King

@Ataraxy Sorry for the delay, big man. I posted. I believe the wonderful vielle is posting next, and then you can post again. : )

Andross studied the elf lord’s expression keenly, and for the briefest moments, it seemed as though he might accept the challenge. The thin lines of his lips; the ire in his eyes; the sharp set of his jaw. Vhoori was a proud man, and there was no small part of Andross that hoped he would succumb to it. A swift duel would end the matter quickly, albeit leaving the Ul’Vandiir clan leaderless. All he needed was a little push, one nudge, which appeared to be absent in the growing silence between them. Of all the times Vivienne decided to hold her tongue, she picked now? Where was her charming wit when he needed— The sound of heavy boots thudding their way stole the young noble’s attention, drawing his gaze to Marcus as he approached. There were many that questioned the grizzled veteran’s retention on the Honorguard, having served for more years than most and having abdicated the title of Lord Commander to the younger twin. Some said—whispered—it was Andross’s sentiments toward the old man, having spent years studying under Marcus’s vigilant scrutiny. Others claimed the old man had demanded he be allowed to stay. However, the truth of the matter was not so complicated—there were only two killers in all of Skyfall that were better than Marcus, and both served on the Honorguard. Until they were all his superior, he would serve. “Git out of my sight, pixie.” Perhaps? No, even the slur seemed incapable of penetrating that age, paper-thin coolness that contained the elf’s more fiery attributes. Vhoori took a step in retreat, smoothed the wrinkles from his vest, and blinked away any traces of dismay that had once twisted his features. “Lord Commander,” he said to Andross, his voice cool and even. “You’ve every right to be distrusting of me and my family—your terms, while unorthodox, are just. I trust you will show my daughter every courtesy while she is your extended guest?” It went without saying, but Andross nodded. “When next we meet, it will be to discuss her return home.” “After I’ve been assured you’re intentions to compensate my family—my people—have been properly satisfied,” Andross replied. Vhoori nodded. “Naturally.” There was no warm sentiment between the father and daughter, no performance for the small gathering serving as their audience. The elf lord cut Vivienne a sharp, telling glance before he nodded at her, and then made his way across the room. He exited as quietly as he’d come, leaving the Hexmistress alone with her new host. Closing his eyes, Andross sighed heavily, letting the tension seep out through his limbs. That could have gone poorly, he thought, thankful that the elf had responded more diplomatically now that the Thrill—the near-maddening rush of adrenaline and lust for battle—had subsided. Father would have been furious. Turning to Vivienne, he hooked a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face, inspecting her cheek where Vhoori had struck her. “It doesn’t look like it will bruise. Still, you should probably put something on that. You, girl—,” he said by way of summoning. A young darkeyed servant girl made her way from the far edge of the room. “Show the Hexmistress to her chambers. Have her things brought to her. She can use the—” “The dungeon, please,” Vivienne interjected. “What?” “It’s perfect for my needs,” she explained. “Cool, quiet, isolated. I’ll be able to do my experiments in peace.” At his doubtful expression, she added: “Unless you’d rather have my ingredients spilling all about the guest wing?” Vivienne had only described her “potion crafting” to Andross once, during her first visit, and the visceral description had never left him. Awkwardly enough, it had been the same night she first decided to present herself to him and his pleasure. Her questionable methods and the even more questionable ingredients had nearly rendered him impotent. But, if there was one thing the beautiful elf was better at than her hex-casting and experiments, it was exciting a young, red-blooded man. Andross sighed. “Show her to the dungeon,” he instructed the servant. “Have some men escort you there and transfer the prisoners to the backend cells. We’ll figure out what to do with them later.” Vivienne nodded with a smile, that lazy, sultry kind that told him she might—for nothing was ever certain with the woman—thank him more properly when they were alone, and then followed the darkeyed girl out. When they were alone, Andross turned to Marcus, hazel eyes studying the man. “Her family tried to scam us,” he said. “They wanted us to buy the mines and all the triastine left in it—but the mines are dry, and the ore they brought this time was a fake.” Andross frowned, gaze looking after the door. “There was a time when Father would have taken a hand for such a betrayal.”

Indeed, it had been quite some time since Rafael had found himself alone with Philippe. For weeks now, their only times together had been those quiet nights he would slip into the palace and nurture his weakened spirit, and that hardly satisfied the elder vampyre’s paternal longing. Gabriela’s pregnancy only served to reinforce his instincts, and as it would be weeks until she was properly showing, Rafael found himself relying more heavily on the bond he shared with Orisian heir. Not in compensation by any means, but in simple appreciation of the son he’d loved long before his own child had ever become a reality. It was out of respect for the devil that had no longer voiced such claims, for their peace was tumultuous, but in his heart, there was no call for silence. “You’re going to have a brother soon,” Rafael whispered as he took a seat near the child’s bed, letting a hand dangle over its edge so that the child could, even in his sleep, latch on to the finger presented his way. “Assuming, all goes well.” Gabriela’s pregnancy was too fresh, too new, for him to be entirely certain. They would need to be careful, he knew, the most important of which meant monitoring her diet as closely as he could. “I’m sure that you will be a model sibling, little Philippe. Noble, honorable, dependable—someone that he will be able to look up to and be proud of.” And yet, somehow this brought a frown to his face. Rafael wiggled his finger lightly, watching as Philippe’s smaller, softer digits move with the motion. They groped absently at their captive, tiny hands struggling to pull it closer. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to provide you with the home that you deserve,” he said solemnly, eyes heavy with regret. “I’ve no doubt that you’ll hear this quite a bit as you grow in this family, but things are complicated between your mother, father, and me.” Hearing it now, complicated seemed a grotesque understatement of the fact. And grateful though he was, the devil’s forfeiture of his cousin’s heart hadn’t done anything to make the situation simpler. “We’ve tried no less than a dozen times to fix it, but we seem utterly incapable of doing so…” Closing his eyes, Rafael breathed deeply of the room’s chilled air, fresh with Philippe’s infantile scent. “… I can only hope neither you nor your future siblings are made to suffer for our shortcomings,” he added after a long, pregnant pause. “I don’t think you will. If anyone seems to bring out the best in us, all of us, it would appear to be you. In fact, none of this would have been possible without you, beloved.” How ironic that it was his love for the devil’s child, his most hated enemy, that opened the door for the conception of his own son and heir. “It would seem that I’m in a great deal of debt to you, little one, and you’ve not even learned to gamble yet.” His chuckle died soon after, and as he sat there, one hand on the crib, the other in his lap, Rafael began to hum. It was to the same tune Gabriela had been singing earlier, one he knew rather intimately—he’d sung it to her when she was but a newborn, and he would hold her close in his arms and nurse her from his finger. “In my arms, you’ll be safe from the cold, and the warmth of my love will surround you,” he sang in their native tongue, his deep voice thickly accented. “By your side, I’ll stay until you drift away, to my winter lullaby.” So went on the song, a beloved and fitting winter lullaby.

That would be cool! I posted in the noble house ooc a few days ago asking if someone wanted to rp a member of the Honorguard to help me push the thread along, but got no bites. I'll shoot you a pm tonight?

I've been waiting on my writing partner for the last few weeks. I'll be skipping them and continuing the thread alone.

There was a time, not so very long ago, when Gabriela’s words would have hurt him. The bitterness, the cruelty, the sheer viciousness in the manner at which she attacked those cherished memories he kept—it would have been a lethal strike, masterfully delivered, that left the elder vampyre without words, and least of all the conviction to pursue her further. Nothing burned quite like the cold, after all. But that time had passed, the opportunity squared away the moment his seed had stuck in her womb. True, he was a man in spite of his power and wealth, and he loved the petulant child-queen dearly, but her attempt to wound him had proven little more than a glancing blow. Rafael had the upper hand, and they both knew it. Buying into the comfort of Tenebre’s abyssal corroboration, Gabriela strayed threw herself into the dance of wolves, tempting her husband with the closeness of her lips, the iciness of her breath. He took her by the head with both of his hands, twisting and locking his fingers at the roots of her hair. Those coils, he secured in massive fists, ensuring she’d not be able to retreat until he desired to allow so. He kept her there as he bit onto her bottom lip, pulling back to stretch the flesh between them. Long, feral fangs pricked the inside of her skin, drawing small beads of her black blood to the surface. Even Tenebre’s presence could not dampen the sweetness of it. “Mm, my sweet Gabriela,” he purred against her lips. “Mouthy, petulant bitch doesn’t suit you in the least.” The elder vampyre had become something of an authority on the topic in previous weeks, his past company considered. “You aren’t nearly as clever as you think you are, my dear.” It was then that he released her with a dismissive flip of his wrists, looking down at her from the peak of his nose. “It was when you stood for something that you loved me,” Rafael corrected her, clearly more than amused that she believed herself to be somehow different from the child that ran away all those years ago. “You were a princess, the future of a nation. You had the potential to be the greatest monarch our kind had ever seen. Our people, they weren’t perfect, but they were ours—and you abandoned them. For what? Freedom? Peace? A people that you can be proud of? How has that gone, my love? How is your grand, complicated life panning out for you, hm?” Rafael thumbed the corner of his mouth where her flavor had collected, then gently sucked it away in a slow, pointed manner. “The truth, Gabriela? You’ve never been a simpler creature in your life,” he said with a low, derisive chuckle. “You aren’t a queen, and you have never been. You're barely a mother. You’re little more than a crown, Gabriela; something to be worn on display. If not by me, then by the devil—though he doesn’t seem too enchanted with you any longer—and if by neither of us, then by Tenebre. Smirking, he gestured to her in a revealing manner. “You truly believe that your love is required? That it is the final goal of all of this, the ultimate prize? Are you slow-witted? This is all that manners,” he said, gently pressing a hand beneath her navel. “Keep your heart, keep your soul; I have what I want. Just as the devil has what he desires. All that talk of love, of family, of happily ever after—ha! You were stupid enough to believe that?” The devil masked his pain behind apathy, but Rafael knew it was there. It was disappointing in some regards, and admirable in others—they were both so young. “I couldn’t care less how you feel about your predicament, so long as you understand it. This is your reality now, and whether or not you accept it, you belong to me. No one else wants you, Gabriela. There isn’t another soul alive that can stomach you as I do. Hate it, fight it, but I am all you have—all you’ve ever had.” Rafael allowed for a moment of silence as his words sank it, searching her expression. The cold did well to hide the things she felt, but it didn’t erase them. Rather, it encased them in sheets of ice, contained them—but there were ways to crack and chip away that casing, and with the proper leverage, one could shatter it. “Time is on my side, love,” he said softly. “By the right of our births, you will never be stronger than me. Never. And so, you will forever be subject to my whims. You may be rebellious at times, as is expected from a child, but you will grow. You will learn.” Thunderous blue eyes strayed from her face, eying the shadows. “And you will not be able to protect her always.” Yes, Tenebre had proven himself a worthy nuisance to Rafael’s progression. His obsession with Gabriela, while understandable, could no longer be tolerated. There wasn’t enough of her for the three of them, and the elder vampyre was only prepared to share her with a single soul—one whom, much to his pleasure, had no immediate interest in the offer. It was in the pursuit of distancing Gabriela from the Dark Father that Rafael had taken certain liberties in Cantorra, when this keep had been constructed to serve as a “mobile” throne for the royal pair. And while the halls remained absent of love and affection, the wards set into the foundation of their chambers proved quite powerful—and most of all, effective. “Come,” Rafael said, taking her by the wrist firmly. “Let me show you just how quickly ice can thaw.” He guided her further into Cantorra’s black depths, to a place where neither devil nor god could help her.

“You’ll do not such thing,” Rafael said curtly, intercepting Gabriela’s hand with his own just as she reached for her scarf. His touch was not so much harsh as it was commanding, a gesture that served to underscore his authority over her welfare. “My apologies, master-servant, for Her Majesty’s hasty response. She is known to be somewhat impetuous.” While the weigh seemed to vanished from his thickly accented voice, there was neither smile nor smirk to confirm any suspicion of amusement. But his eyes, oh, how they scorched and admonished her. You forget your place far too often, those thunderous blue eyes said to her. You know better than to speak for me, Gabriela. Yet, his touch remained soft, as it had since their rendezvous in Veelos. With careful pushes and prods from his fingers, Rafael saw her work undone—button by button, strap by strap, until her coat hung loosely against her figure. He eased it from her arms and then off her shoulders, draping it over his right forearm once it had been removed. “We are guests in this man’s home, Gabriela,” he said, taking her by the chin with his left hand. Lifting her head, Rafael met her darkened eyes unfettered, studying her expression as he was known to do. “He has done well to make our lives simple, and for that, I am grateful. You will go to him,” he decided, punctuating his orders with loving strokes of the thumb across the swell of her bottom lip. “And you will not provoke him.” Frowning, he reached up and collected a single strand of her dark hair on his fingertip that had rebelliously fallen from its place and dusted her forehead. Tucking it back into place, he smiled, and dipped his chin to kiss her. She thought it boring to him, these shows of affection, or little more than a chore he’d long-since found himself enslaved to. But no, it was little more than an illusion cast by the ice that now clouded her vision. The passion, it burned hot in his veins; the sheer need and desire of it threatened to consume him at all hours of the day. That she carried his child only stoked the flames, and just as when she’d labored with Philippe, Rafael had never in his life craved her more. Her mind, her heart, they may have been ignorant of these things—but her body had always known its one true lover, its one master. Rafael kissed her with ravenous hunger, though for the sake of propriety kept the embrace brief. “Once you’ve concluded your meeting with him, we will return to the capital together. I will wait for you. We will tend to those other matters together, as is proper.” It was much too dangerous to let her saunter off into the wilderness, or wherever she believed she might find solace, to quell the storm raging inside her. While she seemed determined to focus her efforts on Philippe (which he could never fault her for), Rafael would not let her simply dismiss the safety of the child growing inside her. More than a child, more than an heir to the throne, it was the future of their species. Rafael lifted his chin in direction, dismissing her. “Now, go.” The matter settled, the elder vampyre looked at the dark-skinned man. “As for refreshments, I will have to decline. But, if it’s no issue to your Lord, I would prefer to stay here with the little prince. It’s been quite some time since last I saw him.” Rafael’s gaze slid to the child’s bed, his soft, rhythmic breathing telling of his sleep. A smile curved his thin lips. “They grow so quickly, and I fear I’ve already missed so much.” Of course, were the master-servant to protest, Rafael would make no fuss about it. Things had, indeed, gone swimmingly since that night in Veelos. There was no need to disturb the peace, least of all over a visit. After all, he had an eternity.

“You’ve always had a pleasant singing voice,” Rafael commented from the doorway, casting his long shadow over his wife and her little prince. His presence at the devil’s villa had disturbed the natural order of things, and the tension beyond the prince’s chamber was thick enough to cut with a knife. But Rafael shirked the curious glances he received, the murmurs that trailed behind his passing, and did not fault the servants for their suspicion or loyalty to their master. He was here for Gabriela and Philippe, and cared little else for the rest. “It’s quite a shame that you’ve not found more frequent uses for it.” In spite of his imposing figure, the elder vampyre moved without sound. There was nothing to herald his stealthy approach, and when caressed the side of her neck with his knuckles, and then placed that heavy palm on her shoulder, it was as if he’d simply appeared beside her. “You should use the native tongue,” he commented a moment later. “Your blood courses through that boy’s veins, thus, so does the motherland. He should know his roots, Gabriela.” His lips curved into a smirk as he thought of more unrefined blood Philippe had somehow inherited from his father. “Besides, it’s far more elegant than this crude common tongue the mortals use,” he continued. “His father may insist he behave like them, but he needn’t grow up idolizing them and all of their flaws.” While he still carried a great deal of love for the young prince, the devil’s continued presence—and Gabriela’s pregnancy—had, in some ways, resigned the elder vampyre to the reality he’d been so determined to cast aside. Philippe was not his child, not truly, and while he’d always seek the boy’s best interests, he’d not look to overstep and disturb the tumultuous peace they’d managed to establish. If it was Roen’s desire to dress and raise his child as a mundane child, then that was his prerogative. Rafael had his own child to look after, now. Letting his words hang in the air, his eyes were drawn to the window, gazing out at the swirls of snow as they swept across the roofs of the villa’s longer wings, layered across the ground in thick blankets that stretched on for as far as the eye could see, and the clouds that blackened the sky to a thick, impenetrable pitch. Reports from the mainland spoke of a highstorm brewing in the east, its winds terrible and its rain thick. Tendrils of it had spiraled across the pass, reaching Orisia’s borders, but seemed to compound with La’Ruta’s influence—which he knew had become entangled with that of his darling wife’s emotional state of being. A perfect mirror then, the elder vampyre thought. Unfortunately, these were not the capricious or sunken thoughts of a young woman. These were winds that could carve boulders into rubbles, or bury cities in ice and snow. It wouldn’t take much for the situation to become dangerous, and so, Rafael decided that he would monitor its development closely. Much like his cousin’s relationship with the island’s strange lifeforce, Rafael and La’Ruta’s affair was becoming more intimate by the day. The hole left in its chest by the Warlord’s departure was grand, but the elder vampyre had done well to tend to the wound. Already enamored with him for the connection he shared with Gabriela, it had been a relatively easy process, and the slow, steady growth of the ebony tree in the garden of Cantorra was a testament to that fact. While he might not yet have commanded the sheer force to break La’Ruta to his whims, he felt confident in the thought that he might be able to seduce her to his reasoning. All in due time, he supposed. “This is because of you,” Rafael said evenly, gesturing toward the window with his unburdened hand. The palm upon her shoulder remained, fingers caressing the skin it touched. “You know that La’Ruta is sensitive to your feelings. But, I fear that this might be something different.” His eyes darkened at the possibilities; none seemed pleasing. “There’s a highstorm in the East and it’s slowly been spilling its way here,” he said grimly. “They’re known to have a… mm, notable effect on the latent magic presence of the land. Combine that with what’s going on with you, and you can see my reason for concern.” He let her ruminate on the words for a moment, casting his gaze from the window to the babe in her arms. Surely, she realized the threat such instability could pose to the prince, as well as the child growing steadily inside her womb. “I understand that this may not have been the outcome you desired, Gabriela, but it is your reality. You need come to terms with it, and quickly.” While there was an unmistakable urgency in his tone, it was not so much disappointed, or off-put, as it was fatherly. While she’d lived several lifetimes as at a wholesome three hundred, Rafael was still her senior by a great deal. Speaking to her in such a way came naturally, though she proved herself determined to be seen as his equal for no other reason than her entitlement to it. Rafael looked at her keenly. “I’ve done my part to make you comfortable, have I not?”

I figured I'd put this up here first. Is there anyone that would be interested in playing a member of the Kholin honorguard? The list of current members can be found here. Beyond the names, nothing is set in stone as far as the characters themselves go. Feel free to shoot me a PM or post on my profile, if you are.

“Fair enough.” It seemed that devil’s temperament concerning his cousin was as unpredictable as the sea; serene and inviting in one moment, a hellish and violent in the next. He spoke of the Summer Isles and its heir, but Rafael was not naïve enough to believe that this would be the final chapter in Gabriela and Roen’s story. It never was. Perhaps not that night or for many that followed it, but sooner or later, one of them would once again pick up the quill, ink its end, and continue writing. Still, he’d not argue with the man or force the issue, as the current terms were more than favorable to the elder vampyre’s ends. Rafael nodded to the devil’s terms, both more than acceptable. “I will do my best to respect your solitude and limit your involvement to the direst of situations, or when your particular talents will provide the most sensible course.” After so many years of turmoil and treachery, it almost seemed ludicrous that their long campaign of back and forth, tit-for-tat, came to such an abrupt and simple end. Rafael couldn’t help but wonder how much time they’d wasted pointlessly hating each other. Would this have been the result had they’d talked sooner? “One family,” Rafael agreed, nodding curtly as he met the devil’s eyes. “He is the heir of Orisia’s throne and will be looked—” It was the brush of Gabriela’s shoulder against his that killed his claim, earning a suspicious glance as she continued toward the Outsider. You again, he thought bitterly, having long-since grown tired of Tenebre’s obsession. While the coldness that crept into her heart from his touch was a welcomed reprieve from the overwhelming emotion she was prone to fall victim to, which often times proved too rich a meal for Rafael to stomach, that it was Tenebre’s doing vexed the elder vampyre to no end. She is mine by every right, he thought as he watched her walk and engage the devil over the wicked sword in his hand, and you won’t have her. Then she was off, gliding into the mouth of the grand hall so that her captors could finish their conversation. Rafael approached the devil next, hands clasped at the small of his back. “Not to occupy too much of your mind before your appointment,” he said in a hushed voice, as if the shadows themselves mind betray his confidence. But Rafael was not like Tenebre’s other children, and his words were his alone—mute to the Dark Father. “But once you return, I’ll need your help with something of great importance. We’re going to kill Tenebre.” After a moment, he added: “Or, if that proves impossible, we will seal him away. He’s toyed with our family long enough.” Then, after another moment and cautioned glanced at the sword in his hand. “Good luck with your match.” Continuing his stride, Rafael followed his cousin’s steps out into the hall, trusting the devil to see himself out. Gabriela’s pace was lackluster, uninspired. In fact, she almost seemed to be wandering the citadel’s halls in an aimless daze. “You shouldn’t have left,” he said firmly, announcing his presence from her rear. Several steps later, he was beside her, a hand around her slender arm to impede her gait. It wasn’t anger in his eyes, nor bitterness, but the hardness an adult takes when lecturing a child on inappropriate behavior. “You heard what he said, Gabriela. You belong to me, mind, body, and soul—just as I’ve always told you—and I did not dismiss you. Never do that again.” Guiding her closer to him, Rafael hooked a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head back. The smoldering flames of her golden eyes had gone out, leaving dark, honeyed cores behind. Not distant, not dull or unaware—just darker. “This is not a dream,” he whispered down at her, looking her over as he committed her expression to memory. This day, this face she made, he would remember for all time. “And now, you can finally cast off the last of those foolish, girlish notions you’ve clung to for nearly all your life. This is where you belong—by my side, in my hands, and in my bed. This is who you were born to be.” He thumbed her lips as he spoke this last bit, pressing the tip of the digit into her mouth at the crest of the motion. “Now, tell me: who do you belong to?”

“Fascinating.” Paris earnestly listened to the woman as she told her story, eyes not daring to move away, lest he distracted by the beauty of their surroundings. As a great admirer of all things strange and exotic, the crown prince did what he could to educate himself on matters concerning their origins, habits, and abilities. Unfortunately, there were few werewolves—lycanthropes, as she’d called them—this far north, and those south of the Great Barrier were stingy when it came to their heritage. “The books I have, they all seem to revolve around a curse of some sorts.” Paris frowned at the thought, realizing how one-sided his library was in this regard. “There are maybe a pair that reference lycanthropy as something one can inherit, and when they do, it’s done so in the same fashion one might a disease or other genetic anomaly. That’s probably because they’re written by humans,” he added after, to dissipate any insult she may have taken at the comment. Born a werewolf, the crown prince thought to himself. So, she wasn’t human—not entirely, at least. The wolf was as much part of her as the human flesh he saw, making her a cousin, at best, to his species. I’ll need to need to speak with the conscripts when I return, he decided. I’m sure they’ll be able to find something more satisfying in the Red City’s library. If not, perhaps the Midlands might have more books on this subject. “So, your clan,” he continued at a moment, eyes still trained on her. “Do they operate similarly to that of a typical wolf pack? Alpha male paired with an alpha female? If so, how is this determined? Brute strength, or are they elected by the others of the pack?” Perversion aside, Paris found himself intrigued by the balance of the wolf and human halves. Which proved triumphant in terms of government and social hierarchy? Okina was clearly sharp of mind, determined, but she’d been detached from her clan, it seemed, for quite some time. The others—were they more beast, or more man?

01/01/2019 A major event has been launched to start the new year. The Stormwatch post has been added to the Magestorm thread. The current magestorm lasts from January 1 - April 31, and its nature is the weakening.