Rage is a Hell of an Anesthetic

[The Hound]

Was he dead, finally free from the suffocating embrace of Vahl? He couldn't see anything, though that wasn't completely truthful. Enveloped in a black sea, he tried to breath and only the darkness filled his lungs. Is there anyone there? Help me...A familiar hand wrapped around his waist, its embrace loving and paternalistic in nature. ​

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We are here to help you my Hound...​

​

Fear gripped his heart like hot tongs yet made his body cool to the touch.​

​

~~~~​

​

Turin floated in the thick green solution of kolto. Paralyzed from the neck down, the only thing keeping him alive was the re-breather and pump that forced his lungs to take in the oxygen that would keep him alive. Surprisingly, his eyes opened slightly, little slivers of yellow behind a mass of black hair.

It was here, deep in the Temple of Vahl where this man would be born again.


[member="Darth Isolda"]

 

[Darth Isolda]

Fingers would gingerly trace across cold flesh. Already dark blue black veins would accent the skin, the rigidity of death permeating throughout the Hound's body.

Quietly, Darth Isolda, Chosen of Vahl, would continue her survey of [member="Vaermina"] 's wounds, the tattoo of her heels striking upon marble floor echoing among the vast chamber deep within the Temple of Vahl.

Handmaidens surrounded them as did the Priests of the Ember of Vahl.

This was to be a special event. Purpose. Everything had a purpose within Her gaze.

And the purposed served by the Hound had only yet begun.

 

[The Hound]

He could see now, but say nothing in protest. It was if he was beating against a two way mirror. No one could hear his screams. A white claw wrapped itself around his mouth and dragged him deeper into the black.​

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Why would no one help him?​

~~~​

The eyes of the Hound followed Isolda, only shifting to the others when she was no longer in his vision. A cold, blank stare was filled with duty, the Hound loyal, even in near death to his sole purpose.

[member="Darth Isolda"]

 

[Darth Isolda]

Finally the Eye of the Dark Lord would come to a pause right along side [member="Vaermina"]'s upper torso. There she would stare down at him, those curious silver eyes swirling like molten pools of mercury.

Hands would start to slowly reach up, skimming over sinewy muscles until they would reach to cup his face. Bending down at the waist, she would hover over him, a hint of a wolfish smile curving over her lips.

Power would surge, thick like a putrid stiffing cloud of Darkside energy. Alongside her, the hum of Vahla alchemist's and sorcerer's voices would start to escalate.

 

[The Hound]

The golden, sun-like orbs in the Hound's head met Isolda's molten pots of mercury. His gaze locked on her own. The Dark Side surged from her, amplified into something the likes he had never felt from the chanting of the other Vahla. It enveloped him, filled him. His dry, cold lips cracked open, as if he was struggling to speak. His chest rose, filling with power.

As the dark, seductive will of Vahl itself filled the room, carried by the sorcerers and alchemists, he felt his platform shift. Dark chains were fastened to the cold slab of ebony on which he lied.

[member="Darth Isolda"]

 

[Darth Isolda]

There came the flash of a blade. The glint of that knife as a ceremonial dagger came down. But not upon @Vaermina. No instead it would slice upon the Chosen's skin.

Crimson drops of blood would rain upon his chest. A blood price for what was to come. The chants would grow louder, and the power of the Darkside of the Force would surge as summons to the Bogan Goddess would thicken around them.

The Vahla Alchemist would weave their spells, sorcery meant to twist sinew, flesh, and bone. Pain would be a sacrifice, for the transformation would forge a new body. A new beginning.

A purpose.

 

[The Hound]

The chains around his wrist budged only slightly as the convulsions began. The blood seeped through his pores, or rather was forced into them by the Dark Side of the Force. The black chains began to contract, lifting both Turin's convulsing body and the slab on which he lay upright.

~~~​

A deep growl came from the sea of darkness. A claw reached out at him and he swam up to dodge, towards the light he knew he always had. The light that had been corrupted by the witch that now held him. Hope filled his gaze.

And then it all came crashing down.

A white claw came from the light, as big as his own body, and swiped away his midsection, his heart now in its grasp it retreated into the light and the light became one with the darkness.

[member="Darth Isolda"]​

 

[Darth Isolda]

The sound of chanting would grow louder. That jolt of energy thickening with a lifelike pulse. And as the Hound would twist and writhe, those rivulets of blood would seep into his skin, searing the flesh like crimson rivers. Etched upon the dermis as a mark.

Her jaw would drop, and from her mouth a tendril of dark energy would pour down from her maw and crash unto the man. A transformation, fueled by the Goddess and channeled through her Vessel.

Yesssss....

Perfection in Her image. The Hound would rise anew. With Purpose.

With clarity.

Forged and molded in Her grace.

 

[The Hound]

The black engulfed him, seeped into his very being. His body hung limp for a moment. The chanting ceased and the room grew dead quiet scant for the clinking of the chains as Turin swayed back and forth. And then the change began. It was simple at first, his hair fell out, shortening its length to a neat crown round his neck.

His body jerked and his head snapped forward, and rolled. Bones popped and he looked directly at the Chosen of Vahl. His jaw slacked open and his irises along with his pupils slowly faded away. Black crept into the whites of his eyes, engulfing them entirely. His irises faded back into existence, yellow orbs. His hair color slowly became a light red and his skin paled.

His chest lurched as the dark tendrils the Chosen had placed on him were wrenched from his mouth and eyes, covering his face.

"Madam, if we do not apply the seal now, his mind will be lost to even you." one of the Alchemists spoke up.

[member="Darth Isolda"]

 

[Darth Isolda]

A curt nod came.

"Do it." she commanded, rising up to straighten. A smirk of devilish enjoyment washing over her pale skin. Her tattoos would thrum, pulsing under the weaving of sorcery of the Priests of Vahl.

They would move in a circle around him, and there came another smear of blood upon his forehead. It blazed with heat, and upon him, steaming as the swirls of power form the Darkside of the Force brought forth a new image.

There came a mask. White as bleached bone. Set upon him, the seal would shut within the depths of his mind.

He was now Her Hound. A sithspawn creation forged in a new image.

 

[The Hound]

One of the Vahl reached out to the twitching arm of Turin. Instinct drove the young man to grip the arm that gripped his. The Dark Mark hissing as it crawled across their skin.

Turin's body wrenched in protest as the transformation took its final stages, his body hissed as thick, alchemized Keratin covered his body. Horns spouted from his head. His nails grew and spines sprouted from his back, a red mane cradling his neck.

​

His hair grew reaching below his waist and his body became still. A deep his erupted from the Hound's mouth, his eyes deep pits of black. The chains released and his body fell with a solid thump. Rising he towered over Isolda, menacing and violent. He hunted for the Vahl, nothing more and nothing less than death awaited those that he was set upon.