#mahalath

[auntiewoot]

The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God. Corrupt are they, and have done abominable iniquity: there is none that doeth good. -Psalm 53 v. 1 KJV See more about me at: Linktr.ee https://linktr.ee/auntiewoot

Psalm 53 verse 1 King James Version

[bindingofrinne]

Mahalath

[snowbirdrpg-blog]

There’s Darkness Here || Mahalath

Snow stared into space; her gaze fixating on the moon as she walked. She must be daft to be walking at such an hour; but alas, the slums were treacherous any hour of any given day. Why was tonight any different? Though, a part of her understood—a part of her believed she was invincible. She scowled quietly to herself,  shaking her head.

“But invincibility is a false sense of security, Snow.” She whispered the words to herself, as she twirled. She felt safest at night—the streets were usually clear; usually free of souls. Though, it was unfortunate when she called attention to herself—not as though she truly wanted attention called to herself, after all. It was a side effect.

A side effect of being what she was.

She pursed her lips, as her gaze wandered the darkened, empty street in front of her. She was thankful, for the time being. She could wander—staying near the children for so long, was simply exhausting. Yes, she adored the children—she loved teaching them. But she despised having to pretend she truly did not wish to roam the streets—to find a fresh pint of blood to splatter upon the ground. Her own masterpiece.

A shuddering breath passed her lips as she stopped in the center of the street, her bright hues had locked onto a figure that had moved; she had seen it out of the corner of her eye, on her left side. And slowly, she turned to watch.

It was a child—not one of hers; all of hers stayed inside during the darkened hours, unless they were with her. They knew better than to roam about. And because it was not one of hers, her earlier thoughts certainly applied. She shifted, taking a step backwards, and than one forward, before she managed to clear her head long enough to speak, “Child, do you not know how dangerous it is at night?”

She took a step forward, lips curving upward, into a slight smile, though not a truthful one. “Thieves and demons roam these streets, child... Sometimes abominations, as well. You are better off…” her thin fingers curled against her hips, the thin layers of her dress ignored as she dug her nails into her own flesh—to bring herself back to reality—yes. “…staying with your mother. Or whatever group you are with, currently.”

She stepped forward once more, leaning to offer a forced smile—still managing to present it as sincere. Snow’s lips parted, as the little one spoke: “M… My mum went that’a way, m… missus.” And as the child darted off into the night, the poor creature tripped.

And with the child’s fall, came the soft—enticing scent of blood. Snow shifted her weight, anxiously. She bit hard into her lip as she watched the child, eyes narrowing to thin slits as she crouched, as if to help the creature to its feet.

However, she did not move to help. She stayed crouched, fingers gripping at the dirt in front of her, and for a second, her instinct was to tackle the child—chase it, once it began to run. Hell, she would have ran too, if she’d heard the low growl that emitted from her throat.

Her breathing came in short, heavy bursts—and eventually, she shoved herself from the crouch onto her bottom, fingers twisting into her dark locks as she stared silently after the child; only the darkness before her.

“You can’t do that, Snow.” She whispered, her breathing shuddering for a moment. “You simply are not allowed to do that. Not anymore.” How many times had she said that? Hah. How many times had that actually worked? A soft chortle left her lips, and soon enough, that quiet laughter was muffled by her hands, her teeth sank into the flesh at the base of her palms.

Her gaze had captured something—or perhaps someone—else. But who? And had they seen her actions? She tensed, fingers curling against her face, as her gaze focused on the seemingly dark corner—before she began toward that corner.

She paused, staring as she found the corner to be completely empty. How odd. She stood there, studying the spot she thought she had seen something…

Snow shook her head, “I must be seeing things...”

[p-draven-blog]

Dragged down || SWP || Draven & Mahalath

He hadn’t slept in days, blacking out not being considered because it never got him any rest. He hadn’t bathed in nothing but sweat. Hematomas and dried blood covered up his skin where the guards had bruised him, and they bruised him a thousand times, they had to, Draven was aware of that—which didn’t stop him from trying to bail, from trying to bargain. He got knocked out so many times from his never-ending attempts to escape that he didn’t even perceive reality correctly anymore, feeling as if coming through waves. Pain was his only direct way to know he wasn’t dream, and perhaps that was one of the reason why he ended up smiling whenever he got hit. The other reason was due the comicality of the situation, for sure. Everything was undeniably funny or Draven had just really lost his mind.

It was funny how he felt a kick on his ribs and that’s how he knew he was awake. Funny how he still tried to fight the guards, as if he was actually just trying to break every bone in his body. How he had to force his single functioning eye to be able to see through the daylight. But it was especially comic how Draven had to supress a smile when he understood what was happening. Maybe he had really gone insane. It certainly felt like that, like hysteria. Yet that was the only possible reaction to the discover that he wasn’t being executed. Draven sow worry about his situation over the past days, it was scary to have his freedom taken away when he was so used not to be restrained not even by a physical body. Though, the exhaustion of the enclosure – along with the constant violence – left him without being able to heal his wounds properly or rest for a proper amount of time for his powers to function enough to bail him out of there. It was, truly, despairing to be trapped in that kind of circumstance, although Draven couldn’t stay awake or get close enough to his feelings to feel angrier than tired.

At the end, public humiliation wasn’t less of a nightmare, but it was better than death. As the guards escorted him and other prisoners through the street, Draven could barely focus on the public and on his companies of tragedy, too busy trying to endure his pains, reawakened by the notion that everything would be over if he could make to the end of that walk. He could hear the swearing directed at him, the rotten vegetables and other disgusting things that the civilians threw at the prisoners; it was stressing, and it quickly replaced Draven’s joy by anger, and yet, he knew he could make through that. It was a thing to have pride and be forced to endure that kind of punishment, but Draven’s pride had been killed long ago, and the punishments he had to endure were much more frightening than a walk of shame. Draven didn’t have shame. While he walked grievously, he already started to daydream about what he could do when he got his freedom back, he couldn’t stay in Athoria anymore, not when everyone could be guarding his features in their memoirs, he would have to travel away, to some place he could have anonymity. That’s what he was thinking about the first time he fell.

Someone pushed him to the ground, Draven concluded. People were really close to the prisoners, the guards seemed more interested in preserving themselves in the middle of that madness than protecting any prisoner. Draven got back on his feet with difficulty, and the rather difficult thing was containing himself not to punch everyone, knowing people would fall on top of him and that could even possibly get him killed. He tried his best to ignore that kind of murder could be happening around him already, he could hear screams beside the swearing, and when he looked back to see how far he had already walked, he also saw people dragging a corpse. The vision sent chills through Draven’s spine, at the nape of his neck. When Draven turned his face back to his way, he realized chills couldn’t be the only thing that caused the punctuated pain that reached his cervix, the pain seeming like the bite of an insect or something like that. He tried to reach with his cuffed hands the point that ached, but as he struggled to understand what had reached him, the world became slower and slower, reality dissolving itself in even more spread out waves than before, his vision blurring, dimming, blackening. That was the second time he fell, and this time, Draven didn’t get up.

He fell on his sides, the pain on his ribs making him want to scream but nothing came out, no sound, no action. Draven could feel what he interpreted as people’s feet, kicks, but those were the last sensations he had. Soon every feeling was replaced by an overwhelming need of sleep. He tried to fight it when he realized it might be death, but then it was already too late, and everything Draven turned out to be was a lifeless body in the middle of the street.

[grimm-daire-blog]

Grimm & Mahalath || A Lesson In Hell || FB: 20 Years Ago

He had been there when the ancient demonic horseman consumed their vessel, taking it in full force and captivating all of Seryth with their sheer beauty and poise. Watching a demon possess the right vessel was somewhat arousing, knowing that it was a match made from Hell...the way they moved, blinked for the first time, flexed their hands against their sweaty palms, and the look inside their very human eyes that reflected an evil shade of black. Grimm had squirmed at the sight, an elated and overly zealous feeling causing him to applaud in the crowd of lesser-demons, those that had come to watch as Pestilence made her appearance into their realm. It was among those demons that Grimm felt oddly at place, and as they cheered so did he, eager to see them, eager to serve.

Living in Leeds was an added advantage when it came to Seryth duties. Grimm’s home resided in the French Quarter, where Baazlebub and the other important demons of Seryth had set up camp for their operations in underground crime. If he wanted, Grimm could walk down the street and knock right on the door, offer a few pints of ale and watch as the vessels consumed themselves in human attributes. Though his relationship with Baazlebub varied from decade to decade, he liked to think that as of right now, they were on good terms.

Grimm had yet to speak to Mahalath, and his anxiety was too profound to ignore any longer. How he wished to hear stories of her time spent in hell next to the Dark Lord, of the souls she damned, of the circle in which she conquered. She was too exhilarating for words to describe, and the lesser-demons of Seryth struggled to find phrases or sentences that best described the way she carried herself inside her new skin. Grimm was eager, and with the threat of appearing like an excited child about to open gifts on Christmas morning, he left his home behind the brothel and made his way towards Seryth. In his pocket, he twirled a ring around his fingers...a small gift he hoped that she would enjoy.

He knocked several times on the door leading to The Devil’s Den.

[thenamegarden]

Mahalath

Gender: Female

Pronunciation: ma-HAY-lath

Origin: Hebrew

Meaning: Lyre; Harp

Ranking in the US top 1000: Not ranked

This name is featured in:

Biblical Baby Names For Girls