Heleion Archives

19^th of December, 120^th of NDE. Prison Complex on the Sky-Fortress North-West of Northern Eoran.

            The metallic bellow ranged through the long corridor of cold metallic walls without a single decoration – telling Virge’moeth and all kept here that in this place, no mercy lies to those unwilling to change their ways. Unlike most prison complexes of the world, this sky fortress held those who were dead set in their ways. Murderers, assassins, thieves who stole from the wrong folk – namely the highest members of society that included military generals – and even some of the separatists or rebels who still did not realize they were pawns in the hands of guilds and larger companies.

In this regard Virge’moeth was the same. While she completed her mission to silence Fabian, she unfortunately underestimated the Black Roses whom acted as his failed bodyguards. First, she was sent to a central eoran prison maintained by the United Republics Protection Force – URPF for short – and spent a few couple of five decades before they deemed her unfit even for that place, and drastic measures needed to reeducate her. Or in her case, to spill the secrets of her assassin order.

In the Sky Fortress Complex of the Black Rose Order, prisoners were kept in windowless, padded cells. But they couldn’t enjoy the black, soft cushioned room. No, they were kept in stasis-chambers filled with strong mana crystals that sent the prisoners into a deep trance. In this trance they relieved a varied set of memories – that ranged from bad to worse. They all were aware during this trance, knowing how things will play out, but they have no power to affect things. Usually they spent three days reliving the same memory, sometimes changes were made to it. Then on the third day, they were retrieved for questioning.

As Virge’moeth felt the poking of the stave rifles single barrel, she pondered what will she live through once again. She did not mind those memories, even the worst ones had some good in them, she thought to herself. What she could not stand were the constant bombardment of questions. What would you do? What have you felt in that moment? And so on, so forth.

Virge’moeths gorgeous, fair golden visage contorted as she groaned. “Move it.” At those harsh words, she started moving. In this complex, prisoners could enjoy wearing the raven black Vhaleniox jumpsuits that pressed tightly against their bodies with sharply folded down collar cutting into their jawlines. It also came with the recently invented armbinder made of a leather material akin in appearance to dragonid leather, but with a much matte look with straps that currently pressed her muscled arms against each other at her back.

“Rchrm, rchrm.” And while it wasn’t mandatory – because Virge’moeth tended to be quippy – a large spherical gag was pushed between her intense peachy full elven lips with the leather like conjured straps looping around her soft cheeks and through her long, cascading ashen black hair with white streaks.

“Come on. The sooner you step in, the sooner I can begin my shift.” The dracorith vordriar of high elven kind with angled, long burgundy hair pushed her in. While usually Virge’moeth would resist playfully, this time around she didn’t feel like it – to her own surprise. And to the vordriar’s surprise, she obediently stepped into the iron maiden resembling – minus the head – contraption that was the stasis-chamber.

As it loudly locked her body in place, she tried to let out a muffled grunt, but instead she fell into the trance.

**

Hiidela’moeth pushed off the lifeless body of the autumn-born seosurrian veitariir from the Watcher’s Bed – a magicraft device that boosted the arcanum of mind. A thin hole decorated both sides of her temple hidden under her thick autumn orange hued hair that flown down her shoulder in fluid, straight waves. The corpse encased in arcane faux leather and satin fell with a soft, leathery and silken thud while Hiidela’moeth carefully positioned herself onto the mostly metallic bed.

The Watcher’s Bed themselves had ethereal connections to various smaller spherical devices built into the floor at certain sections. From these devices, the dislocated mind of the user could travel and keep watch while also exert their will to warn their fellows against potential intruders – be it assassins in the worst case or thieves in the best.

Before her head laid down onto the soft leathery pillow that had mana lines placed into them connecting to the primary engine filled with mind mana crystals, Hiidela’moeth buttoned out her stolen aetherna satin blouse’s folded collars that pressed gently against her dark skin – that wasn’t hers. She inhaled deeply as her eyes closed then she felt her body thrown high up in the dark and suddenly fell until the darkness dissipated and in its place the corridor where Virge’moeths’ cell was located appeared in its stead.

She walked forward with silent steps, passing through the four Black Rose Vordriars patrolling between the cells. A young sraudornian with darkened beige smooth skin, equally dark hair that had nice curves – as she noted to herself – and mesmerizing intense silver pupil in a tender round frame. The one who walked beside her towards the eastern door, an umbral elf with hauntingly beautiful visage with a porcelain white skin, eyes with a blackened crimson storm raging within their almond frame. Hair and lips darker than the night itself with the former flowing in curved waves, the latter wide and a deep, inviting luster.

The other two were a sol elf with long, straight hair combed to the back with a half-updo. Skin a rich golden hue and smooth, gleaming texture while her eyes glowed with the hues of the mesmerizing afternoon sun. Beside her the high dracorith elf continued her patrol with her expression telling her mind wandered off to the lands of imagination. Who could blame her, as the scenery was quite boring even for them.

After Hiidela’moeth memorized each of their faces, the time it took them to reach one door and the other, she walked towards the first cell. She poked through her head and looked inside coldly. Then with the same speed, she pulled it out when she noticed the prisoner inside wasn’t Virge’moeth – but a dwarven lady with skin as dark as obsidian.

She repeated the same process at least six times before she found Virge’moeth exactly behind the center right door. As she walked up to her to make sure she has the right target, she stopped for a moment. Memories flowed her mind – the day they first met as little children after the Matron adopted them. Their first training together, against each other until one of them laid in the scorching sand beaten and bled. And how she offered her a cold touch to her forehead that secretly was laced with a minor healing spell that eased the pain that assaulted her whole body.

“You deserve to see me one last time.” She murmured to herself, and to Virge’moeth who was in a deep trance already. Although she twitched her head towards where the astral body of Hiidela’moeth stood before it disappeared.

**

After the locks fitted into their sloth and the wave of mana hit her like a wave, drifting her mind into the lands of memories – she stood in an old styled office with oaken walls and floor in rich brown hues. She saw herself stood in the center – in front of herself a young sraudornian native with a tanned complexion with a hint of majestic red. 

Virge’moeth remembered that one – a member of the ruling party of the United Republics who had a clear aim to topple the cartels even after they have helped driving the imperial forces out from the continent. While initially, she started out like the rest – using words as her weapons, hoping to strike without intent of hurting as the Matron described this target. Of course with time, she realized that her words were without effect for the most part. There were a few fools who took up arms against the cartels, but they were quickly became grim reminders of what happens to those who defy them. Or at least try.

By the time she requested military aid to eliminate the cartels, the order had been given to her. And after weeks of following, memorizing her personnel’s patterns, behaviors and habits she stroke one night. Infiltrated the headquarters, eliminated the guards and the few on late-night shifts. And left her primary target for last.

She felt as her past self dragged the paralyzed sraudornian to the chair. Then the slight pain of the ropes tightening as she was bound to the chair. She heard the golden sealing tape being torn wide and severed from the roll. Fear grasped at her heart as the strip of golden tape that shimmered even in the dark was pressed against her lips and cheeks. Her chest started burning from the pounding even as a strong numbness washed over her. And before lastly, she felt the unseen tendrils of the sealing tape press into her being, wrap around her tongue and arcane point.

Her tongue moved by itself as if she pleaded for her life with no result aside from faint, muffled whimpers and snivels. Even though her heart beat so hard already that her chest was about to burst open, it still picked up the pace as she faced the small abyss that settled into the single barrel of her own wand pistol. Void followed the momentary pain.

**

“Why so few guards here?” Hiidela’moeth asked in the mimicked, deep voice of Durephra.

“Well Sister. Simply because it’s the securest place in the continent.” The young orcish Veitariir with medium length dark brownish hair – that resembled a pale green skinned elf with small tusk more than an orc – said proudly. Her yellowish eyes popped open for a moment as Hiidela’moeth became a blurry mess. Before she could utter through a warning word to the others, Hiidela’moeth’s right hand clamped over her mouth, the other at her nape and a soft crack combined with her short, muffled yelp followed as she fell like a puppet whose string has been cut.

Hiidela’moeth’s next destination after eliminating the rest of the watchers was the center of the fortress that was a large disk of stone and metal – later added by the Black Roses and the United Republics. It was a relatively large, round room segmented into three parts with a mote separating each. There was the outer where the Vordriars patrolled, and the innermost where a large silver spherical object – the golem engine that powered all the systems. And the second widest circle where the golputers were connected to it on a circle table.

While still experiencing a different flow to time, Hiidela’moeth reached for her silenced wand pistol and with precision eliminated the rest of the Black Roses inside the center. “Let’s see if it is still the safest place on the continent.”

**

“Seems like Lady Luck is on my side.” Virge’moeth said as she took the cuff keystone from the unconscious Vordriar that laid on the padded floor in front of her with her leathery coat zipped open. Before she started stripping the elven guard, she took all her potions – mostly mana and stamina restoration – and gulped each down.

“It is nothing personal. Except me enjoying it.” The zipper of her prisoner suit screeched through the room and she swiftly got out from the one piece clothing. Then she kneeled down beside the unconscious, groaning Vordriar and zipped her corset vest open too before she buttoned out her shimmering arcane blue blouse with frightening proficiency and speed.

Within two minutes the Vordriar who headed inside to check on her after the lights went down now laid bare naked, except for her aetherna satin undergarments – a raven black bra that tenderly kept her bountiful breasts, a pantie with rose patterns and a fishnet with similar rose vine pattern. Before she would start the process of disguising herself, she massaged the dracorith elves’ breasts covered in soft, shiny scales matching her burgundy red hair.

Then in the next two minutes she hopped into the enchanted, uniform of arcane materials and let out a soft moan as the satin blouse and the inner lining of the trousers touched against her soft, warm toned legs and feet. She buttoned up the collar fully and the rectangle neck with liquid palladium framing that continued on both sides of the zipper that disappeared when the coat’s closure folded over it and merged almost seamlessly into the rest.

Then she rolled the naked waking Vordriar onto her sides and carefully slotted her arms into the armbinder before she fastened and tightened the straps. Before she would gag her, their lips touched and she transformed into the Vordriar. “If I were you, I’d keep silent until this whole thing dies down.” Virge’moeth said as the leather straps connected under the long burgundy red dense hair.

“Take care, and hope we both get out of this alive.” With a playful expression she readied herself and left by bidding goodbye to the obediently silent Vordriar.

**

As she turned to the sharp right in to the T-sectioned corridor – that followed more of the regular Black Rose style of half rich hued oaken, half marble with an amplified, raven black shade with snow silvery borders. Various paintings and rich in color photographs lined the walls. The paintings depicted usually either a mesmerizing landscape of the North – some of Eoran, some of the pan-continent of Heleion – or portraits of the assigned Thegriths or the various portrayals of Myelia. On the photographs side those were either group photos of the personnel or similarly to paintings, land or cityscapes.

Except for Hiidela’moeth, the corridor was mostly empty – except for the corpses of the prisoners and a few Vordriars that made traversal a bit more challenging. Or at least she thought until one of the Vordriars – a dark elf with short silver hair – grabbed her ankle. She hoped for help, but only received a magic bullet from Hiidela’moeth’s silenced wand pistol right into the center of her forehead between her curtain fringe.

“Now which hangar was the closest to her cell?” She muttered to herself at the far end where a single turn led towards the eastern hangars. Two prisoners – a wicked looking stygian with obsidian skin and horns that pulsed with infernal flame veins, and a brutish orc charged at her. The two quickly met their demises as the cartel assassin pondered on where her former sister would go.

**

In the south western hangar, the not so rhythmic whistle of Virge’moeth was drawn out by the loud sirens that after an hour since the prison riot, started bellowing the ear bleeding, deep sound – that may had reached down to the bay below. The source of her joyous whistling was being a few steps away from freedom.

As soon as she entered the hangar, she noticed the single flottirion amongst the many which’s door was left open. And only two Vordriars stood guard at it – a tall naurdian who had the looks of the stereotypical northern human that included a rich, dense fair blonde hair bundled into a low bun which her raven black beret contrasted nicely. She had slight elvish features that came with being a Black Rose – that wasn’t a full-on elf. Almond-shaped eyes with asymmetrically hued pupils – one an intense green, the other a deep ocean blue.

The other was a much shorter Beathach – feyfolk who had slight lupine features that included an extra pair of ears that allegedly could hear the sound of mana channeling that made them excellent soldiers. This one had dense silver brown hair – that was once grayish brown like the fur of the wolves native to the north – with a fringe swept to her right. Or left, Virge’moeth wasn’t sure or really cared.

Anyhow, as soon as Virge’moeth still disguised as the dracorith vordriar approached the two and tried to lie her way to take the flottirion. To cut to the chase, she failed as the Beathach sniffed out her trick – literally as she heard the constant flow of her mana that kept up the transformation spell. The two while possessed the necessary martial and arcane prowess to be members of the Black Rose Order, still got put down by the way more experienced cartel assassin.

And now back to the present, the source of her whistling was that she decided to bind the two Vordriars up, even if it was pretty much unnecessary as most of the personnel was knee-deep in holding the prisoners back.  “Just the same old you. No wonder they caught you.” Just as she finished sealing the lips and cheeks of the Stereotypical Naurdian with a long strip of silver sealing tape, a familiar voice grazed her ears.

“Hid?” She stood back up and asked.

“Yep. The one and only.” Hiidela’moeth replied coldly, her silenced wand pistol behind her back, pushing against the soft leather suit-coat borrowed from the now only a memory Durephra. “Do you recognize this face?”

The dracorith face she wore contorted as she raked her brain. “Not really. But she is hot.” At those words, Hiidela’moeth sighed and her heart ached. Before she could end the life of her dear sister though, she crashed into a metallic crate and collapsed sitting, unconscious.

“But I do know you.” Virge’moeth said as she lifted the unconscious Hiidela’moeth over her right shoulder and walked toward the Flottirion that brought Hiidela’moeth here. And what takes the two of them away.