Davorin

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJ4CZT8kyUg Can't get enough of the last Kublai Khan album.

Her gentle touch interrupted his current thoughts. The vision he had of a Lady was clearly much different than what she presented before him; with deliberate care he would have chosen black, as the color of death would have been most suitable. Never would she struggle into corsets and petticoats as she would no longer need to dress herself; such things would be beneath her in those circumstances. A life of living in the dark, masking a battered body covered with bruises and dried blood, was already a rather generous offer in his eyes. Perhaps the renovations wouldn’t be too bad after all. Sure, the accommodations may have seemed less than pleasant, but he still often presumed them to be happy in their miserable little cells, because it was the only place they were completely free of Davorin’s foreboding presence. Most mattresses were filled with straw, so that it was painfully itchy. It was often cold here too, since most of their clothes were made of a thin, synthetic material. The tap water from the sink was always red with rust and undrinkable, so that they only had access to fluids at lunch and dinner. The meals themselves were equally unpleasant, and the portions were normally far too small. Where most servants resided here, it often reminded him of the very underground halls back in Drakiss Keep where prisoners were locked away in a cell, starving. It was clinical; white walls, white floors, and steel reinforced doors. The urge to leave her unharmed grew as his hunger increased. Davorin looked through a single window and out into the city grimly. The smoke from the chimneys below rose in straight, white streams up to the heavens, and there was a crackling of anticipation electrifying the air. When the new servant spoke, he ignored her for a brief moment and shifted his gaze to a mirror. The vampire looked at his reflection seriously. A pale, wan-looking man he barely recognized anymore in the face stared back at him, black eyes sunken with shadow and worry. As she made her way into the bath he released a growl with the same possessiveness felt when feeding from others. It was more than a vampire's primal urge to hoard its prey. The wait was over and finally he turned his full attention to the young servant offered to him. He laved the tender spot with his tongue, sending a shiver through her body, and bit down upon her neck. She flinched and whimpered in pain as his fangs sunk deep into the artery drinking her now dehydrated blood. Even though he'd only fed from her once before this time, he found her taste addicting. He let her thick, dehydrated blood splash on his tongue prolonging the feed but he couldn't help but savor the flavor of her life essence; she was so sweet. He purred in pleasure against her and he wrapped his arms about her tightly and possessively. For a moment he lost all thought; and he started to pull deeply, but with another growl, this time at himself he closed his eyes, shaking. His powerful hands trembled as he fought his desire to consume the last drops of her life away. He pulled away taking a shuddering breath. His control was wavering. He licked the wound, but not closing it entirely, and held her close to his chest listening desperately for both her breaths and heartbeat. Satisfied that she was still alive, he lifted her into his strengthened arms again and closed his eyes; feeling, smelling, and using what strength he had to find civilization. At first he looked perplexed, but a moment later there was a genuine grin on his face with a glint in his eye. He knew that Arianna was determined not to give into him and entertain him with her reactions. The rest would’ve appeared in slow motion to the mortal eye. Another long pull had been taken and he swallowed, allowing the crimson liquids to survey the rest of her body long the sound of a thud. Her arms and legs were bent at awkward angles as though she was a marionette that had been carelessly dropped. Now it was just a lifeless form devoid of the grace it once knew. A single hand ran along the surface of the cooling water. “Don’t play games with me,” he warned, his voice dangerous but playful, as if he were a cat with a cornered mouse. "Because I can make these last few days be your very last as Arianna. Regardless of negotiations, I can lock you in a deep, dark hole for a while, until you honestly can't remember what the sun looks like. And when I finally do take you out, no amount of begging and screaming is going to sway me toward mercy. I will relentlessly crack away at your spirit until it shatters, no matter how long it takes. Every fear that you have, I will expose. And then, I shall use those fears against you, until you no longer think of yourself as Arianna but as Davorin’s trophy slave.”

The vampire had not changed out of the simple tunic and breeches he'd donned for his morning exercise, a far scanter garb than he'd had on in their previous encounters. His sleeves had been left rolled up too, exposing the sinewy muscles there. He carried a strong build for being so lean. "Do what you must then," said a soft, male voice. He had no doubt there would an issue with her ‘renovations’. It was strange; sensual, but weary, as though the act of living was a chore. "Most are gagged," he said. "And smell of blood and sex." Much like prey, he stalked her as she began her duties. It felt as though he had been imprisoned in this place for years now, and constantly in a greatly weakened state. While desperately hungry, he also felt old now. Such things were more under his control than what others thought. But how long he could go on without acting like a monster to replenish himself that much, even he wasn’t sure now. It was likely she would hear him move, though his steps were light, it would be the deep breaths he took that were more noticeable. When he thought of finally finishing his response to her, he struggled to ignore a very recognizable scent: blood. It was nearly impossible to resist as he could smell it on the young woman, causing desire to course through his veins. With enough time, it would take all of his strength for her to remain unmolested. "It is not painful," he said aloud in his smooth, coaxing voice. "I promise not to drink too much. Only enough to give me some strength back." His voice was very close, and the sickness inside himself wished she would cringe away in fear, unable to move; it was often his words could enchant those he acknowledged. "This is never easy for me," he admitted chuckling a little, "I wish. But I have power over the minds of humans, though in my weakened state, I daren't use it. I can also move very quickly; a blur of movement to your eyes if you saw me at all. I have other magic, too, when I am feeding regularly, and usually I am a creature to be reckoned even among my own kind." He was right next to her now and she would soon feel his hands upon her stroking her hair from her face gently. Davorin listened carefully for heartbeats in which he hoped would accelerate and fear falling off in waves. He wanted to revel in it; power, control, evocation of fear, all the things that made him no better than the bastard who'd punished the rest of the servants. He thought he had left that part of him back in his homeland. Time had proved otherwise. For a moment he couldn't bring himself to do it. There he crouched with his mouth at her throat; a willing donor to be sure, but they were playing roulette now. Could he take only enough? He shuddered with hunger, with need. If he started, would he be able to stop? Unlike his sensual feeding with the other girls, this was felt as though it would be violent and controlling. “Don’t make this difficult for the both of us.”

The two of them were still sitting opposite of each other, with a chessboard still between them when one of the servants opened the door to the private study. From the looks, her choice of clothing this morning hadn't been much of a choice at all, but she still managed to make a point of selecting the marginally plainest one. It wasn’t uncommon to sense anxiety knotted and unraveled in new servants. For some, it may have felt as though they were being groomed into becoming a glorified pet "Would you care to join us?" He spoke courteously, but it was always hard to tell if this would persist. "The game is almost over." "That's confident," said the younger vampire wryly, under his breath. "Are you much of an expert on the game?" queried Davorin. The young woman sat down somewhat stiffly, her hands fidgeting on and off with the seams on her lap. "Not particularly, my lord,” she answered with a pause.”Shall I fetch the new girl for you?” There was a little outwardly uncomfortable look to her now. Davorin ignored her and sauntered towards a small serving table in the corner, a dark perfectly aged bottle of wine was set on it with multiple jewel encrusted goblets. "I hope you like red," He commented as he took hold of the wine bottle's slender neck. He had removed stopper before he had sent for Amalia to join them, wisely giving the smooth liquid within time to air appropriately before consumption; like any noble, he knew how to enjoy fine wine. A pale hand poured the thick crimson liquid into the goblets with effortless grace. "I've not much experience with wine, my lord," she murmured softly as Davorin collected the goblets in either of his slender hands. He turned and regally stalked towards the younger woman, his incisive eyes trained and watching the brunette’s facial expressions closely like a hawk, to get a sense of the her mood. There were times she could remain a flawlessly beautiful statue with one constant expression. This wasn’t one of them. “Drink it slowly then." He advised gently. He smiled in what he hoped was a comforting way though even he suspected it seemed a little cold. The vampire raised his own goblet and took a small sip of the heavenly tasting beverage. "Stay for a bit.” "What do you think?" He murmured as she took a seat next to the object of his recent obsessions and resumed his game. "It is dry but sweet," Amalia mused. "I will summon the servant myself.." With this utterance, his eye fixed over a rook, in a curious enough position a bit away to the side. Indecisiveness lingered for a moment longer before his companion reached forward with his fingertips, and gently moved it those few rule-abiding spaces toward center. And now the former native of Orisia was doubly threatened, with its options now being: either relinquish its current line of offense or be eaten, one way or another. Realization dawning quickly enough, his uncertainty immediately changed to temporary delight. "Well-played," Davorin said, warmly. He glanced across the board to his opponent, sharing a meaningful look. In a distant world, Davorin might have even commanded Amalia’s admiration. Instead, he chose cruelty and her growing dread and simmering resentment. It was time to leave now. It felt as if he had been tracking this female's scent for days when he finally located her in one of the many halls of the manor. Often he found himself bathed in the shadows where the sunlight allowed within had no effect. His oval shaped jaw clenched. How could someone be so tempting and yet so innocent in appearance? He leaned forward from the darkness, placing his goblet at the edge of a wooden table. “You are so beautiful" the vampire murmured as he finally closed some of the distance that separated them. Immediately he recognized who she was and what she meant to him. Fierce possessiveness rolled through him. He tried to smell for fear, as if the beast of him was glorifying in another chase. A low growl of approval escaped him as he scented her innocence. He seemed content to merely scrutinize their surroundings, until he reached a long stone wall - thick and half his height, which separated their path. "Hmm," he said, letting his fingers ghost over the individual cracks created by the bulging rocks. "I take it you’re adapting well to your new home," he concluded, withdrawing. He indicated the length of the structure, unbroken for a great interval, with a sweep of his arm, yet all but his face was revealed before her. "I'm pleased to receive your acceptance of my terms - I would have been disappointed in your reputation for wisdom, otherwise. I expect we will have a very promising alliance together.”

He was awake by dawn with a small cluster of armed servants, practicing his swordsmanship in the courtyard. He never slept long these days, and even less so whenever he was about to accomplish stratagem with those whom served under him - which was to say, too often. Before his current undead state, his peers always cautioned that he would tire his body, and in a way at that time he knew that the manic energy that seized him at these junctures was not wholly healthy. But he'd never been able to stop himself all the same, and presently that was no longer an issue to him. The vitality and clarity of mind he received from swordplay was far more attractive than lazing in bed. He liked to keep strong and ready, able to defend himself; he thought poorly of most rulers who would waste away simply because they could. With a particularly rapid series of lunges and parries, he was able to disarm his last sparring opponent, and concluded the practice with satisfaction. A servant offered a towel, and he retreated back to his manor. It was as if only an old clock kept time in a house that appeared no longer alive. Rarely did sunlight dance through the dirty windows. Cobwebs would suggest that any occupants were dead or gone. Dust lay on the floor, a dreary carpet on a sagging floor. A crumbling piece of cloth fluttered through the air, much like a bird trapped in a cage. Yet it was still very much occupied as a breath of wind caused a door to move and open on its rusty hinges. As the door closed, he made way for a room where he often spent time in the early hours of the day. The selection here was a little more limited than the palace library proper: a quiet place for a chess match, and consultation with another vampire. At times a companion, and in some moments even an adviser, with a clear distinction of being one of the very few people that he trusted, and was now the closest thing he had to a friend. It wasn’t the boyish type of friendship formed and persisted years later like most people, rather it was their shared intellect and common interests. It did help that the younger vampire was patient and yielding, whereas Davorin was decisive and aggressive. It was a good balance, but even then he couldn’t help but recognize the boy’s potential to be even stronger than him one day. It didn’t concern him much, however, as he would be long gone from these lands by the time that day came. Quickly the two fell into conversation about the events of recent days as the chessboard was put together. It was only after these topics had been exhausted that the younger vampire companion ventured into another territory. "So what was she like, then, this new servant?” "Hmm?" said Davorin idly, studying his chess pieces. "I've already told you about her." "You told me that she wasn’t abducted, but you’ve said nothing of the woman herself," said his friend. Davorin glanced sideways at him, the analytical look in his eyes belied by a smile that threatened to break. "She must be beautiful," he would continue, as if to decipher a confirmation or denial. "Or special in some way." Davorin was silent long enough to instill discomfort, but he finally offered a short laugh. "I should have expected you to meddle in my affairs. I suppose you disapprove?" He took out a bishop with his queen, laying the piece aside. "Her peace of mind is meaningless to me," he retorted, indifferent. "I have what I want." For a while neither of them said anything, but they resumed their game. This continued in uninterrupted silence, until - "Your principles aren't distasteful to me,” the younger grinned as he toyed with a pawn, then shifting it forward.

He came to in a daze at first, spots coloring his vision and head aching as though slammed through a brick wall. Sunlight sifted in from a slanted angle, through a latticed window, warming the vampire's pale cheeks. The intensity of it pained him at first, and he did not want to open his eyes. His limbs were heavy, as though dragged down with cinder blocks. His head felt as if it were composed solely of lead, its present position against the edge of the coach seat preferable to any movement. But he couldn't lie still, not after the events of - when was it - came flooding all at once. His hand instinctively flew to his temple as he dragged himself to an upright position. It touched the side of his face, and soon feeling the dried blood along his lips. Despite everything in the given moment, his mind was still sharp enough to remember the reasoning behind it. His hair, he could feel, was all out of sorts from its previously pristine bun. He shook it loose into a relaxed braid, which fell over his shoulder. But his leather tunic and everything else seemed unchanged; if he had no other comfort, there was that. The sunlight carried with it that cool morning quality, suggesting it was still early. How long had it been? His fingers wrapped tightly around a locket, only a chilling fear kept him from looking at it. The contents within too sacred, even now. How long? The vampire could hear soldiers marching outside, and if he wound his focus tightly enough, even in disorientation he thought he could make out the signs of whom they belonged. As memories of the preceding night flickered back into consciousness, he found himself drawing up his sleeve, only to find that his arm had been bandaged and attended to. The distinct smell of medicinal herbs exuded from it, and the bandages, when he tested them, were firmly and carefully wrapped. They didn’t make sense, and were anything but effective on his body. It was several minutes later before he could find himself to his feet. The old abandoned manor which he resided in was oddly quiet, though not completely vacant to be sure. It was only a matter of seconds before he entered one of the guest rooms. The sounds heard were all too familiar, and pieces of the puzzle were slowly falling into place quickly now. Instead of looking the least bit abashed or ashamed of his actions, the vampire appeared remarkably self-satisfied. "I do apologize for not finishing our game," he said, as if that were the most pressing barbarism he'd ever committed. "If the others hadn't gotten in the way, I assure you that I would have genuinely enjoyed playing to completion. “ He hadn't lost any of his apparent cordiality, and indeed, spoke as if there was no change in their situation and he was merely picking up on their last conversation from the previous night now. He was aware several of the others had escaped, but it wasn't his top concern at the moment. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you," he continued blithely, as the young servant tried raising her fists, only to find them restricted by rusty chains. "Your accommodations are quite secure, and you'll only tire yourself out. But I'm glad you've recovered some of your strength." He'd never crossed her as an unintelligent - unless if this, too, was a ruse - if not a malicious bastard, she would soon realize. He studied her carefully, taking note of her lips giving way to the insults bubbling in her chest. And as for what he planned to do with her? “If you make it necessary," he continued, "I've no qualms draping you in chains - or deciding that your voice is unnecessary for the rest of our journey." His smile hadn't quite disappeared, but it took on a look that was suddenly vicious enough to substantiate the threat at any given moment.. "It's of no consequence to me, either way.” “..Which is why I leave the choice entirely up to you." The girl instantly sought for any discernible exit, hands finally landing upon the interior latch of the door. Push, pull, and shake as she might, the barrier wouldn't relent. "It's time for me to finally go home - " he coughed out through one of the windows, his mouth dry.

Every stem and leaf in the distant field was touched with gold as the morning sun made its way toward the western horizon. It was already humid and windless, reminding him that summer was near. He stood there with his eyes closed at the windows ledge, feeling the warmth of the early hour kiss his undead flesh. A sigh escaped his lips as he left the room. His bitterness did not match the serenity of the day. As he came to stand in front of his ceremonial chair, he turned to look down at his servant, allowing his height to suggest his precedence there. He watched her expression deflate as she decided to cede him his station. She stepped down onto the floor of the dark hall in a sulk. Satisfied, he took his seat. Resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, he steepled his forefingers together, waiting to hear what nonsense the woman would be laying at his feet this day. "Perhaps you should consider to take another wife, my lord," she announced without preamble. "Pfff." he exhaled his scorn in a quick rush of air. "Are you not lonely under in this world, my lord?" she began again, taking a more solicitous tack. "Bah!" he dismissed her, throwing up his hands, "The chair of Tears is not a burden to be held by one who pines for companionship like an unweaned pup." It was as if loneliness was a weakness she was implying on him. Davorin had gone on for ages now without the need of another. Why become involved now? But the vampire knew that her feigned concern for his solitude was merely her first gambit, so he waited for her to speak again. She would reveal her true aims to him soon enough, he knew. "Do you not even desire a partner who can satisfy your...needs?" she insinuated as she flowed toward the center of the dimly lit room. He watched her sway across the stone floor. Davorin was more indifferent to her charms than most of the mortals they lured into the manor, but Zora’s allure could not entirely be ignored. The pale tribal linen that reminded him often of back home draped over her curves and made a mockery of discretion; the gown was sheer enough that no imagination was needed whatsoever. Her chest and hips balanced a slender waist; everything else visible beneath the diaphanous fabric, as was the neat patch of fur where her legs met. He regarded her in silence, waiting for her elaboration. She did not speak again immediately, and his jaw clenched as he saw that she intended to further toy with his patience. He snorted in mild amusement, "It is unwise to make demands where you are not the highest authority. Have you considered the thought that I have chosen to remain unwed for these many ages expressly to avoid becoming further embroiled in the politics of Valucre?” But before she could respond, the cool touch of a blade tucked beneath her chin, pressed lightly against her throat. What? "Not a word," said the vampire, who was now behind her. There was a casual threat to his words that was eerily convincing, but somehow, he managed to maintain his stoic demeanor. He could hear her heart hammering in her chest. “That's right. One slip of my hand..." The knife edged just a touch closer, enough to instill panic. "...and all that blood will ruin your lovely dress. Let's try not to do it that way." Incomprehensibly, it seemed like he was amused by her panic. "Stand." Almost reflexively, she edged away from the blade, as much as she could, but did not move to obey. It was almost as if the threat had fallen on deaf ears, drowned out by an odd concoction of her pulse and internalized screaming. In the next moment, his other hand clamped over her mouth, forcefully, at the same time sliding his knife just far enough to jerk her up; her back was pressed firmly against him, trapped there by his easy strength. The blade resumed its place at her neck, like a reminder, and muffled cries hummed into his hand. The pain of a sudden incision tore another muted cry from her, her fingers flying upwards to pry his hand from her face. She was struggling everywhere, her heels were now stomping frantically over his toes. What sounded like a frustrated ‘let go’ died into his palm. In response, he snaked his arm about her waist, merely lifting her heels from the reach of his toes; his hand remained firmly clamped over her mouth, for all her thrashing and squirming, as if the labors of her fingers were inconsequential. And above all, she was still being held forcibly against him, the coolness of his body now an unwanted intimacy from which there was no escape.

"Dont look at the blood..look at the art." Darkling skies above reeled with ravens, and dead men stirred in the trees below. A long blade twisted in the wound. The tall figure garbed in pure shadows cocked his head in vague interest. The young man in scraps of armor at least two sizes too big gasped out a breath – his last one as it was. The Inquisitor drew back its hand and the unholy steel left the flesh with a wet, sucking sound. Blood spurted from the fatal wound, poisoning the earthy ground with crimson. The droplets hit the figure's robes and slid right off, leaving them black as a crow's plumage. He had to strain his willpower to draw his gaze from the dead man, the dead boy. Silver metal glinted in the eerie light as his undead gaze surveyed the scene of carnage in disinterest. The last sight of most of these men had been a maniacally grinning face of silver. His pale face under the mask was impassive amongst this butchery. A score of men, or what was left of them, were sprawled around the field, faces twisted in various degrees of agony. These were the ones lucky enough to have something resembling a face remaining to them. He figured it to have been yet another rebellion that spawned from the Kul’Daru district. For some time he stood watching the skittering and rustling, the shadows half-seen before vanishing again, the movements that seemed no more than the brush of the sighing wind. It had snowed before dawn, and would do so again before the next one. The air was laden with the bone-deep chill of the coming blizzard, but he did not feel it, no more than he felt pain, or hunger, or love, or fear. The vampire closed his eyes. This was killing in its perfection. At the same time he wasn’t content. There had been a time when slicing the artery of a helpless victim had been what he lived for, a time when the screams of the doomed hushed under the swinging arc of a blade. All that remained now was emptiness. A man behind a mask, the man being hollower than the mask it hid behind. Ironically, the features of the mask had been its own a few years back, face alight with joyful savageness in the heat of battle. In recent years the he had forgotten how to smile, to laugh. His face muscles seemed to no longer obey, incapable of twisting into a grin even when he experienced the joys of being a masochist. His thoughts were interrupted by the shouting of men, raised voices in the dusk. The first rays of light crept over the rolling hills and shone off the silvery teeth, illuminating the blood lust in the grin. A new day, yet still no hope for redemption. The dark figure wearily turned towards the building which he resided in, a wolf in a hen house. It was an old manor, perhaps a hundred years old, beautifully crafted from ash-wood and black marble; veins of yellow criss-crossed through the dark stone, highlighting the sharp edges. For almost a full moon's’ turn he resided here on the side of a hill in the Red City. An icy hand that rested upon the handle of a dagger shook with quiet mirth, sinking the tip a millimeter further. A faint sigh rolled from his lips, and a strong nose above the faint, blue line; the eyes crowned the noble features, black orbs of hardened steel. This was the face of Davorin Orsava, once native to Orisia, and for a short spell, Guardian of the Blackheart. His sense of etiquette could have very well been drastically outdated, a stark contrast to a man who was once escorted by at least ten guards whenever he took a walk around town. He still had his speech, wits, and faint fragments of memory from his homeland. By long habit, the he pulled the tattered remnants of his black cloak around his shoulders, and then adjusted the scarf that he often wore over his nose and mouth. Most living men would be shivering violently, arms buried in armpits and ice encrusting the muffler from their breath-- but no mist gusted from the vampire's breath. No living man could stand here as sentinel. Now it was time to return to the training of his slaves, in which he so often gave meticulous attention to details.

It's good to see you back again.

Newborn to 3 months. They grow up so fast 😯