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[lumin-aion]

Commission for @lumin-aion  ( ˘ ³˘)♥

[lumin-aion]

Commission for @lumin-aion of his lovely assassin. Gunner outfits are a lot of fun to draw and I had fun doing a norsvold bg ^^

[ Commission Info | Twitter | DeviantART ]

[lumin-aion]

Lumin looking even more flamboyant than usual!  Another piece by the very talented Lucy Fidelis ( http://www.lucyfidelis.com )

[lumin-aion]

Kawaii Lumin courtesy of the magnificent @qolmerea

Chibi commission for @lumin-aion of Lumin ╰(◡‿◡✿╰)

[lumin-aion]

Lumin, The Daeva of Disaster.  By the incredible Lucy Fidelis (http://www.lucyfidelis.com/)

[lumin-aion]

Cruciamentum Epilogue: What Does Not Kill You (4/4)

The Archons had managed to hang some draperies about the bivouac, and for that, Kelta was thankful. The other daevas did not need to see what was happening to their comrade. The dark-skinned soulhealer knelt next to her charge – both hers and Remao's, one of the Fatebound's finest healers. Kelta had had to have her assistants man the Danuar Spire Obelisk – no one in Katalam was trained to deal with the amount of trouble that this daeva Lumin was in, but Ketla and Remao were among the best. Together, over the four days since the girl's reformation at the Obelisk, they had healed the worst of it – the girl's flesh had been bubbling with ide crystals, but Remao had managed to siphon the ide that boiled through the assassin's bloodstream. The physical effects were terrible, but they paled in comparison to what Kelta saw in the girl's aetheric essence. Sweat dripped from the healers brow as she concentrated, eyes closed, her mind gliding within the energies that surrounded the malformed girl. With the greatest care, she reached out invisible fingers, touching the assassin's spirit, drawing out the poison that had infused itself with her soul. Every time she touched the spirit-ide, it hurt, but she was diligent. Every crystaline drop of the substance that she gathered from the daeva's soul slowly materialized in her physical palm, and was carefully siphoned into a vial by Remao, who could no longer work on healing the daeva's hurts without having the girl's soul tended. Drop by drop, the glowing substance was siphoned out of Lumin's soul, and out of her body. But the ravages it had had were obvious to anyone that had known the vibrant girl beforehand. Commander Vard watched on in silence, his craggy features knit into a dire expression, one clawed hand holding the draperies about the bivouac open just enough that he could stand at the edge, watching. He'd had enough dealings with this particular assassin to know that the loss of her expertise in these new lands would be an actual setback. He hated seeing any of his soldier's die, Aion knew – but this was somehow worse. Kelta tugged again at the ephemeral, spiritual energy of the stricken daeva, but she was beginning to realize that she had done all that she could – they had stopped the Ide from corrupting the girl, but it couldn't be wholly seperated from her, either. As a final droplet of the substance appeared in her palm, she broke her trance, looking to the wide eyes of Remao. “That's the last that I can reach. The rest has...fused...with her energy. If I tried to remove it, it might kill her. Or worse.” She bit her lower lip, and Remao nodded. She capped the vial of idgel fluid, and rose, looking over at where the Commander was watching. “It's in Aion's hands, Commander. I've healed her hurts. If the corruption has been stopped enough...” The cleric glanced to the soulhealer, who was rising, taking a cloth out to blot the sweat on her dark forehead. “I do not think what's fused to her essence will spread, but I don't really know what, if any, effect it'll have on her.” The soulhealer gave them both a helpless look. “Only Lord Marchutan could divine whether she'll be alright.” Vard frowned even deeper, nodding. “Keep her bed-bound for the moment, then. I'll post a guard detail – the reports I've received tell me that the subjects of Ide Infusion usually go berserk. If that happens, I don't want her causing any harm to anyone else. Both of you, get some rest. You've done what you can.” He turned, and marched off, grim-faced. One day later... When her eyes flit open, she could feel the bindings on her wrist, and she screamed. Instead of Bhavya's cold, ice-eyes, though, she saw the warm orbs of one of Danuar Spire's master healer, Remao. Lumin pulled at the bonds that kept her down, her body aching, but otherwise seeming...somewhat numb. Like she had fallen asleep on her leg, only it was everywhere. Remao immediately placed a hand on the assassin's forehead, and in a calming tone, spoke soft words of peace. “Shh. Shh...it's alright. You're here with us. You're alright.” The touch drove a spike of hate into her brain, and her first coherent thought was an image of her biting one of the healer's fingers off, and swallowing it. The desire was strong, a pulsing, purring need inside of her. Kill. Remao, as if sensing something awry, lifted her hand. A moment later, the years of her training under the Archons of Malice kicked in, and she calmed. She heard Jhaerkh's voice in her head, that same speech she had replayed a thousand times, about how she was Asmodian, and she must never harm her people. She took a deep breath, and stilled, blinking. “Water?” Her throat felt parched, her lips felt cracked. A cool flask was placed at her lips, and she drank greedily. “You've had a horrible experience, miss Lumin. We did what we could, but...whatever happened, we couldn't undo all of it.” Lumin's lips turned upwards into a smile, the habit automatic. She beamed up at Remao, who looked a bit startled at the expression coming from her charge. Lumin's tongue darted across her cracked, dry lips, and spreading the remains of her water over them to soothe them. “Like...um...how long...? And what do you mean?” her voice was somewhat hoarse, but it was still her voice. She felt odd, weak and tingly, but if she had been out for a long time, then that would explain that. “It's been five days since you reformed at the Spire's Obelisk. Commander Vard says you went missing two weeks ago. I don't know what happened between then and your reappearance, but...” The cleric brought up a handheld mirror, keeping it face down. “You've been poisoned with Ide. We removed what we could, but it's had some mutagenic effects. Please, brace yourself.” Carefully, the cleric raised the mirror, and the first thing that Lumin noticed was that someone had played a trick, and that there was a lightcrystal embedded in the mirror. The glow was lambent, occasionally pulsing. She blinked, and it faded a moment. Her eyes focused, and she saw a face that was hers, yet not. Her skin was the wrong shade, she looked paler, more...blue. Her hair had faded to a pinkish shade. Her lips were tinged with that same blue. Her eyes.... One of them glowed. It glowed with the blue shine of Ide. She could see swirls of the stuff in her iris, the material slowly drifting about. Her other eye was paler than it was, but still noticeably amethyst, untouched. She remembered then – it was her right eye that had been lanced. Her right eye that had had the stuff injected. She bit her lip, hard, to keep from screaming. Blood welled up, but she felt little pain. The blood was...tasty. “It'll be alright...” Remao tried to placate the assassin, who laid her head back down, and closed her eyes, lips twisting into a crimson, bleeding smile. Okeydokeylokey. Everything will be just fine. That night... “This is absolutely asinine!” Vard's gauntleted fist slammed into the stone table, and the document that was on it. The force of his blow shattered the black wax seal of the Shadow Court, sending one shard of the dried wax flying across the table to clatter to the floor. The two men that stood before the enraged Templar remained calm, the small one grim-faced, the behemoth smiling. Both wore the black uniform of the Court. “Think what you will, Commander, but the Shadow Council has judged. The daeva known as Lumin has been found to be too great a threat. Her Brigade General has been notified. The girl is stripped of her position, and will no longer be accepted within the military.” The smaller, grim-faced man spoke quietly. The large man just smirked, clearly happy about the situation. Vard snarled, raising a hand and pointing a finger towards the two Inquisitors. “You and your damned...idiocy! My people have told me they think the girl will make a full recovery! Everything we've seen points to her being no greater threat than she was. I've read your bloody report about her. She might be mad, but she's a damn fine warrior. Look at her record! She bloody slew one of their Governors. That's no mean feat!” The hulking man, pale as snow, stepped forward as the shorter man opened his mouth for a rebuttal. “Commander. I am Inquisitor Ixidris. I've studied this girl for years, and believe me...she is a threat.” The gigantic man's smirk deepened. “I have long pushed that steps be taken to see that she is no longer a threat, but so far, few have listened. Finally, they have. She was taken by the balaur, and they turned her into their agent. She can no longer be trusted. She was a monster before, and now she has become even worse.” “But you do--” “-I do know, Commander!” The hulking Inquisitor interrupted. “I know all too well. And whether you like it or not, she will NOT serve within our fine military's ranks again, not so long as the Court believes her to be a threat.” His eyes danced merrily, a dark, mirthful look. “And I can assure you that if I have any say in it, that stance shall not change any time soon. It would be wise if she were barred from Katalam and Danaria altogether.” “Go to Elysea.” Vard cursed angrily. “Your message is received, get out of my office!” After the two made their exit, the Commander sat down, steepling his fingers. Bureaucrats in Pandaemonium had no idea what it was really like out here, on the front. Some didn't even believe the reports about the Hyperion. Vard knew he needed every daeva he could get out here, fighting Asmodae's foes. Beritra, Kaisinel...both were too dangerous by far. But maybe there was another way... He rose, and marched out towards the makeshift infirmary near the base of the Spire. --- “But...but why can't I fight?! I need to kill things or...or I'll EXPLODE!” Lumin was sitting up in her bedroll, an empty bowl of what had once been mosbear soup cradled in her lap. She had recovered her appetite, at least – it was her eight bowl. Vard stood before the stricken assassin, who looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes. It was strange to see that glow, so unnatural. He frowned, casting a thought to the Shadow Court's decision, but then he shook his head. He knelt, placing a gauntleted hand on the girl's shoulder. She flinched, then calmed. “Pleeease don't make me have to do what they say! I bet it was Ixidris! He's a...a...poopface! He hates me! It's not fair I gotta kill stuff! I don't want to not fight!” He sighed, shaking his head. “I have no authority over the matter. You've already been officially stripped of position. You're a civilian.” Lumin grabbed her bowl and hid her face in it. “Not fair not fair I didn't do nothing wrong IT WAS THEM BALAURS! I didn't do nothin' wrong!” Her voice rose, distress filling it. Vard patted her shoulder a moment. “There's another way. You're no longer in the military, girl, but there's other ways. There's a merc outfit out here too. I'm not a fan of them, but they're out here, fighting – and technically, they aren't part of our military. If you were with them...you could fight.” She looked up from her bowl, her face ringed by gummy, drying mosbear soup. She smiled, her lips twisting upwards, eyes wide, happy, beaming almost – it made a shiver run down Vard's mane. “Okeydokeylokey...”

[lumin-aion]

Cruciamentum (3/4)

Agony. The word could not describe her pain. No word could. She was beyond words, beyond thought. She was normally not a being of thinking, but of action and instinct. That instinct was barely swimming through the tidal wave of raw and unadulterated pain that flooded her nervous system. She had felt him inside of her, when his fat, sausage-like fingers had plucked her veins and arteries closer to the surface. She had not blacked out when he cut into her, exploring the best places in her body to attach his instruments. She had barely been cognizant of the swirling, glowing liquid in the apparati about the table which she had been strapped to. He had not let her die. She wanted that, greatly – even the oblivion of the void beyond Atreia, where she had been nothing but a bodiless essence floating in the empty coldness of space and time, had been better than this. That had been a cold, numbing pain, impossible to comprehend due to having no mind. This was warm. Every beat of her heart reminded her she was still alive, and he would not let her die. The obese, masked balaur loomed over her bloodied body, cooing to himself. The cracked, hidden side of his face seemed to seep moisture – a clearish liquid oozed occasionally from beneath the mask that hid the wounded half of his fat face, and when it got too bad, the malevolent creature would pause in his work, and wipe at the liquid with a cloth. It was as he dabbed the yellowish, clear liquid from his lower face that he finally spoke. “Anon, tiny one, thou art prepared.” The words focused her, lancing through the haze of suffering and burning a clearer patch. Her vision swam – but she could still see, despite the needle lanced through her nasal cavity, and into the back of her right eye. Bhavya swept to a massive switch on a pillar, flabby hand moving to the device. He paused, looking to the daeva, and she looked back at him, her eyes dull. His greasy tongue slid across his fleshy lips, which twisted into a wide smile, pushing his fat cheeks out – the movement causing his mask to shift on one side, releasing another trickle of whatever horrible bodily liquid that kept seeping from beneath the mask. “Verily, Reian and beast alike, mine own kin as well have been used. Thou art among the first of thine to be Infused. Little Black-wing, thy kith hath defeated Lord Tiamat, but mine Lord is greater.” That fat arm pulled down, and the lever snapped downards. Lumin could feel the hard slab she was strapped to rumble, as it shifted, lifting her upwards and changing position, moving to a slanted verticle – after a few moments of the rumbling movement, she was no longer laying down, strapped, but was hanging suspended, almost perfectly verticle. A stinging sensation swept her body, and she realized then that there were needles lanced throughout her naked body, each connected to a thin hose. But then her one, moveable eye flit upwards, and a quiet whimper of pain died in her throat – she could see the laboratory now, and some part of her started to understand what was going on. At first, she had thought it had all just been torture – but as her mis-matched amethyst eyes looked about, she realized that now, this was not a simple torture session – she knew those, she was experienced with those. She even loved to perform them on Elyos, balaur, sometimes karniff puppies. This was something beyond Lumin's capabilities – this was Science. The room was vast, segmented, with dozens of slabs like her own, some empty, some with a concious inhabitant, others with an unconcious one. Reians. Elyos, even one of the badgermen of the Sauro Mountains were all to be seen, hanging, each with a massive, metal device before them, tubes and hoses glistening, gleaming. The entire laboratory was lit by a blue light, but not from any one single source. The metal devices each held a reservoir of sloshing, glowing blue liquid. Hoses, glowing, pumped and churned the stuff into the systems of those poor souls she could see. Some were skeletal. A Reian prisoner looked to be unconcious, with half of his body covered in an almost crystalline formation that glowed with that same, lambent light. Ide. “Verily, where Lord Tiamat failed, little one, is in truly researching that which she had discovered.” As he spoke, the balaur reached upwards, towards the ceiling, and pulled down the same sort of ceramium contraption that the other captives had hooked up to them, its reservoir sloshing with liquid suffering. “Mine Lord, Beritra, is wiser. Idgel Cubes make hale the Hyperion, aye. But Ide doth not exist solely for such. Many are its uses, daeva...” He tugged up a thin hose, and Lumin could feel the tug from her thigh. As he did so, that fleshy, pink tongue oozed its way across Bhavya's swollen lips in a slow, savoring motion. “...thou shalt know this firsthand. Thy body be a laboratory for mine research in Ide. Be glad that thou shalt be of such purpose – most of thine kin and kith shall be but chaff to mine Lord. ” A wheezy, reedy laugh echoed from the balaur's obese gut, which shook in an obscene manner, rolls of fat bouncing up and down. After a few moments of laughter, the laugh turned into a hacking cough, before finally the drakan calmed himself enough to continue the preperations of his Ide device. Flabby fingers attached the flit from hose to hose on the device, each becoming secured with a terrible looking needle. Lumin's eyes followed the beast slowly. She could still taste blood from when he had first had his guards – who seemed to now be patrolling among the balaur's prisoners – beat her. She bit her lower lip, and for the first time she truly felt fear. Pain was something she could handle – pain was something she loved, both inflicting, and even to a degree, feeling. But this wasn't going to be just painful – she had seen what Ide could do to both the living, and the dead. She pulled weakly at her bonds, but it was, of course, no use. “Still thyself, blackwing. Thou need not fear....much longer.” Another wheezy cackle came from the balaur, his triple chins jiggling at his own joviality. Finally, he finished screwing the final hose up to his device, and turned to her, looking at the purple haired daeva with those bright, evil blue eyes. A bit of whatever liquid seeped from his ruined face had, in his spasmic laughing, managed to find itself near his mask's eyehole, and now it ran lazily down the pale grey metal, looking almost as if half of his face were crying, while the other half grinned a fat, happy smile. “Enjoy thyself, blackwing.” He flipped a switch, and the device came to life, light glowing from various apertures. The ide swirled faster in its glass encasement, and began to pump down through the hoses. Lumin stared at it as it rushed towards her. It hit the needles, and half a moment later, she screamed. Her veins glowed blue from within, pain coursed through her body, an agony like nothing she had ever thought could possibly exist. Every moment was a thousand years of the worst suffering, like the death throes of a thousand suns. She thrashed about, body contorting, muscles spasming, twisting. Her skin ruptured, crystalline light pouring out of her shoulder, her arm. Her eye was the worst. Blinding light, so bright that it bored into her brain and stabbed into her very soul. Her body convulsed, twisting, slowly changing, crystals rupturing her skin. The pain dulled and she felt something else, the ide's power pumping into her, her natural bloodlust skyrocketing. She screamed again, and again, first in agony, then in a mix of agony and rage. As her scream died, her teeth came down on her tongue, and the taste of blood made her want, need more. Only one thought began to beat through her agony-riddled mind. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. They had taken her weapons, stripped her of her armor, and fastened her to a table. But they had been unable to take the one thing that was not physical. Her daevahood, and her mastery of the souls of those who had gone before her. The mastery of Stigma. She cried out, fury, rage fueling her, and her flesh ripped itself apart, her body shifting, muscles growing, skin darkening, hardening. The false-wings burst from her shoulders, denting the metal beneath her before snapping painfully. Lumin didn't care. She howled, and Bhavya stumbled back, screaming for his guards. Her wrists and ankles were bit deeply, her changing flesh pushing past the biting binding, her skin slicing itself open before finally snapping the heavy leather bonds. She stumbled forward, falling to her knees, eyes blazing – one red, one blue. Slayer. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. She ripped the needles from her, glowing ide spilling to the ground. They came at her, and the monster she had become leapt on the first, claws ripping the muscular balaur guard's throat out. Blood arced in a crimson spray, and she latched herself onto the wound, drinking a gulp before pouncing off, twisting mid-air to rake at the face of the next, her claw impacting in the warrior's eye, the jelly exploding outwards as the balaur howled in pain. Kill. Kill. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. She killed. Spinning, leaping, her broken slayer-wings trailing behind her, she brought death. She landed once, her ankle giving out with a horrible snap, but the ide-fury made the pain seem distant. More and more balaur came, and no matter how hard she tried, Bhavya swept out of the way, his fat form jiggling as he ran. Ten, twenty of the black-armored balaur surrounded her, heavy scythe-spears at the ready, ringing her in. Her back against a wall, she shuddered a moment before her daevonian power slid away, her body slumping. She fell to her knees as her flesh unwarped, her broken ankle unable to support her weight. She knelt there, naked, bleeding and bloody, her breathing hitched, hyperventilating. Bhavya reappeared, cackling. “Anon, take her!” He called out, and the balaur surged forward. Barely able to see, Lumin raised her clawed hand, whimpering, and viciously sank her claws into her own throat, before ripping her flesh out, crimson swirling with glowing ide spraying out of her throat. She heard Bhavya's shriek of dismay before oblivion claimed her. Death is never pleasant for a Daeva. She felt the pain again, nearly as bad as it was before, not the cold oblivion and escape she had hoped for. There was no concious thought, no way of recollecting. But instead of blackness, it was bright, and she shone through herself, shone through the aether, and through time. ---- As the gladiator's body reformed itself, Kelta knelt next to him, offering a steadying hand. “Shh. It's alright, you're back with us.” The asmodian archon grunted, his bearded face grimacing a moment before he shook her hand off, and rose, offering a smile. “I'm alright, thank you.” About them, the Danuar Spire bustled. He seemed little-worse for the wear, so Kelta smiled, dark lips turning upwards in a caring gesture, and with another nod, the man's wings spread, and he took off, back to the battle-front. The soulhealer watched him go, smiling wistfully, and fantasizing for a moment – he was a handsome man, rugged – and that beard was sexy. She shook her head as the Obelisk glowed once more, and her wistful smile faded. More death, and another of her kin come home. Glowing light erupted into being as the daeva's soul reformed her body. Kelta's eyes widened in horror as the girl's body slumped, eyes open, one purple, clouded and unseeing, the other shining like a torch, a beam of blue light thrumming from the other. Crystals formed and reformed, as if bubbling, on the surface of the girl's skin. Kelta screamed, traffic about her coming to a halt. “Aion, please! Someone, get Remao! And Commander Vard!”

[lumin-aion]

Cruciamentum (2/4)

The pagati jostled her awake. Lumin moaned quietly, but the sound was unheeded, and unheard against the much louder clanking of armor and weapons, the creak of leather and the clop of clawed feet against hard, stony ground. An eye opened, and she could see nothing but a blurry, rocky landscape covered in a wasteland of snow. There was a massive balaur warrior striding beside her, and she could see several wavering, indistinct shapes ahead - more balaur, a train of them moving over the snow. She was draped harshly over the pagati's back, and tied with cruel, biting bonds. Her chest ached from being compressed against the hard, scaly flank - her whole body ached, in fact. Her eyes rolled, and the pain threatened to overwhelm her - but it did not have a chance. The balaur next to her smashed his fist against her skull - and once more, blackness engulfed the daeva. High walls. Great gates. Their stench, everywhere, and something worse. Long corridors, gnashing teeth, mocking laughter. Screams echoing against stone. Pain. When her mis-matched eyes fluttered open again, the asmodian woman found herself huddled in a corner, dirty straw beneath her, the stone floor cold, almost freezing. Metal bit into her wrists, and as she stirred, she heard the soft sound of clanking chains. Her eyes slowly moved about, the world still spinning, but the spin was slowing. Finally, after at least a full minute, she was able to focus on her hands in her lap - two terrible, drenium manacles bit into her wrists, fastened so tight that they had already rubbed her skin raw just from whatever movement her captors had forced on her. Her leather armor was rent in places, but the knives she kept at her hip, over her back, against her thigh - all gone. She slowly reached up, every movement an aching moment of agony, checking her hair - the tiny stiletto she hid there, gone as well. "Owwies..." Her voice echoed in the small, empty chamber - was that her voice? Cracked, dry? She slumped against the wall, her lips habitually curling up into a smile, one she did not feel. Conciousness brought pain, in every part of her body, that dull, beautiful ache that told her she was still alive - something she normally enjoyed, but not in this situation. Lumin quietly gathered herself into a ball in the corner, huddled. She beamed into her arm, then started to giggle. She began to worm her back against the wall, slowly inching up it until she manages a loose stand, braced on both sides by the wall. She kept giggling to herself, unable to stop the reflexive laughter. The sound drew attention - she could hear the deep slide of metal against metal, and a deep grunting from outside of the metal door of her cell. "Can't keep me...I'm the odellabread Lumin." She said softly in a crackly, dry yet sing-song voice. The door swung open with a heavy thud, and a black shadow eclipsed the entry. But that was just as she reared her head to the side, and slammed her own skull against the stone walls. Her action drew a wheezing cry from the massive figure, which was contracting itself as much as it could to get through the too-small door. Lumin started to laugh aloud as the pain flared in her head, and she slammed her skull against the wall again, this time leaving a bloodstain behind. A fat, scaled hand took the laughing assassin by the shoulder, and she was surprised - the thing's touch was light, almost gentle. But as she tried to slam her head against the wall again, that gentle touch turned to raw strength, and the balaur, still only half-way inside the room, ripped her from the wall, clutching her against a fat, slick expanse of scaled flesh. The stench was unbearable, the asmodian's laughter turning to coughing and wheezing. "Pray halt thy fatuous actions, little one." The voice wasn't the deep, heavy baritone one would expect from a creature of it's size - instead, it was wheezing, reedy and almost whistling. Lumin's head rolled to the side, the painful throbbing in her head almost enough to cause her to black out again. A crimson trail flowed from a gash in the side of her forehead. Her eyes waveringly focused on the balaur that held her, as it finished pulling its immense bulk into the tiny cell. It carefully pushed her away, and she was able to take a breath of cleaner air, though the monster's stench was still close enough to make her want to retch. It, he, she realized, was truly gargantuan. Twelve feet tall at least, but easily that in girth as well, the black-scaled balaur was surely one of Beritra's brood. But he was so incredibly fat. He wore blue robes, lined with black, but the outfit was bare in the front of the thing's immense chest, and Lumin realized that it had stuffed her face beneath one of its immense man(if that word could be used to describe the beast) bosoms. The realization, or maybe the head trauma, made her cough and wretch. Over half of the drakan's plumply cheeked face rode a mask, and behind that were hints of raw, pink flesh. Yet a malevolent blue eye peeked out from behind the mask, matched by a twin in the unblemished, yet obese, side of the balaur's face. "Long have I waited, little blackwing. Thou art the General's prize..." As he spoke, the balaur's long tongue extended, sliding across its lips and leaving them wet and glistening "...and thou shalt confide whatever answers thou hast to Bhavya." The balaur ended his words with a smile, his fat cheek widening with the motion. "Nuh-uh..." Lumin managed a wheezing cackle. "Just gonna...nrr...kill myself. Can't keep me...odellabread." She managed to shake her head, and the action brought a flare of pain in her neck - and with that sharp agony came more clarity. Her eyes unclouded, focusing upon the obese balaur properly. She could taste iron, and she realized her mouth was bloody. She pursed her lips and spat at her captor's face, a pinkish glob of bloodied saliva splatting against his fat cheek. Bhavya smiled, his long tongue lashing out to lick up the splatter of Luminspit. Once clean, he smiled broadly, his neck showing several chins with the motion. "Thou shalt sing unto mine ears, daeva - Bhavya hath methods of emancipating information from the lips of daevas." Bhavya mused gloatingly, his slick tongue slowly slithering out of his fat lipped mouth once more, leaving a slimy trail of gleaming spittle over his lips. Despite his grotesque appearance, his eyes belied the truth - this was no undergaoler or guard, this balaur was intelligent. "Understand that thy actions heed no purpose - thou shalt perish only if and when the General pleases. Many times hence hast Bhavya dealt with thine kin, and so many think they can dispatch themselves to escape. Bhavya knows how daevas minds work." Lumin scrunched her dirty face up, remaining silent, her features hardened and showing nothing but a stoney mask of resistance. The obese inquisitor chuckled, a whispery, reedy sound. "Thou shalt be enjoyable, daeva." Bhavya let her go, sliding away from her, his fatty bulk compressing through the door. She didn't have the energy to mount an attack on the drakan - nor would it do much good with her claws manacled. Outside of the door, the gigantic balaur took a few steps out - for his size, he moved with surprise lightness, almost grace. He turned his head towards someone unseen, his tail dragging lightly across the floor with the motion. "Take her to the....laboratory."

[lumin-aion]

Cruciamentum (1/4)

Note: Cruciamentum is an older story, set in the Pre-4.8 Aion timeline.  It involves some pretty awful things, reader discretion Advised.  

Go Here, Lumin. Do that, Lumin. Get the Idgel Cube we're all too scared to pick up, Lumin. The buxom assassin was crouched low, half-hidden behind a rocky outcrop. She scrunched her nose, the drenium barbell piercing in it glittering with frost. It was cold. She didn't mind that, though - she liked the cold - it hurt, and being hurt made her feel alive. A cold wind felt different than the coldness of the void, where she had been before Marchutan called her and so many others back. She shook her head - musings, thinking, was a distraction, and sometimes it hurt her thinking meats if she did it too much. Claws scraped stone as she put both hands on the rock, peeking out, just the tips of her ears, her wide-billed cap, and her mis-matched eyes peeking out. On the ice-plain below was the Idgel Cube that the Archons had asked her to retrieve. People liked asking her to get stuff for them - she didn't understand why, it's not like the glowing, pulsing cube that was lodged in the snow could possibly be some sort of highly dangerous substance as likely to explode as to come quietly. Her tongue darted out across her darkened lips, though the saliva froze almost instantly. Her mis-matched eyes scanned about the nearby treeline, and the slopes above. It -looked- clear. That's what bothered her. The Archon battlegroup commander had asked her to retrieve the Idgel Cube, and she knew he could have sent someone else - but he sent HER, and that meant that there was something very bad about the thing, or the situation, or both, because no one ever asked Lumin to do something that was not dangerous, dumb, or both. She understood that, in an abstract way. It was a good thing, because it meant they didn't understand what she was like, and that was why Jharekh had trained her to be the way she was. She turned her head into the wind, lifting her beaming, smiling face to the heavens, and she sniffed the breeze. Closing her eyes, she just smelled, and listened, and after a few moments of dead, immobile silence... reptilian musk. That scaly, dry smell, faint on the wind. There were balaur here. Her darker eye popped open, eyeing the slope above her. They were just over the hill-line, laying an ambush. She tore the shadows from the rock she was next to, and folded them about herself in a comforting cloak. The only hint that she had ever been next to the rock were the light indentations in the snow. There were two, a big male, burly and clad in the jet armor of Beritra's Fist, and one female, a sorceress no doubt, her gown midnight and striped with that beautiful, aetheric blue. She hadn't seen this Beritra yet, but he sure had really nice taste in armor for his legions, she had to admit. There was a pagati with them, with a twin-saddle. The beast was feasting on the remains of one of Goldrine's shulack lackeys. It wasn't nearly as adorable as Ruffles was, but it was bigger than her pet pagati. The two balaur were in animate conversation, though the male kept peeking over the lip of the hill carefully, clearly on watch. "--will not come. The lamb doth not enter the slaughterhouse. Verily, it smelt the trap and hath escaped. We must inform General Pashid." The warrior balaur was insistant, tapping his jet greatsword into the snow. The sorceress just shook her hooded head. She was dead before she finished disagreeing, the assassin's knife flashing across her throat as the asmodian appeared directly behind her. As the drakan's body started to slide down, Lumin twirled around the corpse, her lips twisted into a wide, joyful smile, mis-matched eyes twinkling. A flick of her dagger sent the balaur's blood arcing through the air - she loved seeing blood flying, it was so pretty - and as the warrior raised his blade and shouted in surprise, she was on him, too, both daggers stabbing upwards, into his unprotected armpits. His heavy armor did nothing but make him slump down faster than his compatriot, and his breathing labored. His eyes rolled up and he looked directly into that smiling face, blood trickling from his scaled lips. He laughed, a wheezing laugh, and died. The assasin slipped her blades from the corpse, arching an eyebrow. She nudged the corpse with her foot carefully. "Mister Balaur, most people don't laugh at me when they're dying. You're wierd. OH WELL!" She squeaked joyfully, tossing her left arm out casually, her dagger flying from her hand directly into the eyesocket of the pagati mount. Gleefully giggling, she pranced over to the falling, massive form of the mount, kissed it once on its scaly head, then slipped her knife out, shaking its brainmatter off the blade. "Not NEARLY as adorable as Ruffles. He's my baby." A quick glance about the makeshift camp told her nothing - no conveniently laid out orders, no easily found clues that might explain...well, anything. She shrugged, and suddenly, for a split second, her beaming smile broke into a frown. Not even balaur laugh when I kill them, unless they're about to explode or something. Before the thought had even fully formed, she was leaping through the air, tumbling behind a rock. She clutched her ears and crouched, taking full cover, waiting for the inevitable explosion. There wasn't one. After a few long moments, she blinked, and slithered up to her feet, looking around once more, perplexed. "Wiiiieeeerd. I don't like this." She scrunched up her nose, but shrugged - she did totally get asked to do something after all, and she did just totally kill the ambush party Beritra - or more likely, one of his subordinates - had sent. So up she scrabbled, to the top of the hill. There was the Idgel Cube, sitting in the snow, pulsing and glowing with its raw, destructive power. She slide down the slope quickly, snow flying. The wind rushed past her face, her pony-tail flying behind her as she picked up more and more speed, before finally leaping, her massive, black wings materializing behind her. Weightless, she let the wind take her, muscles twitching in her wings, adjusting her flight path instantly, unconsciously, as she flew down on the drafts, before letting her wings fade away a few feet above the ground, next to the object of her mission. She landed adroitly next to the Idgel Cube, and she paused to stare at it, marveling at how beautiful it was. Her tongue poked its way through the corner of her lips as she concentrated on the thing before her, before she reached down, and casually pulled it up. There was a liquidy sloshing feeling and sound from inside. "Neato Sweeto!" The shadow that fell over her was the only warning she had. She spun about, but the blow was already coming in - all she saw were balaur - a dozen at least, from nowhere, and one big brute next to her, his cudgel impacting the side of her head with a terrible, cracking force. She reeled, and fell to the ground, blacking out completely to the deep sound of laughter.

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Lumin by the wonderfully amazing awesome sugoii genki superu great @yraa.  She just looks so pleased with whatever’s been set on fire.  <3

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Lumin sketch by MugenIllustrations.  

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Lumin, by the talented and wonderful @spiritknife (SpiritKnife) from Israphel’s Asmodian community.

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Lumin, by the very talented Halimede, a former legionmate!  

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Lumin, by the talented Mugen.  Sadly his deviant art is no longer around.  This dates back to the days of Danaria and Katalam, when Lumin was tainted with Ide.

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Lumin, the Daeva of Disaster.  By Doctor Zexxck