Post by Kesterel on May 3, 2006 11:24:14 GMT -5
OOC: Apologies for the wait, but I did warn you...
Syrus Korodin...
The fae was not the only member of that mystical party to have heard the approach of the Lord of Shadows. The golden Nephilim was fully aware of the approach of a dark energy, darker even than that of the nymph before her, and she recognised it, even changed as it was. Amethyst eyes eased smooth and shut for a brief moment, and with a shake and a shimmer her rapturous head tilted to one side, as if listening. Yes, she recognised it. Dark and deep, but not without some faint remnant of human feeling which had intrigued her so. In her crystalline mind she saw him, a shadow against the dark of the forest, and she smiled, her lips curving upward in a dream-like state, if such a presence could be dreamt. The approaching black spoke to her of tombs - more specifically, the tomb of the founder of the nearby school - and as he landed she turned heel and meet his violet gaze with her own, her inner radiance blazing forth for an instant, fire-bright, a star fallen to earth.
"Syrus." Her voice was a purr, and yet haughty and remote, cold as the moon but seductive and deep, speaking to his powerful mind of ancient wisdom and experience, all that he desired. She parted from the winged being and the obviously seething nymph (much to the Nephilim's delight), taking one, two, three prowling steps toward the new arrival, if such fluid and joyous motion could be thought of as occurring in such a crude thing as a series of steps. Tracing an elongated and elegant finger over the Shadow's jaw line, she surveyed him with a keen eye, sensing rather than seeing the additional energy he had obtained since their last meeting. He was darker, crackling with power and energy as if he had immersed himself in the oldest knowledge of the human world, and it enticed her. Her slender hand left his face and instead hovered over his chest, millimetres from his clothing, drinking in the feeling of his aura and loving it. It was not the natural power which she herself wielded, that burned within her like an inner sun, but it was tantalising and tasted so good... She leaned forward by a minuscule amount, barely recognisable as movement, and breathed deep. There was another scent there also, one more familiar than Syrus himself. Ah, of course, Tiberius. The two must have met. She leaned further, down to the Shadow's left ear. Yes...
In the next moment, though, something happened which would chase away all thoughts of this human - albeit a most accomplished and intriguing human - from Kesterel's swift thoughts. The Lord of the Forest had come. Absent mindedly her pale hand grasped at Syrus' hair, teasing her own pressure receptors as she listened most intently to the rumbling voice in her head. Now this was the natural power of her being in a form most fine, altogether more pleasing and desirable than any of the Shadow lord's most potent playthings. First a sparkling dragonfly of a thing, delicate and sad, then a man surrounded by false but untameable energy, and now him, Fenris Fenrir. Well well well, the Lady Kesterel was indeed spoiled for choice tonight. And so it seemed was the great wolf. Kesterel let forth a light laugh at his stern and ferocious words, deep and musical, and while the enchanting noise issued forth, it was as if the trees themselves swayed to her command, the wind rustled and laughed with her, and the plants at her feet were filled with new life and vigour. A feast the three of them were indeed, but the wolf's telepathic threats were of no fear to the golden creature, if there was a feast, she would have her way with at least a potion of the meal, even if she chose to hand it over to Fenris afterward.
As the enormous lycan stepped into their field of vision, however, Kesterel was somewhat taken aback. The last time she had beheld him he had been great, lithe and muscular having grown fat on the flesh of mortals. Now his silver fur was matted and tangled, seemingly longer than it should be in comparison to his shrunken frame. He had not been eating, but what could prevent such a mighty being from doing what he did best. Violet eyes became hooded, narrowed in suspicion, and her mind stretched forth its sneaking tendrils, probing and searching for the cause of his folly. The school came to mind, and oaths sworn, but his mind was too wolfish to gain a true hold on what had occurred, and she was sure she would find out in time; when a Nephilim's curiosity was aroused, nothing would stop them, and the Nephilim tended to be aroused in some way or another almost constantly. Drawing up her spectacular nude form to her full height, she released the human's head from her grasp and turned her predatory gaze upon the nymph. The Naiad had gotten to her knees in a peculiar mixture of submission and defiance, and Kesterel snickered to see it. She had some of the skills of the Nephilim, of seduction and pleasure, but she was not near potent or practiced enough to offer herself to a hungry wolf in this manner without expecting death. Even immortals could die, if they were subjected to the oldest method of death in the world.
"You are not afraid for you have not the wit to be," the Nephilim growled, though such a gruff and hasty word was insufficient to describe the terrible threat of danger it implied, nor was it nearly so unrefined; it was merely a deepening of tone, a harkening back to the world of ancients, full of power and primal forces that this small water creature could not possible comprehend. "And you, Syrus, I would advise you with all cordiality to show a little respect to the lycanthrope. Even great kings who fall upon harsh times must feel obliged to skip the occasional meal, but it does not lessen the sharpness of their swords. And if you dare to destroy this lycan I can assure you a curse would fall swiftly upon you head; even dragons are no match for true fire, nor darkness for the majesty of the night. Besides that though..." The naked woman trailed off, all trace of aggression seemingly evaporated in a single second, and a playful smile replaced it, a knowing flame kindling in those violet orbs. "Why Syrus, I do believe you care for this creature. I wonder though, does she know it? Her attentions certainly seem to lie elsewhere, my dear, so perhaps you had better not place so much faith in her. Unless, of course, she serves some other purpose than mediocre decoration? If she does though, I cannot perceive it, but then in that respect you would likely be better to ask my dear brother. He is more prone to lesser beings than I."
With this baited and barbed comment - though it was said not out of malice and merely out of the desire to rile the naiad further, for Kesterel loved to infuriate other females despite knowing that none but her sisters could match her, and even then barely - the golden creature shook her mane of shining hair, the impossible colours of sun and moon melding and separating in a mirage of light until they came to a sultry rest upon her flawless alabaster shoulders and beautiful back. She listened to the offer of the Shadow Lord, and pondered its meaning. One with the pride of Fenris would not allow his domain to be ransacked, but the lure of food was a dear one. Even before he bade her speak, she felt the pull of the lycanthrope’s will. The forest was her dwelling also, at least when she felt the need to escape the stench of the rancid Nosferatu, and if there were more prey for her as well as the wolf lord, then so be it. Pickings had been far too poor of late, in all respects, and she missed the sensation of naked flesh. Within seconds of this thought the dragonfly-winged faerie had flown this meeting, perhaps talk of darkness was too much for his fragile spirit, but she paid it no heed other than the regret in her heart of not having touched those gauzy wings, that paper-pale skin; in other words, no more than with every being the Nephilim let fly.
"I," she began, her voice slow and measured, but lacking none of her usual majesty. In fact, the slow melodious tone, if anything, was simply more hypnotising than ever. "Would first like to know why it is that our dear Fenris is as starved as he is. There is little in this world that could withstand his jaws if he put his mind to it, which makes me wonder. It seems more likely to me that he has put his mind to not eating, or at least to passing up certain prey items. A perplexing matter, I suppose, but no matter." Her hand stretched out to Syrus once more, but her gaze did not turn to him; she had no need, and besides, she could not tear her sights from the thing of primal beauty before her. She was hoping he would shift soon, for that more than anything was what drew her to him, the longing to feel under her fingers the sensation of changing form, the shift from fur to skin, from paw to hand, from jaw to lips. She wanted it, and it pierced her deeply with the lust for touch.
"However I feel about this deal you offer us, my Lord," she continued. "I must tell you that we could not guarantee the safety of any of those you call followers in these woods. Other things exist other than we, not as deadly, perhaps, but just as capable of causing injury and death. And apart from these dangers, I am sure Fenris cannot say he will not mistake one of them for a wayward traveller, nor I force myself to leave them be out of courtesy for you. Still, I must admit that the offer of, how shall we say, fresh meat?, is rather interesting, but not enough I fear." Reluctantly she swivelled her dew-drenched violet orbs toward Syrus, a strange gleam in their depths, and when she spoke, it would seem to this man that nothing outside of the two of them existed, and that even if there were it would not matter. The magic of Kesterel was unleashed, and while Syrus was indeed strong, his will would still be considerably weakened and would falter, and if not, he would crumble. When she spoke her voice was otherworldly and distant, pleasant and it delved into Syrus' young memories, speaking to him of his old desires for peace and, as he had put it, someone. She would be everything to him, he just had to reach out and take it.
"Convince us, Syrus."
Syrus Korodin...
The fae was not the only member of that mystical party to have heard the approach of the Lord of Shadows. The golden Nephilim was fully aware of the approach of a dark energy, darker even than that of the nymph before her, and she recognised it, even changed as it was. Amethyst eyes eased smooth and shut for a brief moment, and with a shake and a shimmer her rapturous head tilted to one side, as if listening. Yes, she recognised it. Dark and deep, but not without some faint remnant of human feeling which had intrigued her so. In her crystalline mind she saw him, a shadow against the dark of the forest, and she smiled, her lips curving upward in a dream-like state, if such a presence could be dreamt. The approaching black spoke to her of tombs - more specifically, the tomb of the founder of the nearby school - and as he landed she turned heel and meet his violet gaze with her own, her inner radiance blazing forth for an instant, fire-bright, a star fallen to earth.
"Syrus." Her voice was a purr, and yet haughty and remote, cold as the moon but seductive and deep, speaking to his powerful mind of ancient wisdom and experience, all that he desired. She parted from the winged being and the obviously seething nymph (much to the Nephilim's delight), taking one, two, three prowling steps toward the new arrival, if such fluid and joyous motion could be thought of as occurring in such a crude thing as a series of steps. Tracing an elongated and elegant finger over the Shadow's jaw line, she surveyed him with a keen eye, sensing rather than seeing the additional energy he had obtained since their last meeting. He was darker, crackling with power and energy as if he had immersed himself in the oldest knowledge of the human world, and it enticed her. Her slender hand left his face and instead hovered over his chest, millimetres from his clothing, drinking in the feeling of his aura and loving it. It was not the natural power which she herself wielded, that burned within her like an inner sun, but it was tantalising and tasted so good... She leaned forward by a minuscule amount, barely recognisable as movement, and breathed deep. There was another scent there also, one more familiar than Syrus himself. Ah, of course, Tiberius. The two must have met. She leaned further, down to the Shadow's left ear. Yes...
In the next moment, though, something happened which would chase away all thoughts of this human - albeit a most accomplished and intriguing human - from Kesterel's swift thoughts. The Lord of the Forest had come. Absent mindedly her pale hand grasped at Syrus' hair, teasing her own pressure receptors as she listened most intently to the rumbling voice in her head. Now this was the natural power of her being in a form most fine, altogether more pleasing and desirable than any of the Shadow lord's most potent playthings. First a sparkling dragonfly of a thing, delicate and sad, then a man surrounded by false but untameable energy, and now him, Fenris Fenrir. Well well well, the Lady Kesterel was indeed spoiled for choice tonight. And so it seemed was the great wolf. Kesterel let forth a light laugh at his stern and ferocious words, deep and musical, and while the enchanting noise issued forth, it was as if the trees themselves swayed to her command, the wind rustled and laughed with her, and the plants at her feet were filled with new life and vigour. A feast the three of them were indeed, but the wolf's telepathic threats were of no fear to the golden creature, if there was a feast, she would have her way with at least a potion of the meal, even if she chose to hand it over to Fenris afterward.
As the enormous lycan stepped into their field of vision, however, Kesterel was somewhat taken aback. The last time she had beheld him he had been great, lithe and muscular having grown fat on the flesh of mortals. Now his silver fur was matted and tangled, seemingly longer than it should be in comparison to his shrunken frame. He had not been eating, but what could prevent such a mighty being from doing what he did best. Violet eyes became hooded, narrowed in suspicion, and her mind stretched forth its sneaking tendrils, probing and searching for the cause of his folly. The school came to mind, and oaths sworn, but his mind was too wolfish to gain a true hold on what had occurred, and she was sure she would find out in time; when a Nephilim's curiosity was aroused, nothing would stop them, and the Nephilim tended to be aroused in some way or another almost constantly. Drawing up her spectacular nude form to her full height, she released the human's head from her grasp and turned her predatory gaze upon the nymph. The Naiad had gotten to her knees in a peculiar mixture of submission and defiance, and Kesterel snickered to see it. She had some of the skills of the Nephilim, of seduction and pleasure, but she was not near potent or practiced enough to offer herself to a hungry wolf in this manner without expecting death. Even immortals could die, if they were subjected to the oldest method of death in the world.
"You are not afraid for you have not the wit to be," the Nephilim growled, though such a gruff and hasty word was insufficient to describe the terrible threat of danger it implied, nor was it nearly so unrefined; it was merely a deepening of tone, a harkening back to the world of ancients, full of power and primal forces that this small water creature could not possible comprehend. "And you, Syrus, I would advise you with all cordiality to show a little respect to the lycanthrope. Even great kings who fall upon harsh times must feel obliged to skip the occasional meal, but it does not lessen the sharpness of their swords. And if you dare to destroy this lycan I can assure you a curse would fall swiftly upon you head; even dragons are no match for true fire, nor darkness for the majesty of the night. Besides that though..." The naked woman trailed off, all trace of aggression seemingly evaporated in a single second, and a playful smile replaced it, a knowing flame kindling in those violet orbs. "Why Syrus, I do believe you care for this creature. I wonder though, does she know it? Her attentions certainly seem to lie elsewhere, my dear, so perhaps you had better not place so much faith in her. Unless, of course, she serves some other purpose than mediocre decoration? If she does though, I cannot perceive it, but then in that respect you would likely be better to ask my dear brother. He is more prone to lesser beings than I."
With this baited and barbed comment - though it was said not out of malice and merely out of the desire to rile the naiad further, for Kesterel loved to infuriate other females despite knowing that none but her sisters could match her, and even then barely - the golden creature shook her mane of shining hair, the impossible colours of sun and moon melding and separating in a mirage of light until they came to a sultry rest upon her flawless alabaster shoulders and beautiful back. She listened to the offer of the Shadow Lord, and pondered its meaning. One with the pride of Fenris would not allow his domain to be ransacked, but the lure of food was a dear one. Even before he bade her speak, she felt the pull of the lycanthrope’s will. The forest was her dwelling also, at least when she felt the need to escape the stench of the rancid Nosferatu, and if there were more prey for her as well as the wolf lord, then so be it. Pickings had been far too poor of late, in all respects, and she missed the sensation of naked flesh. Within seconds of this thought the dragonfly-winged faerie had flown this meeting, perhaps talk of darkness was too much for his fragile spirit, but she paid it no heed other than the regret in her heart of not having touched those gauzy wings, that paper-pale skin; in other words, no more than with every being the Nephilim let fly.
"I," she began, her voice slow and measured, but lacking none of her usual majesty. In fact, the slow melodious tone, if anything, was simply more hypnotising than ever. "Would first like to know why it is that our dear Fenris is as starved as he is. There is little in this world that could withstand his jaws if he put his mind to it, which makes me wonder. It seems more likely to me that he has put his mind to not eating, or at least to passing up certain prey items. A perplexing matter, I suppose, but no matter." Her hand stretched out to Syrus once more, but her gaze did not turn to him; she had no need, and besides, she could not tear her sights from the thing of primal beauty before her. She was hoping he would shift soon, for that more than anything was what drew her to him, the longing to feel under her fingers the sensation of changing form, the shift from fur to skin, from paw to hand, from jaw to lips. She wanted it, and it pierced her deeply with the lust for touch.
"However I feel about this deal you offer us, my Lord," she continued. "I must tell you that we could not guarantee the safety of any of those you call followers in these woods. Other things exist other than we, not as deadly, perhaps, but just as capable of causing injury and death. And apart from these dangers, I am sure Fenris cannot say he will not mistake one of them for a wayward traveller, nor I force myself to leave them be out of courtesy for you. Still, I must admit that the offer of, how shall we say, fresh meat?, is rather interesting, but not enough I fear." Reluctantly she swivelled her dew-drenched violet orbs toward Syrus, a strange gleam in their depths, and when she spoke, it would seem to this man that nothing outside of the two of them existed, and that even if there were it would not matter. The magic of Kesterel was unleashed, and while Syrus was indeed strong, his will would still be considerably weakened and would falter, and if not, he would crumble. When she spoke her voice was otherworldly and distant, pleasant and it delved into Syrus' young memories, speaking to him of his old desires for peace and, as he had put it, someone. She would be everything to him, he just had to reach out and take it.
"Convince us, Syrus."