It looked familiar, but he just couldn't place it.
Black amethyst tattoo skin#
There wasn't any blood but the skin round the mark was rubbed red, and tender. It curled near his shoulder and swooped down around his navel. There, on the pale white skin, was a thick, bold black tattoo, etched into the skin.
Black amethyst tattoo free#
Rubbing his eyes free of moisture, he gingerly lifted up the thin cotton of his bloodied shirt and peered down at his sore chest. Eris pulled him to his knees, and he opened his eyes. "Wha.what the hell did you just do to me," he breathed. There, no one will interfere with you now." He felt Eris approaching him, and lift up the side of his shirt. He kept his eye closed, slowly shaking his head from side to side, moaning in agony. He collapsed on his back, gasping for breath, wincing as the air ripped at his already sore throat.
When he thought that he could take it no longer, and simply black out form the sheer and pure hurt of it all, Eris let go of him.
Hazed over with pain, all he knew was his hand still clenching the cool marble of Eris' hand. Squeezing his eyes shut, he felt rather than heard himself continue to wail. Something was ripping through his skin like a monster's claws, filling the wounds with fire as it deepend into his flesh. He gasped and let out a long agonizing wail of agony and he fell to his knees.Ĭlenching his fists and arching his back, his body locked. White lighting shot up his arm, clawing its way through what was left of his right arm and the pain sunk it's teeth into his chest. Mozenrath nodded and tried to pull away-but she held on tight. It was cool and smooth, like marble, and nearly engulfed his hand. Her fingers were surprisingly solid beneath his. Yet again going against common sense, he reached for her hand, and held it. Eris held out her hand elegantly, tapered fingers reaching for him. Mozenrath shivered, but not from the cold. Her stone throne crumbled back into its rubble as she sauntered over to him. "Life and power?"Įris smirk twitched only slightly, as she stood. Was it really so bad to glorify a moody goddess if it meant becoming a sultan, and one of the most powerful people this side of the Jordan? Or giving him years of life? Putting a hand to his chin he stopped and leaned back on his good leg, and looked at her. She could take away everything she had given to him on a whim if she was irate.Īnd then she could give it back and more with just a little charm and ego petting. Or, accept the offer-become a warrior of chaos, become lord of the seven deserts, kill Aladdin, but still be a servant. That was time he couldn't afford because of the gauntlet. At best he was looking at least five years of pure work without making any head way in his plans. The mental checklist wasn't exactly appealing. Rebuilding would take time, then he'd have to recuperate-restock his library, survive the elements without a home until the walls were completed, feed himself, and rest enough to regain his magic. Or, he could stay here, amongst the rubble and dust of his 'home'. Servitude to a powerful goddess, half in her good favors because of his mother-well he hoped he still was after that little outburst. He turned and paced in the silence, looking around. He had been a servant, and his skin crawled at the idea of returning to that state. As faith in the gods wavered Impiriori came rarer and rarer.Įris nodded, said no more, but drummed her fingers on the stone.
It made it much easier for gods to secretly do their work, or get human to trust and come into service to them. Impiriori were advocates, voices for the gods on earth. "Yes, of course I do," he said through gritted teeth. "I don't owe her so much of a favor, but I remember her faithful and diligent work as my Impiriori-the last Impiriori.you do know what that means correct?" Stone flew up and morphed into a throne for her, as she rested. Her anger made you rather foolish at times as well." She started to sit. And she smiled, a smirk laced with poison. Mozenrath took a step back, calculating in a rush how far he could get running with a wounded leg and tired muscles. The floor shook and the night darkened further. She was a woman he didn't even know, but as every child has, he felt a natural protectiveness.Įris started, eyes wide, like she was going to smite him. Pain, anger and a massive headache killed his common sense, especially in uncharted and raw emotional territories such as his mother. "Stop talking in riddles, damn you," Mozenrath snapped. "You're saying.the favor-you owe it to my mother?" Destane had beaten him whenever he asked questions about where he came from, or who he was, saying 'Your here now, and your nothing, live with it.' The only information he given him was that his mother died in the Great Massacre. "My mother." The word sounded so foreign to him.
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