Post by Morina on May 16, 2019 2:06:35 GMT
Born during the sixth epoch of Malekith's reign, the Age of Glorious Torment, Morina drew her first breath days after the attempted assassination of the Hag Sorceress of Ghrond. She was conceived in haste and without love, knowing of her parents only that one was a minor noble and that the other wasn't. Morina had the fortune of being born during the season of blood, for if the doors of her father's estate hadn't been shattered by a group of her soon-to-be-sisters during the culmination of a rather violent Death Night then the machinations of her father would have surely been her undoing. As her parents were dragged away towards the bloody altars of Har Ganeth her crimson incense bathed saviors carried her as well, but not to be sacrificed to the Lord of Murder. Hatred and rage were planted into her heart, devotion and cunning planted into her mind, knives planted between her fingers.
The divine tenants of Khaine were to be gracing her mind as she was forced into the arenas to hone herself or perish, ever under the watchful eye of the Hags, but more importantly, under the gaze of The Bloody-Handed-God. After the battles, the gore-soaked bride-to-be was brought before the Death Hag along with the others to decree if their offering to Khaine was sufficient. Frequently it was not and the sacrifices made were unacceptable to the Lord of Murder; so with zealous fury she was sent back to prey upon the slaves in a repentant frenzy of violence, ever eager to spill blood in the name of her merciless god.
In her early years her desire to satisfy her charge only increased, her ardent dedication and desperate yearning to appease her Lord fanning a conflagration within her that was all-consuming. The event that changed her life forever was her bearing witness to a sister-bride's neck being kissed by the first draich of Tullaris. Her sister was deemed remiss in her dedication, and as the contorted visage rolled down the steps of the temple she cast aside any inhibitions she previously had. Khaine forbids nothing, save denial of his divine will; love is nothing unless tempered by the blackest of hatreds; and only slaughter gives the promise of life any meaning. With this revelation the truth of the Witch Elves finally dawned upon her, and the hunts during those blessed nights were no longer just sport, but ceremony and ritual. The sanguine crescendo of her blades were her hymns, the world her altar, Death Nights her feasts. Each kill was a sign of the compact between Morina and her Lord, proving herself worthy by bathing in the entrails of the weak, indulging in the flesh of the fallen, the apex of an inherent ecstasy fueled only by the knowledge that she is a vessel of destruction. Her single-minded devotion festered within her further and further as she aged. When the battlefield was empty, the slave pens already pilfered for worthy sacrifices, then she turned upon her fellows until her blood-lust was sated; when it couldn't be sated she turned her blessed instruments upon herself, daubing the runes of Khaine into her once immaculate skin to become a living altar and instrument of the Murderlord's will.
It was when she was called upon to serve in a ceremony within the great temple in Har Ganeth that she first saw the Blood Queen. Morina's blood boiled with a mixture of lust, respect, hatred and anger. To her, it was a potent heady jealousy upon being in the presence of one of the greatest of the brides of Khaine. Morina found no pity in the decrepit appearance, but solace. Hellebron's rage at the betrayal of Morathi and her countenance did not make her ugly, but beautiful and dangerous in Morina's eyes, seeing the Blood Queen's reign and words as holy decrees, for wherever Hellebron treads, the gaze of Khaine follows.
As word was sent out throughout Naggarond that the avatar of the Lord of Murder, Malekith, Eternal Khaine Incarnate, prepared for war, so did Morina bare her blades in readiness to enact the capricious will of her master once more.
The divine tenants of Khaine were to be gracing her mind as she was forced into the arenas to hone herself or perish, ever under the watchful eye of the Hags, but more importantly, under the gaze of The Bloody-Handed-God. After the battles, the gore-soaked bride-to-be was brought before the Death Hag along with the others to decree if their offering to Khaine was sufficient. Frequently it was not and the sacrifices made were unacceptable to the Lord of Murder; so with zealous fury she was sent back to prey upon the slaves in a repentant frenzy of violence, ever eager to spill blood in the name of her merciless god.
In her early years her desire to satisfy her charge only increased, her ardent dedication and desperate yearning to appease her Lord fanning a conflagration within her that was all-consuming. The event that changed her life forever was her bearing witness to a sister-bride's neck being kissed by the first draich of Tullaris. Her sister was deemed remiss in her dedication, and as the contorted visage rolled down the steps of the temple she cast aside any inhibitions she previously had. Khaine forbids nothing, save denial of his divine will; love is nothing unless tempered by the blackest of hatreds; and only slaughter gives the promise of life any meaning. With this revelation the truth of the Witch Elves finally dawned upon her, and the hunts during those blessed nights were no longer just sport, but ceremony and ritual. The sanguine crescendo of her blades were her hymns, the world her altar, Death Nights her feasts. Each kill was a sign of the compact between Morina and her Lord, proving herself worthy by bathing in the entrails of the weak, indulging in the flesh of the fallen, the apex of an inherent ecstasy fueled only by the knowledge that she is a vessel of destruction. Her single-minded devotion festered within her further and further as she aged. When the battlefield was empty, the slave pens already pilfered for worthy sacrifices, then she turned upon her fellows until her blood-lust was sated; when it couldn't be sated she turned her blessed instruments upon herself, daubing the runes of Khaine into her once immaculate skin to become a living altar and instrument of the Murderlord's will.
It was when she was called upon to serve in a ceremony within the great temple in Har Ganeth that she first saw the Blood Queen. Morina's blood boiled with a mixture of lust, respect, hatred and anger. To her, it was a potent heady jealousy upon being in the presence of one of the greatest of the brides of Khaine. Morina found no pity in the decrepit appearance, but solace. Hellebron's rage at the betrayal of Morathi and her countenance did not make her ugly, but beautiful and dangerous in Morina's eyes, seeing the Blood Queen's reign and words as holy decrees, for wherever Hellebron treads, the gaze of Khaine follows.
As word was sent out throughout Naggarond that the avatar of the Lord of Murder, Malekith, Eternal Khaine Incarnate, prepared for war, so did Morina bare her blades in readiness to enact the capricious will of her master once more.
