Topic: Honeyed Eyes and Ice Sharp Teeth

Miss Moira · Date: 2010-01-23 00:43 EST

A chaise lounge befitting of a time long gone held a form oh so small and oh so deathly pale. Porcelain poured into a supple, sleek little mold, all was pristine and unblemished save for the crimson crime of her lips and the rosebud shine of her cheeks; the color was slowly spreading. Warmth of a stolen life coursed through her, bringing sweetness where normally ice chilled flesh would lay. Fingertips bore a similar stain, her too-pink, sweetheart's tongue flicking out to lap at the residue as though it were the residue left behind by a syrup apple and not the red, red ruin of human viscera. Content as a cream fatted cat, the vampiress keened quietly, half humming to herself a sickly piece of whimsy. Mad as a hatter and twice as dark, honey warm eyes spilt their oozing claim to the pristine click of claws to marble.

A lone wolf had dared to enter her lounge chamber, it's lamplit eyes wary and respectful; fear overrode love. Only the best empires and means of control were built on fear.

The wolf knelt, holding back the insufferable urge to pant from it's swift journey. His mistress would not accept it. The hand not held to her mouth's adoring licks spilt out with a silent, expectant command, fingers half curled as the index of them twitched forward.

"Come, come... Tell mama what you've found, pretty pet." Then came that half licked hand out to join the beckon; a tempter and tease should the findings be deemed adequate enough. The vampiress's quiet, almost sickeningly loving murmur acted as a trigger for magic too ancient and eldritch to name heaved a great shiver into the air. A huge, quavering breath seemed to spill, daring to shift the pale, lounging creatures short, wheaten white bob. The pale beauty in question seemed unconcerned and unimpressed, her eyes unwavering as she watched the furry beast's bones crack, snap, and realign to a more human shape. His form was pleasing enough, chiseled and hard from a lifetime of labor, but not the object here holding her attention.

She did not consort with the beasts, nor did she feed from them, and while they were still used, their usefulness was held in other areas than the violent spill of her dark playpens.

'Forgive this one's intrusion, Mistress. But the magic folk that were instructed to be watched have begun to unfurl a fair deal further. They are setting up a school, they are digging in magic's stoney graves, and they are rising dark, bloody practices.' The wolf man's voice was little more than the sound of baritone gravel underfoot. Moira's eyes barely gave a flicker of notice to even let her drudge see she was paying attention. Wisely, the wolf man stayed still, eyes to the floor despite the gnawing hunger that called his nose's attention to the vampiress's confectionary fingers. And doubly wisely, the wolf man knew by now that to question his mistress's lack of response was to invite a taste of death.

Glad with the knowledge her pet had passed, Moira further lowered her stained fingers so the wolf could lave and clean his reward. Despite the greed in the druge, his licks were slow and adoring; it wasn't for another hour that the man beast would streak from his mistress's room, a gilded messenger's tube in jaw for a most regal looking delivery.

It was time to set a play date with the usurpers, or more specifically, their most public head, Arkon Daraul.

Oh how she couldn't wait to play!

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Arkon Daraul · Date: 2010-01-24 14:26 EST

Saffron gems carried easily over the multitude of parchments that categorically littered his desk, their volume great, but even greater was the strategy in which each pile was positioned. The myriad of paperwork would have overwhelmed some, though the Dark Mage of the Shatian was far too astute to be overthrown by mere administration. It was madness conquered by methodology.

He had anticipated it, though. The creation of the spell, especially one of such insidious design, would be nothing if not agonizingly laborious. It's success could not be ignored though, as it was the polestar where all of the other spokes met to form one of his many jagged wheels, all of which were in motion, ranging across the entire plane of Rhy'din, and racing toward a single destination to unleash their devastating macabre; the Southern Glen.

There was a portion of the spell that was essential, and admittedly strenuous. With the proper allotment of time there was no doubt that he would be able to conjure the necessary equation, the compulsory calculation beyond his school of expertise, but not outside his grasp of arcana. The formulations of such archaic axioms was tedious, though not impossible.

Time, however, was not something he had an abundance of. That is why he needed to speak with Lord Raithmoore. One of such sagacious intellect surrounding the undead would surely be able to expedite the needed aphorism.

"Mastema?"

His fallow posture was disturbed by the slight incline of his chin, just enough for his vile xanthous gaze to look upon the owner of the voice, a silent condemnation for such a disturbance.

Tia'tari stood just one step inside the massive arching doorway, hands behind her back and head lowered. She was waiting for his acknowledgement, and Arkon was certain that she would stand there until the end of time if needed. Her loyalty was growing daily, a natural expansion derived of aspiration and fear.

He allowed the painful silence to linger for a dreary moment. leaving nothing between them but the thick tension of disapproval. Finally, the laconism was broken by the arrival of antiquated articulation. "I will assume this disturbance stems from importance, and not imprudence."
He knew the answer; Tai'tari Blayne was many things, but she lacked even the smallest sliver of temerarious capriciousness.

"I'm sorry for the interruption, mastema, but you have a visitor." Her eyes were still lowered.

"I am not expecting any visitors." The response was detached, showing no sign of emotion or concern. He found it best, when dealing with apprentices, to show them nothing. It constricted perception and stymied deliberation. The impartial response was meant to disorient focus and challenge their raptness.

Tai'tari, though, seemed unflappable. She remained calm, and if there was any indication of fluster she kept it well hidden beneath the surface. "Thus the reason for my interruption, mastema. You told me earlier that you were not expecting company, so when it arrived, I thought it best to see if you would recognize such an unheralded interlude. " She tilted forward into a generous and respectful bow. "I'll see it away."

"It?"

The single word stopping the apprentice in her tracks, bringing her back around with startled eyes. "Yes, mastema. A wolf." A thoughtful pause the prelude to a small correction. "A Lycan."

The angle-wing quill held in his elegant hand came to rest upon the parchment it had previously been marring, the neutral linger of his gaze holding her eyes firmly, relentlessly. Again came the heavy weight of silence, wrought with consideration. Finally, he rose from the high-backed chair, the reach of his bare hand summoning his crooked wizard's staff from its idle rest across the room.

"Show me this beast."

Miss Moira · Date: 2010-01-24 21:07 EST

Upon Tia'tari's summons for the wolf's entry, the emissary in question was a very large and dark thing; his proud, beastial form rippled with a lifetime's worth of prime, schooled sinew and fine, rigid muscle. Though haggard at best from the long run the wolf had made for his delivery, there in his mighty jaws was a metal scroll tube that held the dark mage's message. Decorative and looking more like some artisan's life achieved reliquary than anything, the metal was lustrous and burnished to catch whatever wayward gleam of light it could.

The wolf was a properly educated pet, that much could be discerned, because upon releasing the missive's gilded cage to Arkon, the resplendent looking beast settled back a respectable distance and eased onto his haunches; picturesque and alert, the lycan would look more at home in some museum as a staircase sculpture than anything.

Inside, neatly rolled and waxed shut with a monogramed stamp, was a fairly friendly schpeel.

Lord Arkon Daraul,

My, my what a busy colony you and your family have been since coming to this little realm. My most loyal and clever thralls tell me so many interesting things... I find myself intrigued and delighted all at once! It has been quite a time since such lovely folk as yourselves have nestled in, so let me be the first to extend a hand of friendship and welcome, I do so love new friends and neighbors.

My properties are many, my resources are boundless and absolute, and I feel as though you and I would have much to speak of. What are the little joys in life with no hands to help you sew and reap the bounties? And if my instincts tell me anything, it is that you are a man who very much appreciates the fiendish little joys in life.

My wolf, who is no doubt waiting for your dismissal or response at this very moment, is yours to delegate as your Lordship sees fit. While I do value my seasoned thralls, I value new friendships more so. Be a dear and treat him honorably if you choose to take or waste his life. He may be a beast, but he has been so very useful during his service.

I can only hope a rendezvous with you is forthcoming, Lord Arkon. Many wishes and fond thoughts for you all...

Mistress Moira Samovila

The scripture was neat and precise; not a touch out of line in its elegant scrawl. Much could be learned from such a prim, swirling line of penmanship, what would the mage read in this one's? Frivolous and keen, but at the same time dark and a contrasting compliment of flamboyantly coy.

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Miss Moira · Date: 2010-01-27 02:51 EST

Adapted from Live Play: Natolii, Arkon Daraul, Anater Raithmoore. 1/25/10 1-3pm Great Hall
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Amusement played across the vampiress? palatial features as honeyed hues held the still framework of the Great Hall?s grand doors. Moira felt her thrall's life still, his force was tied to her, and his feral pulse was still something she tasted on the back of her tongue like a sickly warm candy. The daylight did not hold her captive as it might the younger of her kind, but it still held enough sway to make the vampiress dress with a bit more care.

Opera length gloves lined her sweet limbs, a thick, lavish cloak enfolded her barer inches, buffed leather boots slid up the length of her slender legs to encase mid thigh. Her gaze slipped sideways towards the form emerging from the shadows, one slender brow perked, curious.

There was a shifting of the shadows as the demoness, Natolii Tanner, stepped through. A summons had been received and she answered it with her arrival.

The resonation of a staff's euphony is heard at a muddled distance, a sharp click with an aspiring volume, an auditory chime of the his arrival. Through the large doors the Dark Mage of the Shaitan would emerge, saffron glower taking inquiry of the room and who it held. There would be a momentary stoppage in his pace, though upon seeing those gathered, he would resume his calculated gait toward them, at first Natolii, and then when coupled with her, to Mistress Moira.

The demoness moved, matching that pace with a calculating look. Miss Moira was given a brief appraising glance

With all the fluid, unnatural grace of a predator long culled and perfected, Moira rose from her hedonistic recline on one of the far wall?s couches. A smile more befitting a farmer's ripe, innocent daughter than the ancient creature she was spilt across her delicate features. Gilded silver earrings swayed as she rose, but only slightly; the play of shadow and light making the dual showpieces gleam; vampire fangs, ancient with their previous owner's taint. She wore them as jewelry.

"And a most lovely afternoon to you both... I was expecting you, Lord Daraul, but who is this vision who's preceded your arrival?" Each slender line of her was thrumming with a demented sort of joy; a breath of fresh, lively air for all her stagnant body.

The aristocratic tilt of regal features greet the vampiress before a measured bow is unveiled. Just the head, though low enough to indicate respect. ?Lady Samovila, I thank you for meeting me at a time that must be inconvenient for you.?

His archaic tone the forgotten omen of an antiquated inflection of lands and cultures abolished to myth. ?This is Lady Natolii Tanner, a colleague of mine. I hope that here presence does not interrupt our arranged audience.? The aforementioned Lady Tanner gave a graceful tilt to her head. She was one that was never unshielded. The wicked sword at her back was testament to that... when it wasn't giving her an unholy headache.

A cautious study of her given by the mage, he was well aware of the power that such twisted creatures held, and while he was confident in the potency of his magic, he wouldn't be without it, quietly cradling a spell upon the tip of his tongue

"Not at all, and oh what a wonderful manner you have, so genteel, so comme il faut, the both of you." Still baring them both a kindly, fanged smile, she drank in their presence with calculation and care despite her frivolous manner. Returning his bow and Lady Tanner's artful tilt, the vampiress leant her hands to her hips. "Now, now... I do not meant to speak out of turn, but I am curious as to what service my sweet little beast has found in your tender care, my Lord."

Another calculated bow, a polished illumination in his vile gaze reaching out to claim the langue she spoke, twisting his words to reflect the articulation she found solace in. ?Vos mots sont aussi g?cn ?creux que la vue d'un si beau. Merci.? Again rising, fingers twined around his gnarled staff. ?It has come to my attention of your presence in these lands, Lady Moira, and, to be frank, I believe that a union between us could serve for mutual benefit.?

A pause given, allowing for a moment to digest his words, the silence birthing a thorough scrutiny of her reaction. Natolii looked on, listening and appraising. The mane of red flowing outwards as if of it's own volition.

"Ahh, such lovely word of mouth this realm has. I can see it was all nothing but complimentary, otherwise I would not have the pleasure of either present company." If she were a cat, the lady Moira would more than likely be preening right now. Though an indulgent creature, beneath all her pretty manners, blacker things lurked; hungry eyes watching from the darkness, predator assessing predator. "I am eager for your confidence, my Lord... What has been brewing in that head of yours concerning our power's future?" At the way the word 'our' was said, there was a slow spreading smile on Natolii?s lips. So eager and straightforward.

?The Institute of Arcane Principle.? Another pause, though this one was accompanied by the smallest tinge of amusement upon placid features. ?An elite academy whose ranks grow stronger each day with the new arrival of young, ambitious, and powerful minds. Surely a creature as observant as you has taken note of the Institute's rise??

There was a veiled acrimony to his words, as though the sarcasm that could almost be tasted was not really there. There was nothing about him that portrayed a being accustom to bravado, though such an implication was weaved in his words. ?Lady Tanner is a Headmistress of the School.?

It was a pulse then. A single tremor that hummed through the air followed closely by another; a dark mass began to roll in from unseen openings, cloud-like wisps of the essence closing in on itself. It began to take shape, growing taller, thinner, more defined and bipedal. It condensed until there was a solid form in the mass, then it faded. Raithmoore stood in its place, crimson eyes alight with the necromantic powers of undeath. The demoness' arms cross before her as those eyes turn to meet the newest arrival.

Most abhorred the feel of their skin crawling; Moira was not one of them. All of their cunning, malevolent presences sang happily across her cool body. Suppressing a shiver of delight, the vampiress gave another bow to the roan mistress, both hands spread widely.

"How fitting... The air of authority very much suits you, Lady Tanner." Not missing a beat, she nodded, one lone finger tapping to the sweet little point of her chin. "Mm, funds are certainly not a problem. Nor my lending of arms or... guarrds. It hurts me to think of these supple young minds having to worry about their studies on top of their security from the more mundane." Her tone held all the coo of a matron, but the viciousness of a harpy. Eyes slipped a snaking path sideways to the murk of shadows and the body they birthed.

"... another friend, my Lord?" The blonde chirped curiously, and there was a soft chuckle from the demoness at those words. Her eyes still remained on Raithmoore, her gaze unwavering.

?Lord Raithmoore, I presume?? The dispassionate recoil of the Dark Mage in regard to the materialization of the Lich was evident that they were not associates, at least not yet. The ocular recognition, however, would be cardinal of the respect such a powerful creature summoned. A half-turn brought the sight of a noble mien before the mote of shadow, where another measured bow was given.

"Forgive my interruption," Raithmoore said. "But when beings such as you meet, curiosity gets the better of me."

An ebon hand extended toward the trio while he all but glided across the room toward them. Fingers curled inward as he reached them, his fist touching his chest while he offered a short bow. "Yes? I am Anatar Raithmoore," the lich greeted. "Of the Citadel Raithmoore."

The vampiress' voice was almost a purr at this; her delight obvious as she gave the Lich a sweeping bow. "Ahh, Le roi Non mort." White gold locks spilled from their short bob around her head, tickling the pale, pristine nature of her icy flesh. "... I have heard of your magnanimous presence, but have not had the pleasure until now." Oh her day was getting better and better; plans were forming in the back of her head for a future carouse with them all on her extensive guest list. ?Such a collection we all make.? She mused silently.

?Arkon Daraul, Dark Mage of the Shaitan Covenant and Mastema of the Institute of Arcane Principle.? A slight displacing motion expelling the sight of his gloved hand toward Natolii. "Lady Natolii Tanner, Lady Shadowknight of House Soulbinder and the Institute's Headmistress of Shadows.? The moment would pass, and again the hand would depart for the confine of stygian cloaks. ?And no interruption at all, Lord Raithmoore. It seemed that confliction schedules were determined to keep us abroad. I am glad for the unexpected disturbance.?

Miss Moira · Date: 2010-01-27 02:59 EST

Adapted from Live Play: Natolii, Arkon Daraul, Anater Raithmoore. 1/25/10 1-3pm Great Hall
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A graceful incline of Natolii?s head was the greeting she would afford to the newest entrant. There was caution within her as she listened and committed much to memory.

Raithmoore?s fist would meet his chest twice more, one with a bow to Moira, the other with a bow to Natolii. "A pleasure, Lady Tanner." Moira called his attention, then. "Lady Samovilla," was Raithmoore's next greeting. "How good to finally meet you." A hollow chuckle sounded from the dryness of his throat and chest at Arkon's words. "Indeed. This body has brought up several complications I hadn't anticipated. I'm adjusting, however."

?Understandable. Seeing as how thin my time is becoming, allow me to cut straight to the point. I have taken notice of both of you, and the power that you wield. The Covenant and the Institute are always searching for those of kindred decadence to bring within the fold. Whether through alliance or assimilation, we seek growth, like any civilization. I hope that such an offer is as compelling to the both of you, as you are to us.? Eyes shifting between the two of them as he the staff comes to lean idly upon a shoulder, hands clutching its twisted length. ?There is power in such unity.?

The Lich King?s hands came together, hidden by the voluminous sleeves of his robes. As Arkon spoke Raithmoore's head inclined toward him, respectful and attentive. "There is much - I believe - that we could gain through such an alliance. I've said it before, you and your Covenant have piqued my curiosity. I'm certain we can arrange something."

Watching the exchange Moira could only bare them a soft, sly smile; her lips lilted back enough to display one sinister tooth. Up a slender hand went to absentmindedly toy with one of the earrings dangling alongside her neck. The manner in which she toyed was almost loving, her gloved nail brushing the pendulum swing of the vampire fang it bore.

"Like a match, a strike, a flame, and a smoldering plume we all are. How immeasurable." The blonde?s head gave a tick tock back and forth as a sweeter smile blossomed out. "I shall keep in touch, that much is certain. Perhaps visit the inn more that your sweeter sinners often frequent and twist. My resources shall be at your doorstep as I sort through them, my only condition is that you... All of you." She turned and ticked a finger to each of them present. "Shall indulge me when I make a call for a more festive get together. My home is a playground I'm sure you all will find some small respite in."

At Moira's offer and condition the lich's lips twitched upward in a vague rendition of amusement. "Of course, Lady Samovilla." All the while, that bright frame of red hair gave a half smile, lids hooded in thought, adding. "We shall have to do something about that."

Their agreements would be met with the distinguished incline of Arkon?s chin, obvious clarity. Upon Moira's request there would be sign of effort or ardor upon his aristocratic countenance, though a nod is offered.

?I am sure arrangements can be made for such a soiree. Forgive me for such haste, though I will admit that your individual talents will be called into action rather quickly.? A sweep of saffron gems finding the Lich. ?Yours to start with, My Lord Raithemoore."

Natolii arched a brow at Arkon then.

"I'm looking forward to hearing more from you in the future, then," Raithmoore replied. "You know how to contact me, and know where my Citadel lies. Should you have the want to speak with me, my doors will be open." The lich added, turning to look at Natolii and Moira in turn. "And to the two of you as well."

The demoness in question gave a nod to Raithmoore.

"Here and back again like a coy wind. We shall suffer the lack of your presence, Lord Daraul, but only because you so sweetly foretold of a forthcoming caucus. I shall seek your more hedonistic subjects in my free time." Honeyed eyes slipped back towards the Lich King as though reflecting on a past lover; she held no such familiarity though, save for they were both essentially dead creatures, she was merely being... Well, herself. "Your lordship is too kind." A bow would be given to both as the malevolent articulation that is the devil's tongue would wish them farewell.

?Dark zi pentru tine, atât.? Arisen once more and with the twisted staff held at ease before him, his gaze drifts to Natolii. ?Lady Tanner?? An offer, if she were seeking to depart, one which was nodded to. Natolii too had other pursuits to deal in, "Shadows Bless to you both." She said.

"Do take care," Raithmoore smiled to the pair, offering a low bow as they prepared to depart.

"And Lady Samovilla, I hope to see you at the Citadel soon." He stepped back. "I'm sorry to disappear like this as well, but my work at the Citadel is demanding, to say the least." As the Lich spoke, dark words pour past the mage?s hushed lips, and the pulsating expansion of magic would emerge from beneath them, the ensuing globe of arcana reaching upward and around, wreathing them in power. The sphere would darken, veiling them, closing the gate, and in a flash they and the amethyst orb would vanish. He and the demoness were out.

Conceding to the inevitable, Moira?s path through daylight would be taken in the form of a wolf who's sleek, glossy fur was as pristine and pale as the pretty ice of her flesh. The vampires had succumb to a darker, older form of her kind's magic and melted down into a great, white wolf. Honey eyes stared out from the graceful, shaggy mess to the remaining lich before she too, slipped out to seek her own day's work.

The same insubstantial mass shot out from the center of Raithmoore's being upon his entry, now upon his exit, emitted smoky tendrils that sought the cracks of windows and doors as it poured out into the air.