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Post by Sighani on Nov 8, 2009 5:08:28 GMT -5
...Vergilius Patroklos The Once and Future King"Next time, Master, do tell someone where you are going before you disappear. Do you think it fair that I should assume your duties as king--you're a king now, Master, or have you forgotten?--while you're out chasing flights of fleeting fancy? Consider yourself blessed that none attempted to breach the borders in your frivolous absence." At the words, it was with a wry sense of self-mocking amusement that Vergilius Patroklos, High King of this nothing place lost between worlds of time and kingdoms of golden sand, realized that he had no true concept of fairness. Trained a scholar, his mind a fine instrument crafted by the steadiest and surest of hands and played now only to the tune of angel hymns and midnight requiems, the ivory patriarch knew what it meant, of course. But as many abstractions in this life and the next, the concept of fairness was an ideal that was inlaid like a bland gem in the dirty rock of experience. A man could not fully understand love, death, fairness until he had experienced it, after all. Similarly, Virgil supposed that for one such as himself, he did not, could not, want for what he had never known. And so the High King wondered exactly what it spoke of his character, that he knew now in the dawning of the sixth year of his life that he had always, in the innermost sanctum of his bleeding heart, envied the boy he had named his dearly beloved, and yet he did not resent him. He watched his pupil's approach with an observant eye: the flame-spun glint of sunlight off a pelt as black and forbidden as oceanic depths, the unearthly grace in each long stride, the angular lines of manhood so freshly carved into soft features, the glacial chill in those sky-kissed eyes. Cleitus Mavrokardia was not so much his student as his masterpiece, a work of art he'd begun since before the boy could scarcely recall, one that he had refined with careful touches, bold strokes, unspoken wisdom, one that was nearing completion but would never truly be finished, not in Virgil's lifetime. A private smile stealing across the king's regal features, he knew that this boy was so integral to his sense of self that he could not resent him. He knew he might as well attempt to resent his need to breathe. "Calm yourself, Eromenos." It was a name that meant beloved, a name that Virgil's own tutor had bestowed upon him those many years ago, and one he now spoke with burning pride. He noticed the change in Cleitus's features at the calling--subtle, but there, so very there--and his smile broadened. He was quite accustomed to the complaints of his pupil; try as he may, he could not cleanse the young man's mind of its hapless worries. Even in spite of his argument's futility, the king continued, much to the obsidian brujo's chagrin. "Nothing ever came of concern but more of its own kind. Everything in the Cosmos has a time and a place, and your worries do not belong in the here and now. Besides, how ever would I gather my wits about me if I couldn't have at least one afternoon free of your incessant balking?" They shared a harmless laugh, and then silence descended upon the two brute's on dovegray wings, and the wolves, black and white, a shadow and a thought, cherished the fleeting peace. Cleitus settled down alongside his king in the pale beach sand, two pairs of eyes drifting seaward, blinking against the spray of sun-warmed salt and seafoam, listening to the gulls cry and the earth breathe with every hissing wave. The silence registered as vaguely odd in Virgil's consciousness, for there was an orphan girl running rampant through his lands, but he knew as well as any that it was in the nature of children to disappear, and he encouraged the whelp's independence. She needed a firm paw, not a watchful eye, and Virgil was happy to provide. Swinging his muzzle towards Cleitus, Virgil caught sight of the younger brute's secretive, ironic smile that managed to hint at an invitation for forbidden sweetness, so much that and more. He did not quite recall why or when the first invitation was, for something more than mere companionship, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The whole situation proved quite, quite barbed, and Virgil wasn't too suprised to suspect, beyond all rational notions of coincidence and probability, his own careless mark at the bottom of it. How Cleitus quite prefered it when his king slept on his left side, his right, unscarred profile faced to the moonlight, in the otherwise unprecedented nuzzles and nips. How he growled so, as if in warning, when in the moments of desperate heat Virgil let slip words in the thicker dialect of his worlds-away homeland, out of his customary scholar's accent. How he never gave voice to Virgil's name, no matter what the High King might care to try; not even within sun-sight of the traveling day. Virgil never asked. He thought of it, once, but Cleitus seemed to guess, and he gave voice to a shuddering, choking breath of old pain, so at odds with his usual outrageous self-confidence, that Virgil could do nothing but kiss away the sound. Virgil knew it was quite foolish of them both: himself, to allow his heartstrings to be played in such a way. Cleitus, for the naive substitution, for in something false as this there could be no reward that did not taste bitter. It must, however, have been infinitely better to have than to have not--and in the sun-cracked deserts to the south of Cthonia, watching Cleitus's unearthly grace, even wilting beneath a withering tree under the desert sun and complaining vociverously about the sand, the flies, the sun-bleach, the absolute indignity of walking and the baking heat--he realized just as wryly that even as he wondered why he could not resent Cleitus for having someone to love him so unconditionally, he had never been more glad for it. There was value even in fool's gold. The High King's shoulder pressed against that of his companion in a comfortably familiar way--for within these new lands, so warm and so golden and so unlike home that he had lain awake with sickness the entire first night, familiarity was a blessing of the gods--and the sound of lilting giggles rose up from somewhere along the beach, swelling with each ebb of the glassy-green tide. "Are there so many ways to love, Master?" Cleitus whispered into the seabreeze, his voice that of a ghost, carried away into the winds to far-off realms and forgotten places where other lonesome souls were asking themselves the exact same question. Virgil laid his head upon his outstretched forepaws, drawing in a great breath and remembering the first time he had asked the same of his own master. Virgil's sunrise orbs alighted upon the frolicking form of the girlpup, watching her chase the waves in and out, in and out. This was a new experience for all of them. "The world would not have you think so," Virgil replied at long last, just when Cleitus was wondering if he had heard the inquiry at all, "but you must never let that interfere with what you feel in your heart is right." Momentary hesitance in the boy, and then a reconsideration. Instead of further persuit, the obsidian brute merely said, "I expect our lands will see new faces before the morrow," and to that, the High King only replied, "Then let them come to us, Eromenos. Each man must find his own way through life. We must act not as monarchs, but as shepherds. To those seeking guidance, I give it freely. But I will not lead the blind." [/size][/center][/color] Cleitus Mavrokardia... Heart of Darkness
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Post by Asphyxia on Nov 8, 2009 13:10:40 GMT -5
"When you're older, your happiness will fade to give way to the darkness you hide beneath you. You cannot remain nothing but happy forever."[/size] A large, lopsided grin splashed across the young pups features, one ear standing high on her skull, the right flopping down next to her eye. Tilting her crown, the pudgy child’s needle-like canines glinted in the light, nose twitching in her excitement at the way the waves rolled along the shore. Giggling, the young fem’s hindquarters lifted behind her, plume wagging high in the air as she pranced toward the wave that rolled off the shore. Her front toes went close to the water and just as it started to roll back toward her, she let out a loud, high-pitched laughter as she turned tail and ran, her small rump tucking under her as she attempted to keep ahead of the oncoming water. Ears flapped as the tiny pup ran, her paws catching in the deep sand, sending her into a somersault as the wave pulled back again. Tiny pads shuffled, rolling the puppy onto her back in the sand, enjoying the feel of the heat it gave off, tempered by the sun.
Laying momentarily with her tiny paws lifted in the air, Baby squeezed her chocolate spheres shut. She wondered silently when the other wolves… Or dogs, like her… Would start appearing. Deciding it was a matter for Virgil, the youngster scrambled back to her feet, struggling after having sunk a bit into the soft sand. When she righted herself, the pup dropped to her belly and crawled up behind Virgil, hoping to catch him unawares, although she knew he was probably very aware. It was still fun for her to pretend. Her belly shifted side to side as her legs shuffled her closer, belly against the sandy surface. Brows furrowed in concentration, nares flaring as she took in Virgil’s scent. When she was older, Baby wanted to be an excellent hunter. Not many thought her small stature would help her in contributing to the pack, but she was determined to prove others that she could and would contribute as much as possible.
Though the small pup was very interested in plants, herbs and the such involved in healing, she also wanted to do more than just that. She wanted to prove she could do things much larger canines could. Hunting, last in battle like a true warrior, etc. Perking her ears, the young female finally pounced, her paw swatting at Virgil’s tail before she zipped around him in a wide circle, laughter dripping from her voice in joy, before she disappeared into the woods. Though she’d lost sights of Virgil, she knew she wasn’t too far that she couldn’t find him again. Baby, though would often go out of sight, was not one to get far enough that she’d be lost. Baby had quickly grown attached to the friendly man and had readily claimed him her new best friend. While Baby lost friends easily, she gained them with even more ease.
A high-pitched yelp lifted into the air. But rather than a yelp of pain, which it could have been mistaken for, it was a mere yelp of excitement, and pure pleasure. Baby had spotted a beautiful budding plant. Although she didn’t know the name, she gently placed her jaws around the stem and pulled it up, gently carrying it in her tiny jaws. Prancing back to where Virgil was, Baby had a large grin on her face, clearly proud of her find. Her giggle bubbled from her lips, her eyes brightening upon seeing the adult. “Oo’it wha’ I ‘ot, ‘ir’il!” What she’d meant to say was “Lookit what I got, Virgil!”, but her words were somewhat muffled and distorted because of the plant preventing her tongue from properly moving within her jaws which remained partially shut in an attempt not to drop the pretty bud. Though Baby knew Cleitus was there, she paid him no attention. Baby didn’t think such a gloomy man deserved her acknowledgement. His negative air would simply rub off on her if she were to pay him any heed.
As she inhaled, pollen entered her nostrils. Chest distended as she sucked in air, on the verge to sneeze. A pause. Another inhale. Then it happened. As Baby sneezed, quite loudly, the plant whooshed from her jaws, fluttering to the ground. Big, wide eyes gazed over at Virgil as she snapped her jaws shut, crimson coloring her cheeks before she quickly apologized. “Es’use me…” Her gaze shifted to the plant upon the ground as she gently nudged it with her paw. “Do you think it’s a helpful plant?” She was hoping she’d found something worthy of something other then to look pretty. “MAYBE! Maybeee… It can hase-hastt…hasten? wounds to heal! OR… Or… It could aid a sick stummie?” Her eyes grew wide with excitement at the ideas that popped into her small cranium, her eyes looking to Virgil for guidance and perhaps for praise in her find.
“But… I s’pose if it ain’t able to heal.. It could maybe just be something pwetty to look at.” Her eyes grew hopeful again as her plume began to wag, hindquarters firmly plopping down into a sit next to her Alpha. “Pwetty things b’ing happiness to wolves, right, Virgil? And happiness makes people feel betta! So in a… way? It could still heal, right…?” The overenthusiastic and always-ready-to-see-the-bright-side pup was happy with her conclusion and gently laid down, her belly against the ground, her hind legs spreading out behind her, stretching out into a rest, front paws gently folded over one another. Sighing in contentment, her head lowered to the ground, nose gently nudging the plant that still remained close by. “I will put it in the osean and maybe someone else will find it downsore or on other land and they will be happy because it’s pwetty?” Baby glanced up at Virgil, her small, plump body slowly turning so that her back snuggled down into the sand, belly in the air, her paws gently swatting at the fur hanging from Virgil’s chest. “When will we meet other woofes?” [/size][/color][/center] "I don't think so, Sir." [/size][/right]
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Post by Asphyxia on Nov 8, 2009 23:57:15 GMT -5
Nobody knows who she truly is... Anymore.[/size][/i][/color] Bile swelled in the canines throat, rolling upward until jaws were forced apart and liquid mirth spilled from her lips, the taste of stomach acids relieved upon her tongue. Disgusting, the she-wolfs nose scrunched up, lips curling. Shaking her head to free her mouth of any excess debris, she quickly lifted her skull, auds flattened, jaws snapping closed. The heat was getting to her and the creature wasn’t used to such extreme heats. Out here, in the land of no shade and no protection, she was forced to tread dead earth which were no lands worthy of anyone’s demise. Talons dug into the earth. If she’d eaten recently, she’d have hacked up everything she’d eaten. But with so little in her stomach, it was simply bile that rose and fell from her pretty lips. Dejectedly, the huntress moved toward the land where she hoped she would find both shelter from the heat and some liquid to quench her dehydration. If she was correct, this beautiful land before her had plenty to offer her. But whether or not it was marked by another, she didn’t know.
As paws hit the less harsh soil of territory that was much more lively, Fly felt the fur upon her neck prickle, hackles raising as the scent of other wolves assaulted her nostrils. Head quickly lowered to cover her previously bared throat, black spheres narrowing darkly as she pondered momentarily where these other wolves were and what their status was upon these lands. The land, from the scent of it, clearly was claimed. But how many were here, she did not know. She paused in her tracks, warily scanning the surrounding area. Her family wouldn’t, shouldn’t find her here. She was sure of it. But still, the female wanted to tread with caution and wasn’t sure whether or not this pack was welcoming of intruders. Hackles remained raised as her muscles rippled beneath her fine, double furred coat.
The canine wasn’t generally friendly with most strangers, or even those she came to know. However, she didn’t wish to outright ruin any chances of a place to stay. At least for a little while, while she regained her rest, filled her stomach and quenched her thirst. Her long, tedious journey had brought her far from home and she’d rested little since she’d left there. Home. It was a hard concept to accept now. She’d thought her pack, her birth-home, had been her home. When the Queen had jealously accused her of things she had not done and her family, along with her superiors decided to set her for an arranged marriage, Fly had decided it was time to leave. A home wouldn’t force her into something she didn’t want. And Fly certainly didn’t want Courajess, the male she’d been handed to like she was some sort of property. Was that what her home had thought of her?
From birth, the fae had done naught but do her best to serve her King as his right-hand, advising him, guarding him, keeping him company, being his messenger and even being sent to war at such young ages as one year of age. She’d been there for her family too, had saved Casey‘s life. But they had repaid her by arranging her a marriage because the Queen was simply jealous. The way Fly saw it, if the Lady was so jealous, than she should have spent more time with her man than holding conversations with ladies in waiting and hoping to impress her pack by being so involved with whelps. Dalek had and would be, as Fly swore, the only pup and male, for that matter, that she would ever be so close to. And even then, when Dalek would try to be bright and optimistic, she would shoot down his ideals with one word. If he was even lucky to get her to talk. She protected him, sheltered him, fed him, looked after his health and well-being and even looked for a home for him. She had loved him. But she wasn’t ready to accept that. She wasn’t ready to accept that she’d come to love the runty pup and he’d already moved off on his own way, in the chase of some pretty little girl that he believed to love himself.
Would she see him again?
As Fly tread through the lands, her guard constantly up, she couldn’t help but allow memories to sway her thoughts. “Freiya, won’t you see reason? We need you to make this marriage work, if not for your sake, then for ou-” Freiya had cut off her fathers words before he could say anything more. She was disgusted with her family, with her King and with the pack. “Do NOT say what I believe you were to say.” Her voice rose as she grew angry further. “I will not be handed back and forth as if I am some sort of property. You cannot and you will not hand me over to a man I do not want or know. I refuse to be treated as an item for the taking. I am not some weak, petty little female who will swoon at this mans feet and hope her jealous, selfish Queen is now made happy.” Her father opened his mouth, but again, her words cut his before he could spill a lyric. “I was born and raised to serve my King and ONLY my King. And he has returned the favor by allowing this.” Freiya was done speaking. She had no other words to say to her family. To those who she had considered her family.
The scent of others grew stronger. As did the scent of sea breeze. Though she was thirsty, Fly knew from experience that ocean water would only be tossed back up after being deemed unacceptable by her stomach. Sighing, she decided she had naught else to do but to approach the alpha of these lands and seek some temporary residence. Fly never knew if she would stay permanently, nor for how long. If something dragged her away or sent her on her way again, she simply followed her instincts. However, she would offer the King her services while she remained here. It was, after all, her duty to serve her King. Could she do it again? Would he take it for granted and be ungrateful like the last? Unsure of how to comprehend all of these knew thoughts, Fly moved forward through the trees. She watched for a while. Watched in silence as the tiny pup ran through the trees, coming dangerously close to a stranger that stood a few trees away, but not noticing, and bounded off again, excited with her find. All the while, who she assumed to be the King and some very gloomy looking man, stood off to the side, on the beach, having conversation.
The rolling ocean waves brought back nasty, fear filled memories for the female and she was reluctant to go near the water. Brow furrowing, she debated back and forth with herself, attempting to tell her other half that it was better than nothing. With a low, barely audible growl, she decided to move forward. As she stepped from the shelter of the trees where she’d so enjoyed the cooling shade, Fly’s face grew stoic. Emotionless. She would not show any signs of weakness in mind to these wolves and refused to show any signs of a weakness. Fly had been raised for war and was good at disguising her faults. The very ocean being one of her fears. Warily, she eyed the water before her narrowed, dark abyss spheres turned upon the other two, the pup laying lazily next to them. She approached slowly, allowing the trio to catch sight of her, automatically addressing the one who seemed far more sure of himself. “Might I inquire as to whether or not you are the King of these lands?” Fly wasn’t one to dally on words. She wasted little time in getting to her point. “I seek temporary residence in these lands and offer my services in return.”
Spheres shifted amongst them. Cleitus, the dark man who stood glumly next to who appeared to be his master, Virgilius. Then slowly, to the young pup who laid next to them, deciding what to do with her find. It was Virgilius, a wise-looking man that caught her eye. She was curious as to how different he would be then her last alpha. Spheres observed them all. Though she hadn’t come close enough that any could attack her, her crown still remained slightly lowered to protect her throat, gaze searching for any weaknesses in their foundation should she need to use it against them. The pup was her first thought. Acoustics lifted tall and assuredly upon her skull, tilting forward to listen for any words that would befall from the wolfs jaws. He had a beauty to him that she couldn’t fathom. His coat was a luxurious, virgin white that seemed unmarked aside from the scars he possessed. Had he gone to war too? Plume swung gently, left to right, eyes locking with Virgil’s to hold his attention and to show him that all attention remained on him and expected him, solely, to answer her inquiry.[/size] Fly. [/size][/i][/color][/right]
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Post by Sighani on Nov 13, 2009 19:39:21 GMT -5
...Vergilius Patroklos The Once and Future King Maw splitting open into a chasm of pearly stalactites and blushing sunset, the High King tasted upon the salty air the distinct bitterness of dry lightning. In these final days of summer, Cthonia, hiding within the shadow of the misty mountains, was riddled with thunderstorms, crackling bolts appearing from the blue and then streaking away back into the clouds before the thunder could give warning. The pungent scent of smoke, bittersweet as seared flesh, wafted past Virgil's flared nostrils and he knew that as soon as the sun set in the west, a much different vermillion glow would light up the darkness in the eastern skies. That particular scent of death and rebirth had been heavy in the air for several days now, which was the reason Virgil now found himself secure beside the ocean, safe from the ravenous fingers of rabid wildfires. They were a necessary evil, he knew; without the purging fires, Cthonia would transform from rolling amber fields and slate steppes to lush, smothering forestland. Turning his attention away from the fires and all the wandering rogues incapable of prediction the inferno's movement with the windchange, Virgil passed a smooth, pink tongue over Cleitus's cheek. The younger hessian sighed contentedly, nuzzling closer to his mentor, but both wolves were quick to feign nonchalance as a young pup shattered the tranquility, bounding towards the pair with something, gods help her, stuffed in her maw.
Virgil gazed fondly at the child as she babbled, though a man of such impeccible refinery as Virgil would hesitate to truly call it speaking. The girl's pronunciation was atrocious and Virgil and Cleitus alike went to great pains to bring to light her every mistake, but it seemed their efforts had been fruitless. Virgil chuckled, shaking his head. Perhaps this child was not his to train. Cleitus had been a natural, but then again, Cleitus was of Mavrokardian breeding, ancient and pure, the name itself speaking of forgotten secrets and the ways of old. It was in his nature, his very blood, to be so genteel, sophistocated as any dark prince. But this child was wild, green nature alive and flourishing in her veins, and although she had a great thirst for knowledge, there was also a hunger for adventure that Virgil knew he could not slake with lessons and philosophy, not that he would want to. Baby would never make a posh noblewoman, but Virgil would have it no other way. "You are wiser than you know, my sweet," Virgil said with an airy laugh, pawing playfully at the the whelp. "Now, if only we could teach Cleitus such optimism. Cleitus is such a grumpy bear all the time, isn't he?" He hadn't known Baby for long, but already the girl had taken quite a shine to him, though he still could not be sure of her perception of Cleitus. Virgil pinned the girl to the sand, laughing freely now, well aware of Cleitus rolling those too-blue eyes behind his back. "Your eloquence never fails to impress, Master," Cleitus drawled in a crude mockery of courtesy, voice edged with sharp sarcasm. That was one thing Virgil had not taught him, and something that would surely get the young brute into trouble someday. "If you're quite finished with your games, perhaps you'll care to know there is a stranger in our midst. Care to stand in the presence of a lady, or shall I do that for you as well?"
Virgil's eyes snapped first to Cleitus, then flitted quickly inland, spying the approaching figure Cleitus had spotted. "Sarcasm is very unbecoming of you, Cleitus, and I find your discourtesy unspeakably ugly. Mind your tongue, boy, or I'll suggest the girl mind it for you." Virgil stood, stretched, indulged in a private smile as he stepped away from the younger wolves to greet the approaching figure. Cleitus merely scoffed as the king walked away, glacial eyes drifting to Baby and narrowing, though not unkindly. "Best keep a sharp eye out, lass," he said to the girl, fangs bared in a teasing grin as his tail thumped once, twice, against the beach. "It's dangerous keeping the company of grumpy old bears."
Fronds and seeds of wheat clinging still to his virgin-white peltage among the sparkling sheen of white ocean sands that cast about the ivory hessian an ethereal glow, he was an archangel upon the transcendental horizon of the world's last dawn, a whisper of peace in the winds of war-torn beaches, a brilliant star chasing the nebulous ghosts of heaven through the abysmal void of the Cosmos. His beauty was as terrible as his love was flawed. The High King of Cthonia's golden shores shifted so that he found his feet in the presence of a maiden, travel-worn and weary though she appeared. Grave and thoughtful was his sun-kissed glance, as he looked on the stranger with cool pity fleeting through his eyes, followed by a wary uppraisal that lingered far longer. A trained gaze revealed to him that beneath her desert-roughened features, her face was fair, her flowing pelt a cold river nestled between snow-capped crags of slate and granite. Slender and small, but also strong, it seemed, and stern as steel, perhaps a daughter of kings, perhaps a knight. Virgil had seen her type before; had loved her type, in fact, in the form of a rogue obsidian fatale born of forsaken royalty, a beauty too often abused by the uncouth, dismissed as meek and helpless, a beauty toughened by years of neglect and harsh training, as distant and untouchable as the icy fire of stars. Indeed, Virgil's queen had belonged to this rare breed of woman, and the king felt a poisoned barb, long concealed and resurfacing once more to claim cruel vengeance, twist deep within the sinew of his heartstrings. This new fae seemed the very reflection of Niobe's soul, shredded velvet, ragged satin. It hurt to be confronted so by the skeletons of his recent past, and although Virgil afforded himself a curse to the Fates, he never faltered, not even in the face of heartbreak. Never would he walk the path of the shunned and scorned; he was a king of kings, a broken beauty in his own right, and the truly noble did not wallow in such earthly filth.
"If there were a king, I would be the one," he spoke to the foreign fatale, his expression guarded and unchanging, crown canted high with pride rather than the modesty suggested in his words. He was not so much an enigma as a blatant contradiction; he was not a fool enough to consider himself complicated, but even he could not deny that he was a bit of an oddity compared alongside other monarch's of his time. Amidst a generation of hungry beast-gods and hell-bent warrior chieftans, Virgil was a philosopher, a politician, a poet. He could sense in Freiya an unchained urgency, an impatience that spoke perhaps of military experience, and so the king settled down on his haunches, maw cast seaward, waiting in silence. He did not like to be rushed and would answer her in his own time. "My name is Vergilius Patroklos and I insist, as long as you draw breath of Cthonian air, that you call me Virgil. No 'sirs' or 'my lords' necessary; this is a land of equal daughters, equal sons, all alike endeared, perennial with the earth, freedom, law, and love. If it is a home you seek, do not come with promises of service or words of a debt long-owed. Enter freely of your own will. All I ask is that when the time comes you feel you must set these shores in your past, leave behind some of the happiness you bring." Soft lyrics faded instead to the ever-faithful rush and swell of the ocean tide, counting out the seconds like heartbeats, eyeblinks, the breath of lovers. He was suddenly intensely aware of Cleitus's warmth against his side, his nearness. A gentle sigh escaped his lips as he turned his gaze upon the midnight-hued youth, maw curving with a tender smile. Cleitus did not return the sentiment, not in the presence of strangers and women, but the press of shoulder against shoulder indicated to the king that Cleitus knew.
"This is Cleitus Mavrokardia, my . . ." He stumbled, groping for words, face set in momentary confusion. There was no word that could describe the young man in terms understandable by those who could not feel their connection. In the end, after an embarrassing pause, Virgil said only, "He is my dearest companion and ever as much the king of these lands as myself." Wild cerulean eyes, wide with shock and perhaps something deeper, snapped instantly to Virgil, but the king only chuckled goodnaturedly at his taciturn pupil. As his laughter abated, Virgil motioned for Baby to make her own introduction, and then said, "In time, stranger, I may inquire as to what brought you to these lands, but for now I ask only your name, if you'll give it." This new lady was indeed fair. Fair and cold, like a morning of pale spring that had not yet come to terms with its own fleeting grace. Cleitus eyed her with a curiosity that transcended boyhood lust, for Virgil was quite aware that the obsidian youth had long ago outgrown such a faze. The look in those too-blue eyes hinted more at intrigue than desire; it was not often he set eyes upon a woman. Virgil turned his stare away, choosing instead to smile discreetly upon the newcomer. Let Cleitus look his fill, this woman would no doubt put the boy in his place when she'd had enough.
Cleitus Mavrokardia... Heart of Darkness
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Post by Asphyxia on Nov 14, 2009 0:37:52 GMT -5
"When you're older, your happiness will fade to give way to the darkness you hide beneath you. You cannot remain nothing but happy forever."[/size] The tiny pup scrambled behind a bush, frightened by what was happening around her. The war had come from nowhere, a rival pack attacking her home, her family and the land she lived upon. They wanted this land, to expand their own and were determined to remove everything that stood in their way. Including the small litter of pups that were tumbling around on the ground previously, in play. Three of the pups had been carried away by some females from the rival pack. Baby didn’t know where they went or what they planned to do. A feeling of being weak, helpless and completely useless overcame her. Fear stiffened the month old whelp into place. She was still far too small to ever outrun any of these wolves. She had barely even escaped unnoticed. Her parents screamed for their children, the wolves tearing everything apart and killing all that hadn’t run from their home.
The mother cried, collapsing to the ground as she screamed for her babies that had been taken from her. Baby tried to flatten herself further into the dirt, beneath the bush. Her ears pressed flat to her skull, attempting to block out the noise as she squeezed her eyes shut as tight as possible. Plume tucked between her hind legs as her family and friends were slaughtered. All the tiny pup could see was red, but she stayed there. Even after the silence of death came and the rival pack had long moved off to their lands once more, she stayed where she was. Finally, as the tiny pups stomach growled and as she wondered silently, with a whimper, where her family was, she crept out from her hiding spot. Everything was red. Bodies were ripped apart, her father lay dead upon the ground, but where her dame was, she did not know. Slowly, the tiny pup made her way across the bloody ground to her sire.
As she curled up against the cool of his long since dead body, her whimpering continued, nose scrunching in disgust at the smell. But she couldn’t leave her daddy how he was. She couldn’t just leave him for those wolves to come back. She didn’t understand what they had done. But she knew he was hurt, if not dead. And he wasn’t responding to the gentle push of her needy little paw. A voice cut into Baby’s thoughts, her eyes lifting high to look at who had spoken. “Are you okay little one…? Did they hurt you too?” He was a warrior, she could tell just from the look of him and the way he held his scar-ridden body. But she attempted to back further away, only curling herself half under her fathers dead body. She was frightened of this man and didn’t understand his words, but what she did understand was the concern in his voice and the gentleness with which he spoke. As the large, white hessain gazed around, a soft curse left his lips beneath his breath. This pups family was dead, that was certain. And at the jaws of other warriors.
Slowly, Courajess moved toward the small pup who was probably barely weaned, if at all. “It’s okay, baby. I ain’t going to hurt you. I’m going to take you someplace safe.” Even if she didn’t understand, he knew one thing, most of the pups he knew felt uncomfortable around strangers who were silent. So he talked to her. He sat next to the body of her father until she felt safe enough to creep out from beneath him and stare at the man before her and he stayed there until she felt safe enough to let him gently place his jaws around her scruff and lift her from the ground. As he carried the pup from the death scene, he could only think of one woman he knew he could trust with the life of this pup. Cheryl. And somehow, Baby felt safe. If he wanted her dead or hurt, he‘d have done it already.
A high pitched giggle rose from the child’s parted lips, her small snout scrunching as she laughed at Virgil’s attempt to play with her. At his praising words, Baby couldn’t help but allow a large grin to plaster across her face, her tiny teeth sparkling in the sunlight. The tiny tail attached to her rear was wagging so hard her whole rear wiggled with it, her eyes squeezing shut anytime she let out a loud burst of laughter. As he pawed playfully at her, she batted his paw with an eagerness to play in return, her tiny teeth gently nipping at the air, attempting to capture his pad. “Virgil! What is opti- optimism?” Though she struggled to pronounce most words, she did try her best. She wanted nothing more than to please the two males and impress them. She listened silently as Cleitus and Virgil spoke, silencing herself like an obedient pup that knew better then to interrupt adults.
Tilting her crown slightly, she listened to Cleitus’s words, which dragged her snout toward the trees. Gaze widened slightly, her paws shuffling her to her pads as she scuffled to the closest wolf possible. And as Virgil headed toward this new female, that wolf was Cleitus. She bumped into his leg accidentally, sending her stumbling. Catching her footing, she quickly sat beneath Cleitus’ chest. Baby was always wary of strangers, always nervous when they came around. Even though she got no bad feelings from the lady wolf, she stayed clear just in case. Survival instinct told her to remain with the two males and stay as safe as possible. And right now, safe to her was Cleitus. "You're safer then a stranger..." Baby had barely whispered it, though she wasn't sure why. Crouching low to the ground, she stayed by him and as soon as he moved to Virgil’s side, Baby let out a soft whimper before prancing her paws over to the two males, winding her way around their legs so she was beneath both of their large chests and well concealed from any teeth. [/color][/center][/size][/font] "I don't think so, Sir." [/size][/right]
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Post by Asphyxia on Nov 20, 2009 1:56:55 GMT -5
Nobody knows who she truly is... Anymore.[/size][/i][/color] The laughter that spilled from the lips of the pup and that of the King were genuine, clearly enjoying some of the time they held together, but it was before she spoke, when the younger wolf had noticed her, that she truly got to observe these three. Before the King has swung ‘round to face her. It was obvious who was King here and although she still asked to be sure, she was more then ninety percent certain she was correct. The way he held himself spoke of a wise man, but a gentle one. He held a passion for life itself, it seemed to her and he wouldn’t let anyone destroy it. As he approached closer, her paws slowly took a few steps back, making it clear she had a large bubble of personal space and didn’t intend to have it intruded upon. King or not. Her skull didn’t lower any further than it was. Already, she held a stance that spoke of skilled defensive tactics, her fur upon her shoulders still bristling slightly in her wariness. This man observed her, much in the same way she observed him. Both males were handsome and youthful. Though the King seemed older, closer to her age than that of the other wolf, who seemed more whelp like to her and was only just outgrowing immaturity. But who was she to judge on looks alone?
Though the King didn’t falter, didn’t hesitate to approach, she hadn’t hesitated to back up. Her eyes remained on his the whole time, showing him that he still held her full attention. But it was there that she found it was like windows to his soul. It seemed that a storm swirled in their depths, showing signs of past troubles and possible recent ones. But Freiya didn’t care. She refused to care. She also refused to call him her King unless he proved worthy of being called a King. Acoustics tilted forward, catching his words. Even as he paused and took his time in answering her, she waited patiently. Freiya’s patience, as her previous King had once told her, could outdo any of the wolves in that pack. Even though this King reclined to his haunches, a show that stated he either trusted her not to attack or trusted the strength of he and his pack member, she remained guarded and standing, prepared. Always. She was always prepared. But she was tired and it was why she had come here. Her stomach clenched in a painful hit of hunger constantly now and her exhaustion had led her here.
Freiya tasted a metallic wetness seep into her mouth. She’d bit her cheek in order to keep herself from separating her lips in laughter at his next words. He had thought she might call him Sir or My Lord? While she may have called him Sir in another lifetime, she had never called anyone her Lord. Now, her trust escaped her and she found little reason to return to the commandments of any royalty. But it was what she was trained for. Everyday of her young life, she’d been trained to serve her King and to do naught else. And for two years, she had done exactly that. Afterward, she had traveled. Attempting desperately to get as far from those lands as possible. Did he truly think she would believe that he saw everyone here as equals? As Cleitus approached to stand at his King’s side, Freiya’s spheres narrowed. She had yet to judge either of them, and from the looks of it, they were very close. Happiness she brought? Did he not see she was unhappy? Perhaps she would find it here, perhaps not.
“Freiya.” The King’s words were soft, deep, rumbling up from his chest and across his lips. “You have brought me word from Lady Sunniva of my daughter in the Convent of Villanueva?” Freiya’s spheres dropped to the ground as her chest and crown lowered slightly toward the ground, showing her King the respectful greeting he deserved. Word had been spread that she’d entered the lands and as she’d approached the dens, her King had come striding toward her, clearly intent upon learning of how his daughter faired. “Aye, my King. Lady Sunniva says that your daughter is a very bright and quick learner. She is excelling in the Convent and they expect she will be a lady worthy of your blessing when you are ready to lay her paw in marriage.” As Freiya slowly lifted her chest and spheres, they narrowed slightly, her thoughts plaguing her mind of such trivialities. The thought that women were still sent to Convents irked her slightly. Was a woman not thought worthy of the battle field? Or was it only certain packs that thought such?
Freiya, here, was the first female to be second hand to the King in this pack and she was the first female to undergo the rigorous training of a warrior. Acoustics strained forward as her King frowned, his gaze searching her eyes. “You do not think so?” His words were demanding of an answer. Soft as they were, they were deep and filled with the authority of a strong man who would get what he wanted, when he wanted it. “I apologize my King. It is not that I deem your daughter unworthy of your blessing, at all. I had met her for myself, and just as Lady Sunniva said, you will be pleased with her.” It was difficult for Freiya to get out words of disagreement to the man who could easily have her head for it, to a man she had been trained so hard to serve. “I simply do not believe I would ever be happy in an arranged marriage. I would wish to choose a man of my own.” The King cocked his crown slightly to the side, gazing long and hard at Freiya for a while before he spoke. “The Queen believes that you and I have had an affair of sorts outside of political and emotional matters and believes you to be my leman. Your father and I were discussing an arranged marriage to a knight worthy of your paw so that my Lady’s jealousy might be… Diminished, so to speak.”
As the tide swelled, growing larger and moving further up the sand, Freiya’s eyes briefly left the Kings to travel along the shoreline, scanning to see just how close the water intended to get to her. When she was done here, she would be off in search of a place to sleep for a while. A place far from the ocean tides. “The offer stands, Virgilius Patroklos, for I am not one to take and not give in return. Whether you accept it or not is not a part of my concern. I thank you, however, for the welcome. [/color]” Spheres shifted to Cleitus once more as he was introduced by Virgil, her eyes scanning him briefly before meeting his eyes. A simple nod was sent in his direction. A gesture of acknowledgement. It interested Freiya only slightly that this man stumbled along his words before calling him dearest companion. She thought on it, but only for a moment, before the thought was lost. The shock that registered on Cleitus’ face told her that he hadn’t expected Virgil to say such and didn’t think himself equal to this man. “ I am sorry. I was trained to only serve under one King.[/color]” White and gray fur rippled in the gentle breeze, skull tilting slightly to watch them, wondering upon their reactions to her words. Plume swung gently behind her frame, gaze meeting Virgil’s once again. “ If you intend to find out such information, Virgilius Patroklos, you may find it difficult to gain.[/color]” Lips parted slightly, her tongue sliding across them before she spoke again. Should she behave so boldly here? In land she didn’t know? “ You can call me Fly. I apologize, for unlike all of you, I have no family name to offer.[/color]” Let alone a real name…[/font][/size][/center] Fly. [/size][/i][/color][/right]
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Taboo
New Member
Posts: 46
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Post by Taboo on Nov 24, 2009 15:31:26 GMT -5
We all find our own ways of askance living. Each step driven by a mindless repetition, no heed or caution outlining the stiff movements. Only ironic eyes, contradicting in color, spared signs of intelligence as the hessian drew forward. Io fei gibetto a me de le mie case. I make my own home be my gallows. Something tragic fell over his façade then, the vibrant, spring hues draining into a corpse. It lasted momentarily though, as Dorian reigned control over his thoughts once more, and an impressive barrier of cool mannerisms was erected over him.
In that brief second that his defense subdued to his hidden turmoil, something else within the large wolf dominated the fierce, moral aura he spent ages weaving into a simplistic perfection. Half-healed wounds gashed into a black stained soul, and now the time for rebirth spread before him. A cleansing bath to purify and eradicate the shocking amount of hate spawning in just one mortal. A fleshy veil covered his gaze from the world as his shoulders bowed to a near crippling defeat. His redemption seemed to far to reach, and many times night terrors spoke of his failure. When he opened his eyes again, a steely determination flashed and no longer would Dorian allow the fleeting exceptions rot his goal.
Cranium leveled to a superior position, surveying all that surrounded him. Green, lush foliage intercepted withered and dead plants, speaking of old wildfires that scarred it in the past. Every scent told new and foreign stories. Dorian grew amongst barren mountains where only the hardiest hunters and warriors thrived. Every day, he felt an unforgiving hunger gnaw in his empty gut until finally he accepted that he might never feel the satisfaction of being full. Of curling under the stars in warmth with no worry circulating through the mind. Long ago, he accepted that every night his body racked aches and pains that not many experienced. And long ago he embraced the release the pain gave him.
Dorian shook off the metallic and cold march he previously assumed. The darkness of his mind trembled before the hope he nurtured now. Passing by rock, hill, and tundra, Dorian slowly but surely escaped the prison of his past. Craning his neck, he stared at the far away crown of mountains scraping the dull horizon. A relieved sigh fluttered from his chest. Though the ghostly personas he saw in his dreams might never fade, they no longer appeared indelible and vibrant. The only factor that resisted his optimism, was the lack of knowledge of these strange lands. He knew not of their culture or how to portray himself. Various packs found different ways to be insulted and pleased, and Dorian did not keep track of them along the way.
Organizing his fears into a locked chest, sturdy limbs jolted forward once more as he crossed into claimed lands. Although the terrain wasn’t magnificent, they allowed a strong welcoming to strangers. A small, shy grin trembled on his broad muzzle. The sight was rather amusing. An overwhelmingly sized mascu with a salted ivory coat looking reticent. Trees parted to reveal a small throng of wolves that looked deep in discussion. Dorian quickly pinpointed the Alpha, as he looked so ethereal and noble. Two smaller younglings clipped close to his side as they all observed a disgruntled female. He stood off to the side, patiently waiting for a gracious entrance into their conversation. Emerald and sapphire gems gleamed in the grey, grizzled lighting.
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Post by Sighani on Dec 6, 2009 5:21:00 GMT -5
Cleitus Mavrokardia...Heart of Darkness
Patroklos. It was a name of sea and sand, a glorious union between the empires of old, when first a warrior king had crawled from the engulfing mists of his wooded lands and found refuge in the embrace of an exotic, dark-eyed goddess. It was a name as ancient as time itself, first uttered by the wind's curious breath, forged from finely-spun threads of sunfire and the honorable blood of a war messiah who had sacrificed all just for the heart of love. It was bright and shining, it glowed golden and pure in the gaze of the High King, his divine right by countless generations of exquisite breeding, and it was so painfully angelic, so terribly clean and virgin, that oftentimes Cleitus could not hold the stare of his mentor for fear of marring that unearthly beauty. Because for as much as he wished it, and for as desperately as he pleaded with the gods, Patroklos was not a name he could ever claim as his own.
Mavrokardia. The heart of darkness. It was, perhaps, the only name as ancient as that of the Patroklian lineage, though its nobility was a matter of question. It did not speak of glorious white deserts or green seas that washed over elysian shores. The name conjured up images of forboding black crags and fang-lined chasms that belched spectral fog and sulfur. An unforgiving land of harsh stone and smothering smoke, thus had been their hellish empire, and upon Cleitus's scarred brow had his family placed a crown of poison-laced barbs. And that Mavrokardian poison had indeed sank deep, polluting his veins, corrupting his heart. He'd been born into forsaken anger, but a white-winged eagle had swooped down and delivered him from his prison of malice, carrying him into the light where shadows fled and darkness bled. But Cleitus had never forgotten his roots, had never quite surrendered his hold on his gnarled scepter with its blood-encrusted jewels because his Mavrokardian curse had never quite ripped its twisted hooks from his heart. Virgil often told him that to love another unconditionally and without shame was to see the beauty of heaven itself. Cleitus loved. His love ran so deep that it ached in his bones. But he often felt as though it had cast him down to writhe amongst the infernal flames of hell rather than set him upon the throne of heaven. He loved with a green-eyed jealousy and a scarlet-fanged lust. He was impure, unclean, not fit to draw breath in the presence of a man he worshipped in the stead of self-righteous gods. He wondered if Virgil knew.
He was the boy with the byzantine eyes, narrow and cold like flints of blue steel embedded in features as black and unfeeling as the face of midnight itself. Those bladepoint eyes stabbed deep into the visage of the new fatale, sinking in and twisting mercilessly, cerulean bleeding out into a penetrated soul. The gaze was intense, frigid, a shock of breathlessness immediately succeeding the fatal fall through the sheet of dark ice, but the fatale could not be moved to care. Her oblivion spheres flitted warily between the serene features of the High King and the frothing surf that lay just beyond. She appeared restless, not so much impatient as she was uneasy, reluctant to be here, but why? The ebon brujo would not lower his muzzle in the presence of this fatale, her acidic personality barbed with insolence and disrespect, and so he acknowledged Baby's presence with a gentle nudge of his mitt that moved seemingly of its own accord, drawing the child nearer to the promise of safety, instinct overriding his prior reluctance to interract with the girlpup.
At Fly's words, Cleitus's pelt rippled to jags and daggers along his spine, his lips curling back to reveal rows of glistening fangs, brow furrowing over those too blue eyes. "Perhaps it's time you learn a new lesson, woman," the youth snapped in response to her quip, because he knew Virgil would never be possessed of the mind to tell her such on his own. Indeed, Virgil's unnatural courtesy had earned him disrespect in the past, others often marking him as weak and passive in place of accepting. Cleitus had no such qualms with his own values. His master had attempted to drive the black temper from the refuge in his crumbling psyche, but it had been to no avail. Cleitus suddenly found his anger flaring, yellow and ugly, those sulfurous flames directed solely toward this newcomer. Rage, not generosity, was the true nature of a Mavrokardian beast. "You are far from your home. Our ways are not your ways. It would serve you well to remember such in the future."
The obsidian hessian did not pause to gauge the fatale's reaction, needle-sharp eyes instead snapping up and pinning the approaching figure of a salted rogue. He passed a paw through Baby's fur once more, child-soft tresses like silk against the travel-hewn granite of his pads, and he was not entirely sure which of them he was trying to reassure, himself or the girl. "Who goes there?" he called roughly before his king could recover from the shock of his previous outburst and berate him otherwise, a low growl forming in the caverns of his chest. This was, perhaps, not the welcome the High King had anticipated from him, but these lands were strange and new, and the roar of the waves at his back seemed to stroke the arched spine of his temper. It had been far too long since he had been in the presence of unfamiliar wolven and he had quite forgotten his training, a year of mentoring dissolving in a single eyeblink. Blue clashed with green as the ebon youth locked gazes with the new male. There were no signs of hostility in the hessian, but Cleitus could not keep the livid waver from his voice as he addressed the brute once again, attempting to maintain some semblance of control as he fought anger's crimson lure. "Speak your name, sir, and come closer. There is no need to lurk amongst shadows." Is it bright where you are?
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Taboo
New Member
Posts: 46
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Post by Taboo on Dec 6, 2009 14:54:14 GMT -5
Something laced into those finely made features. His expression moved and transgressed so smoothly, it often shocked those who paid attention. Dorian strongly believed in privacy, and so he lingered just on the outskirts, absorbed in his rippling memories. Some might have pointed fingers in the name of criticism, for not focusing on strangers that easily could spill precious life. But Dorian knew that no danger lurked at this point. All three wolves adhered their precarious nature towards the new female, and so he was left to drift in precious moments. The pain of nostalgia flickered within his soul, the abounding ache that knew no end, only halted when thoughts can die. That is why, when Cleitus barked for an answer from him. Soft tresses bristled at the condescending demand. However, Dorian listened just enough to realize that his wrath centered on some in-depth bitterness, and not neccesarily his presence. He desired to chastise him for such brusqueness and fallen grace. But such realism would not be desired from an unranked stranger, and so he held his tongue. It still twitched and sparked in the back of his mouth.
"Ah, but there is a need to lurk in the shadows." His voice betrayed distress within the velveteen tone. It overflowed with an eerie bass, a foreign touch. It could be likened to a cougar, or a massive predator of the sort. He despised the lilt to his undertones. So full of guile and trickery, when the bru was quite honesty and blunt. "Placing myself in the spotlight would be very intrusive, and I see that you are busy with another. I'm very patient and wanted to wait my turn. Though, I understand that an outlander pacing in darkness isn't comforting." He chuckled lightly at his last sentence, realizing how the scene must appear to both the apprentice and master. "Be assured I only meant good intentions. My name is Dorian Gray. I wanted an opportunity to be a part of a family." The strong barrier in his words faltered momentarily to reveal a small portion of angst. He truly wanted to be a member of a family rather than just a pack. The beige speckled wolf desired a pack with more than just working ranks, but carried a soul and deep compassion for one another. Forest and sky spheres snapped once more to Cleitus, focusing starkly on his addressor. Although willing to submit to meekness, Dorian embodied the savage pride of the lupine spirit. He was powerful and a successful hunter, and he wouldn't submit to the overflowing resentment of a youngling. Though the mascu deigned to respect, his crown he held far above the lines of shame.
Though Cleitus had been the one to speak to him, he turned now to the true King of the lands. Legs bent at a distinct angle to allow Dorian to bow his regal nape and sweep into a bow. The motion clipped short before the hunter returned to his typical, sturdy stance. "I answered the question, but did not yet pay my respects. I wish to be part of a family." His resolution did not waver this time and held firm. A relieved smile played at the corner of his chaps. Dorian peered at the Alpha, tracing the gracious and exquisite lines of his form. Some fought for leadership and often looked misplaced in their position. But Vergilius Patroklos donned the throne and scepter perfectly. However, the appearance of a comfortable King also might indicate a tyrant. He reserved his judgment for later, but the curiosity wavered behind alert eyes.
Last, but not least, Dorian looked over at the young whelp. The remaining fragments of hardness melted for an instant to give way to a tenderness and beaming pleasure. Very few times Dorian came across pups, but every time stuck with him. He adored their innocence and simplicity. A state that died with him before he even outgrew infancy. "Hello," he said, his voice soft and gentle. She pushed herself tight against the younger male, causing Dorian to back off from pushing his presence upon her. Dorian Gray straightened further, his shoulder blades clicking into place as he retrieved his noble position. A quick glance served to all four, including the female, before resting once more on the King. "I was brought into the conversation before you made a decision for the lady here, so I shall wait until you are finished." Within that moment, Dorian appeared stunning with his resolute ambiance and ivory pelt glittering with gold dusted stars.
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Post by Sighani on Dec 6, 2009 18:20:18 GMT -5
Vergilius Patroklos... The Once and Future KingCallousness and insolence bring to bare unanimous social condemnation, while the simple efforts of politeness are admired; even in those who are otherwise despised. Virgil regarding the ebon youth with a detached, appraising stare, carefully calculated thoughts chasing themselves endlessly through depths of celestial gold. Oftentimes, his pupil was well-spoken, possessed of a finely-crafted accent lilting with the sweet ring of aristocracy and impeccible breeding, but even so, the words that spewed from that damnable mouth were a vile poison. Exquisite brow arched in subtle condemnation as his ward addressed this newcomer with such blatant disrespect, filthy jibes speaking yet of some ill wound that ran deeper than the High King himself could have guessed. What manner of foul demons lurked in the boy's twisted heart? How deep did the scars of a Mavrokardian birth truly lie?
"There is an insolence which none but those who themselves deserve contempt can bestow," the High King said softly as the younger brujo lapsed into blessed silence, spheres narrowing to slits of contemptuous sunfire. It was the only sign of his resentment that betrayed the otherwise composed exterior, and yet just in that look alone, Virgil said more than he could have if he had screamed at the boy instead. Indeed, he could not recall a time when he had looked with such ill-will upon the accursed splendor of his pupil, if he ever had at all. The boy still had much to learn. So much. "And only those who deserve no contempt can bear it," he continued after a tense pause, ripping his eyes away from the youth and pinning them on the fatale with, perhaps, more force than was necessary. He would berate Cleitus later, when their new company had parted. He would ensure that the boy learned his lesson, and well. Ever before, he had been a patient, understanding mentor. He had loosed the chain from around the beast's throat and allowed him to run free with his bloodlust. He'd seen a potential for change in the youth, believing his father a fool to condemn such a young boy. Above all else, he hated for Cleitus to make him rethink his initial assumptions, his desires, his hopes. "You dishonor the image of Cthonia, Cleitus, and in doing so, you have dishonored me. I will not hear you speak so shamefully to one so undeserving ever again." It was not a request. Soft though the words were, they carried in their exquisite silk a sharp blade of brutal honesty that could, in the eyes of strangers, be mistaken for cruelty. But who among those present could say that the boy did not deserve as much? Virgil had raised him better than that.
"Forgive the discourtesy, Lady Fly, the boy is young and inexperienced. He's quite harmless." It was an insult so personal and demeaning that Virgil's heart ached at the sound of his own voice, but he managed to force a warm smile for Fly's sake in spite of the pain. It was likely she could never know how deep such words could cut the youth. He doubted Cleitus would address her so harshly ever again. He didn't have to look at the boy to know that he was stewing in humiliation. "I encourage free speech in all my companions, but I also stress discretion. I fear Cleitus has not given you a proper welcome. Do not judge Cthonia on his actions, as the boy himself has yet to learn our ways. It is my hope you will reserve your judgement until we can become better acquainted." It was his way of accepting her offer to serve the pack. He saw no need for traditional formalities. Few things in Cthonia were genuinely traditional, after all. His eyes passed over the granite-craved fae, contemplating her ire compared to her noble stature, searching for something in those midnight-cloaked orbs, but there was naught to be found in that abyss. The fatale was well-trained, a woman who demanded respect in spite of her vulnerable beauty, and she wore the face of one who went out not in search of certain death, but life. He could sense her discontentment, taste it as surely as the seasalt upon the wind, and it seemed to him that he beheld the form of a silver flower standing straight and proud, and yet knew that it was hard, not formed by the gentle, shapely hands of nature, but wrought by warriors out of steel, its sap molten and its petals razor-sharp. It was a bittersweet thing, too see such a fair maiden and know that she didn't embrace her grace as much as she scorned it. Such was evident in her brashness, her willingness to speak her mind despite the ramifications, her hesitance to give respect to a boy who could not prove he deserved as much.
Regal crown inclined toward the foreign male and the High King found himself subconsciously agreeing with Cleitus's sentiment, no matter how prickly. There was no need for wolves to creep along the outskirts. All were welcome into Cthonia's golden light. "Dorian Gray," Virgil echoed, tasting the name. The hessian's bass voice, lined with sly amusement and fleeting smiles, spoke of a shadow-cloaked history that could not easily be recalled. Rather, it stretched its dark claws forward into the present, ever grasping for the emerald-eyed brute who had once before escaped its clutches, a black-winged bird perched always on his shoulder. Wolves often lingered in areas of familiarity. Though Dorian Gray spoke of patience and respect, it was really no wonder that the hessian had not joined the others in Cthonia's ivory sands. Virgil mirrored the male's bow, quite certain that if he removed his attention from Fly for a moment, she would only be of a mind to turn on Cleitus rather than the High King himself. An airy chuckle escaped the alabaster male's lips. Perhaps the boy needed a good beating.
Virgil's ears flicked to catch the painful sincerity in the male's words, his need for a family. The life of a nomad did not appeal to all lost souls. Virgil was intimately familiar with such an internal struggle. "Your endeavors are most noble, sir," he said with a smile of sun-bright affection. "And refreshingly humble. You are the essence of all Cthonia stands for, Dorian Gray. Please, come closer, I am quite capable of greeting two at once. Tell me of your travels. Cthonia is a harsh mistress, she does not take kindly to lone wanderers. Did you come by the mountain path? I've heard tales of rogues who dwell within those mountains. I hope they didn't cause you any strife." The king paused, reflecting on his thoughts for a moment. He was well aware of the monestary high in Cthonia's mist-shrouded peaks, but he knew not of the nature of its clergy. In his journey to these golden shores, he had seen and smelled the evidence of their existence, but he'd never seen the wolves themselves. He knew not whether to regard them as a threat. Shaking the cobwebs from his head, the king's muzzle swung down to Baby's level, a kindly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Go on, child. Introduce yourself to our guests. Don't let Cleitus dampen your spirits. This is a joyous day for all of Cthonia. Remember it well." All things must pass.
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Post by Asphyxia on Dec 7, 2009 0:29:21 GMT -5
Angry waves collided with one another, rolling, slapping and rocking the oceans surface. Wind swept overhead, shoving the ocean toward the shores, forcing the water to viciously lap at the sand and crash along the manmade dock that hung out over the waters. The dock was long-abandoned, proving for a great lookout for the wolves of Koel Herfst. To Fly, this storm was magnificent. The way the dark clouds rolled, the thunder clapping, the waves crashing. The noise, the view, it was full of rage, but so beautiful. It was like a dance of lovers after a fight. Thunder boomed above Fly, causing her acoustics to flatten before lifting tall on her skull again. As the waves crashed over the dock, Fly couldn’t help but cross to the wooden planks. As she moved over the wooden structure, Fly closed her spheres, the spray of the cool ocean liquid on her face feeling beyond good. This was where she came to relax. This was the place she came to think. It was here that Fly could let her guard down for a moments rest and just be.
It only took a moment. As her spheres snapped open, Fly felt her body flinch as a wave crashed over her. Wood snapped and splintered, collapsing beneath her. Part of the dock was crashing down with the wave, dragging the unsuspected wolf-dog with it. A startled yelp escaped the she-wolfs jaws, her body crashing down into the depths of the water, splinters of wood piercing her flesh. Gasping in surprise, a wave of water slammed her chest as it forced its way down her throat, her lungs seizing at the sheer cold pressure around her body, blanketing her in ice. Shivering, her paws smacked at the water, attempting to drag herself up for air, but as her head came above the surface and she swallowed the water in her throat to gain oxygen, another wave rolled over her body, sending her further from the shore. Sputtering, Fly was attempting to get to the surface when strong jaws wrapped around her scruff, dragging her upward. Nausea flipped the females stomach, causing her to gag as the other wolf dragged her toward the shore and kept her head above the water. Once on the shore, her body collapsed to the sandy beach, her drenched fur dragging her down by its weight. As a wave rolled up the sand, Fly jumped further up the shore, wide eyes gazing back at the dock and the ocean she’d moments ago, been in.
Shifting her weight, she felt her stomach convulse, her chest heave and upchucked upon the shore. Water and bile spilled from her lips, emptying itself of the saltwater. A shudder rushed down her body as her dark gaze snapped up to glare upon the male who had pulled her from the waters. Him. Of all wolves! By now, she was simply agitated. Lips curled back instantly as Courajess looked calmly over her, concern shining in his spheres. CONCERN? A low growl formed in Fly’s chest, spheres narrowing. His concern for her only infuriated her more. It made her feel like some insolent, unintelligent child. Acoustics flattened upon her skull in her rage, her plume tucking close to her rear as she quickly stood. A light chuckle left Courajess’s jaws as a smile brightened his features. “I see you’re fine and still yourself.” Hackles rose upon the females shoulders, shuddering at the thought of his jaws about her scruff to pull her from the chaos in the ocean. “You… YOU are NOT the knight in shining armor here! You had no right to-” Realization dawned upon the pretty fatale, her spheres a fury of black tossed fire. “You followed me here?![/b]” Courajess’s smile quickly vanished, his crown tilting. “No. But might I add how radiant you looked, standing upon the dock with the ocean spray upon your face? For once.. You looked relaxed.”
“Go away. Damnit, I do not need to be rescued. I do not need a man. I do not need you fussing over whether or not I am fine or whether or not I am myself!” Her snapping words didn’t seem to phase the brujo, for he merely stood there, observing her. A red blush glowered her features, heat rising into her cheeks as she fumed. “I could easily have swam back to shore. Now do me a favor and go away.” Though the female was on the verge of tears, she refused to stand down or budge from her spot. It wasn’t until Courajess gave another tip of his crown and a concerned frown, before he turned and walked a couple yards away that her muscles finally relaxed. He sat. The man was attempting to show her she would get her space, but that he would not leave her alone and while it touched her, it pissed her off as well. Giving a light sigh, ashen spheres closed, water still dripping from her soaked fur.[/I]
Irritation sketched the femmes features, acoustics folding back upon her skull at Cleitus’ words, hackles rising only slightly, brow perking. As his fangs were shown, Fly’s own charred kissers curled as well, though not nearly as much. “Is there something specific that you have a problem with about me being female, that you feel need to pick it out, boy?” Giving a slight tilt of her crown, her lips curved into a slight smirk, rather than the show of canines that had originally been there. “Far from my home, I may be, but it is only a narrow-minded fool that would believe a wolf could easily adjust to anothers ways within the mere moments of an introduction.” Though her spheres never left his, she knew that she was being very bold to stand so against a wolf that the King clearly held close. “Perhaps, Cleitus Mavrokardia, it would serve you well to open your eyes to the ways of others and understand that not everybody has the same views or beliefs and that not everybody will so readily change at the disrespectful, lashing tongue of a youth that has nothing better to do and clearly can’t allow his King to speak for him.”
Auds shifting forward once more, Fly’s brow knit together, plume giving a gentle swish before stilling once more. Tipping her muzzle slightly, Fly glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the brujo she had earlier noticed, but taken no heed to as Cleitus spoke up once more. The boy was foolish, in her eyes. Too quick to speak, rather than hold his tongue as he thought through what he was going to say, and in her homelands, such ignorant behavior would have gotten him killed or dragged before the King in seconds. Steeling herself against saying anymore, Fly watched as the figure emerged from the shadows and approached. He was clearly more comfortable in their presence then she, and he made his way about them as respectfully as possible, despite Cleitus’s biting tongue. Shifting her weight, Fly allowed her acoustics to shift back and forth on her skull, listening intently as the newcomer spoke, still awaiting some words from Virgilius. Dorian Gray. Even as he spoke, her spheres shifted instead to the small pup that Cleitus gently urged closer to himself, placing her further beneath him for safety.
Although Fly claimed not to like children, she found it hard to be cruel or mean to such youngsters and often had a softer heart toward them than toward adults. Still, she didn’t say anything however. Surely the child had heard her introduce herself and would be wary of them until Cleitus and Virgil claimed it safe for her. It was a safety precaution well worth taking, in Fly’s eyes and in her homelands, she would have done very much the same. It kept the children safe, especially if they understood that certain things could be more dangerous than others and were willingly lead by their mentors. As the world family came up, Fly’s muscles tensed, her body stiffening slightly. Lips twitched as her ears lifted tall again. Virgilius was speaking. Shifting her gaze as she tipped her muzzle in Virgilius’s direction, Fly gave a gentle dip of her maw, spheres lifting to meet his. He was addressing the way Cleitus had spoken to both wolves and Fly was intent to hear what he had to say. He was lenient, but not so much that Cleitus would get away with disrespect. Muscles ripped in her shoulders as Virgil’s gaze locked with hers. Biting her tongue at his words of undeserving wolves, she let her lids drop over her obsidian spheres, before peeling them open as he addressed her.
“Perhaps at another time, more suitable, you may tell me- us, of your ways so that we better understand, Virgilius Patroklos. I do, however, apologize for encouraging such discourtesy. I did not do anything to discourage it and was quite rude in my approach, as it were.” Finally, silence. Though it didn’t last long, as Virgilius was urging Dorian Gray to join them and claiming the ability to welcome both at once. Shifting her weight uneasily, she waited for the other wolf to approach closer. Spheres shifted once again to Baby while Virgilius spoke to the child, encouraging her to say something. Reminded well of Dalek, Fly clamped her jaws shut tight and attempted not to have her heartstrings pulled at for the child. Steely spheres gazed over Virgil’s shoulder to the dark ocean ahead. Tense muscles hardened beneath her pelt, refusing to allow her to sit on the sandy beaches, so close to the shoreline.[/font][/size]
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Post by Asphyxia on Dec 8, 2009 23:26:55 GMT -5
"When you're older, your happiness will fade to give way to the darkness you hide beneath you. You cannot remain nothing but happy forever."[/size] The plump child shifted her weight nervously beneath Cleitus’s larger frame, her dark spheres shifting from Virgil to the newcomer female. The woman seemed very cold to Baby and Baby immediately felt a shiver run down her spine. Her pouty little lips curved downward in a frown, spheres narrowing upon the female in wonder. As Baby was drawn closer by a reassuring paw, she allowed herself to be gently guided, her ears flopping over as she slowly tilted her crown back to gaze upward at the large chest above her. At his barking words, Baby jumped slightly, but quickly composed herself, a look of attitude squishing across her small features. Her nose twitched as her tiny lips curled, spheres narrowing, auds perking as she glared at the woman that had clearly done something to change Cleitus’s attitude. Plume removed itself from her bottom and relaxed behind her frame, attempting to show the newcomer that she wasn’t afraid. Just like Virgilius Patroklos and Cleitus Mavrokardia. Giving a slight tilt of her crown, her spheres shifted in the direction Cleitus had been quick to demand a new wolf forward.
Curiosity stretched across the whelps orbs as she leaned up against Cleitus’s right fore-leg, listening to him as he spoke to the male wolf approaching. Fly had been quicker though and was already snapping back at the brute who loomed over the pup. At the chilling smirk on Fly’s lips, Baby squished herself harder against the male wolfs leg. She didn’t like this lady. The lady didn’t seem very nice so far and seemed to be even less interested in whether or not there was a pup around. Now, however, Baby’s small acoustics straining, came Virgilius’s soft voice, quick to correct Cleitus in his behavior. Baby swung her small snout to face Virgilius, listening intently to why Cleitus was in trouble. Baby didn’t understand. The lady was no nicer than he, right?
Spheres watched silently as Dorian Gray soon took up his speech as well, her small body shifting its weight against Cleitus’s leg once more. This man definitely seemed nicer than the lady! As the male looked toward her, she cocked her crown slightly in curiosity. As he spoke, her small ears perked, before pulling back once more. Nostrils twitched to take in the scent of the newcomer, trying to decide from all the different opinions which one was best to pick for the two newcomers. The sudden way Cleitus had become protective and gently pushed her closer to him had made her feel safe and far more secure than she had originally felt and she was perfectly content to keep her little rump where it was. Virgilius was addressing the male again, or both, the tiny pup couldn’t quite keep up yet with all the adult talk, but she was getting there. She picked out a lot of the important words and held tight to them to try to string together what was happening. Rogues? Baby shivered at the thought of anybody that might cause anyone any real grief.
Finally, Virgil’s muzzle came close to Baby, a smile upon his lips as he addressed her. The tiny pup quickly composed herself from her thoughts, nearly sending herself off balance in he process. Snapping her crown to meet his spheres with her own chocolate orbs, she let a nervous little smile creep upon her lips at his words. Her right ear stood tall, her left flopping down once more. They had yet to truly stand up like her breeds ears were supposed to do, but they were getting there, the muscles slowly growing stronger as she grew larger. “H-Hello.. ” She squeaked as her gaze turned to the two newcomers. “I’m Baby.. It’s very good to meet you!” Shifting her small body, the little female slowly took a step to pull herself to her pads, slowly moving out from under Cleitus to peer up at the larger wolves. “Whoa… You guys is big just like Virgil, yup![/color]” Small spheres widened for exaggeration as she stared at them for a moment before a big grin slipped upon her lips, giving way to the truly bright, happy pup she was.[/font][/size][/color][/center] "I don't think so, Sir." [/size][/right]
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Taboo
New Member
Posts: 46
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Post by Taboo on Dec 9, 2009 19:19:43 GMT -5
As unseemly the proposition between reaction to the situation, Dorian discovered it impossible to smother a quirk of the lips. The massive hessian deigned so uneasy to social situations. He did not hold the silver jeweled gift of tact. Just a shallow dab of manners and basic construction of gentility was the extent of communal urbaneness. Best as he could, Dorian dressed his awkward ignorance in quiet susceptibility. His intrigue often drifted to Fly. Even with her needled apology, her shoulderblades rifted high atop near her vertebrae, delaying in a combatant strain. “Is there something specific that you have a problem with about me being female..." He considered the response rather strange, since Cleitus' remark more referred to her rudeness than gender. Or maybe he just missed something. Tassle swept the top layer of earth, utilizing something physical to distract him from the shroud of confusion desiring to seize him. All the wolves spoke long, drawn out sentences. Each extra word placed him at greater distances. The only thing that kept him anchored was watching the whelp every once in a while, her struggle for comprehension entertaining him.
Instead of continuously dwelling on the unimportant prattle, he returned his unwavering focus to the King himself. The small strands of his psyche that had meandered away to revel in the delicious world sprinted back to him once more as a genuine smile creased on the corners of his maw. "Thank you," his expression organized itself into beaming pleasure at the compliment. Dorian shuffled his feet, realizing how unused to the concept of gratitude and civility. Nape folded back against his chest, his eyes lowering for several moments. He wished he could silently communicate his inexperience at these situations. Vergil's question blessedly strayed from the niceties to something with more substance and more relation to Dorian. "Yes, the mountain path. I think the number of scavengers that cling to these borders would surprise the civilians sheltered here. They are too cowardly to challenge the authority established here, but they do try to barricade it so the packs do not grow in number." The mascu circled partway, revealing several healing gashes upon the rib cage and flanks. "They aren't much of a threat, however. In fact, I enjoyed being able to exercise my training again."
Dorian reapplied himself to his prior position, staring up at Vergil with far more confidence now. "The strategy they made definitely encouraged my curiosity to explore this place." He pulled his chest tighter and staggered his pillars more, a typical placement for males. The lupe had the exterior appearance of a sleek fox on steriods. He looked almost feminine with his elongated jaws and round, almond optics. But his body language and stares portrayed a far more voracious, rugged animal that knew and pleasured in fighting. Far from unintelligent, Dorian merely treasure his physical status more than his mental one. Movement and action suited his ways of living rather than deliberating the ploys of life.
Silence embedded over the crowd, hanging in threatening alliance with suspence. Not unlike surveying a celebrated thief being dragged to the guillotine. A shadowy outline entered on a boulder drifting far above them, perched as the hungry falcon for the fearful mouse. As impossible as it sounded, the quiet thickened, for the entire pack held their breath for a long moment. Then, the figure raised its head to the dying heavens and released a depraved bellow. The melody played on the heavy darkness of song and worshipped the tempting demons living within the conscience. Every creature released its breath and slowly joined with the mezmorizing, yet repulsive music crawling through the air current. Finally, the leader ceased and pulled to a small ray of moonshine to reveal his uncommon, light tinted coat. The baying disintegrated into barking two syllables. "DORIAN. DORIAN. DORIAN." His name ruptured the night into a bleeding carcass.
His attention easily cloaked the memory that flashed behind his blue and green eyes. The only possible factor to even noticed that his thoughts strayed at all was that his smile froze onto his face for too long before finally melting. Dorian's observing glance became hard and cold momentarily as his receptors grazed Vergil. Both of them received and upheld the title of King, but his reign embossed something far more malignant. Indeed, that bitter darkness still lashed at the weakly molded bars holding it.
Nefarious intentions dissipated when Baby spoke. Dorian's gentle side captured him once more as his auds scooped forward to hear her. "Baby, what a sweet name." He laughed at her comment, shaking his shaggy mane from side to side. "It'll probably surprise you how fast time goes before you will be as big as us. If not bigger!" Dorian joked, the sinister moment already forgotten.
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Post by Sighani on Dec 27, 2009 8:08:52 GMT -5
Cleitus Mavrokardia...Heart of Darkness
A broken bone may heal with time, but wounds ripped open by the blade of vicious words can fester forever. Lyrics that had so often flowed into the senses on a tide of rich, golden honey now turned to jagged glass instead, cruel shards that ripped and tore at a scarred heart too often abused. Cleitus flinched visibly as Virgil's beratement crashed down upon him, sunblaze eyes setting fire to his soul and leaving him to writhe in the flames of his own self-loathing. The lack of severity in the delivery would no doubt be noticed by the assembled varg, but none but Cleitus could recognize the intimate and painfully deep insult buried within, a vile poison nestled inside a delicate blossom, bleeding out and slowly stealing the life from his eyes. He had spoken out of turn, that much he realized, but he had not expected this change in his master. Cleitus was a creature of habit. With all the madness that raged around him, he needed the steadfast comfort of familiarity, of structure, of stability, something to which he could cling while the storms screamed inside his head, otherwise he was apt to go insane. Especially now, in a new home surrounded by strange faces and glaring responsibilities, he needed that comfort. But fate, it seemed, was not without a sense of irony, and when he needed it most, it vanished, replaced instead by this venom-spitting snake who wore the virgin pelt of his angel, his all, his other self.
Pointed ears slammed back against his skull at the word boy, Virgil speaking of him as if he weren't there at all, as if he were gone, dead. Was that all he was to the ivory king? Nothing more than a boy in need of a sound tongue lashing? He rolled sapphire eyes at the notion, scoffing inwardly, hurt souring and shooting out branches of bitterness and contempt. He couldn't help but wonder when Virgil would acknowledge him not as a child, but as a man, an equal, and allow him to speak freely amongst his peers. He was not a whelp, he should not be forced to hold his tongue in the face of insolence and intolerance. Virgil spoke often of upholding honor, but in silencing Cleitus he had proven himself to be quite the hypocrite. Cleitus was not a fool, he did not speak without thought, and even in snapping at Fly he had not lost control of himself. His words had been carefully crafted, hand-chosen and shaped to better fit his intention. He was merely attempting to defend his king and his lands. Instead of being praised for such pride, he had been condemned as rash and juvenile.
"Tell me, madam, is it bravery or foolishness that drives you to insult me in the presence of my king?" Cleitus hissed between clenched fangs, shoulders hunched miserably, eyes chips of glacial ice set into the face of starless midnight. His heart thundered in his ears, his blood boiling, face flushing deeply beneath his pelt as emotions chased themselves in endless circles through his rattled psyche. Fatales were lying vermin, the whole lot of them. Fly was no exception. Parasites, they burrowed deep beneath the flesh and drank deeply of the lives of their victims without remorse or regret, thinking solely of themselves, never batting an eye at the trail of carnage they left in their wakes. Beautiful and wretched. They pretended to know the hearts and minds of men, but that was all in their manipulative wile, the sway of their hips, the gleam of their eyes, the curve of their lips. Seductive charm, tender kisses leading only to treacherous fangs. Fly had proven herself to be just as wicked as the rest, no better than that slithering bitch Niobe. It was a shame that even after so much suffering, Virgil still allowed himself to fall victim to their tricks. But Cleitus could not be deceived. "You've made quite an impression, in any case," Cleitus continued after several heartbeats, fangs bared again, but this time in sadistic pleasure rather than hostility. "A complete stranger giving orders to a foreign prince in front of a king . . . Your confidence is certainly impressive, if nothing else is."
Indulging in a private smirk, Cleitus all but forgot his fleeting contempt for Virgil and stepped closer to his master, the cruel ice in his gaze softening somewhat as he beheld the purity of those star-kissed eagle's eyes. "Forgive me, Master," the ebon youth uttered with a sigh, not so much apologetic and imploring as he was stricken suddenly by an overwhelming surge of gratitude and disbelief, that he had been plucked from the vicious hooks of his childhood hell by such a savior. His apology was, of course, a pretense, meaningless and designed only to show that he was not so low as to continue swapping insults with the fatale. A desperate display of maturity. "I was out of line. I don't know what came over me. You taught me better than that." It was shameful, the extents to which he would sink to find himself once again in the good graces of the High King. Exquisite breeding and aristocracy had cursed him with pride and haughtier, but the boy had no confidence, no self-respect, and desperately longed for acceptance, approval, love. And so there was nothing he would not do, if only Virgil asked. A shattered and discarded soul in need of mending. He knew Virgil noticed these faults in him, and he also knew that Virgil, in spite of his anger today, would not hold it against him tomorrow.
A slim shoulder brushed deftly against that of the king, needing that contact, but not enough to draw undo attention. As much as he longed to flaunt his importance, how much he truly meant to Virgil, he knew his master would not appreciate it. He would say his pride had blinded him, that his personal insecurities had driven him to neediness and impotence. He was supposed to be self-reliant, that was his latest lesson. But how could he be, when every time he spoke his mind he was reprimanded for doing so? Baby's sweet giggle pulled him up from the murky waters of despair and he smiled down at the pup, feeling his heart swell even as Dorian approached and spoke to the child. "You won't have to grow much, dear, until you're bigger than the king," Cleitus teased harmlessly, nowing that by now even he stood as tall as Virgil, if not moreso. The High King was not exactly known for his impressive stature. Cleitus' orbs flicked up, locking with Dorian's jeweled gaze, lit up by a smile of such genuine happiness that Cleitus could not help but smile in return, albeit shyly. As Virgil conversed with Fly, Cleitus turned his attention to the male and the girlpup, thankful for a chance to escape his thoughts, if only for a moment. "I . . . I'm sorry you had to hear that," he muttered, both to Baby and Dorian, the apology honest and pleading this time. His brow furrowed in irritation when he felt his eyes mist over. He felt emotionally ravaged, and displaying such weakness in front of a stranger and a whelp only helped fuel his foul mood. Distraction. He needed distraction. His orbs snapped up again, and this time he did not look away. "Will you tell me of yourself, Dorian Gray?" He attributed his shameless curiosity to his upbringing. It was the curse of aristocracy, that they always speak their minds. "From whence do you travel? I'm sure Baby would enjoy your tale, isn't that right, young one?"
Is it bright where you are?
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Zephy-Rose
New Member
Your Friendly Neighborhood Psychopath
Posts: 5
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Post by Zephy-Rose on Jan 11, 2010 4:17:45 GMT -5
[bg=3f3d39][atrb=width,577,true][atrb=border,0,true] Here lie the wounded |
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Here's to the bold, the brazen, the wounded. Awaiting the days of peace promised eons ago, when wars were waged not by wolves, but by storms. A constant stride of elements, cast down from the heavens in waves of light and sleet. Corpses were beaten endlessly, torn apart by frozen glass, blackened into a rancid husk in the endless inferno. Here is Fantasy, a land of dreams. Broken, with but a few remaining. He could have stood forever, watching the smoldering bodies fade to dust, taken by the wind and forgotten. He could have sung for the losses, but all the air in the world would fill his lungs twice if he sang a final hymn for the slain. He stood for what seemed a century, buried deep in a cave, staring, eyes wide, at the battered body of his nephew. Mouth agape, eyes bulging from his tiny skull, the boy-king lay with his haunches beneath a felled tree. Outstretched limbs painted the empty air with lapping waves of light, so beautiful, so dangerous.
Alone, again, the lost prince had wandered into territories unfamiliar to even his travel-worn mitts. His vision stolen by the blaze of fire Fantasy had gone down in had led him through long years. He could not say he didn't miss it, but it was of little matter now. The code dictates: Adapt or die. The brute felt his way through the lands on callused mitts, ever sensitive to the subtle vibrations caused by movement, learning day by day how to sense obstacles, in a past life, he would have simply leaped over. Still now he stumbled, yearned for the familiar lands forces far greater than him had chased him from. A lesson learned-- trifle not with the gods.
His sense of smell, too, was nearly gone, torn apart by endless waves of smoke. Even now, deep into the heart of Cthonia, the scent of wolves was vague. It had made hunting difficult for the first several weeks. The prey that had lived beside his pack had scattered. He couldn't blame them, but he damned them for leaving a lone wolf to crack apart the brittle twigs that remained, hoping for some sweet sap to drain into a hungry gullet. And so he learned, again, to depend on the feel of the earth. And here he had found that familiarity, something had drawn him here, specifically. Something he hadn't cared for, but at least known. A ringing in his ears-- half thunder, half memory-- reminded him to seek shelter for the night. The rain was gaining on him, tracking every footstep and predicting where he'd be before he even settled on a path to take.
The ground had gone from a pine needle carpet to sharp pebbles and sand. He had found a beach, yearned for the familiar scent of the ocean. The vague outline of shadows still remained. Somewhere in these parts, there was a cave. A cave, a hidden cove that echoed with the sounds of water rushing. For but a brief moment, all he heard was the waves, and he was at peace. His old limbs trembled at the thought of long-sought rest. He followed the terrain, waiting for the sand to turn to stone, until he had to climb into the gaping maw of the hungry earth. There he collapsed, unable to stand once more, and stared up into the sky-- a vacant gaze that saw nothing but shadows.
Here lies the wounded; a king without a throne. A wolf without a pack. Here lies Raziel, too stubborn to die.
[/blockquote] [/color][/td][/tr][/table][/center]
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