Today is of the Cycle Of The Seventh Moon.
Current Season & Month:  , Year: 543 A.R. (ref)

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The Grand Tiered Ballroom [Syltamul Estate]


Lassroyale
(@lassroyale)
Patron Saint of Hawtbois, Catboys, & BAMF Babes Noble
Joined: 1 year ago
Posts: 826
Journey starter  
(Syltamul) GRAND TIERED BALLROOM

The Grand Tiered Ballroom

 

The largest of the three entertainment spaces at the Syltamul Estate, the Grand Tiered Ballroom is also the most luxurious. Spacious and extravagantly appointed, the ballroom features two levels upon which party goers may mingle.  The bottom level is an open area that can be used as a dance floor and is also where any live music or entertainment will be set up.  The second tier overlooks the dance floor and is furnished with couches and low tables for guests to rest their feet, relax while conversing with fellow guests, or just people watch dancers on the floor below.  The Grand Tiered Ballroom is where the Syltamul’s yearly Masquerade Ball is held.

TOM-CAT: [KIANA BEACH:First Stab - POUNCE (★1/2) - WATCHER BATTLE (34/5/6/★7)] [GOBLIN EXTERMINATION (1)-(☆1/2)] – [ICE CAVES: Cliffhanger (★1/2) -PowderKeg (★1/2/3) - Hypothermia (4/5/6) - Imprint (7/8/9/)] [SUNSTEALER:(1/2/3/4)-(1/2)] –Miiya & Cat-Tom [SPARRING:(1/2/★3)] - ☆The Great Tipsu Hunt! - ☆Stolen Kiss Overwhelmed by Intimacy Returning to Her Bath Time Bonding Wings, Tails, & Love Cave Storms Climbing the Walls 1st Kiss Makeouts & Memories Laughter & Kisses Eros & Hormones Cat-Tom: Rescue Kitty! Cat-Tom vs. Skaven (Forced) Shift Back 9 Lives A Beast in the Darkness Reuniting w/Teleskela Bored Nihilism Cat vs. Dragon Emotionally Exhausted Bath Catboy, Interrupted All For Her Bellissimo Gato [BATH-HOUSE: Confessions(1/2/3/4)] Catboys Can Purr Bagels, Goodbyes, & Catboy Abduction Love Poem No, no, no...
───────────
DAETH: Breaking Callon - Pleasure w/Pain - Sensing Death - ★Kissing Fate(1/2) - Precariously Balanced Nature - At Long Last, Eddellyn - Soul Searching - Into the Maze - ★The Minotaur & The Labyrinth - Heart of the Maze - Before the Storm - Thunder & Honey - ★Ripped Gowns - ★Sensual Poetry - Warding Sigils - Hedonistic Filth & House-Sized Party Crasher - Confronting Maarazaar(1/2/3) - Ash Bunny Irihi
───────────
RISQUÉ: Fun with Fisticuffs!
[CHATTE]Enter Chatte - Chat w/Castor -Proposing the Race
[ASMODIEL & GALVINA] ★A Celestial & Demoness Play Cards - Asmodiel Smites a Feeder
──────────────────
[☆ = favorite / ★= extra fave]


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Lassroyale
(@lassroyale)
Patron Saint of Hawtbois, Catboys, & BAMF Babes Noble
Joined: 1 year ago
Posts: 826
Journey starter  

DAETH

The Bearer of the Mark

and Sacrifice to none

╺ ✽ ╸

“Time heals all wounds, but history never forgets.”

– Dakarai Jelani-Miller


[OOC: Part 1/2 -- post split for length. Continued in part 2 HERE]

 

╺ ✽ ╸

 

The world is filled with the essence of death. The rain is dry with ash and cinder; the blackened cast-off of a toxic blizzard. A single breath makes the lungs sootier than a mineworker of twenty-some years.  An unnatural darkness settles over the landscape like a blanket of fresh snow.  It casts everything in the muted palette of late evening twilight, but despite the gloom it's early, still morning.  Somewhere in the tar-thick darkness, the sun crawls blindly along its path.

Daeth sticks out his tongue; the air is poison.  Soot and the charred particles of cooked flesh drift through the air, mixing together like snowflakes in a gruesome blizzard. It coats the inside of his mouth with a faint, coppery tang; the fine, ashy residue has the same taste and texture as cremated remains.  All Daeth can taste is death.  He swallows; the faint, persistent aftertaste of carbonized bodies lingers under his tongue.  

The ground beneath his feet gives a sudden, violent jerk, and abruptly begins to tremble and shake like an animal trying to dislodge an infestation of fleas, followed by a rolling procession of loud CRACKS! that rend the air as a series of jagged fractures split the earth like chain lightning.  All at once, a tremendous geyser of Hellfire erupts from the ground, sending a seismic wave of fire and heat tearing across the landscape that scorches the earth.  The Hellfire continues to surge up from the cracked earth, spitting flames miles high into the air and creating a column of fire so hot, it burns blue. It licks at the air with a burning blue tongue, the heat so great that had Daeth been anyone else, anyone normal – anything normal – his flesh would’ve bubbled and blistered when that first surge of incredible heat crashed over him.

Cooked flesh.  I smell it.  Whose? Charred to perfection.

The twisting pillar of Hellfire fattens and coils, blue flames flickering orange-red before a spout of fire erupts from the main column with the suddenness of a solar flare. The tongue of flames flicks out, licking a hot stripe across the land that scalds everything it touches. Daeth is aware of the heat in an abstract way, feeling the warmth, the pressure on his flesh, and in his bones, without really feeling it at all.  He stops, his pupils lost in an amethyst glow as he watches a procession of wildly cavorting bodies snake towards the flaming pillar.  He barely notices as the Brand begins to throb, the dull ache quickly sharpening into something that slices the edge of his awareness.  He’s drawn forward.

The Brand begins to bleed.  First, a trickle.  Then, more.  The Brand bleeds like a vein's been opened.

From as far as the eye can see, demon-possessed bodies converged on the pillar of flame, carrying with them the souls of the innocent as they puppet their bodies like marionettes.   He can feel the innocent souls inside the roiling blackness of demonic malice, both cowering from and railing against the demons wearing their bodies like meatsuits.  Then, like a river of meaningless death, the demons cast themselves into the Hellfire, carelessly exuviating the skins they wear like dirty laundry; the stolen souls are scared, shriveled things that die screaming, shrieking, as they’re incinerated in the flames.  Daeth feels their deaths, lives their deaths, dies with them.   Briefly, he feels regret for the souls that the demons have taken and destroyed.  And then he succumbs to the white-out bliss of so many deaths so close to him.  He shudders.

I can taste your souls in my lungs.  I’ve died with you.  And your oblivion feels so damn good.  (Sorry.)

The demons writhe in the flames: wild, free, flowing around each other, through each other. It is a bacchanalian dance set to the music of howls and screams. They draw vitality from death, inhaling the ash that is to them the cleanest of air.  He moves closer and glimpses a shape standing within the flames.  Closer.  A few more steps.  The figure suddenly snaps into painfully sharp focus.  Daeth jerks to a halt, stopped dead in his tracks like he’s been cold clocked by War herself.

 

Standing in the center of it all, his fingers sliding through the fire, is the piper of the damned: himself.  

 

He’s laughing, wild, free, a strangely melodic resonance that vibrates in the air like the discordant notes from snapped violin strings.  And he’s not alone.  With him are two women, their faces curiously blank, one tall, one short, though both are wreathed in untamed hair that’s dark as pitch.  There’s a sense of power and beauty about them, something fierce and poignant in each of their bearings as their hair whips around their shoulders and writhes like something alive.  One stands by his side, laughing with him, weaving magic that reminds him of interlocking chain links.  The other stands close beneath the curve of a wing, one hand on her stomach, a dagger in the other. 

So familiar.  Like deja vu, and yet– 

Daeth’s attention is immediately snared by twists of light that spiral down from a sudden opening in the darkness.  Everything goes still as three beings streak towards him like falling stars, their forms like signatures of awesome energy that each resonate in their own key.   He glances at the scene before him: everything, everyone –  the demons, his facsimile, and the two women with him – are perfectly frozen in mid-action, like time itself has been paused.  And all once, everything was made clear, like waking up from a dream.  Daeth narrows his eyes as the three signatures of energy slow, and touch down in front of him, his arresting features arranged into an expression that falls somewhere between callousness, morbid curiosity, and bored indifference. 

Faex.  I should’ve known: the Moriai - the Three Fates. Wonderful.


The Fates Bill Dean

He folds his arms and waits, and with a bright flash of light, three beautiful women are standing before him.  They’re obviously sisters, all with similarly pretty faces, shapely figures, and burnished red hair.  Apart from their varied dress colors, it would be difficult for the average person to discern any real difference between each of the women.  Of course, Daeth isn’t an average person.  His demeanor immediately shifts into something subtly more predatory, as something akin to biting amusement dances through his rich violet eyes.  

He whistles, giving each of the Sisters a lingering look, a slow, amused grin spreading across his face as a pretty flush overtakes Clotho’s pale skin.  “Bene, at vos tres, (Well, look at you three),” he nearly purrs, the words riding the easy roll of his enticingly sleek tone. “Quantum tempus. (Long time, no see).”  He slips closer, moving with his aqueous grace and predatory sense impressed into his bones.  He steps around the Sisters, brushing teasingly by Atropos and Lachesis, then leans in, his breath tickling Clotho’s ear although his words are for all three.  “Quomodo vos dominarum? (How are you ladies?)"  Daeth’s smile is mostly teeth when Clotho turns to look at him, and he decides on a whim to collect a bit of tribute

It’s been so long since he has.  

He will never admit, least of all to himself, that there still exists an empty space buried deep within him, within his ancient past – from a time when he proudly claimed his birthright as the Son of Death – that calls out for it; for sacrifice, for tribute.  He can feel the call for it thrum in his blood, thick and red and Other, beating against the curved bones of his ribs like a tribal drumbeat.  Besides, he will take any opportunity to screw with the Fates – in a more literal sense, in this case

Daeth is confident and without hesitation as he reaches out and rests a hand rather companionably around Clotho’s waist, barely applying pressure with the tips of his fingers to draw her in.  He shifts, his palm a brand against the small of her back, grinning as her breath hitches once before she sort of falls into him without any urging on his part.  He doesn’t restrain, but he keeps her there as he catches and holds her gaze with the cage of his too-purple eyes, intense with intent.  Her face is tilted up towards his, held sway by the weight of his unrestrained gaze, the curve of his lips; he leans down as he tucks the fingers of his free hand beneath her chin.  

Salve satis unum, (Hello pretty one),” he says, his voice deep and rich and something else entirely than what it had been moments ago.  Something olde.  Something elemental. “Fateor, Clotho...Ego, sicut tu hoc modo. (I admit, Clotho…I like you this way).”  

And then he kisses her, the youngest of the Fates, collecting his tribute for them wasting his goddamned time.

He doesn’t do anything by half-measures and youngest of the Sisters is a quick study, quick to reciprocate.  There’s a desperate, eager edge to her kiss that gives him half a mind to throw her a misericordia irrumabo, though it’d probably be more of an odio irrumabo with how much he despises the Fates in general.  Daeth feels nothing as he deepens the contact and brings her right to the edge of losing herself completely, before abruptly breaking the kiss and stepping away with a  bark of loud, biting laughter.  He doesn't feel anything other than vindictiveness winding in his chest when he catches a glimpse of her bewildered expression, her two sisters immediately pulling her back to the safety of their huddle, shooting him glares sharp enough to cut.

He doesn’t care.  He only chuckles, the sound dark, viscous, and wholly unsympathetic.  Daeth spits on the ground between them, his eyes going hard in an instant as he gives them a smile that’s painful in its cold beauty.  It’s really more of a sneer and a snarl, his lips drawn back as he bares his teeth in something that was not really a grin at all.  It’s something far more dangerous, the spaces between his teeth filled with the promise that he would burn them down to the concept of them and burn through the very fabric of who they were, until all that anyone remembered of them - of the Fates - was ash and cinder.

How dare you!” screeches Lachesis the Allotter, middle sister of the Fates.  She grips her rod as if it was a dagger with which she would stab him. 

Ssson of Death,” hisses Atropos the Inflexible, the eldest of the Fates.  “Impertinent as ever.”  She reflexively opens and closes the scissors in her hand as if she was compulsively seeking to cut the thread of his life that wasn’t there.   

Clotho the Spinner, youngest of the Fates, spits out a sputtering, angry invective.  “Death Angel,” she pushes the words through her clenched teeth.  “You are just like your Father.”  The words are harsh, though she seems to be at odds within herself, warring between fury and desire.  She twists the spool of thread in her hands in an unconsciously anxious gesture. 


[OOC: Part 1/2 - post is continued in part 2 below, found HERE]

 

TOM-CAT: [KIANA BEACH:First Stab - POUNCE (★1/2) - WATCHER BATTLE (34/5/6/★7)] [GOBLIN EXTERMINATION (1)-(☆1/2)] – [ICE CAVES: Cliffhanger (★1/2) -PowderKeg (★1/2/3) - Hypothermia (4/5/6) - Imprint (7/8/9/)] [SUNSTEALER:(1/2/3/4)-(1/2)] –Miiya & Cat-Tom [SPARRING:(1/2/★3)] - ☆The Great Tipsu Hunt! - ☆Stolen Kiss Overwhelmed by Intimacy Returning to Her Bath Time Bonding Wings, Tails, & Love Cave Storms Climbing the Walls 1st Kiss Makeouts & Memories Laughter & Kisses Eros & Hormones Cat-Tom: Rescue Kitty! Cat-Tom vs. Skaven (Forced) Shift Back 9 Lives A Beast in the Darkness Reuniting w/Teleskela Bored Nihilism Cat vs. Dragon Emotionally Exhausted Bath Catboy, Interrupted All For Her Bellissimo Gato [BATH-HOUSE: Confessions(1/2/3/4)] Catboys Can Purr Bagels, Goodbyes, & Catboy Abduction Love Poem No, no, no...
───────────
DAETH: Breaking Callon - Pleasure w/Pain - Sensing Death - ★Kissing Fate(1/2) - Precariously Balanced Nature - At Long Last, Eddellyn - Soul Searching - Into the Maze - ★The Minotaur & The Labyrinth - Heart of the Maze - Before the Storm - Thunder & Honey - ★Ripped Gowns - ★Sensual Poetry - Warding Sigils - Hedonistic Filth & House-Sized Party Crasher - Confronting Maarazaar(1/2/3) - Ash Bunny Irihi
───────────
RISQUÉ: Fun with Fisticuffs!
[CHATTE]Enter Chatte - Chat w/Castor -Proposing the Race
[ASMODIEL & GALVINA] ★A Celestial & Demoness Play Cards - Asmodiel Smites a Feeder
──────────────────
[☆ = favorite / ★= extra fave]


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Lassroyale
(@lassroyale)
Patron Saint of Hawtbois, Catboys, & BAMF Babes Noble
Joined: 1 year ago
Posts: 826
Journey starter  

DAETH

The Bearer of the Mark

and Sacrifice to none

╺ ✽ ╸


[OOC: Part 2/2 -- post split for length. Previous part 1: HERE]


 

 “Death Angel,” she pushes the words through her clenched teeth.  “You are just like your Father.” 

 

╺ ✽ ╸

Daeth narrows his eyes at her, something complicated and dark moving in the depths of his gaze.  His eyes are dangerously light, the color shifting from amethyst to a pinkish-purple lilac.  When he speaks, his voice reverberates through the air, the sound as thick and ancient as the rich red earth.  “Non audes mentionem Patrem meum iterum.”  He doesn’t raise his voice, every syllable gently brushed with forewarning. “Disperdam vos et omnia.  Et quod est promissum.” He speaks the words like an oath, the echo of his voice suffused with quiet menace as oblique and certain as distant thunder. 

You have no” begins Lachesis, before she’s abruptly cut off by Daeth.

Flaccio non faccio! (I don’t give a damn!)” he snaps, his voice lashing out like the crack of a whip.  “Spare me the lecture.  There’s no other reason to appear thusly,” he states dryly, gesturing to their general shapes.  His lip curls in disgust.  “Unless it was on purposeWe both know how you really look, so you chose these forms because you seek to manipulate, to tempt.”   He snorts.  “Tell me I’m wrong.”   He waits.  Nobody raises their voice in disagreement.  He pulls his lips back into a rictus grin.  “Consider it your payment, your tribute to me, for wasting my damn time.”  His grin sharpens to a razor’s edge, something greedy and dark smudged into the corners.  “I could’ve taken more, but I’m not nearly drunk enough for that.”  His laugh is like a slap to the face.  “Now what do you want? Let’s get this over with.

He paces restlessly away, to look once more at himself and the two faceless women standing unmoving, crystallized in frozen Hellfire.  He looks back over his shoulder at the Fates.  “And drop this farce.  I know your true forms,” he says, his voice deepening with the command infused into his tone.  Then he speaks in a language that hasn’t been heard by mortal ears in longer than memory serves, naming each Sister by their true names.  The Three Fates suddenly begin to twitch and writhe as their shapes pull apart and twine back together into their true forms. 

 


5120120 graeae

 

Daeth eyes the twisted aspects of the Fates’ true forms, giving them a nod of approval.  They appear as the textbook definition of old witches or hags, but at least it’s real.  He no longer feels like they’re actively trying to deceive him.  It helps.  Somewhat.  It doesn’t make him soften towards them any, but it goes a long way towards him listening to them with any sort of equanimity.  He gestures at them to go on and then turns back around, folding his arms and studying each of the faceless women trapped with the facsimile of him in the frozen pillar of flame, trying to discern any hint of familiarity. 

 

Daeth, Son of Death,” intones Atropos.

Who’s Father, the God of Death,” continues Lachesis.

Is known by many names,” finishes Clotho.

Daemos,” named Atropos.

Arkhamos,” named Lachesis.

And Shinigami,” named Clotho.

Daeth, Son of Death,” they say in unison, with the power and fluidity of water carving through canyons.  “He who also has many names.

The Abomination of Death,” named Clotho.

A Cosmic Joke,” named Lachesis.

Hellspawn,” named Atropos.  

Once more the Three Fates speak as one.  “Death Angel,” they say.  Their voices rise like a banshee howling through an empty moor.  “And finally, the Bearer of the Mark, and Sacrifice to None.”  Daeth heaves a sigh.

Faex, do you three have anything new to tell me? Or was this little visit because you’re honestly trying to bed me?” He sneers.  “Because I’m bored.  And way too sober to even consider the latter.

You’ve seen our vision,” Atropos hisses, throwing her spindly arms wide to indicate the whole environment.  “Rather, you’ve seen your future, Son of Death.”

One possible future,” amends Lachesis, glancing at her sister.  “Should you keep treading the path that you’re on.

A likely future, nonetheless,” promises Clotho.  “One bathed both in light and cast into darkness.”

Daeth doesn’t attempt to hide his unimpressed expression.  He looks coolly at each of the Fates in turn, his gaze still the lighter color of his verum conspectu – true sight.  He raises an elegant brow, his lips pressed into a thin line.  “Care to, oh, I don’t know, tell me anything actually useful?” He shakes his head, running long fingers through his hair, as he sweeps back the dark fringe that fell across his brow.  “Who are the women?” he asks, unable to swallow the question back down.

That cannot be revealed,” they say, speaking as one like a three-person Greek Chorus.  

Of course,” Daeth mutters.  “Why would it? That might actually be helpful.”  He makes a low, frustrated noise in the back of his throat, now just plain irritated.  “So what? If I keep going down ‘this path I’m on’...what?”  He smirks irreverently.  “I have a threesome in a pillar of Hellfire with some demons to bear witness?”  He shrugs expansively.  “Aside from the demons, that doesn’t sound like a half-bad deal.”  He pauses, his lips twitching, and can’t help but crack a bad joke.  “Sounds hot.” He chuckles at his own truly terrible “joke”, and finds that he’s all at once done with the conversation and the Fates.  He claps his hands together.  “Well ladies, if that’s all, this was a truly pointless tete-a-tete, and–

You would do well to listen to us, Son of Death!” boom the Fates, their entwined voices cracking the air like a lightning strike.  Their eyes glow as the hags draw themselves up from where they were hunched over.  Their limbs seem too-long and very thin; the shadows they throw remind Daeth of thin, stretched legs of spiders.  

Nere telarum Fati,’ he thinks; ‘spinning the webs of Fate.’  He fixes the Three Fates with a stormy expression, his violet eyes inscrutable and nearly glowing in the weird, dull light of whatever nexus they’ve spun so they could even have this chat with him.  “Then what?” he seethes, biting out the words.  He clenches his jaw tight, feeling his patience beginning to be stretched thin.  “Speak plainly and speak quickly.” 

Listen close and listen well, for we are The Moriai, the Spinners of Destiny.”  As they speak in unison, their speech is at first warped and slightly out of step; a tuning fork dipped in liquid silver and struck against granite.  Syllable by syllable, their voices align until it becomes its own voice entirely, clear, perfectly unique, and impossible to distinguish any individual voice within the collective.  “Though you lack a Thread in our loom, Death Angel, your very nature changes the destiny of every life with whom you become entangled.  It is…aggravating.”  The earth shakes as they grind out the last word. 

Hear us, Daeth, the Son of the God of Death, the Abomination, the Bearer of the Mark.”  The Fate’s voice reverberated through the cracked landscape.  “You walk a path whose steps cannot be retread.  Once you go down it, there is no going back.  Two women, one path.”  The Fates pause and Daeth feels electricity in the air like the gathering of a storm behind the set of his shoulders. The hair on his neck stands on end. 

Choose neither,”  The words are spoken with finality, hanging in the air like the punctuation point of the last sentence in an archaic tome.

For a long moment, Daeth simply regards the Three Fates, their last statement hanging heavy in the air between them.  Tension crackles through the atmosphere, skipping along his skin, licking at it like an electric current.  And then, he laughs.  It’s a hollow, derisive sound and filled with the depth of Daeth’s contempt.  His eyes are cold.

 “As if you give a damn.”  He slashes in a downwards gesture, as if cutting through any protest or response.  “Don’t,” he says harshly. “I’m tired of your bovis stercus.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Stay.out.of.my.life.”  He enunciates each word clearly, pushing them through the terse clench of his teeth.  He breathes out, trying to untangle the knot of irritation, loathing, and disgust that’s fisted in his chest.  When he looks back to the Fates, he lifts his chin, a careless half-grin twitching the corner of his delectable lips, upwards. 

Hic scriptor idea, (Here’s an idea),” he began casually, his eyes settling back into their usual amethyst hue.  “Cur non ire utriusque alius, qui fatum non imperium? (Why don’t you go bother someone else, that fate doesn’t control)?” He cants his head to the side, considering, before he snaps his fingers.  “I know. I sensed  the Sidhe  back in the worlde, no doubt causing trouble somewhere.  He probably even has a new apprentice’, ” he makes air quotes, his lips twisting wryly.  “Or whatever he says to make himself feel better.”  He huffs out a small laugh that’s both sardonic and sympathetic, in turns.  “Another girl, because why wouldn’t he?”  He turns away and waves a hand dismissively.  

Tell the Sidhe that Daeth says hi and to give my regards to whatever new girl is following him.”  ‘And my pity to her, too,’ he thinks, but doesn’t say out loud.  “Now send me back – I’m missing my party.

Without a word or bidding of farewell, with a flash of light the Three Fates released Daeth from their nexus and from the vision that held him sway.

 

╺ ✽ ╸

 

Daeth blinked and was pleased to find himself back in the present, ensconced on a couch on the upper tier of the Grand Tiered Ballroom of the Syltamul Estate.  His position in the room both allowed people to see him from both the upper and lower tiers, while also providing him with an overall view of the partygoers mingling on the ballroom floor below.   The couch was turned towards the railing, and he sat leaned back against the cushions at one end with an arm stretched along the back, holding a flute of champagne in his free hand.  He sat casually with one his ankle resting across the bent knee of his other leg.  

Callon was seated at the other end of the couch, looking resplendent in a costume of black and green with a simple black masquerade mask with tiny emerald chips adorning it.  The young Lord was currently engaged with some guests who Daeth didn’t recognize, and who were apparently not important enough to warrant an introduction, as Callon had declined to make it.  That was fine by him, he really didn’t care about most of these people, though he did his part by smiling, flirting, and glad-handing those Callon and Amarice deemed important enough to introduce him to. 

Daeth tipped his head back for a moment, exposing the long line of his throat as he breathed out a quiet sigh and attempted to put some order to his jumbled thoughts.  It was a fairly useless endeavor; all he could see when he shut his eyes was the Fates’ goddamned vision, their cryptic words echoing in his ears.  “Deodamnatus,” he muttered under his breath.  The death angel drained his champagne and set the empty glass delicately down on a small side table as he rose from his seat in one fluid movement.  A server spied his empty glass and hastened over with another drink, which Daeth accepted with a small smile and nod of thanks.

He winked at Callon, held up a staying hand at the other man’s questioning look, and wandered over to the railing that overlooked the main ballroom floor below.  Daeth leaned against it in a careless slouch, his outfit looking as if he'd been stitched into it.  The jacket, at first glance, appeared black, except for when it caught the light and revealed it to actually be a gorgeous, deep indigo hue.  The finespun fabric, the unusual color, and M.Chemaux’s expert craftsmanship, did much to make Daeth's costume stand out, helping to enhance the defined contours of his figure and  draw attention to the broadness of his shoulder, the long lines of his torso, and the leanness of his waist as he stood by the railing.  As a bonus, the mandarin collar hid the Brand from view.

Masked and at ease, the dark angel undoubtledly cut a captivating and mysterious figure as he gazed out over the ballroom beneath him and watched people come and go.

 


Spoiler
What Daeth said to Clotho

"Non audes mentionem Patrem meum." - Don't you dare mention my Father again. 

"Iterum, Disperdam vos et omnia.  Et quod est promissum"- (Or) I will Destroy you and everything you are. And that is a promise

 [OOC: Part 2/2 - previous part 1 can be found HERE]

 

 

TOM-CAT: [KIANA BEACH:First Stab - POUNCE (★1/2) - WATCHER BATTLE (34/5/6/★7)] [GOBLIN EXTERMINATION (1)-(☆1/2)] – [ICE CAVES: Cliffhanger (★1/2) -PowderKeg (★1/2/3) - Hypothermia (4/5/6) - Imprint (7/8/9/)] [SUNSTEALER:(1/2/3/4)-(1/2)] –Miiya & Cat-Tom [SPARRING:(1/2/★3)] - ☆The Great Tipsu Hunt! - ☆Stolen Kiss Overwhelmed by Intimacy Returning to Her Bath Time Bonding Wings, Tails, & Love Cave Storms Climbing the Walls 1st Kiss Makeouts & Memories Laughter & Kisses Eros & Hormones Cat-Tom: Rescue Kitty! Cat-Tom vs. Skaven (Forced) Shift Back 9 Lives A Beast in the Darkness Reuniting w/Teleskela Bored Nihilism Cat vs. Dragon Emotionally Exhausted Bath Catboy, Interrupted All For Her Bellissimo Gato [BATH-HOUSE: Confessions(1/2/3/4)] Catboys Can Purr Bagels, Goodbyes, & Catboy Abduction Love Poem No, no, no...
───────────
DAETH: Breaking Callon - Pleasure w/Pain - Sensing Death - ★Kissing Fate(1/2) - Precariously Balanced Nature - At Long Last, Eddellyn - Soul Searching - Into the Maze - ★The Minotaur & The Labyrinth - Heart of the Maze - Before the Storm - Thunder & Honey - ★Ripped Gowns - ★Sensual Poetry - Warding Sigils - Hedonistic Filth & House-Sized Party Crasher - Confronting Maarazaar(1/2/3) - Ash Bunny Irihi
───────────
RISQUÉ: Fun with Fisticuffs!
[CHATTE]Enter Chatte - Chat w/Castor -Proposing the Race
[ASMODIEL & GALVINA] ★A Celestial & Demoness Play Cards - Asmodiel Smites a Feeder
──────────────────
[☆ = favorite / ★= extra fave]


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Wynterleaf
(@wynterleaf)
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~Eddellyn Wynterleaf~

[OOC: from The Front Entrance Hall [Estate Interior: Ground Floor]

The elves had indeed been Travion’s friends and after an enthusiastic greeting, he motioned Wynterleaf forward to make introductions, to which she returned a polite if subdued hello. There had been a mix of curiosity and speculation in the gaze of the Lord and Lady, though not just directed at herself, they seemed equally interested in the reasons why Travion had brought a guest at all. There was little heed paid to the fact she was a stranger to Ufaeria and in fact, she had the impression that her unknown status granted Travion a bit more cachet. However, Wynterleaf tactfully deflected anything that might have revealed too much of her background or how they met, wanting to refrain from saying anything that might reflect poorly on Travion’s judgment.

After several minutes of polite discord, the concussive sound of applause filled the corridor and Wynterleaf was relieved when the group turned their attention toward the source. The small circulation of guests in the entry area naturally followed the noise, gravitating toward the ballroom, where people were now stoppered at the doorway craning to catch a glimpse of the interior.

Ahead, she heard someone swooning over the stature and dress of someone they referred to as Doruk Domae and the not so quiet response from their companion saying the animal could feast on them whenever he wished. A tittering of laughs and other naughty comments followed, unfazed by the colorful language, Wynterleaf drifted away, following her escort as the crowd parted to allow them further into the ballroom.

It became evident that their group had just missed the grand presentation of the Syltamuls honored guest and now, many of the guests eagerly sought personal introductions, pressing toward the staircase that led upward to where the hosts held court on the upper tier of the ballroom. For her part, Wynterleaf was less interested in catching a glimpse of the lauded guest than she was in the hosts themselves. She was curious to assess the Syltamul couple firsthand, to see the manner of the noble elves that held much of the countryside in thrall. However, the pressing crowd of bodies and her lack of height made it impossible to catch more than a glimpse of the balustrade that circled the upper floor, if there was anything to be seen beyond that, she could not tell.

The haunting vibrations of a bow stroking across string permeated the air as the orchestra began a new set, the sound prompting many ladies and lords to collect their partner (or trio in one case), and fall into place on the dance floor, their feet lithely executing the intricate steps of a dance. Though just as many guests remained on the periphery of the area, the flirtatious laughter and clinking of crystal glasses not wholly disruptive against the backdrop of the waltz the musicians were currently playing.

Someone, Travion or one of his friends, remarked about joining in the dance but Wynterleaf was too distracted scouting for exits to register who had made the suggestion. Her initial apprehension of the masquerade and meeting guests behind her, her focus had returned to retrieving her gear from the hedge maze. Intentionally or unintentionally, someone brushed her arm to her left and she shifted in that direction to find Travion looking at her in part expectation and resignation.

Apologies Trav, my attention strayed for a moment… Did you say something?

Before he could answer, she saw his gaze dart toward something over her shoulder as he murmured in her ear, “It looks like you’ve gained a reprieve. Please excuse me while I give my regards to our hostess.

He stepped around Wynterleaf and she turned to see him intercept a blonde elven woman, her bearing regal and commanding, and perform a flawless bow, before he held out his hand and escorted the woman onto the dancefloor.

Lady Amarice ap Nudd-Syltamul.

Wynterleaf didn’t know if someone said the name aloud or if she instinctively knew, but the name rang clear in her mind. Even without Travion’s remark about speaking to the hostess, it was clear that was the identity of the elven woman, she commanded the attention of everyone in the vicinity, whether through awe of status or fear of influence, the crowd's eyes were trained on the pair as they circled the dance.

It was now that Wynterleaf saw her opportunity and she began to edge backward and sideways through the crowd, sliding by other guests as they were preoccupied with gossip and drink. Each step was carefully timed and deliberate, like she too performed a dance, until she found herself near the wall and one of the servants’ exits, carefully disguised with the same heavy black drapes that decorated the front entryway. Patiently, she waited until no one was looking before she swiftly turned and disappeared into the corridor.

 

Spoiler
OOC:

@Lassroyale I tried not to take too many liberties with Travion but as discussed / planned, he is off to dance with Amarice. But definitely course correct if gone wrong!

Spoiler
OOC: Elven Translation
Doruk Domae: Dark Wolf


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Lassroyale
(@lassroyale)
Patron Saint of Hawtbois, Catboys, & BAMF Babes Noble
Joined: 1 year ago
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Journey starter  

 

DAETH

The Bearer of the Mark

and Sacrifice to none

╺ ✽ ╸

“The memory of you emerges from the night around me.”

– Pablo Naruda

 

There’s a brief moment right after Callon and Amarice have ‘presented’ him to the voracious attendees of the Masquerade Ball, where Daeth’s attention is ensnared by something strange.  It’s not anything familiar, nor is it anything that reeks of insidiousness or of danger.  It’s more the absence of sense, like the brief abatement of lifelong chronic pain that goes mostly unnoticed until it’s not there anymore.  A void.  The sudden aberration of null space where there should be none, feels like an electrical current that’s been interrupted, and makes enough of a ripple beneath the surface of his thoughts to briefly draw his attention. 

It’s important to know that the duality of Daeth's nature is always in conflict.  Perhaps it’s due to the abhorrent circumstance under which he'd been born, sired from the brutally violent and merciless profanation of a Celestial, of an angel – of his Matris – who had the misfortune of igniting the lusts of a God.  He’d heard the story only once when he was little and his Father, in one of the cruelest acts ever perpetrated upon him, relayed the tale of his siring in no small amount of detail…and then forced Daeth to bear witness as he demonstrated every vile act upon his exhausted mother.  (That day, any innocence inside him shattered and died…and from its smoldering ashes something else gestated and was born: a soul-deep, burning hatred for his Father.)  

 While all of that is in the ancient past, the duality and clash of his very essence, is not. 

The balance of his conflicting nature is precarious, at best.  It’s something within him that’s constant, inexorable; he is always aware of the relentless and enduring thrum of Life, ever pushing against the steady and inevitable pull of Death.  Each is the other’s perfect antithesis, both pressing against every fiber of his elan vital  in harmonic reinforcement until a sort of concinnity is achieved.  It’s a delicate pulse that’s as steady and true as his own heartbeat; it's something that's always there, an immutable, familiar cadence that’s as enduring and as subtle as cellular mitosis. 

Daeth is at the railing in between Amarice and Callon, standing at a three-quarter model’s pose when he feels the divergence in the heretofore unbroken feel of vis vitae that spans the pressurized caisson of his every hollow space.  The sudden sensation of null space is like having a pressure valve unexpectedly released.  It tears through his thoughts and draws his attention to the crowd jostling for position below him, his mask hiding the intensity of his gaze as he levels it, full bore, upon the sea of costumed and masked faces turned up towards him.  He scans the extravagantly dressed revelers, absently noting the rapaciousniness that seems to circulate between the press of colorfully dressed bodies, making the crowd seem to pulse and shift like one large, living organism.  His amethyst eyes almost glow with the intensity of his searching gaze, bright against the black velvet material that conceals his identity as he sweeps his attention out over the ballroom floor.  

Daeth doesn’t exactly know what he’s seeking, though his scrutiny falls on the main doors to the ballroom where latecomers were trickling in, drawn by the increasingly loud murmuring of the crowd.  Before he can really focus, however, the ballroom erupts into uproarious applause as – he presumes – Callon and Amarice finish their speech.  He looks away from the door and slides an arm around the waists of both Lord and Lady Syltamul, an easy, wolfish grin settling onto the full curve of his lips as they twitched up at the corners.   The aberration of null space passes, and, as nobles eager for some face time with both the Syltamuls and their honored guest began to surge up the stairs to the second tier, is soon forgotten.

 

╺ ✽ ╸ 

 

The visit from the Three Fates leaves Daeth restless and unsettled, despite what he told them and what he tells himself.  When he sees an opportunity to slip away for a moment to collect himself, his thoughts, and maybe get some fresh air, he does.


[OOC: to the hallway and through the shadows to the Music Parlour]

TOM-CAT: [KIANA BEACH:First Stab - POUNCE (★1/2) - WATCHER BATTLE (34/5/6/★7)] [GOBLIN EXTERMINATION (1)-(☆1/2)] – [ICE CAVES: Cliffhanger (★1/2) -PowderKeg (★1/2/3) - Hypothermia (4/5/6) - Imprint (7/8/9/)] [SUNSTEALER:(1/2/3/4)-(1/2)] –Miiya & Cat-Tom [SPARRING:(1/2/★3)] - ☆The Great Tipsu Hunt! - ☆Stolen Kiss Overwhelmed by Intimacy Returning to Her Bath Time Bonding Wings, Tails, & Love Cave Storms Climbing the Walls 1st Kiss Makeouts & Memories Laughter & Kisses Eros & Hormones Cat-Tom: Rescue Kitty! Cat-Tom vs. Skaven (Forced) Shift Back 9 Lives A Beast in the Darkness Reuniting w/Teleskela Bored Nihilism Cat vs. Dragon Emotionally Exhausted Bath Catboy, Interrupted All For Her Bellissimo Gato [BATH-HOUSE: Confessions(1/2/3/4)] Catboys Can Purr Bagels, Goodbyes, & Catboy Abduction Love Poem No, no, no...
───────────
DAETH: Breaking Callon - Pleasure w/Pain - Sensing Death - ★Kissing Fate(1/2) - Precariously Balanced Nature - At Long Last, Eddellyn - Soul Searching - Into the Maze - ★The Minotaur & The Labyrinth - Heart of the Maze - Before the Storm - Thunder & Honey - ★Ripped Gowns - ★Sensual Poetry - Warding Sigils - Hedonistic Filth & House-Sized Party Crasher - Confronting Maarazaar(1/2/3) - Ash Bunny Irihi
───────────
RISQUÉ: Fun with Fisticuffs!
[CHATTE]Enter Chatte - Chat w/Castor -Proposing the Race
[ASMODIEL & GALVINA] ★A Celestial & Demoness Play Cards - Asmodiel Smites a Feeder
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Lassroyale
(@lassroyale)
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Journey starter  

DAETH

The Bearer of the Mark

╺ ✽ ╸

"The rising of birds in their flight is the sign of an ambuscade. Startled beasts indicate that an attack is coming. "

– Sun Tzu


[OOC: from The West Garden Gazebo — Estate Grounds - WEST]


 

Though his attention was mainly on the Nobles who were finally hurrying along the winding path back up to the main estate, Daeth couldn’t help but eavesdrop a bit as Eddellyn engaged her date, the young Lord Travion Winterlow, in amusing and witty repartee that seemed both lighthearted and laden with innuendo, in turns.  Although it didn’t appear as if the two knew each other intimately, there was a level of comfort to their interaction that spoke of an easy familiarity and burgeoning friendship.  He wondered how Eddellyn had managed to not only secure legitimate entry into the Syltamul’s Masquerade, but also position herself as the date of the second most eligible bachelor in Liathlidor–if the gossip about the young Lord Winterlow was to be believed, of course. 

In fact, Callon and Amarice had been most disgruntled by the possibility that all of the carefully orchestrated attention that they'd garnered with their visit to The Lavish Hand a few days prior, had threatened to be absorbed when the fact that Travion was  bringing an actual date to the Masquerade—that wasn't his horse—had set the rumor mill ablaze with salacious gossip about Lord Winterlow's "outsider" date.  Neither the Lord or Lady Syltamul had been amused, but all the same both had admitted that Travion bringing a live, flesh and blood date to one of their parties wasn’t a premeditated gambit by the young Lord.  According to Callon, Travion bringing a date was, “Almost certainly not given any forethought, and if I know Trav at all, he was probably goaded into it, somehow.  He probably asked this outsider  on a whim–I wouldn’t be surprised if that pompous arse, Coel, was involved somehow.”  

Daeth bit back a snicker.  He’d bet one of his Kingship Bands that Eddellyn just stumbled her way into both the invitation and date due to her natural “charm”.  He'll never understand it, but it was undeniable that the more reserved the grey-eyed Elfess was with people, the more determined they were to gain her favor.  It was as if she possessed an unintentional—and, more often than not, unwanted—superpower that made people want to befriend her the colder she became towards them. And if what he has been told about the young Lord Winterlow from casual remarks and other secondhand rumors was even a tiny bit accurate, Travion would probably have been helplessly intrigued by Eddellyn's polite, yet distant demeanor.   After all, the petite bandit was about as far from a Noble lady as one could get, and, based on Travion's reputation, the young Lord Winterlow was a bit of an outcast amongst his fellow Bridgeway Nobles for eschewing the usual games of political intrigue and social positioning that seemed to fill the daily calendars of most of the Liathlidor aristocracy.

The fact that Eddellyn met and got to know this Noble in particular, out of all the Nobles she could have run across when she first arrived in Greyhaven, was almost serendipitous.  Daeth hid his scowl, his jaw tightening as he was once again reminded of the Fates and the warning they’d delivered to him earlier that night; when it came to their precious tapestry, the damned Fates never could leave (him) well enough alone.  Hn, maybe he should have thrown Clotho a pity lay, after all.  The dark angel pondered, not for the first time, if the Sidhe were also subjected to such stupid amounts of annoyance and interference. Knowing that the Fool  had to deal with the same absurdity from the Fates as he did, would at least slightly ease Daeth's frustration.

As they followed a narrow, partially hidden path that wound back towards the main estate grounds, Daeth hooked a thumb in one of his belt loops and paced a little ahead of the pair, taking a moment to reach out with his senses in order to gain some idea of how much of his warding had been destroyed.  For those unfamiliar with the death angel, his bearing would undoubtedly seem rather casual, with his walk filled with that odd, thoughtless elegance of his that frequently made his movements appear almost lackadaisical, if not outright careless, with apparently little to no attention given to where he trod at any one time.  However, those used to his customary attitude of casual detachment in the face of most circumstances, regardless of any alleged level of threat or danger, would already have discerned that Daeth was anything but relaxed.   Even if the telltale clues were at best nebulous, they were still there for those who knew to look for them: the most evident ones were in the sculpted tightness of his jaw, the squared-off set of his shoulders, and the imperceptible straightening of his spine.

Daeth was on edge.

Almost all of the safeguards he’d crafted and woven over the estate grounds had been destroyed outright.  The only wards still standing that had been left mostly intact, were the ones that surrounded the main building, and even those needed to be re-fortified.   While Daeth still hadn’t figured out who or what had destroyed his protections surrounding the estate, one thing had been made abundantly clear: his wards hadn’t been eradicated at random.  No, the Game had been deliberately and methodically broken, and whatever the motivation, it wasn't good.  

By the time the trio reached the estate’s west end, they’d rounded up another dozen or so revelers from various shadowy corners of the estate grounds.  Thankfully, the interrupted partygoers had only offered up token resistance to Daeth’s direct order of, “Goddamn it, get your asses back to the estate, now,” in a few disgruntled mutters and lagging in petty opposition as they slowly set their costumes to rights and headed back to the estate.  Daeth could only guess at the number of pointless complaints that the Nobles who’d been disrupted in the middle of their festivities were, at that very moment, almost definitely lodging with the Callon and Amarice.  He imagined that the few dozen lords and ladies he'd displaced from their dalliances in the gardens, were most assuredly kicking up a fuss in the ballroom, as they whinged and protested the "unduly harsh tone" that the Syltamul’s Guest of Honor had taken with them. 

Daeth grit his teeth.  That was the last thing he wanted to deal with–he was already anticipating the headache of having to deal with the laughable “claim” that Callon and Amarice thought they had on him.  He was so lost in thought that Daeth didn’t notice Eddellyn come up alongside him until she reached out and took his hand in her own.   Daeth felt some of his tension ebb at her reassuring squeeze, and he was immediately grateful for her presence—even if he would have preferred that she not be anywhere near what he felt was lurking on the horizon.

The dark angel squeezed Eddellyn’s hand in return, before he let go and slipped an arm around her waist, simply because he could and, perhaps selfishly, for the comfort he gleaned from just being close to the petite Elfess.  He peered over Eddellyn’s shoulder, his bright amethyst gaze finding Travion’s sharp hazel eyes in the darkness.  He lifted his chin and nodded to the side of the path, silently asking for the young Lord to wait a moment.  Daeth's lips thinned out into a terse moue when Travion initially just raised a tawny brow in response, though gave a brief nod of thanks as the other man stepped wordlessly off the path and stood silently to one side, a second later.   The dark angel narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he studied the handsome Elf, before turning his attention back to Eddellyn.  

Daeth pulled Eddellyn aside and settled a hand on the divot of her hip, momentarily boxing Travion out of their conversation.  He smiled down at the petite bandit, and though its edges were tight it was nonetheless genuine.  Daeth yielded to impulse and kissed her, partly because he wanted to and partly because he had the uneasy sense that he might not have another chance to do so in the near future.  He refused to acknowledge the feeling–he was simply being overly anxious because of some latent fear that he’d lose Eddellyn again, after she’d just come back into his life. 

That’s all.   

Right.

Either way, the embrace lasted for far longer than any kiss that wasn’t a Casablanca-esque kiss me as if it were the last time  type kiss had any right to last.  When Daeth finally pulled away, however, he stared into Eddellyn’s winter grey-eyes with an expression that was entirely too serious for the amount of passion that had just passed between them.   “Eddellyn,” he said roughly, lowering his voice as he bent towards her once more.  “Cormeum,” he whispered, raising a hand to brush away a loose tendril of dark hair from her face.  He curved his hand around to the back of her neck, resting it heavily against her nape.   “Tell me, do you trust Travion? Is he trustworthy–can he be counted on, should a situation arise that calls for it?”  Daeth purposefully declined to mention just what type of situation might necessitate the Elf lord’s help. 

I know you’ve already picked up on the…pressure in the air,” he said urgently, quickly pressing on, not wanting to tarry outside longer than necessary.  “Whoever or whatever destroyed my wards did so with purpose–the way they went about it was no mistake.  They intended to bring down my protections and I can only think of one reason for doing so…”  Daeth sucked in a sharp breath and gave Eddellyn a meaningful look, before lifting a hand to the Brand on his neck, his lips pressed into a grim line.  “Still, whatever took down my wards, was only able to completely eradicate them across the estate grounds.  They weren’t able to fully destroy the protection laid on the estate itself, but not for a lack of trying.”  Daeth lowered his face alongside Eddellyn’s so he could speak directly into her ear.  “And I don’t believe that whoever or whatever attempted to destroy the wards on the estate, would have left the job half-finished.”  He paused, clenching his teeth in fury.  “They’re still here, Edde, I can feel it.  And my guess is that they’re cloaked, yet hiding in plain sight amongst the revelers, just waiting for the right opportunity to finish the job.”  

Daeth pulled back slightly and met Eddellyn’s gaze.  “I may need your help flushing them out, especially if I end up…engaged, with other things.”  Again, Daeth touched the Brand on his neck, this time without meaning to.  “If you trust Travion, then recruit his help.”  He took Eddellyn’s face in his hands and fixed her with a severe, though imploring, expression.  “Please Edde, cormeum, if push comes to shove, do not seek out whatever is lurking within the estate on your own.  Promise me.

Realistically, the dark angel knew that he couldn’t force Eddellyn to do anything she didn’t want to, but knew that he had to ask it, all the same.  Only after he received some type of acquiescence that, if it came to down to it, she wouldn’t go it alone, did Daeth continue with the two Elves into the estate.  Before they entered the Grand Tiered Ballroom, Daeth took Eddellyn’s hand in his own and entwined their fingers.  He raised their clasped hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to her rune-adorned knuckles.  Then he straightened and walked through the glass doors that led from the estate grounds to the lower level of the Grand Tiered Ballroom...

and no sooner had all three stepped across the threshold than Daeth gasped and buckled, doubling over like he’d been sucker punched by a rampaging Jotunn.  Every pain receptor in his body flared up, giving him the sensation that all of his nerves had been suddenly split and flayed raw at the same time. His entire body went rigid as agony ripped through him.  

Daeth slammed a hand over his neck, forcing a curse through his tightly clenched teeth–the abnormal amount of blood that was pouring from the Brand felt warm and sticky as it spilled over his fingers and coated his palm.  With some effort, he managed to unclamp his fingers from Eddellyn's shoulder, which he'd reflexively gripped as the first wave of agony crashed over him.  His amethyst eyes were hard and bright with pain as he looked at her, managing to spit out a single word through his rigidly locked jaw.

 

Apostle.

 


🎧  Listening to:

TOM-CAT: [KIANA BEACH:First Stab - POUNCE (★1/2) - WATCHER BATTLE (34/5/6/★7)] [GOBLIN EXTERMINATION (1)-(☆1/2)] – [ICE CAVES: Cliffhanger (★1/2) -PowderKeg (★1/2/3) - Hypothermia (4/5/6) - Imprint (7/8/9/)] [SUNSTEALER:(1/2/3/4)-(1/2)] –Miiya & Cat-Tom [SPARRING:(1/2/★3)] - ☆The Great Tipsu Hunt! - ☆Stolen Kiss Overwhelmed by Intimacy Returning to Her Bath Time Bonding Wings, Tails, & Love Cave Storms Climbing the Walls 1st Kiss Makeouts & Memories Laughter & Kisses Eros & Hormones Cat-Tom: Rescue Kitty! Cat-Tom vs. Skaven (Forced) Shift Back 9 Lives A Beast in the Darkness Reuniting w/Teleskela Bored Nihilism Cat vs. Dragon Emotionally Exhausted Bath Catboy, Interrupted All For Her Bellissimo Gato [BATH-HOUSE: Confessions(1/2/3/4)] Catboys Can Purr Bagels, Goodbyes, & Catboy Abduction Love Poem No, no, no...
───────────
DAETH: Breaking Callon - Pleasure w/Pain - Sensing Death - ★Kissing Fate(1/2) - Precariously Balanced Nature - At Long Last, Eddellyn - Soul Searching - Into the Maze - ★The Minotaur & The Labyrinth - Heart of the Maze - Before the Storm - Thunder & Honey - ★Ripped Gowns - ★Sensual Poetry - Warding Sigils - Hedonistic Filth & House-Sized Party Crasher - Confronting Maarazaar(1/2/3) - Ash Bunny Irihi
───────────
RISQUÉ: Fun with Fisticuffs!
[CHATTE]Enter Chatte - Chat w/Castor -Proposing the Race
[ASMODIEL & GALVINA] ★A Celestial & Demoness Play Cards - Asmodiel Smites a Feeder
──────────────────
[☆ = favorite / ★= extra fave]


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Wynterleaf
(@wynterleaf)
Citizen Citizen
Joined: 1 year ago
Posts: 130
 

Eddellyn Wynterleaf

- and a bit more Lord Travion Winterlow -

[OOC: fromThe West Garden Gazebo — Estate Grounds - WEST]

The closer they drew to the mansion, the more light spilled out of the tall windows of the estate, casting the gardens into an eerie half-light and the sound of music drifting from the ballroom became more pronounced. They’d only herded the last stragglers toward the French doors leading into the ballroom when Daeth pulled her aside, a hand settled on her hip, as he dismissed Travion with a look and a tilt of his chin. Eddellyn bit back any reproach she had about Daeth’s seeming jealous behaviour and smoothed out her features as she waited to hear what he wanted to discuss. Except words were not foremost on his mind as he lowered his head towards her for a kiss.

If she thought the last kiss felt like it contained a kernel of finality, this one had an all-consuming purpose to imprint itself on her soul. The fierceness of the embrace gave her an indication of the threat they were coming up against, and whatever it was, Daeth felt a possibility they would be parted again. Eddellyn leaned into him and whispered against his chest. “For better or worse, our paths have been intertwined since the moment we met. This will not be the last you see of me.”

She wasn’t certain he heard her words as he set a hand to the back of her neck, drawing her gaze to his, his expression solemn. He spoke in tones meant for her ears only, asking how much she trusted Travion.

“I trust him enough to partly share why I needed entrance to the Estate tonight.” Color rose in her cheeks as she realized she hadn’t even been as quick to share that detail with Daeth but she pushed down the feeling of guilt. “Trav seems to have a will of his own, little affected by what the other nobles think. I think if the situation calls for it, he can be depended on for aid.”

Eddellyn found herself nodding along with Daeth’s assessment that whatever ruined his protection surrounding the Estate still lurked about. While she couldn’t sense the disturbance to his wards, or even the purpose they served, there was no denying the ambiance of the night had changed, it was stretched taut and polluted with something dark, like oil spilled into spring water. Her hand touched her sword, an instinctive reaction to reassure herself it was within easy reach; she was ready to do a sweep of the shadows to hunt out any trace of an interloper now but Daeth’s next words had her fingers tightening around the sword hilt.

Please Edde, cormeum, if push comes to shove, do not seek out whatever is lurking within the estate on your own. Promise me.

Her eyes sparked dangerously, the silver bright and quick as a lightning flash as her lips flattened mutinously. Did he think she could not look after herself? That she hadn’t been on her own doing just that for years now?

He’d also called her that word yet again - Cormeum - the one she didn’t know the meaning of but understood it to be a type of endearment, no doubt to coax her into being agreeable to his request. The last few hours hadn’t eradicated all her self-doubts or the doubts she had where Daeth was concerned. There was still a seed of skepticism buried deep, one that didn’t fully believe everything was resolved between them, that they could so quickly fall back into alignment. She wouldn’t allow her hands to be tied to a promise to not doing anything on her own, she already had one promise she was beginning to second-guess, she wasn't ready to take on another. 

Eddellyn frowned, her brows drawn tight in a dark line, as she read the tension and genuine concern marking Daeth’s face. She offered him the only reassurance that she could, speaking with her mindspeak to make her point. I will never be far from you. Now that she had used it once, if needs be, she could reach out telepathically to him or anyone else near by.

The matter settled for the moment, the three of them progressed toward the open doors of the ballroom. Just outside the entrance, a waiter passed the group carrying a tray of drinks, and still feeling cross at being told not to do anything on her own, Eddellyn plucked one of the glasses and downed the contents in a single gulp. It was a rich, dark elven wine, the stronger variety of drink that appeared later in the evening to speed things along for anyone still sober. The alcohol settled poorly in her stomach but at least blunted the edges of her riotous emotions and made her forget about the faint lingering aches of her body. Perhaps not the wisest decision under the current air of threat but she was never accused of being wise.

Daeth had merely given her a look as she set the glass down before he reclaimed her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it before they entered the ballroom. Eddellyn braced herself for a varying degree of animosity and curiosity from the nobles, maybe even an irate Lord and Lady Syltamul, but it was the unexpected and unrelenting pressure of Daeth’s hand on her shoulder that caused her to suck in a breath in shock. There would be a bruise later, not that she hadn’t already earned a few that night, but this one would unquestionably stand out from the rest.

Daeth buckled and released his grip and she immediately reached for him, not hesitating even at the sight of the blood gushing down his neck. Her hand went over his to apply additional pressure but she instantly sensed it was not an external wound that caused the bleeding. “Daeth!”

He said one word in explanation. “Apostle.”

Eddellyn drew her blade in a flash, the shining metal vibrating with an inaudible hum, and she was on the defensive, her eyes scanning the assortment of disgruntled and confused nobles that filled the ballroom. Most of them hadn’t caught up yet and were still complaining about being rudely disrupted from their playtime in the gardens. A few of the closest drew back in surprise as she drew her weapon and on noticing that the guest of honor was bleeding from a wound on his neck, a few screamed in fear thinking she was the cause.

“Bandits! We’re under attack!”

She grimaced. The person must have tracked the mark on her hand and the yell was enough to plunge the room into disarray.

 

At Wynterleaf's back, Travion stepped forward and in a raised voice did his best to reassure the guests. “Wait! Calm down, she didn’t do anything!” But Trav himself didn’t know what was going on; Daeth was bleeding and both he and Wynterleaf acted as if the masquerade was under imminent threat of attack. He sent Wynterleaf a helpless look but she was already stalking away, her attention on the perimeter of the room, securing the exits.

Travion threw back his shoulders, the easy-going persona of Lord Winterlow disappearing as the seriousness of the situation became more prominent. He stepped into the swirl of activity to direct people to the center of the dancefloor where he figured it would be safest. “Please don’t panic but it may be best to move away from the windows. Lord Legonnain, these people aren’t going to hurt you but if you don’t put down that candelabra, I might! Fôph, you are only going to burn yourself!” He snapped the words at the halfwit noble that attempted to find a makeshift weapon. Travion was all business now as he ordered his fellow nobles around, a tiny part of his mind not at all preoccupied with the security of the stables - maybe he would be allowed to bring Triggerfeet into the ballroom? 

 

Eddellyn ignored the devolving chaos of the ballroom, scarcely registering Travion’s attempt to pacify the crowd, and instead moved along the wall of windows and doors that exited to the western gardens, checking that all were secure. One or two brave (or drunk) guests started in her direction, thinking to apprehend her progress but a meaningful twitch of her blade in their direction was enough to discourage their approach, for now. She was certain the Estate guards would appear at any time.

She circled back to Daeth, who still looked pained (an understatement) but he was somewhat composed, standing a bit straighter, a determined expression on his face while blood tracked angry red rivulets down his bare chest. She stood close, her arm brushing along his, her eyes alert on the room and surrounding crowd.

“Is there any way to restore your wards?”


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Lassroyale
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DAETH

The Bearer of the Mark

╺ ✽ ╸

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”

Kahlil Gibran

 

Daeth has regained his composure by the time Eddellyn circles back around to him after sweeping the perimeter of the ballroom.  The pain isn’t gone.  It lingers beneath the surface of his awareness, abrading the corners of his mind; a vicious ache that thrums in time to the beat of his pulse.  The Brand  throbs in steady countermeasure to the rhythmic drumming of his heart in his chest, although both the blood flowing from the mark on his neck and the rapid tempo of his heart have slowed.  Daeth exhales a steadying breath.  His  jaw remains locked tight with tension, but his expression is smooth, his features no longer reflecting the agony that continues to carve paths through him. 

He pulls his hand away from his neck, causing the nobles who nearest to him to gasp in a mix of shock, horror, and disgust as the Brand  is revealed, the mark appearing livid and raw as blood continues to spill from it in rich, red rivulets cutting paths down his skin.  The dark angel ignores the whispers that erupt around him at the sight and turns to Eddellyn, though pauses as he glimpses something from the corner of his eye.  He shifts his gaze without turning his head and just catches sight of Callon and Amarice as they disappear into a passageway that was previously hidden behind a drape of midnight black fabric.  Daeth presses his lips into a thin line, almost giving into the impulse to go after them and demand what they know, but Eddellyn’s question of: Is there any way to restore your wards?effectively quashes that idea. 

She’s right, of course.  Restoring his warding on the estate is the highest priority.  Even still, the Syltamuls’ slipping away like that leaves him with a sense of foreboding that he doesn’t care for.   Daeth looks at the grey-eyed bandit and feels a sudden swell of affection towards her when he notes the determined set of her jaw, her body language poised and at the ready.  Not for the first time that night, the dark angel remembered why they had made such a good team in the past: Eddellyn never questioned his instincts in these types of situations, and he in turn trusted her to act independently, without constant need for direction.  He still worries about her, however, and though he sensed that she chafed at his request that she not seek out the hidden threat on her own, he still appreciates that she’d acceded in some small (albeit noncommittal) way.  And even though he’d asked, Daeth does trust that she can take care of herself.

I don’t know how much time we have,” Daeth says, not immediately answering Eddellyn’s question.  He  turns and sweeps his amethyst gaze over the walls.  He continues speaking as he begins rolling up the sleeves of his jacket.  “But I know it’s not enough time for me to rebuild the wards to the original level of protection.”  Daeth pauses as he’s rolling up the second sleeve and grimaces,  abandoning the task and unbuttoning the coat instead—it was bound to come off at some point, especially given how things were currently trending, so he may as well just remove it now.  Besides, it is an exceptionally nice  garment and he doesn’t want to completely ruin it by bleeding on it any more than he already has. “I can patch what’s been broken and buttress what remains,” he states decisively. “It’ll be strong enough to keep out something as powerful—and as big—as an Apostle, at least.”  He leaves the implication that the wards won’t keep out anything stronger than an Apostle hanging, unsaid, in the air. 

He slips out of the jacket without fanfare, wholly uncaring of any attention the action garners as a fresh eruption of comments (this time interspersed with breathy giggles) sweeps through the sea of nobles en sotto voce.   Daeth knows the kind of figure he cuts and that his physique is far different than the carefully sculpted, lissome bodies that are typically seen amongst Elven society.  At the very least, he’s willing to bet that most of the pampered lords and ladies in attendance aren’t used to seeing the types of scars he bears, with most Elven aristocrats preferring to vanish any unsightly marks with magic or hide them through glamor.  

Daeth carelessly tosses his jacket onto a nearby table, ignoring some of the louder comments that rise above the general susurrus of the crowd.

 

“...not one ounce of fat!”

 

“Look at his chest! What makes a scar like that?”

 

“Are those armbands solid gold?”

 

“Oh my gods, his back—that’s gruesome.”

 

“...given them some wild rides!” 

 

Out of nowhere, the dark angel feels a prickle of something, flash over his skin, the sensation unpleasant and familiar in a way that causes a sick feeling of dread to move through him like miasma.  His back suddenly burns with the phantom memory of claws sinking into his shoulders and flaying open his flesh as they gouged deep, red trenches along the line of his spine…  And biting its heels is the remembrance of that bright agony entwined with such intense, stomach-clenching pleasure that it became something else entirely: a depraved morass of suffering and release so exquisite that—

—Daeth jerks back from the memory that surges, unbidden and unwanted, through his mind like a phantasmagoria of acute pleasure-pain that his skin recalls with startling acuity.  His muscles go tight as tension lashes across his shoulders and straightens his spine; the slight change in his posture is subtle, but the change in the dark angel’s presence isn't.   It’s hard to pinpoint what, exactly, is different—it’s like something in Daeth shifts, widens, and allows more of his Otherness to seep through his pores. 

His features appear sculpted more gracefully, with something darkly sensual pressed into the shadowed angles in a way that both softens and enhances.  Although his eyes don't glow or gather and reflect the surrounding light, all the same they're more vivid, the amethyst hue so rich and so bright as to be almost startling.  It’s like his presence expands and takes up more space, while also consuming the air around him.  

Daeth doesn’t acknowledge the elemental Otherness  washing through his aura, or give any hint that he’s aware that the barrier he keeps tightly sealed around his true nature has even fractured.   He steps close to Eddellyn and catches her eye, then bends down and pulls out the dagger she has hidden in her boot.  He slowly trails his palm up her leg as he straightens, her dagger in hand.  Daeth gives the petite bandit a thin smile.  “I need to borrow this,” he says.  The corner of his mouth quirks up a little more, some of the tenseness leaching out of his grin.  “Don’t worry, you’ll get this one back.” Daeth briefly wonders what Eddellyn would think if she knew that he still carries the dagger she once lent him a lifetime ago, on the white sands of a distant Ufaerian coast. 

He doesn’t wait for a reply because there’s really no time—he can feel it in his bones.  Something was coming.  An Apostle  was coming, and these were not the daemon apostolis  that Eddellyn had seen Daeth destroy on their journey to the Maelstorm in the Ufaerian desertland.  Ever since the death angel had actively begun traversing the demonic realms and waging his one man war on all of demonkind, the Apostles  that he’s met have been…bigger.  And that’s putting it lightly.   Daeth turns from Eddellyn and strides over to a section of wall between two arched windows and unceremoniously rips down the black fabric that’d been artfully hung up for the masquerade.   The dark angel glances at Eddellyn and Travion, before looking out over the crowd. 

Every drape needs to be pulled down and the walls bared, now,” he states, the resonant undertone of his voice suffused with a note of subtle command.  There’s no time to make sure the order is heeded—he trusts Eddellyn and hopefully Travion to do what’s needed.  

Daeth pivots back to the now bare wall and brings his left arm forward.  Without hesitation, he drags Eddellyn’s dagger smoothly over his skin in a fast, decisive motion, making a clean cut straight across his forearm.  An instant later, a stream of blood runs across his skin, spilling down his wrist and soaking the floor beneath him. The scarlet drops stand out sharply against the immaculate white marble. Daeth stows the blade in his belt, then uses his blood to paint a sigil—consisting of a simple figure inside of a circle with six symbols drawn around the edge and a triangle at the top—on the wall.

Spoiler
Warding Sigil

Daeth Warding Symbol

As soon as he's finished, Daeth swiftly walks over and paints an identical sigil on the walls to the North, East, and South; by the time he's finished strengthening the lines of the final glyph, the wound on his arm has already stopped bleeding and begun to heal.  He presses his palm against the final sigil and begins to invoke, his voice thrumming with ancient power.  “Ego invocare vires ex septentrione, ad meridiem, ad orientem, et ad occidentem.”  As he speaks the invocation, the atmosphere becomes thick, like a storm was gathering within the epicenter of the estate.  Power hums through the Kingship Bands, warming the metal as their energy branches through his nervous system.  Daeth feels the power fill the channel of his lifeline and hum through the lines of his palms and fingers.

The glyphs he sketched on the walls light up one by one, until all four sigils were softly shimmering, wreathed in amaranthine flames. He finishes the invocation.  “Ad texere ludus praesidio.”   The light accumulates beneath his hand, and as soon as he says the final word, the four symbols on the walls erupt into supernova explosions of purple flames. Pathways of light shoot out from the four sigils at each of the seven locations around the circles, racing along the walls, floors, and ceiling until all four glyphs are joined in a complex lattice of glowing purple lines that slowly fade. 

Daeth lets his hand fall back to his side.

The atmospheric pressure in the room has returned to normal, replaced instead by an uncanny stillness that’s fallen over the estate grounds.  Some of the tension has been unpinned from his spine by the time Daeth rejoins Eddellyn in the center of the dancefloor, his eyes fixed upon the shadowy darkness outside of the large picture windows lining the western wall.  There’s absolutely nothing moving out there, not even the wind; the silence that presses up against the clear glass panes is so absolute that it’s loud.  

Thanks,” Daeth says, absently handing back Eddellyn’s dagger without looking at her.  “The wards have been repaired around the main estate and southern grounds,” he says, continuing to distractedly scan the stillness outside.  The dark angel glances at the grey-eyed bandit and gives her a quick, tight-lipped smile.  “The wards will hold,” he assures confidently. “Don’t worry, they’ll keep out anything as powerful—and as large—as an Apostle.”  There’s a slight edge to his voice that belies a deeper concern, but before he can explain Daeth’s eyes go wide and cloud over as agony tears through the center of his world, ripping apart his thoughts with an intensity that made his earlier pain feel like a tickle.  A geyser of blood violently erupts from the Brand with a suddenness that punches the breath from him.  He staggers but manages to keep his feet.

I know this feeling,” he mutters.  A dark look crosses his face.  “Goddamnit…not hernot now.”  

TOM-CAT: [KIANA BEACH:First Stab - POUNCE (★1/2) - WATCHER BATTLE (34/5/6/★7)] [GOBLIN EXTERMINATION (1)-(☆1/2)] – [ICE CAVES: Cliffhanger (★1/2) -PowderKeg (★1/2/3) - Hypothermia (4/5/6) - Imprint (7/8/9/)] [SUNSTEALER:(1/2/3/4)-(1/2)] –Miiya & Cat-Tom [SPARRING:(1/2/★3)] - ☆The Great Tipsu Hunt! - ☆Stolen Kiss Overwhelmed by Intimacy Returning to Her Bath Time Bonding Wings, Tails, & Love Cave Storms Climbing the Walls 1st Kiss Makeouts & Memories Laughter & Kisses Eros & Hormones Cat-Tom: Rescue Kitty! Cat-Tom vs. Skaven (Forced) Shift Back 9 Lives A Beast in the Darkness Reuniting w/Teleskela Bored Nihilism Cat vs. Dragon Emotionally Exhausted Bath Catboy, Interrupted All For Her Bellissimo Gato [BATH-HOUSE: Confessions(1/2/3/4)] Catboys Can Purr Bagels, Goodbyes, & Catboy Abduction Love Poem No, no, no...
───────────
DAETH: Breaking Callon - Pleasure w/Pain - Sensing Death - ★Kissing Fate(1/2) - Precariously Balanced Nature - At Long Last, Eddellyn - Soul Searching - Into the Maze - ★The Minotaur & The Labyrinth - Heart of the Maze - Before the Storm - Thunder & Honey - ★Ripped Gowns - ★Sensual Poetry - Warding Sigils - Hedonistic Filth & House-Sized Party Crasher - Confronting Maarazaar(1/2/3) - Ash Bunny Irihi
───────────
RISQUÉ: Fun with Fisticuffs!
[CHATTE]Enter Chatte - Chat w/Castor -Proposing the Race
[ASMODIEL & GALVINA] ★A Celestial & Demoness Play Cards - Asmodiel Smites a Feeder
──────────────────
[☆ = favorite / ★= extra fave]


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Eddellyn Wynterleaf

Wynterleaf bit into her bottom lip as Daeth removed his jacket to stay any remarks but her effort was wasted. The drink she had downed still lingered in her veins and had her throwing caution to the wind; she couldn’t keep the quip from escaping, “Interesting how careful you are when ‘tis your fine party clothes.” If she was being fair, he had appeared to care for his sumptuous formal wear whereas she hadn't truly wanted to keep the gown, so was more than eager to shred it in the heat of the moment.

Bare-chested now, the guests were salivating at the display Daeth made and she rolled her eyes at commentary that swirled around the ballroom. However, she was only being hypocritical as she too couldn’t help but pass an admiring eye over Daeth’s physique. She didn’t even try to suppress a smug smile as the marked the scratches and bites that now marked his skin, the fresh abrasions an angry red in contrast to the older scars, and she felt a degree of pride that those were from her. Momentarily distracted by the spectacle, she nearly missed the elven lady that brazenly tried to approach Daeth with a silky sashay (no doubt interested in adding to the marks) but with a curled lip, Eddellyn motioned the woman back with her blade. “Not now, húni.”

For the most part, Travion had been doing an excellent job at keeping the nobles held back from their position at the center of the ballroom. While the guests hadn’t exactly calmed, their interest was now mostly focused on Doruk Domae and their excitement ratcheted for what he would do next. Many assumed that this was part of the ‘show’, entertainment intentionally orchestrated by the Syltamuls to further increase the notoriety of their masquerade. Travion was happy to let the misconception stand and she heard him drop a suggestion here and there to encourage others in believing that was the truth.

Daeth bent to take the dagger she had hidden in her boot and as he straightened she couldn’t miss the deliberate caress along her leg. Wynterleaf’s slim fingers caught at his waistband and gave a tug to temporarily halt his departure. Even though they were pressed for time and every moment needed to be utilized wisely, her gaze was steady as she swiftly rose onto her toes and brushed her mouth across his before releasing him just as abruptly with a tiny push. “My fee for taking without asking first.”

She watched as he approached the wall and ripped down a large swath of black cloth that had been hung for the party and gave the order to strip the remaining curtains from the other walls. Eddellyn caught Travion’s gaze - he’d watched their brief exchange over the dagger with interest - and she nodded her head toward the opposite side of the room.

“You start at that wall and I’ll get the one over here; we’ll meet somewhere in the middle.”

They made quick work tearing down the curtains, Eddellyn finding a degree of satisfaction in tearing down the luxurious fabric. Now that she understood who the Syltamul’s guest of honor was and his position in their household, she was happy, impatient even, to ruin their elegant furnishings. Even if the act didn’t ease the anxiety that was mounting in the center of her chest. She still wasn’t certain what danger lurked in the night; around the perimeter, Daeth was completing his ritual, the walls marked with his drying blood with sigils that would keep out demons of a certain level -- at least. She hadn’t missed the caveat, the words that it wouldn’t stop anything more powerful left unsaid and that’s what bothered her. Anything more significant than Apostle would have them trapped, gathered like fish in a barrel.

Once the final sigil was marked on the wall, a stillness settled over the room, the air laden with unease as they waited. The din of the masquerade guests fading fell into an inaudible hum in the background, though a few grew bored with the seeming stall and gravitated toward the drinks tables that were being fast depleted. Wynterleaf glanced wishfully at the table, the last warmth of her drink was all but gone at this point, adrenaline having quickly burned the effects from her system, but she wasn’t so stupid to have another.

Daeth handed her back her dagger absently, the deep purple of his gaze focused on the western wall and its bank of windows to the gardens. He was studying his handiwork, his tone confident as he said, “The wards will hold” and repeated his earlier remark that his patched wards should hold out anything as powerful as an Apostle. Wynterleaf trusted him and his abilities but this time, the words did not strike the reassurance they had before.

She took her dagger back silently as they stared outdoors, waiting for something to happen, and after a minute she cast a look toward Travion on her other side. The young lord was seemingly weaponless and in a surprising flash of generosity, Eddellyn flipped the dagger around and offered it to Travion hilt first. “It’s not much but can still be useful when needed.”

Travion frowned and flicked a glance sideways toward Daeth. “Are you certain?”

At her nod, he reached for the dagger but Eddellyn pulled it back slightly, not immediately relinquishing it before saying, “‘Tis still my dagger, I’m just lending it to you.”

“Do I also pay a fee?” Travion teased with a rakish tilt of his lips; he hadn’t missed her exchange with Daeth when he had taken the knife.

Eddellyn shoved the dagger into his hand and frowned, taking a step back to fold her arms across her chest. “Trav,” she spoke warningly but to her left Daeth staggered, a curse on his lips.

She immediately turned in his direction, her stormy eyes trained on the windows searching for the disturbance. “Who? Where?”


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Lassroyale
(@lassroyale)
Patron Saint of Hawtbois, Catboys, & BAMF Babes Noble
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Journey starter  

DAETH

The Bearer of the Mark

╺ ✽ ╸

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” Kahlil Gibran

 

The window behind them suddenly bursts inward in an eruption of shattered glass.  Daeth immediately turns and shelters Eddellyn with his body, disregarding his exposed torso.  Shouts and cries split the air as everyone scrambles back from the windows in confusion and panic, with a few voices here and there attempting to calm everyone down.  Daeth hisses out a painful breath and catches Eddellyn's gaze, jamming his hand against the Brand as a fresh torrent of blood flows over his fingers.  He steps away from Eddellyn and turns as a low, throaty, and deeply sensual female voice rises up out of the darkness just beyond the broken window.   

Mmm, oh I've missed you, Daeth.”  There’s an almost viscid quality to the voice, the sound seeping down into the mind like an overpouring of warm honey; thick, sticky, and powerfully erotic.  A deep, feminine chuckle floats through the air and cuts across the cacophony of the panicked nobles.  An uneasy stillness spreads over the room, every eye drawn to the shattered window.  “It’s been soo long.”  

A mostly naked woman with leather wings melts out of the darkness and glides through the broken window with a muted beat of her wings.  She lands lightly inside the ballroom and folds her wings around herself like a cloak, though it does little by way of modesty.   It's clear that she is not Uman, Elf, or any of the "natural" races; she is Other, in every sense of the word.  

Spoiler
Slann - Daemon Elder

SLAAN [The Five]

The winged woman slowly saunters over to Daeth, heedless of the broken glass crunching beneath her bare feet.  She has a slinky and unhurried gait, the sinuous roll of her hips almost hypnotic.  She’s a walking fantasy, the lines of her figure purpose-served to inflame one’s lust.  From the lush fullness of her obscenely straining bust, to the wasp-like taper of her waist and the luring swell of her generous hips, the woman emanates femininity, fertility, and eroticism—all wrapped up into one, deliciously profane package.  

 

She is pure sexual energy given flesh.

 

She is seduction given form.

 

She is provocative, almost to the point of vulgarity.

 

She is powerful, predatory, and as dangerous as she is hedonistic. 

 

Slann.”  Daeth says her name in a flat, cold, frostbitten tone, his voice utterly devoid of warmth.  He forces his hand away from his neck, exposing  the Brand  as blood continues to leak from it in a slow yet steady flow; blood runs down his shoulder and chest in wet, red paths.  He drops his arm and assumes a casual, unconcerned slouch. 

Slann; one The Five and a daemon Maior (Elder) of the Deus in Manu Consilii (The God Hand Council).   

Daeth prefers her unofficial title.  “Slann,” he repeats, in the same glacial tone of voice.  “Whore Princess of The Five,” he sneers, his lips curling into a scornful, closed-mouthed smile. 

Ooh, yessss,” Slann moans in reply, her gaze never leaving his.  “Keep talking dirty,” she purrs throatily, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet her lips.  “Denigrate me with your filthy tongue.”  Daeth’s eyes flash with shame, anger, and disgust.  Slann laughs, the sound deep, rich, and inviting... with a subtle and sadomasochistic undertone running through its fading echo "Gods, yes," she gasps, her words enveloped in a lewd groan.  She peers at him with heavy eyes.  "Mmm, picturing all of the nasty places that tongue has been, always gets me going." 

At Slann’s words, a formless, whining buzz fills Daeth’s ears and a cold, biting fury burns through him as unwanted images surge up to pound through the channels of his mind.  Glass-sharp fragments of sense and memory shred through his veins, ripping a jagged path straight to the heart of a great, sucking wound at his core.  It's never healed, turning it into an infected, leaking abscess of raw trauma that has been buried beneath endless necrotizing layers of shame, humiliation, disgust, guilt, and fear.  

There's a metric ton of internalized shame and humiliation surrounding the memory, the feelings so ingrained into its texture that Daeth has never been able to face it long enough to cope.  Not in any healthy way, at least.  Instead, he’s mastered the art of pushing the memories far down beneath the oppressive foundation of willful ignorance and staunch denial. 

 

It works.  (Kinda.)

 

Until it doesn’t.

 

Like now.

 

Daeth bares his teeth when Slann comes within a few feet of him, his lips pulled back into a rictus grin, his face etched into a frozen mask of all-consuming hatred.  He doesn't telegraph his actions; he doesn’t tense, shift his weight, or break eye contact with his foe.  He simply acts, the transition between entropy and motion, seamless; he’s standing still until he’s not 

The dark angel is stupidly  fast.  

It goes like this:  Daeth surges into motion without warning.  He twists around and seizes Eddellyn's sword, snatching it from her hands before pivoting back  and lunging at Slann.  He rams his shoulder into Slann’s solar plexus, plants it solidly, and quickly hooks a leg through hers to pin her in place.  Daeth doesn't hesitate as he uses his forward momentum to drive the Elven blade hard into Slann's abdomen with enough force to sever the spine.  

"Es scortum obscenus vilis," he spits, grunting as the Brand  bleeds more heavily; he locks his knees against the searing, ripped raw nerve anguish that suddenly skyrockets due to his proximity to the daemon Maior.  Daeth grinds his teeth and  viciously twists the blade as he bends closer to the she-bitch, his features carved into a chiseled veneer of frigid rage, eyes burning with the utmost loathing.  Now perite, vacca stulta.”   

The room is deathly still in the aftermath of such an unexpected and brutal event.  The Bridgeway Nobles seem to be in a state of stunned silence, most having never witnessed anything so shockingly (and nonchalantly) violent. That's not even mentioning the lustful (to put it mildly) female demon, whose sheer presence made one want to violate and be defiled, the depths of the lust she inspires only tempered by the vileness of her underlying aura; a viscid, tar-thick sense of wrongness that leaves a residue on the soul.   

Slann stares down at the three feet of Elvish steel buried in her belly, her mouth formed into an ‘o’ of surprise…and delight.  She throws back her head and issues a throaty laugh.  Before Daeth can move she surges forward and grabs his hand where it’s gripped over the hilt of Eddellyn’s sword, her fingers clamping down on his wrist like the jaws of a steel trap.  

Hot,” she gasps.  Slann slowly pulls herself closer, never once breaking eye contact as she fully impales herself on the blade’s remaining length.  “Hot, so hot.  Yes, yes! This is what I wanted.”  She snickers.  “You were so eager to impale me again."  A pause.  "More," she says, sounding utterly depraved.  "Give me more!  ”   Slann shudders when the crossguard touches her stomach, her expression almost rapturous.  “Mmm, I feel it in my guts, this feeling that’s tearing me apart…it’s…so hot.”  Slann wraps her arms around Daeth and embraces him, molding her body to his while she takes liberties and explores the terrain of his shoulders and back with slow, teasing touches.

Daeth shivers involuntarily and grits his teeth against the unwelcome contact as he tries to push her away.  Slann immediately sinks her claw-like nails into Daeth’s back and he grunts, wincing as she gouges into the hard muscle beneath his shoulder blades.  She issues a low, dirty moan. “You’re the best,” she sighs.  A rich, coppery tang fills the air as Slaan digs into his flesh, his skin growing warm and wet as blood tracks through the defined contours of his back.  An intense influx of pain temporarily steals the air from his lungs, and Daeth lets go of the sword.  He reaches for Slann’s neck, but somehow ends up with his hands around her waist, remorselessly digging bruises into her hips with his fingers.  A fresh deluge of blood spills from the Brand, the pain is so intense it threatens to momentarily stagger him; Daeth braces himself against Slann as spots crowd the edges of his vision.  

Abruptly, Slann’s gaze shifts and she locks eyes with Eddellyn standing a few feet away.  “I remember you,” she says, speaking directly to the bandit.  Her eyes momentarily narrow, something cruel rippling across her face.  “You’re the reason he denied us,” she accuses.  “He would not offer you as a sacrifice…tsk!”  The she-daemon’s lush lips suddenly curl into a sinful grin.  “Before that, it took some time to break him…in.”  Slann maintains eye contact with the grey-eyed Elfess as she leans forward and laps at the blood flowing from the Brand  on Daeth’s neck, causing the dark angel to convulse as agony shocked through him.  "It took hours—over several days." Time passes differently within nexus realms, after all. Slann’s mouth is stained dark red and her eyelids flutter in orgiastic satisfaction as she licks a drop of blood from her bottom lip, watching the other woman. 

I hadn’t been savaged like that in a while—like an animal.”  Slann’s smile widens.  “But then again, aren’t all men like that? Like animals.  So eager.  So impatient.  So quick to penetrate, to impale.”  She chuckles.  The sound is pure sex.  “It’s why they carry around those big, long, ridiculous wish-fulfillment metal phalluses—so they can thrust and impale.”  Slann glances at Daeth, whose teeth are clenched so tight they look like they’ll shatter; it’s obvious he’s fighting through an immense amount of pain.  He glares at her, contempt clouding his gaze.   The daemon looks back to Eddellyn with a malicious smile and a spiteful glimmer in her eyes.

Mmm…come to think of it, the last time I had my guts rearranged this good...it wasn’t with a blade,” she says, reminiscing with a small shudder of pleasure.  She glances at the dark angel from the corner of her eye with a sly gaze.  “Isn’t that right, lover?” 

Fututus et mori in igni,” Daeth grits out, pushing the words through the tight clench of his teeth. “Don’t talk to her, you vile bitch,” he snaps, managing to loosen his jaw as he works through the agony that seized him.  

Slann replies by bringing her mouth to the Brand once more and moaning as she again tastes the warmth of his blood with a look of ecstasy. “Oh, I’m feeling generous today,” she says in a husky purr.  “I should punish you for hiding from us—from me—all this time.  Denying us all of your delicious pain and anger…”  Slann shivers in delight.  “But you impaled me so enthusiastically—I haven’t had something...penetrate me that hard in ages.”  She unfolds her wings from around her body, exposing acres of succulent flesh.  “I’ll let you go,” she concedes, then pauses.  “For now.” 

Daeth's snarky retort is cut short when Slann grips the back of his head and drags him forward, preventing him from jerking away as she claims his mouth in a violent kiss.  The feel of Slann's lips on his stirs up a dark, long-repressed aspect of Daeth's nature—the part that demands pain in order to find pleasure—as something terrible and sadistic storms up from somewhere deep within him.  For a split second, Daeth returns the kiss.  And as his mouth moves over hers, the taste of his own blood on her lips buzzes through him with horrible, gut-wrenching, want. 

Daeth rears back with a furious curse, his angry expression contorting into a grimace as Slann drags her claws down his back, tearing bloody tracks in his skin before releasing him from her embrace.  He instantly yanks Eddellyn’s blade free from Slann’s stomach and scrubs a forearm across his mouth, his lips curled in disgust.   Daeth spits on the floor between them.  “Go,” he growls.  “Now.”  

Slann licks her lips and smirks at him.  “Mmm, you know what? I’ve changed my mind.  You need to be punished for hiding away and denying us—denying me—all of that delicious, mouth-watering angst swirling around inside of you.”  Before the meaning of her words can fully sink in, Slann snaps her fingers and disappears. 

 

Nothing immediately happens.

 

After a tense moment, Daeth stoops and cleans Slann’s blood off of the Elvish blade with a corner of the black drapery puddled on the floor.  The dark angel is rattled, his brow stitched with consternation.  He walks slowly back to Eddellyn and wordlessly returns her sword.   Though his smile is shaky at best, when he finally looks up at her, a faintly haunted expression lingers within the shadows of his gaze; something more than physical pain moves beneath his vivid purple irises, the shadow of some unnamed trauma that's dyed in shades of his deeply entrenched feelings of fear, guilt, and shame. 

Cormeum,” Daeth says, reaching for her.  He hesitates for only a fraction of a second before he abruptly tugs her against him and holds her in a tight embrace.  His expression is etched with slow-to-fade fury, hate, and disgust, but when he kisses her all of it is temporarily washed away.  He kisses her like he's trying to leave his imprint on her lips, on her soul, when all at once the sigils on the walls flare up with brilliant purple light.

 

K R A A A K A - K O O O M!!

 

The thunderous noise splits open the sky directly over the estate.  It’s followed immediately by a tremendous BOOM!! as something big, no, something titanic, crashes down atop the estate’s roof.  Outside, there's a flash of purple light followed by a loud, ear-splitting cry of anguish as whatever was on the roof activates the wards. 

A noble lady’s single, startled, and horrified scream pierces the air, seconds later.  Shouts, terrified cries, and general panic ensues as an enormous, slack yellow eye slightly larger than a knight’s shield, peers in through the broken window.  The owner of the eye blinks, momentarily shuttering the stark black line of its weird, goat-like pupil.   

"BEARER OF THE MARK,”  the creature rumbles, in a voice that sounds like it's eating stones.  “I AM MAARAZAAR, APOSTALIS TO THE DEUS IN MANU CONSILII.”  Maarazaar switches eyes, its gaze darting around the room until it lands on Daeth.  The apostle’s horizontal pupil dilates within its pale yellow orb.  “BEARER OF THE MARK,” Maarazaar booms again.  “FACE ME.


Daemon Apostle (Daeth Attack) [SYLTAMUL]

 
Spoiler
Es scortum obscenus vilis 
You are a vile, perverted whore.
Spoiler
Now perite, vacca stulta.
Now fuck off you stupid cow.
Spoiler
Fututus et mori in igni
Fuck off and die in a fire.
 
 

TOM-CAT: [KIANA BEACH:First Stab - POUNCE (★1/2) - WATCHER BATTLE (34/5/6/★7)] [GOBLIN EXTERMINATION (1)-(☆1/2)] – [ICE CAVES: Cliffhanger (★1/2) -PowderKeg (★1/2/3) - Hypothermia (4/5/6) - Imprint (7/8/9/)] [SUNSTEALER:(1/2/3/4)-(1/2)] –Miiya & Cat-Tom [SPARRING:(1/2/★3)] - ☆The Great Tipsu Hunt! - ☆Stolen Kiss Overwhelmed by Intimacy Returning to Her Bath Time Bonding Wings, Tails, & Love Cave Storms Climbing the Walls 1st Kiss Makeouts & Memories Laughter & Kisses Eros & Hormones Cat-Tom: Rescue Kitty! Cat-Tom vs. Skaven (Forced) Shift Back 9 Lives A Beast in the Darkness Reuniting w/Teleskela Bored Nihilism Cat vs. Dragon Emotionally Exhausted Bath Catboy, Interrupted All For Her Bellissimo Gato [BATH-HOUSE: Confessions(1/2/3/4)] Catboys Can Purr Bagels, Goodbyes, & Catboy Abduction Love Poem No, no, no...
───────────
DAETH: Breaking Callon - Pleasure w/Pain - Sensing Death - ★Kissing Fate(1/2) - Precariously Balanced Nature - At Long Last, Eddellyn - Soul Searching - Into the Maze - ★The Minotaur & The Labyrinth - Heart of the Maze - Before the Storm - Thunder & Honey - ★Ripped Gowns - ★Sensual Poetry - Warding Sigils - Hedonistic Filth & House-Sized Party Crasher - Confronting Maarazaar(1/2/3) - Ash Bunny Irihi
───────────
RISQUÉ: Fun with Fisticuffs!
[CHATTE]Enter Chatte - Chat w/Castor -Proposing the Race
[ASMODIEL & GALVINA] ★A Celestial & Demoness Play Cards - Asmodiel Smites a Feeder
──────────────────
[☆ = favorite / ★= extra fave]


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Wynterleaf
(@wynterleaf)
Citizen Citizen
Joined: 1 year ago
Posts: 130
 

Eddellyn Wynterleaf

“Who? Where?”

The question hung in the air just as the windows exploded inward and Wynterleaf ducked her head as glass rained down on them. From the shelter of Daeth’s body, she gave him a quick nod of reassurance that she was alright but she could see by the strain on his face and the fresh torrent of blood from the Brand that he was not.

The reason behind this newest cascade of blood became apparent as an earthy and lush voice rose from the darkness beyond the window, the sound coiled through the hall filling the space with carnal promises and dark threats. A throaty laugh heralded the arrival of a winged and wholly naked female, as she drifted through a broken window, unmindful of the shards of glass as she dropped into a place of prominence before them. Both her posture and mannerisms were calculated and designed to entice but Wynterleaf was unmoved. Though she didn’t recognize the woman by sight, she knew she was a Daemon, or perhaps more accurately a succubus, designed to incite the lust of others so that she could feed. And her intended meal was obvious, her hips swayed and rolled in exaggerated movement as she sinuously approached Daeth.

The edges of her mouth turned down, Wynterleaf clutched her sword but held silent, her eyes flashing dangerously the one called Slann breathed her obscenities. She could see the moment that Daeth reached the end of his tolerance for the noxious speech and did nothing to stop him from seizing her sword. Though she expected the action would have little effect on the powerful daemon, Eddellyn’s eyes blazed with fierce pleasure as he buried the steel in Slann’s stomach.

Sadly it did little to stem the filth spewing from Slann’s mouth; if it had been Eddellyn’s choice, that would have been her target - to put an end to the flow of words that were designed to induce a reaction. Her hand curled into a fist as she debated giving Slann something to choke on.

But then Slann’s gaze, hate-filled and bitter, shifted in her direction and Eddellyn was under the impression that the creature was resentful and  perhaps a bit jealous of her, and then the daemon’s words penetrated.

“He would not offer you as a sacrifice…”

Anything else the harpy said was inconsequential, though Eddellyn’s mind was aware of the onslaught of lewd and sexual remarks and meant to humiliate both Daeth and herself, her mind was caught on the phrase “He would not offer you as a sacrifice”

Sacrifice.

The word repeated in her head as the vithing huni continued to relish sharing graphic details of herself and Daeth as lovers. The daemon attempted to taunt them but instinct told Eddellyn that act had been non-consensual. Is that what they had done to him in retaliation for refusing to offer her as a sacrifice? She began to piece the situation together from the context as it was given.

Wynterleaf stared blindly at the hilt of the sword where it pressed against Slann’s stomach. The sword, Memory, was a possession that had traveled with her since before she had met Daeth. And Wynter.

You will not give your life for mine. Wynter’s voice was clear in her mind as if he were standing at her side. And in the end, she hadn’t. He’d thwarted the mage and died in her place.

Incongruously, Eddellyn considered the sword buried in Slann’s stomach would have another story to add to its history. Her lip curled back from her teeth in a snarl as she made a fleeting wish to the spirits that her blade would at least leave Slann with a scar.

What had the whore meant by sacrifice?

Wynterleaf’s stomach cramped and she resisted the urge to bend double to upheave its’ meager contents. She didn’t even register the violent kiss Slann forced on Daeth or for a heartbeat he’d returned it.

It was only when the room returned to an unnatural quiet that she took notice of Slann’s sudden absence and a quick look around the room confirmed the daemon was indeed gone. Nearby, Daeth cleaned her sword on a bit of discarded curtain before he handed it back to her; he tried for a smile but she could see the shadows of the torment the encounter had wrought, the amethyst of his gaze no longer shone clear as he tried to hide his trauma.

Daeth pulled her in for a tight hug and without hesitation she wrapped her arms around his waist, clutching at him like he was her only lifeline in the storm - as he had been in a storm long ago on the Vericul. Unplanned, words bubbled up from her chest in a fierce whisper. “I'll kill her.”

Please say you did not sacrifice yourself for me? The rest she held behind her teeth, unable to put that question to him now - this wasn't about her. Instead, she lifted her face into his kiss but that was cut short by a sonic boom, the noise louder than anything she had experienced before.

K R A A A K A - K O O O M!!

The sound reverberated down to Wynterleaf’s bones and she braced herself from falling as something of massive proportions landed on the roof. She threw an arm over her head on reflex, expecting the ceiling plaster to cave in on them. There was no time to contemplate evacuation from the room, as a broken window was filled with the orb of a yellow eye, terrifying in size and matched by the tremor of speech that came from its owner.

Wynterleaf stared incomprehensibly at the window and a shudder wracked her body as her brain struggled to catch up, her mind still preoccupied with Slann's words. What made her life more valuable than any others? She never wanted anyone to trade themselves for her. Mired in guilt and narrow-minded thoughts, she heard the voice in the back of her mind - the pointed one that she couldn't ignore - would you not do the same for someone you cared for?

Without hesitation. There was no way she could deny it, if given the chance, she would make the sacrifice. It was time to prove she could put someone before herself.

She pushed back her mantle of anguish and lifted her chin, blinking rapidly as she finally took in the scope of the situation. She straightened to her full, inconsequential height and lifted her sword, flipping it around with a flourish, the action familiar and reassuring.

Thus rallied, Eddellyn faced Daeth with a solemn expression as he prepared himself to respond to the demon. At his words he'd return as soon as possible, she nodded; she trust that he would be back when he could. 

He would leave the ballroom alone but not without a promise.

“Ma ver emma vhenan in’ma.” Her voice was pitched low so none of the other elves in the room could hear, the words meant only for him.  

There was no question in joining him to stand against Maarazaar, the demon outclassed her tenfold, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t find another avenue of attack. She waited until Daeth exited the ballroom before turning on her heel and heading toward the northern end of the room.

As she passed Trav, her features flattened and she spoke to him in a hard voice. “Watch Daeths’ back - watch your own back - but don’t do anything foolish.”

She brushed by without waiting for a response.

As she move further down the room, something niggled at the periphery of her senses, the hairs to rise on the back of her neck rising as foul energy wafted toward her. The nobles in their panic had scattered as far as they could from the demon that occupied the western courtyard, leaving this portion of the room empty. There should have been nothing to catch her attention but Wynterleaf was reminded there was a reason the wards had failed in the first place, revealing Daeth’s presence to Slann - she did not think their destruction had been that vithing witch’s doing. No. The hand of something else had orchestrated that, but she didn’t know who or why.

It had been a long while since Eddellyn relied on her telepathic powers for anything; she had trained diligently to block the thoughts of others from her head but now she freely choose to open herself to the cacophony of thoughts of those on the Estate. A shaft of pain pierced her temple as the thoughts clouded her mind in a rush and she briefly shuttered her eyes, giving herself time to sift through them all. She followed the threads of thought around the room searching for the one that didn’t fit. When she found it, it was not a singular thought but a recitation of instructions, like an automaton executing a command. Wynterleaf opened her eyes to focus her attention on that location and felt a ripple disturb the shadows to the north. She followed her intuition and went to that end of the room.

On the way, a red scarf discarded on the floor caught her attention, and she halted long enough to pick it up, testing the silk, not surprised that it was high quality. A precious garment lost by a noble in the pandemonium. Quickly, she looped the scarf around her right arm and began binding the stump of her wrist, over her shirt to create a padded sleeve cap. Tied off in a tight knot, she tucked the loose ends under the edges and admired the impromptu wrist guard, content that it would give her a bit of added stability and strength. Maybe not as much as leather but she didn’t have the luxury of full gear; this would serve well enough if she ended up in close-quarters combat.

Near the northern end of the room, where she had sensed the disturbance, she hesitated in front of a shattered window long enough to cast a fleeting, regretful glance toward the exit Daeth had taken. She would do this to help him - she was not going to let anyone sacrifice themselves while she did nothing. Wynterleaf didn’t know what she would find outside; she didn’t have magic or strength on her side but she was fast and could be exceedingly stealthy. So, with quiet determination and a shallow breath through her nose, she leaped through the broken casement.

[ooc: to Hidden Garden Clearing [Estate Grounds - North]]

Spoiler
Ma ver emma vhenan in’ma.
You take my heart with you.

 


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Lassroyale
(@lassroyale)
Patron Saint of Hawtbois, Catboys, & BAMF Babes Noble
Joined: 1 year ago
Posts: 826
Journey starter  

DAETH

The Bearer of the Mark

╺ ✽ ╸

“Fighting battles is like courting girls: those who make the most pretensions and are boldest usually win.” 

 – Rutherford B. Hayes

 

The usual devil-may-care indifference was missing from Daeth’s hard amethyst gaze as he stared coldly at the pale yellow orb of Maarazaar’s massive eye. He didn’t offer a response to the apostle’s thunderous challenge, and, after a protracted moment, the gigantic daemon blinked and then withdrew, its huge eye disappearing from the broken window frame. The daemon’s vanta black body seemed to disappear completely into the velvety darkness stretched across the estate grounds, but the dark angel could still clock it, the apostle’s massive form limed in his vision as if backlit by rim lights.   

He turned back to Eddellyn.

Wordlessly, Daeth rolled his shoulders. He spread out his imposing wings, their midnight black feathers exhibiting a violaceous chroma as they caught and reflected the light, and he scarcely felt the warm flow of new blood down his back. The majority of the nobles were focused on creating as much of a distance as possible between themselves and the massive daemonic threat that was lurking just outside the wall of broken windows, but when they first saw Daeth's wings, there were several startled cries and exclamations that reverberated throughout the group. 

The dark angel reached out into the empty air with an outstretched hand, a concentration of darkness forming within the hollow of his palm.  For a split second, the ballroom dimmed as all the light in the room was pulled into the black mass between his fingers. Daeth closed his hand, forcing the darkness to congregate before it stretched and expanded, becoming an inky black rift from which he drew Succubus. The fissure was resealed as soon as the legendary weapon crossed from the abyss into reality, and the chamber became substantially brighter.

The wickedly curved blade of the living scythe appeared sharp enough to slice clean through shadow, light, and the fabric of reality itself—and that wasn't far from the truth. Those who have seen Succubus  concur that the weapon had an unmistakable aura, which has been described as a magnetic, physical desire. Those who have touched or handled her, on the other hand, describe her attraction as seductive and avaricious—and everyone who has ever touched her swears to having felt an almost unbearable sensation of thirst emanating from the scythe itself. Since Succubus  only comported to Daeth and would not tolerate the touch of others—with the exception of Eddellyn, thus far—the feeling was generally followed by a sensation of strong repulsion and downright animosity.

Daeth never really questioned why, out of all others, Succubus  had accepted Eddellyn’s touch. He’d only asked once while liaising with Succubus  in her original form within the Astral Realm—her true form being that of the original succubus of lore, and mother to all greater and lesser succubi thereafter. Succubus  was a greedy and jealous creature by nature, and she hadn’t been happy to have his attention focused anywhere else but upon her. She had, however, paused when he’d mentioned Eddellyn’s name and gave a vague, cryptic answer in response.  'Her touch was yours,' was all she had said. She’d declined to say anymore on the subject and Daeth didn’t press the point; Succubus  could be an exceedingly petty creature and he hadn’t wanted to deal with her pouting or petulance.

He could almost feel the warm stickiness of blood and viscera etched into the lines of his hands and crusted beneath the rim of his nails as Succubus'  ravening hunger thrummed enticingly through him, turning his blood hot and flooding his veins with violent craving. Daeth breathed out a slow breath, calming the torrent of savage desire storming through him as he focused his attention upon Eddellyn, meeting her steady, grey eyes.  

A swell of affection momentarily softened the hard lines of his features when Eddellyn leaned close and whispered to him in Elvish—even though he didn’t understand all of it, her intent was written clearly in her tone and within the flecks of her irises. Daeth reached out and rested his hand upon her cheek, gently drawing her forward as he pressed his lips to her temple and murmured to her, repeating two lines from the earlier in the evening when he had pressed the words into her skin. This time he translated them for her.

Sum presentialiter (I am closest to you), alens in remota (when I am far away).” Daeth stepped back and took one last look at her, his smile grim but genuine. “I’ll be back as soon as I’m able.” He paused, then added. “Please keep safe, Edde.”  

With that Daeth turned from her, took a step forward, and disappeared from view.


[OOC: to the West Garden Gazebo (Estate Grounds–WEST)]

TOM-CAT: [KIANA BEACH:First Stab - POUNCE (★1/2) - WATCHER BATTLE (34/5/6/★7)] [GOBLIN EXTERMINATION (1)-(☆1/2)] – [ICE CAVES: Cliffhanger (★1/2) -PowderKeg (★1/2/3) - Hypothermia (4/5/6) - Imprint (7/8/9/)] [SUNSTEALER:(1/2/3/4)-(1/2)] –Miiya & Cat-Tom [SPARRING:(1/2/★3)] - ☆The Great Tipsu Hunt! - ☆Stolen Kiss Overwhelmed by Intimacy Returning to Her Bath Time Bonding Wings, Tails, & Love Cave Storms Climbing the Walls 1st Kiss Makeouts & Memories Laughter & Kisses Eros & Hormones Cat-Tom: Rescue Kitty! Cat-Tom vs. Skaven (Forced) Shift Back 9 Lives A Beast in the Darkness Reuniting w/Teleskela Bored Nihilism Cat vs. Dragon Emotionally Exhausted Bath Catboy, Interrupted All For Her Bellissimo Gato [BATH-HOUSE: Confessions(1/2/3/4)] Catboys Can Purr Bagels, Goodbyes, & Catboy Abduction Love Poem No, no, no...
───────────
DAETH: Breaking Callon - Pleasure w/Pain - Sensing Death - ★Kissing Fate(1/2) - Precariously Balanced Nature - At Long Last, Eddellyn - Soul Searching - Into the Maze - ★The Minotaur & The Labyrinth - Heart of the Maze - Before the Storm - Thunder & Honey - ★Ripped Gowns - ★Sensual Poetry - Warding Sigils - Hedonistic Filth & House-Sized Party Crasher - Confronting Maarazaar(1/2/3) - Ash Bunny Irihi
───────────
RISQUÉ: Fun with Fisticuffs!
[CHATTE]Enter Chatte - Chat w/Castor -Proposing the Race
[ASMODIEL & GALVINA] ★A Celestial & Demoness Play Cards - Asmodiel Smites a Feeder
──────────────────
[☆ = favorite / ★= extra fave]


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Lassroyale
(@lassroyale)
Patron Saint of Hawtbois, Catboys, & BAMF Babes Noble
Joined: 1 year ago
Posts: 826
Journey starter  

DAETH

The Bearer of the Mark

╺ ✽ ╸

w/aid from: 

Spoiler
Lady Siofra Roquesseau

Lady Siofra Roquesseau


“Fighting battles is like courting girls: those who make the most pretensions and are boldest usually win.” 

 – Rutherford B. Hayes


[OOC: Crash landed from the Hidden Garden Clearing —NORTH]

Battle w/Maarazaar - pt.3/3

 

CRAAAASH!!

 

Amidst the sound of shattering glass, the Grand Tiered Ballroom erupted (again) into a cacophony of shouts, crying, and horrified screams as, for the second time that evening, there was an explosion of black feathers in Daeth’s immediate vicinity.   

Except this time, the reason there were feathers everywhere was decidedly less pleasurable.   

By several orders of magnitude.   

That doesn't even take into account the blood speckled over many of the feathers... splattering the wall... sprayed (somehow) onto the ceiling...dripping from the uneven edges of shattered glass left in the frame of the smashed window…and trailing in thick, gruesome streaks along the floor to the center of the ballroom. 

Daeth lay in a mangled heap of limbs and feathers in the center of the lower dance floor, dazed and bleeding as he attempted to piece together what the hell just happened.   There was broken glass all around him and he could feel several dozen cuts—most shallow but one or two were concerningly deep—spread over his body.   His left side was alarmingly warm and wet.  He grit his teeth—he didn’t have time for this. 

Taking a deep breath, the dark angel groped down his left side with his hand and growled in pain as he came across a sharp shard of glass that had punctured his side and slipped between his ribs. He groaned as he examined the wound with his fingers, but eventually exhaled a sigh of relief; the glass didn't puncture him too deeply, mercifully snagging on the curvature of one of his lower ribs before it entered too far and struck anything vital.  Daeth knew it wasn’t ideal, but he had to get the shard out and get back out there.  He needed to put down Maarazaar as quickly as possible— he didn’t have the luxury of babying his injury. 

He wouldn’t fall for the daemon apostolis’ trick a second time.  

Daeth swallowed his pained grunt as he forced himself into a sitting position, slightly favoring his left side as he felt the piece of glass slip off his rib and dig a little further into his flesh.  He swore. “Faex!”  He glanced around with a narrowed, amethyst gaze, but didn’t spot Maarazaar at any of the windows.  Well, at least his wards were holding.  The dark angel decided to just get it over with and wiped his blood-slicked hands on his pants as well as he could, before carefully pinching the piece of glass between two fingers as firmly as he was able.   “Here goes nothing,” he muttered.   

Before he could think about it any longer, Daeth breathed deeply, clenched his teeth, and yanked the glass from his side.  He bit back a groan and angrily tossed the red-smeared shard away from him, clamping his hand over his ribs as the wound began to bleed freely.  Deodamnatus,he hissed.  The glass had penetrated deeper than he originally thought.  Still, he had to get back to the fight.   

Pressing his hand hard against his side, Daeth pushed himself to his feet and stood for a moment, mentally cataloging his other injuries.  Lucky for him, the glass only tore him up a bit—most of his other cuts are superficial.  He looked down at his torso; his hand was red and wet, and vitae continued to flow between his fingers and track down his body.  Damnit.  He was losing a copious amount of blood.   Daeth’s piercing amethyst gaze grew hard; he’s been through worse.   

This was nothing. 

He stooped and picked up Succubus, a gasp escaping him as the scythe immediately began to try and feed on his freely flowing vitae.   His jaw was rigid as he gripped Succubus  and exerted his will over the living weapon.  His hand tightened around the scythe until his knuckles were white and a fine sheen of sweat broke out across his skin.  She was ravenousIt’d been too long since he had last allowed her to feed and she was wild with thirst.   

I promise you,” he growled lowly, his lips barely moving.  “You will have a whole damn apostalis to feed upon.”  His muscles tensed, his whole body seemingly knotted with strain as the dark angel sought to keep Succubus from draining him dry.  Daeth’s eyes suddenly flared with amethyst light and he roared: “YOU WILL OBEY ME! The words soared above the clamor of the ballroom, a hush settling over it as if every sound had been pulled into a vacuum.

His voice was at once ancient and beautiful, vibrating with a primal magnetism that transcended reality itself.  It was a voice that trembled within one’s elemental core, a voice that’s never been heard and yet has always been known; it’s a voice that mortals will usually never hear until they’ve taken their last, dying breath.   

It’s the voice of Death. 

And it’s the voice of an Angel. 

Daeth leaned on the scythe, breathing heavily as he finally felt Succubus’ ravening thirst slowly ebb until its pull had been greatly blunted.  He loosened his grip and leaned forward, whispering something to the living weapon under his breath.  “Ego fluent flumen porro ad te, et gravido cum animarum et semper esse,” he promised.   

After a moment, the dark angel straightened with a determined look in his eye.  He flexed his wings to make sure that nothing was sprained or broken—all good.   His side was still openly bleeding, but there was nothing to do for it right then.  He needed to end things with Maarazaar as fast as possible.  Daeth took a step towards the wall of broken windows, when there was a small commotion amongst the gathered nobles.  He turned his head slightly and observed a dark-haired, dark-eyed Elf speaking urgently to a petite blonde Elfess bearing a fierce expression.  

Abruptly, the petite Elfess twirled gracefully away from her companion and strode towards Daeth with a determined—some would say stubborn—set to her jaw.   

Her friend called after her.  “Siofra, what are you doing? 

Siofra ignored her companion and came right up to dark angel.  She paused and peered up into his face, her large, pale green eyes almost doe-like set against her delicate features.  Daeth just raised an expressive brow at her and let his vivid amethyst gaze settle fully onto her.  The petite blonde appeared momentarily stunned to have the (near) full weight of his intense gaze set upon her.  She swayed a little, but then her pink, rosebud lips pressed into an unwavering and resolute moue.   

Sir, you cannot go back out to fight that…rauko without wrapping your wound!” she exclaimed.  Her expression grew firm.  “You will not.”   

Before Daeth could ask her what she suggested he do, Siofra removed the long, pink shawl from her shoulders and folded it neatly in half, lengthwise.   Then without bothering to ask for his permission, the tenacious Elfess stepped forward and pulled his hand away from his wound.  She pressed the soft vicuña against his side and clumsily attempted to wrap the shawl around his torso—made all the harder with her eyes screwed shut against the sight of his blood.  She mostly succeeded in feeling him up, if he’s being honest, her small hands fluttering over his chest, side, and stomach with gentle, almost shy touches. 

Despite the direness of the situation, Daeth felt a small, amused grin faintly tug a corner of his mouth upwards.  He stopped her before she got too far, placing his hand over hers.  Siofra stilled, her eyes still winched shut, though the tips of her small pointed ears reddened with a cute blush.  After a second she cracked open her eyes and peered up at him through the sweep of her lashes.  Daeth nodded to her in appreciation.   

Thank you, satis una,” he said quietly.  

Siofra seemed momentarily shell-shocked and let Daeth take the shawl from her hands without protest.  Leaning Succubus against the wall, the dark angel folded the soft vicuña shawl lengthwise into thirds, and then deftly dressed his injury with the rather expensive makeshift bandage, tying it torturously tight.   With any luck, it would be enough.  The dark angel reclaimed Succubus and turned once again to the petite woman.  He leaned down towards her, wincing slightly, but nonetheless pressed his lips to Siofra’s brow.  “You have my gratitude,” he murmured.  “And I owe you a debt.”   He stated this last as a promise. 

Unable to delay any longer, Daeth turned away and faded from view, heading directly to Maarazaar’s location at Isabella’s Hedge Maze—Entrance on the eastern estate grounds.

 

[TO: Isabella's Hedge Maze - Entrance (Estate Grounds EAST)]

Spoiler
OOC: It's time for Ri!
Omg, it's finally @Irihi time! See you at the Hedge Maze Entrance 😮

TOM-CAT: [KIANA BEACH:First Stab - POUNCE (★1/2) - WATCHER BATTLE (34/5/6/★7)] [GOBLIN EXTERMINATION (1)-(☆1/2)] – [ICE CAVES: Cliffhanger (★1/2) -PowderKeg (★1/2/3) - Hypothermia (4/5/6) - Imprint (7/8/9/)] [SUNSTEALER:(1/2/3/4)-(1/2)] –Miiya & Cat-Tom [SPARRING:(1/2/★3)] - ☆The Great Tipsu Hunt! - ☆Stolen Kiss Overwhelmed by Intimacy Returning to Her Bath Time Bonding Wings, Tails, & Love Cave Storms Climbing the Walls 1st Kiss Makeouts & Memories Laughter & Kisses Eros & Hormones Cat-Tom: Rescue Kitty! Cat-Tom vs. Skaven (Forced) Shift Back 9 Lives A Beast in the Darkness Reuniting w/Teleskela Bored Nihilism Cat vs. Dragon Emotionally Exhausted Bath Catboy, Interrupted All For Her Bellissimo Gato [BATH-HOUSE: Confessions(1/2/3/4)] Catboys Can Purr Bagels, Goodbyes, & Catboy Abduction Love Poem No, no, no...
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DAETH: Breaking Callon - Pleasure w/Pain - Sensing Death - ★Kissing Fate(1/2) - Precariously Balanced Nature - At Long Last, Eddellyn - Soul Searching - Into the Maze - ★The Minotaur & The Labyrinth - Heart of the Maze - Before the Storm - Thunder & Honey - ★Ripped Gowns - ★Sensual Poetry - Warding Sigils - Hedonistic Filth & House-Sized Party Crasher - Confronting Maarazaar(1/2/3) - Ash Bunny Irihi
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RISQUÉ: Fun with Fisticuffs!
[CHATTE]Enter Chatte - Chat w/Castor -Proposing the Race
[ASMODIEL & GALVINA] ★A Celestial & Demoness Play Cards - Asmodiel Smites a Feeder
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[☆ = favorite / ★= extra fave]


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Irihi
(@irihi)
Villainess Noble
Joined: 1 year ago
Posts: 843
 

Lolindir M'lithan (Greymaster)

From: Naith Tuliin

A side door to the great hall opened, and a tall gaunt Elf emerged. He was of an aged appearance that spoke of centuries of life. His flowing hair and beard were white with the passage of countless years. He carried with him an ornate staff of the Order of Light and wore robes colored and badged, denoting that he was of the most senior of Liathildor’s cabal of wizards. His entrance went nearly unnoticed in the chaos, though if any had witnessed Greymaster’s arrival, they might have wondered at how the ancient Elf could have emerged from a portal to what was, essentially, a broom closet. 

But that was the wont of the most senior of Greyhaven’s wizards. When he traveled, he did so by using existing gateways, be they magical or mundane. 

Either that or he spent a lot of time hiding in closets waiting until the time was right to “magically” emerge.

 

The wizard M’lithan made calming gestures as he was approached by the few in house Syltumel who knew him. “I am here now and all will be set right.” He replied calmly to a rather frantic Lord Syltumel’s shouting about how their wards against dark forces had failed and why the master mystic had not answered their call sooner. 

Like most of the elites of the bridgeways, the estate poured prodigious sums of Malda into The Order’s coffer for favors and protections--both political and physical--of course, that was not why Lolindir had come, himself. The daemon was of little concern to Greymaster. He was not here as a favor to lobbyists who no longer mattered. His true purpose had been divined from the heavens, and would be revealed in time.

Intoning a summoning phrase, the Master Mystic waved his staff over the cracked and bloodstained flagstones of the hall. The mortar between the stones as well as the blood and feathers upon them dissolved to smoke and ashes that whirled and writhed in an unfelt wind. The snakelike cords of smoke enlarged and solidified into streamers of grey ash that multiplied into a tangled mass of whipping streaming locks. From beneath these, in turn, unfolded the figure of a woman, the ash streamers resolving into colorless hair above a blank-eyed monochromatic face. Elven ears, long lithe fingers and a svelte figure even distinguishable beneath the robe of dust, all emerged even as fleshless hands pushed streaming ashen hair beneath raised hood.

Irihi’s TonDen had arrived.

 

Irihi’s TonDen

From: Naith Tuliin

The TonDen of grey ash turned to her master and held head cocked, expectantly. No sound emerged from the ashen mouth, but the words she spoke were still clear as morning daylight.

“Give me.”

Greymaster

“Destroy the daemons--all of them.” Lolindir M’lithan echoed the pleas of the Syltamuls to his thrall in a voice that was much more command and much less request. He raised his staff and spoke more words of summoning, describing arcane symbols in midair with his free hand.

Beneath the staff of Lolindir, a darkness coalesced from thin air. The darkness was not so much an object, but an absence of light, air, or anything. Though it was not particularly large, the knee-high dark star gave the impression of being an endless well into which one might fall forever if one drew too near. 

Irihi’s TonDen

This absence of presence made its way to Irihi, who was now crouched down with arms extended, beckoning as if in welcome. The star of blackness was not steady in its progress, it wended one way, then the other, seeming to tilt and stumble along on unseen and unsteady legs.

Irihi’s face was a moving sculpture of colorless dust, but even this featureless medium expressed an ecstasy of feeling as it turned toward the fumbling star. Ashen tears rolled freely from blank pupil-less monochrome eyes, and slightly parted lips of smoke spread into a wide and proud desolate smile.

When the darkness reached her, it seemed to pull Irihi’s very substance into it, or perhaps it was the TonDen trying to throw every speck of herself into the well of nothing. The effect was similar to that of iron shavings pulled between two powerful magnets. Irihi’s skin prickled and spiked near the dark star, thin streams of grey ash spiraling down into its emptiness as she tried to enfold the monstrous well of nothing within her embrace. 

A tap of Lolindir’s staff upon the ground caused the star to repulse Irihi’s TonDen, and she staggered back to land on folded legs. Rising slowly, with one hand still trailing Grey Ash into the hole of nothing, the TonDen regarded her master. For an instant one blank monochrome grey eye seemed to flash with the memory of a inkblack-stenciled violet pupil. Fury impossible for the Grey Ash to restrain radiated from the TonDen until Greymaster again pressed his staff harder to the cobblestones. 

The dark star faded and the spikes of barely-restrained rage swirling over the surface of Irihi’s ashen sculpture receded. It seemed physically painful; the change that slowly overspread Irihi’s colorless face. It was as if she had razored cables buried in the corners of her lips, piercing her cheekbones, grinding metal-on-bone as they hauled her features into amiability. 

I will be good, promised her barbed-wired features.

Come

The concertina razors disappeared, and immeasurable fondness returned to the sculptured face of dust, as Irihi inclined her head to the dark star. 

Let’s play outside.

To: Isabella's Hedge Maze - Entrance


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