the mortal realm, to her own vessel, inside of a box. A tight box no longer than a metre in width and forty centimetres in height. Locked from the outside. Three holes cut through the top for air, for water, for whatever was to be shoved in there with her. Orin was no stranger to torturous punishments even at the age of fifteen years, but this cut into her far deeper than any blade.

Ever since then, Orin changed significantly. Not a single thought away from Bhaal and his absent love. She didn't dare do otherwise.

Orin could hardly believe this brain-rotted fool that stood ahead of her. Not only the ridiculous arrogance and pride that encouraged him to slither back into her presence, but to spit untruths to her and to act as though they were in anyway similar?

"You lie."

Festering rage bubbling at the back of her throat. Those stifled adolescent screams kicking at her rib cage. An accusatory index finger pointed towards him, trembling with increasing frustration.

"How dare you speak of his name to me, when it is I and I alone who shall spill his crimson across the Murder Lord's stones. I have earned the right. I am his daughter, and he worshiped ME." As she spoke, her words cracked and wobbled. A temper fit to burst and a tantrum inches from being had. Her brain raced around within her scarred skull and screamed screamed SCREAMED to vanish away. But where to? They are in her bedroom, under his watchful gaze. She could not flee - that would be shameful. She is not a little girl anymore, as if she was ever allowed to be.

"WE didn't share anything. What you thought was OUR childhood, was actually you having kills, blood, flesh, bones, praise served to you on a stained platter - Bhaal's blood addled beloved. Never struggled. Do not dare speak on what we "were" when you are blinded and swaddled in sinews."

Suffered in belief that she was to be the chosen, suffered to stand in their scarlet shadow and to be nothing more than a bloodied footnote.

It took every bone inside of Orin's wicked body to not burst out in a maniacal cackle. Blood thumped inside of her head, her heart, her veins. Hearing his voice again was a thrill. A coughing, gagging little lamb crawling back to the barn it was born in, regardless of the prowling eyes stalking it from the darkness. It was almost too good. She could lunge forward... sink her nails through those small eye slits... dig and dig and dig AND DIG AN-

"Oh so it speaks! Spluttering on nonsense, swaddled in sinews so thick even a comprehensive thought struggles to pass through." A condescending head tilt paired with her usual lip splitting, stomach churning smile. Perhaps she should've killed him when she had the chance... but this is much more fun.

"Need I remind you, bloodkin, that it was I who cracked through that brick head of yours, and it was you who fell." Another giggle. That same hand once waggling in his face now sitting upon her hip.

"If only I could speak clearer to you..." Orin pouted. Yet another radical change of facial expression with upturned eyebrows and sorrowful eyes gleaming with mystery emotion. "But... unfortunately I haven't a worm gnawing at my brain..."

"Perhaps you should remember that the next time your waggling tongue wishes to speak of dignity."

[daughter0fslaughter]

Please…

[daughter0fslaughter]

>:(

[daughter0fslaughter]

A tilted head and marble eyes lit up with malicious glee. Each word that trembled out of sticky sweet lilac lips called out to spiteful ears. Her toes curled into the ground she stood upon, fingers tightening into fists at her side. Knuckles whitening. Teeth gleaming.

Orin couldn't help but giggle to herself - that husky chuckle working its way through her rotten body and rattling at her heaving rib cage. The shimmer of the now exposed blade almost sent her heart into rapid palpitations.

Violence.

Glorious bloodshed. On the horizon. Mere inches away.

Oh yes.

Yes yes yes yes yes yes yesyesyesyesYESYESYESYES-

ENOUGH!!

She had to calm herself... collect her scattered thoughts and quivering composure. Orin positively vibrated with anticipation, eyes just begging for Minthara. Too many directions of thought whizzing around Orin's squelching brain caused her to stagger for just a moment; A brief respite to recalibrate and focus on what exactly she was pestering Minthara for... if anything at all.

Perhaps she just wanted to show she hadn't forgotten their time together. Not for one second.

She hadn't forgotten Minthara's undying loyalty and worship. She hadn't forgotten how she kneeled, how she felt, how she tasted. How Orin towered over her. How Minthara gawped upwards. Somebody had to be reminded of that. It was not Orin.

Orin relaxed her hands. Fingers uncurling from their cocoon and toes sitting flat against the cobblestones. She held out her arms - an open embrace - with her small frame covered only by putrid armour.

"Come, then."

Head rolling back. Neck bare. Heart thumping. Sweat beading and glimmering under moonlight.

"Show me your strength, lotha orbb"

Anticipation peaking. Vile plans concocting and fuming inside of her bloodied skull and spit bubbling at the back of her blistered mouth.

Minthara wouldn't dare.

"Try as you may you hold no power over us."

‼️🩸🥀

— “Oh? And yet I remain in your skull, banging and banging and banging away until it cracks.”

Sharp, glistening wet teeth split through parted lips. The tips of her mouth curled upwards into a sticky sweet smile parading faux flattery. A gentle chuckle bounced around inside of her nauseatingly armoured chest and the silver adorning her cascading braid jingled with each shake. How cute. A little lamb coated in its mothers blood, bleating upwards at the snarling wolf… a meagre wire fence and simple disinterest the only partitions between devastating fangs and thin wool. Orin the Red adored it. She adored the food fighting back, giving chase and keeping it fun. Tempting her. Teasing her. Winding it up for their inevitable annihilation that bursts the crimson bubble that expanded with each panicked breath. Immediate satisfaction. Hot, sticky blood. Beauty, and intent.

Sheer arrogance.

“Tell me; How often is it that my blade crosses your mind? How many dark, damp alleyways do you avoid in order to desperately protect your supple flesh from being stripped away from bone? Do you hope that maybe I will be there when you glance behind yourself at night?”

Tempting her. Teasing her.

[daughter0fslaughter]

bg3challenge | 1/1 dead three | orin the red

[daughter0fslaughter]

[daughter0fslaughter]