Full Item Description
Venom’s Caress is a long and intricately patterned whip, its dark, worn handle a bound bundle of the long, chitinous legs of the tarantula, its barrel the woven and cured skin of the serpant, its barb the stinger of the scorpion. And through all the weavings of the weapon, a foul ichor oozes, noxious to the eyes and skin and nose.
And she ran into the night. Blind panic powering her limbs, terror forcing more and more air through her lungs, the half-elf slave-girl fled, never noticing the change beneath her feet from gentle grass to hard sand. All she could see, all she could hear, the men and dogs behind her, until she tripped, and fell, rolling down the sands of the dunes, the harsh ground rough and painful against her nearly-naked body, and she noticed the silence. Had she evaded them? Or had they given her for dead? It didn’t matter. She had to keep running. To stand. And as she stood, the bleeding welts upon her back, her legs, her arms, they screamed with firey pain, and she toppled once more, this time, to fade to unconciousness. And in the night, the strange things of the desert came upon her unconcious form, and sniffed at it delicately, curious, and they sunk their teeth into it, wondering if it could be eaten, for it smelled of blood. But alas, it could not be.
And as the venom of the creatures coursed through her veins, she, who had never had a name, she dreamt, strange and twisted dreams. She dreamt of her masters, of men that were not men, but jackals and great, dozing lizards. She dreamt of dancing for them, of hypnotizing them with the swaying of her glisteninly beatiful hood. Of her fangs sinking deep into their flesh, full of poison and venom and rage. She dreamt of weaving beautiful traps, that glistened in the evening sun, that held the insect-men that once controlled her, awaiting her hunger, paralyzed by her lovely toxins. She dreamt of lying unseen in their tents, in their very clothing, waiting patiently to drive her fatal stinger into their unprotected flesh.
And as she awoke, she shivered and shuddered, and she knew what she must do. She prayed first, to the spirits of this place, her sunken, fevered flesh soothed by the relative coolness of the hot desert sand. And she walked amoung her serpentine brothers and her arachnidine sisters, and she asked them gently for their sacrifices. And from those sacrifices, she began her work, fashioning them into the only instrument of men that she knew to strike another with.
In time, she descended upon the enclave from which she had once fled, dressed sparsely in the skin of her brothers, her skin hard and leathery and brown, save for a compelling crimson mark upon her belly, twin curves of blood, alike those upon the hood of a cobra. And as the slavers fell over themselves to ascertain the status of this darkly beautiful creature, she slew them, using, in turn, their lust, their hatred, and their fear, indeed, savoring them as she slew them with the whip she had fashioned from the sacrifices of the desert’s creatures. And as she slew the last, she whispered in the woman slaver’s ear, “I am Inadu, and my venom shall be the hell you truely deserve.”
First amoung the strength of the whip is the noxious ooze that it emits. It is a potent toxin, though it must reach the blood to have its effect, most typically through injuries torn by the barb of the whip itself. Progressing in stages, the toxin first causes a severe, firey pain in the injury, then throughout the limb or body as it spreads. The toxin spreads slowly, though the pain does not subside. Next, perhaps an hour from injury, it will cause convulsions of the body, which, again, will spread as the damage to the body’s nerves spreads, and becomes more severe. Finally, usually less than a day from injury, the poisoned will die. The speed of the poison is inversely proportional to body mass of the victim - a hobbit dies faster than a man, who dies faster than an ogre. Times above are for the average adult male.
Secondly, so long as the whip is borne, the bearer of Venom’s Caress shall have a heightened sense of smell, and of touch, and shall be able to see the warmth given off by objects, but he shall find it difficult to focus on stationary things, and instead, his eyes shall be drawn to the motion of his prey. So too, he will become color-blind, seeing the world in only shades of warmth.
Finally, the bearer of the whip shall find himself able to wait utterly still for extended periods of time, the patience and stillness of the waiting predator.
Yet, as he bears the weapon, the bearer shall become like as to a serpent, or a spider, or a scorpion in manner, and in isolated cases, perhaps in appearance as well. He shall become cold and detached from his companions, and predatory in many of his dealings. He shall come to prefer to be active in the morn and eve, rather than in the mid-day, and noon and midnight, in any case, he shall be torpid. He may come to bear gross abberations: The skin of the serpant, the fangs and eyes of the spider, even the tail or claws of thes scorpion.