By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Exotic Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Dariusfallenstar on 08-10-2013, 19:14:31</h2>
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				Title: <strong>By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>08-10-2013, 19:14:31</strong>
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				<div align="center"><span style="font-size: 12pt;" class="bbc_size">By Chaos Cursed</span></div><br><strong>Featuring </strong>: <strong> Darius Fallenstar </strong>as <strong>Brom </strong>and<strong> Demi</strong> as <strong> Gloriana </strong><br><br><strong>Setting:</strong><em>By Chaos Cursed </em> takes place in a high fantasy, feudal world. This is a world dominated by men, but also peopled by reclusive elves, dwarves, and other familiar fantasy tropes. Magic is powerful here, capable of transforming the face of the planet when wielded in the hands of one with the strength to do so. <br><br>In this particular world, the “People of the Dragon” are a race of humanoids who descended from dragon-kind. In legend, the dragons created these hybrids in order to serve and worship them, but also to interact with the burgeoning races of men. These not-men look humanoid, more or less, albeit larger and with greater standard physical attributes – being stronger, tougher, and faster, but are utterly alien on the inside. The minds of the dragon blooded are alien places, with draconic values and language; they covet beauty and are highly possessive. As a people, they are also incredibly well-organized and maintain a feudal-style government, with authority derived from both age and experience, as well as prowess of arms. <br><br>Isolated on the island of Reach, none of the mortal races dare intrude upon these supernaturally powerful people, for their wills, magic, and military might is known to be without peer. And, of course, they have ties to the eternal, albeit distant, dragons. <br><br><strong>Lands of Men:</strong> The lands of men in this world are monarchies, with governance derived from historic claims (along with the usual power and influence). Humans have achieved much with their access to magic and limited science, but almost constant in-fighting and war have kept them from forming larger alliances and moving into a brighter, bigger future. Ties of blood – of nobility – are currently the preeminent way to overcome disputes, with many conflicts and alliances being decided by who is willing to marry whom. <br><br>Silly humans. <br><br>Beyond the major kingdoms, some lands are wild, or ruled strictly by force. The majority of these small (and often resource-wealthy) holds are governed by warlocks, witches, and sorcerers of terrible, wicked power. Attempting to annex these lands, though tempting, is almost always risky, as the worst of these spellcasters are capable of wielding bloodline curses that are all but irreversible. <br><br><strong>Erotic Elements:</strong> This story features one key erotic element: the curse. The curse’s nature is that it draws the protagonists together, enhancing their passion and attracting them to one another, far more than any other people. Though they are distant, the curse allows them to communicate and exchange thoughts while they sleep. <br><br><strong>Fetishes Included:</strong> This is a plot/adventure driven story with occasionally intense erotic elements. It will include large (but not extreme) size differences, age differences, some forms of mind control (the curse), excessive cum, and whatever else feels cool. <br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>08-10-2013, 19:15:08</strong>
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				Brom stood on the highest balcony, the doors to his main chamber open behind him, blue-white curtains whipping. The inclement weather sending near hurricane-force winds soaring across the rough-hewn stone. If he felt the power of the oncoming storm, knew any weakness due to the raging currents of air, it did not show. Perhaps it was because Brom stood encased in a cuirass of armor so ornate and dense-looking that it must have added several hundred pounds to the already massive man; he already towered at nearly seven feet, perhaps even at it. More than likely, however, it was because of his race: born of the Dragon People, Brom’s strength could have been the stuff of legend. <br><br>“You seem pensive,” a female voice echoed from behind the stalwart man.<br><br>Turning, a maneuver impossibly smooth given just how encumbered he should have been, Brom faced his mother. The older woman, her face unlined, her bright red hair showing only the slightest bit of fading, her eyes still bright gemstone-jade – all gifts from their dragon ancestors – wore her worry openly. <br><br>“I feel uneasy, mother. This armor could not have been granted me at a more fortuitous time. The protections upon it, they will gird me against the coming tribulation.” Brom’s voice echoed through the high-vaulted room, the boom hollowed out by the suckling wind behind him. <br><br>The handsome woman made a face and gestured, murmuring a word in the ornate language of the Dragons, her tri-folded tongue managing a sound no other humanoid race could have. Her power gently urged her son into the room and shut the glass doors leading to the balcony, which he allowed without reproach. <br><br>“Superstition,” she said when she no longer had to project her voice to be heard. “You and your uncle both. Too superstitious by far. There is no dire threat, no reason for concern. That he decided you should receive your father’s war armor was appropriate, even if the timing was unfortunate.” Her lips curled downward distastefully.<br><br>“Mother, I’m three hundred and twelve. It was time for me to inherit the property of my sire. Uncle simply accelerated the process, as was appropriate, given the dreams.”<br><br>“Bah. Fuck the dreams!” the woman snarled, her irises narrowing into reptilian slits as she allowed her frustration to peek through the human mask. They were mostly humanoid. Mostly. But the dragon sometimes awoke in the eldest of them, and Brom’s mother was quite nearly eight hundred years old. She was among the eldest.<br><br>Shrugging, Brom replied softly, “Mother, grant me this. Three months. The armor’s magical wards are timed for three turns of the moon, after which it will release me.”<br><br>Grudgingly, the woman nodded. “Yes, yes. Three months. And then you will take it off and accept your rightful position as your uncle’s captain of the guard.”<br><br>“Of course,” Brom said stiffly. Why wouldn’t he? The dictates of honor demanded that Brom serve the man who’d killed his father. It was the way society worked, and he’d never shirk his duty. <br><br>-<br><br><div align="center"><strong>Elsewhere<br></strong></div><br>The warlock, Assari, her blood as black as pitch, her eyes the slitted irises of the dragons she had consumed to empower magics, stood hunched and broken. Pride and power had cost her greatly. Her attempts to become a greater being, a demon-hybrid of unstoppable power, had come close. Almost succeeded. <br><br>But something had gone wrong, somehow. Outsiders had intervened. Her neighbors, perhaps? That pesky kingdom, so small it might as well have been a wart – it must have been them! Who else would meddle in her affairs, break her will and condemn her to a crippled existence? <br><br>Turning, the motion as stiff and hobbled as any woman her age should expect, she waved her broken-looking fingers at her cauldron, a black pot that dominated the center of her poorly constructed thatch house, and watched as the images in it became clear. She needed a proper victim. Needed a proper curse. One that would strike back at both who she loathed: those born of dragons, blessed with power she’d been forced to steal, and the humans who had prevented her ascension. <br><br>Quickly, though. Her time was running out. <br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Demi</strong> on <strong>09-10-2013, 08:54:52</strong>
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				The scent of blood, both fresh and drying, lingered behind her nostrils, sinking far enough into her throat to give the illusion of the liquid seeping into her mouth.&nbsp; Gloriana’s brow wrinkled with concentration, eyes shut tight as a sheen of sweat began to lightly glisten just below her hairline.&nbsp; The healers employed by her father, King Merek, had done all they could for the man lying in the dirt and grime at Gloriana’s knees; her once-elegant turquoise dress was now covered in mud and the unmistakable fluids of the deceased acquired by trudging through her father’s military camp.&nbsp; Her hands wavered above the man’s torn chest, shaking in a display of her waning strength before they collapsed to wrest against the rich fabric of her skirts.&nbsp; Something felt . . . Wrong.<br><br>A deep breath brought the thick taste of the battlefield to her tongue, further disrupting her focus on her attempt to heal the dying man on the ground.&nbsp; Cobalt eyes flashed open, flicking down to the helpless male as a lone tear of sorrow leaked from the outer corner of her eye.&nbsp; Despite her efforts, there was nothing to be done for him.&nbsp; Even with her abilities and endless training, she could not bring a mortal back from the clutches of death.&nbsp; The world of the dead would have him; she could do no more than hope she had made him peaceful in her futile efforts.<br><br>Gloriana rose, her regal heritage visible in the fluid grace of her movements as she turned to make her way back to her father’s elaborate tents.&nbsp; He would wish to know of the conditions of his men, having sent is gifted daughter out among them to assist in swaying the tide of battle.&nbsp; She knew, also, that her betrothed—Prince Jarin of the larger, and now allied, neighboring kingdom of Tramar—would also be awaiting her report and company.<br><br>Only partway to her destination, her father rode up on his dapple grey stallion, reining the horse in sharply and glancing down at his daughter with a concerned expression in his grey eyes.&nbsp; Gloriana allowed a dark, slender eyebrow to rise in question to his having left the protection of his tents.&nbsp; He was not one to enter the grimy battlefield unless leading an attack of utmost importance.&nbsp; His planning and leadership were worth more than losing his life amidst well-trained soldiers.<br><br>“Ana, come.&nbsp; We have troubles to discuss.”&nbsp; It was then that she noticed the knights encircling her father, her head swiveling as she took in the fact that they were now surrounding her protectively, as well.&nbsp; Her chestnut mare was saddled and standing a short distance away, looking uneasy with flared nostrils and wide eyes as one of the knights handed the reins down to the princess, the man doing everything within his power to not look into her eyes.<br><br>Gloriana nodded her assent, modestly slipping her riding skirt to one side of her knee as she stepped up into the saddle.&nbsp; Once the princess was seated, her mare snorted, hooves digging into the sodden ground as she pranced, anxious to be away from the scent of blood and death.&nbsp; The King spun his mount, urging the stallion into a trot toward the tents.&nbsp; Before following, Gloriana caught the attention of one of the healers wandering the camp. “You there.&nbsp; See to that man,” Gloriana motioned with an open palm, harmless golden sparks radiating to lead the other woman to her charge.&nbsp; “He is dying; there is nothing that can be done for him.&nbsp; Ensure that he is comfortable.”<br><br>The healer, daring not to look up, nodded to the ground, “yes, Princess.”&nbsp; Without another word, she turned away from the mounted royal, following the glittering magic and kneeling beside the man Gloriana had been tending to mere moments ago.&nbsp; As the princess watched the woman settle in, she couldn’t help but notice the icy tingle of dread as it lifted the hair at the back of her neck; something in the air felt incredibly out-of-place.<br><br>~~<br><br>King Merek, not usually one for pacing, finally halted his movements and sat regally in the chair beside his daughter, fingers splaying across the oak tabletop in the center of his command tent.&nbsp; “There is no other way for you to understand, Ana,” King Merek waved a hand at a knight standing near the opening to the tent, “bring the letter, so she may read it for herself.”&nbsp; Her father’s eyes, slate gray where hers were brilliant blue, looked troubled.&nbsp; Concern sprouted like a sapling in her chest, her hands clasping together in her lap, thumb lightly worrying the silken fabric of her gown.<br><br>The knight—Gloriana was unsure of his name, and cared not to know, as so many had been dying of late—handed her a small, rolled parchment before stepping back to his earlier station.&nbsp; After having seen the look in her father’s normally calm gaze, the princess’s fingers trembled as she lifted the message from the table and unrolled it.<br><br><div align="center"><em>You have interfered in that which you do not know.<br>By Her wishes, wrath and misery are to be brought upon your home and land.<br>You will not know the true meaning of success and power, as She has, as you have stolen from Her.<br>Your end will be that of humiliation and disgrace; your kingdom will fall to the reaches of the forgotten, never to be known or heard of again.<br>Your pathetic rule ends with your daughter, for she is all you hold dearest to your heart.<br>Pray that your own death is swift, Merek, as what is left of your life will certainly be without mercy.<br><br>-Loyal follower of Assari, She who should reign in Power supreme</em></div><br>Gloriana tossed the parchment to the table with disgust, “what trickery is this?”&nbsp; Her voice, normally pleasant and melodic, now quivered with obvious apprehension.&nbsp; Her eyes flicked to her father’s face, the lines of worry now deeper etched than mere moments before.&nbsp; The princess leaned toward her father, placing her weight against an elbow atop the table so she could speak in hushed tone, “what have you done?”<br><br>King Merek, raised to be a leader, did not allow his vision to waver nor his head to bow.&nbsp; Instead, he lifted his chin, meeting his daughter’s calculating gaze with renewed resolve.&nbsp; “Just before your 16th birthday, it was rumored that a witch woman had made a claim outside our kingdom’s walls.&nbsp; Rumors were brought to my throne-room of her ill temper and misuse of magic.&nbsp; I delivered to her a warning in the form of my most elite guards, twenty-count.”&nbsp; He paused, softly clearing his throat before continuing, “five returned, but they assured me that the warning was delivered and understood.”&nbsp; At this, his eyes turned down to the parchment, a look of such hatred overcoming his aged features that Gloriana subconsciously leaned back in her seat.&nbsp; “That day, when my men returned, will reach its two-year anniversary as of the celebration of your 18th year.&nbsp; Tomorrow.”<br><br>A lump had risen in Gloriana’s throat as her father displayed the facts to her.&nbsp; That he would willingly accost a magical woman, without proof or an obvious display of wickedness, shook her to the bone.&nbsp; Was his own daughter not gifted with magic?&nbsp; Would he have done the same to her, if the situation had called for it?&nbsp; She mentally shook her head; he needed her as an ally.&nbsp; Without her and neighboring Tramar on his side of the battlefield, this war would have been lost to him long ago.<br><br>“Why now?&nbsp; Why have you not spoken of this sooner?”&nbsp; Gloriana searched her father’s face for any hint of remorse, any slight bend in his features that would show he’d known of the threat.&nbsp; Alternatively, his shoulders rose and fell with a clueless shrug.<br><br>“I did not know she would set a curse upon my house.&nbsp; The letter is not proof enough.&nbsp; It was not even by her hand.&nbsp; It could be false, sent to us by the enemy to goad us into believing a curse was set upon us, to put our concern on something other than the battles at hand.” Her father reached over, lovingly patting the back of her hand with his own, the calluses of on-going battle rough against her smooth skin.&nbsp; “Worry not about such affairs.&nbsp; You have far greater things to concern yourself with.&nbsp; Like your wedding.”<br><br>As if on command, Jarin stepped into the tent at that moment, crimson cloak billowing behind him as he sauntered in with the air of a man who laid claim to one of the largest kingdoms in the land--which he did.&nbsp; He was ten years her senior, his black hair already silvering above his ears and thinning beneath the overly ornate crown he insisted on wearing at all times.&nbsp; Gloriana believed he wore it to conceal the slowly widening patch of bare scalp at the top of his head.<br><br>In a flourish that seemed too overdone, Jarin halted beside her seat, lowering to one knee and taking one of her hands in his to place a kiss across her knuckles.&nbsp; “My love.&nbsp; You look,” he paused, taking in the grime coating her skirts from hem to knee, not even attempting to hide his obvious disgust, “as if you could use a warm bath.&nbsp; Allow me to accompany you to the castle?”<br><br>Gloriana politely withdrew her hand, dark mahogany waves brushing against pale cheeks as she shook her head in a gentle declination.&nbsp; “I assure you, my Prince, that I am perfectly capable of finding the castle on my own.&nbsp; The offer does not go unappreciated.”&nbsp; Her tone was unaffected, proof that she was saying the words only out of duty.&nbsp; Without another word to the prince, she pressed a soft kiss to her father’s cheek and excused herself before turning and removing her person from the command tents.&nbsp; A warm bath <em>would</em> be a welcome respite before preparing for bed, and would allow her time to further consider the letter she'd only just read.
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				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>10-10-2013, 02:10:43</strong>
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				Assari’s skin, already dusky in hue, blackened as she drew upon the foreign blood animating her body. Below, within the depths of her mystical cold storage, several of the corpses she kept to fuel her powers, Dragon People whisked away from their far-flung Island, shriveled as she pulled deeply on the wellspring of their ancient puissance. Their endowments no longer reanimated her body, no longer granted her endless vitality. No, her enemy had seen to that. <br><br>Breaking the Witch Ward stones had removed both her access to the People and to the additional benefits that they once gave her. Now, all she had was her anger, her vengeance. Here, at the shadowed end of her life, she could change the destiny of the world and mete out a fate worse than death to her sworn enemy.<br><br>No, enemies, she mentally corrected. In their own way, the Dragon People were her enemy too: it was their fault she was dying. Their fault. Their bodies were weak, no longer manifested the power of their ancestors – if not for their weakness, she would have the strength for more than a few petty spells and one more Great Curse. <br><br>Ah, well, her agents – though few – had benefited greatly from her knowledge and the magical items she’d passed on to them. They would carry on; they would see to it that her ambitions for the future would come to fruition. Should things go as planned, perhaps death would not be her end. Perhaps the very Great Curse that took her life would act as the catalyst to return her from the final dark? <br><br>That was the greatest gamble, and the most unlikely. Still, there degrees of success. <br><br>Moving with no greater grace, but with faux-vigor&nbsp; thanks to her pull on the corpses below, their bodies shriveling more each second that passed, the witch approached her boiling, swirling cauldron. The princess was easy enough to locate and target. The colors swirling in the pot indicated the first stage of the Curse was already in effect: she’d touched the letter, sealed herself to the fate Assari had planned. But what of the other half?<br><br>What was the worst fate she could lower the princess to? She’d long considered welding her to some homeless turd, some ancient and ugly farmer. But, upon reflection, she realized there was a far more elegant solution. Once that would get back not only at the princess, but at the man who had stopped supplying her with the corpses she needed. <br><br>If only she could remember which body was special? Which one was it he’d deemed “too dangerous” for the witch to experiment on, to draw from? Which one had a spark of the ancient dragon magic, now passed, when he had been alive? <br><br>The cauldron, her most trusted device, flickered, revealing a cold corpse. Unremarkable really; a typical Dragon Person – tall, muscular, handsome in his own way, now dead for a very long time. Removed so his brother could take power. Removed with the aid of the Witch. It was a shame that her alliance with the new King hadn’t panned out further. If she’d been able to infiltrate that shit kingdom, a new age would have dawned.<br><br>An age with a new Witch Queen, a Dragon Goddess….. <br><br>Ah, fucking dreams. <br><br>She would pay them all back, and she had the vehicle for the second half already: the corpse had a son. A son who would act as the vehicle for her vengeance. <br><br>And so, her ideas and cunning plans finally in place, Assari began her incantations. Fueled by the blood of her enemies, fulfilled by their arrogance, this Great Curse would be one for the ages. <br><br>-<br><br>“This is ridiculous, my adopted son. You are showing signs of superstition, the likes of which led to me defeating your father in combat.” The speaker was short for their kind, and utterly bald – his oval, jowly face supporting a weight that was virtually unknown among the Dragon People. Seated upon the Serpent Throne – coils of winged dragons entwined in an endless knot work so captivating that, legends said, could cause mortals to go insane from simply studying it – he wore armor that had been relaxed to fit his bulk many times. It gleamed with gemstones and polished silvery elements that made the adornment, if not the man, seem spectacular. <br><br>“I am proud to follow in the footsteps of my father, adopted-father,” Brom said softly, though formally. He could have challenged the other man in combat, but after the display Vedderkan had put on, after the draconic might he’d shown, no one would dare lift a sword against the man. The Dragon People were, despite Vedderkan’s statements, highly and superstitious; the King’d seeming impossible defeat of the greater combatant had sealed him to the throne. <br><br>&nbsp;Vedderkan’s derisive snort followed a wave of dismissal, the scaled articulation of his gauntlet chiming bell-like in the tall, wide meeting hall. The small crowd of onlookers – officials and visitors from the far lands belonging to other rulers – watched on without displaying a hint of emotion. Noble to their core, immutable, even in the face of strangely-enacted traditions. None thought to ask if Brom’s recent adoption of the Ritual of Armament had stirred the king to begin wearing his own. To insinuate any sort of fear or response from a lesser would have been a horrible insult. One the king would have met with his terrible, impossible strength. <br><br>Stepping back against the wall, rejoining the other lesser officials, Brom resumed his guard stance before the looming double doors that were the primary means of ingress to the building. As former son of the king, Brom had been expected to take up the office of First Champion; in effect, he was Vedderkan’s personal bodyguard. Brom took the role quite seriously, pushing himself beyond what anyone thought was reasonable – in training and discipline, hough in this case the position was mostly decorative.<br><br>To Brom, formalities mattered. <br><br>Court resumed then, with a number of proclamations coming from the King’s Voice – a svelte Elf the King had befriended some years ago, and now used for official court duties. That was another anomaly. She was quite attractive, if petite on a scale that none of the Dragon People would have found attractive. Too fragile for their brutal kind. <br><br>As he listened to the woman’s melodic voice, fluent in their language, roll out the newest laws and revisionary statements – land exchanges mostly – the feeling that had prompted Brom to don his armor returned, only this time dwarfed the last. His stomach churned, his muscles clenched, the armor about him seemed to heat as the enchanted material reacted to some unknown threat.<br><br>Then, the elf Voice’s announcements stuttered to a halt as her eyes shifted from the empty space above the heads of the congregation, and directly onto Brom. <br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Demi</strong> on <strong>10-10-2013, 09:34:47</strong>
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				Though her father’s war was costly, no expense was spared in the grand creation of Gloriana’s birthday-turned-marriage.&nbsp; King Merek had insisted that it would be a far more momentous occasion, should she consent to combining the two.&nbsp; As she truly had no preference, already resigned to her duties of becoming a wife, mother, and eventual queen to a neighboring kingdom, she agreed.<br><br>Now, seated at the head table, watching the brilliant swirls of elaborate and brightly-colored gowns as lords and ladies twirled about the dance floor for her amusement, she couldn’t shake the uneasy sensation growing in the pit of her stomach.&nbsp; Regardless of how many times she attempted to dismiss it as newly-wed jitters, the feeling would not disperse.&nbsp; Several times, she had focused inwardly, balancing the glowing light of magic within her soul in an attempt to ease her nerves.&nbsp; Thus far, nothing had proven successful.<br><br>She forced a smile to her lips as one of the wealthier women stepped up to the high table to wish her kind wishes and many children.&nbsp; Inwardly, Gloriana cringed at the unavoidable fact that she would be forced to consummate her marriage in only a short amount of time.&nbsp; Several of the guests were drunk, as was Jarin, which was quite obvious by the way he swayed in his seat beside her.<br><br>Knowing it was necessary to keep up appearances, Gloriana reached for the gem-encrusted, golden goblet set beside her plate.&nbsp; The red wine was soothing as it slipped past her lips, the warm liquid dissipating her unease, if only for a moment before she returned the glass and rested her hands in her lap.&nbsp; Her eyes dropped, examining the intricate bead work laced throughout the white fabric of her wedding gown, fitting for a virgin bride.<br><br>Gloriana’s attention shifted to her husband as he leaned toward her to mutter something completely unintelligible in her ear.&nbsp; She smiled and nodded, not entirely sure what he had been saying.&nbsp; Apparently, that had been the wrong answer.&nbsp; Jarin suddenly stood, wobbly though he was, lifting his goblet and cheering to the crowd.&nbsp; She’d witnessed enough weddings to know what that signified.&nbsp; Before she could object, her ladies-in-waiting had closed in and dragged her from the room, tugging at the knotted laces securing the back of her gown as they went.<br><br>Her dress was completely unlashed when she made it into her husband’s bedroom, the strap of fabric supporting the beaded weight slipping over the unmarred flesh of her shoulder as she stepped toward the bed. Slender fingers gripped the soft fabric to place it back where it belonged, her eyes were widening at how swiftly this had happened.&nbsp; Terror registered in her heart and on her face only briefly before she replaced it with a mask of duty.&nbsp; She owed this to her father, to her people, to her kingdom.&nbsp; Without her, her father and the subjects she adored would have collapsed to ruins.&nbsp; This was a necessity, something she could not avoid.<br><br>Drunken laughter bubbled from down the hallway to announce her husband’s approach.&nbsp; With a last thought of her soon-dead innocence, Gloriana made her way to the bed, sitting on the edge of the plush mattress and watching the door with a hawk-like gaze only a spellcaster could manage.&nbsp; Still, the unwanted fear that something wasn’t right danced at the back of her mind, causing her heart to thunder madly within her chest.&nbsp; She could almost hear the whispers of warning brushing against her thoughts, but those imaginings were quickly banished as Jarin stumbled into the room.&nbsp; He was far from drunk, each step carrying him quicker than the last to keep him from falling forward onto his face.&nbsp; Unfortunately for her, the prince managed to make his way onto the bed beside her without careening to the floor.<br><br>Jarin’s eyes were hooded with lust as he examined the exposed flesh of her back, his motions far from hesitant as he reached out to draw the loose straps from her shoulders.&nbsp; The heavily beaded, expensive fabric fell with ease, pooling in pearlescent waves around her waist to expose her upper half.&nbsp; Head held high, Gloriana gazed at the roaring hearth across the room, refusing to meet her husband’s gaze as he examined her to his heart’s content.<br><br>The princess became lost in her thoughts, something deep down telling her that marrying this man was the wrong choice; despite what she'd been taught all her life, duty meant nothing, Jarin, and her kingdom, meant nothing.&nbsp; Her thoughts were quickly discarded as Jarin turned her face to look at him, his hand held out toward the room expectantly, showing that he wished her to disrobe completely.&nbsp; With an inward shiver, Gloriana did just that; she rose from the bed, allowing the elegant hand-made gown to slip down her toned legs into a woven puddle at her feet.&nbsp; She made no move to turn toward him.<br><br>Her lack of effort did not dissuade the prince.&nbsp; She heard the mattress protest slightly as he rose, his fingers softly drawing her hair over her shoulder as he pressed disgustingly tender kisses to the back of her neck.&nbsp; The disquiet settled in again, her muscles tensing instinctively as the hint of unidentifiable lyrics caressed her beliefs like a reunion of long-lost lovers.&nbsp; She visibly cringed when Jarin’s hands found her breasts, sucking her lower lip between her teeth to stifle a hiss of revulsion.<br><br>Noticing her discomfort, Jarin moved to stand in front of her, resting his hands against her hips as he coaxed her back toward the mattress.&nbsp; Gloriana did as directed, stepping carefully out of the bunched cloth around her ankles, still vaguely aware of the barely discernible words within her mind.&nbsp; She hadn’t even noticed, until that moment, that Jarin had shed his own clothing, the evidence of his arousal standing proudly on display as she lay back against the mattress.&nbsp; Scooting herself further back to keep her legs from dangling off the side of the bed, she chanted an inner mantra to remind herself that this was her duty.<br><br>Jarin crawled to hover above her, his fingers brushing her hair away from her face as he urged her legs apart with one of his own.&nbsp; However, despite his best efforts, the moment he’d begun to position himself to enter her, Gloriana’s hands shot up from their reclined place atop the mattress to press against his chest.&nbsp; Her eyes went wide with sudden realization, her back arching as a wildfire erupted through her body.&nbsp; Unwarranted, her power shot through the palms pressed against her husband’s flesh, tears leaking from her eyes at the intensity of the sudden release of magic.&nbsp; She was only vaguely aware of Jarin crying out in anguish before flopping to the side and away from her.<br><br>How long she lay panting, one hand pressed to the exposed flesh above her breast to still her pounding heart, she couldn’t be sure.&nbsp; All she was sure of was that some unknown force was beckoning her, <em>yearning</em> for her to find it.&nbsp; She had the briefest image of a tall, dark, ominous shape just before exhaustion claimed her and she fell into a fitful sleep.
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				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>10-10-2013, 11:59:03</strong>
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				It came as sheer, horrible bliss. Radiating outward from his heart as though a chakra had been forced open, the doors of which would never close again, it oozed through his limbs with the speed of too-hot honey. Visions of his father, tall and proud, his nobility so clear on his troubled brow, his broad shoulders and deep chest of a size that would make even the first generation of their people take note, flashed into Brom’s mental eye. Though it was a vision, the clarity was such that Brom felt he could see details that he’d never noticed before. His father was naked, stripped of all royal raiment and laid out on some sort of bier. There, across his chest, stretched a discoloration – a deeper, purplish darkness against the otherwise naturally tanned skin. <br><br>Not a birthmark, Brom realized with a clarity his mind rarely knew: <em>Dragonsign</em>! It was as his mother had always told him. Brom’s father was blessed, had been blessed!<br><br>As he watched, body aching with unmitigated vitality, the vision of his father changed. Runes that Brom associated with Witchery and the foulest magic wove themselves across his father’s unmoving chest and words rang out in his mind:<br><br><div align="center"><em>Bind to him the birthright denied,<br>Awaken the ancient truth<br>Unbind the Sire of Dragons<br>Yet let his awakening be at her hands<br>Let her peace shatter<br>Let their fates be bound;<br>Even as he becomes what once was<br>She, the renwer of the old ways<br>He, bound by blood that ran true<br><br>She becomes the Queen of Impossible Desires <br>He becomes the Living Heritage Remade<br>Through my Great Curse let Vedderkan and Merek suffer <br></em></div><br>There may have been more to the curse; Brom did not know. His vision had shifted to reveal another scene, played out in disturbing detail. A beautiful woman in a white dress, her body stiff, her mien as dignified as any mourning lady in waiting. There was a man pawing at her, fingers clawing, digging, playing, mouth moving. Brom fought to find dignity or delight in the coupling, some reason for his vision to include it – but there was none. Suddenly, Brom wanted nothing more than to end this event, to stifle whatever words the human male was murmuring, wanted nothing more than to give the woman a proper wedding night. So bright was his desire, that Brom did not realize that the scene had unfolded, that the woman was now on her back, prepared to take her would-be lover’s affection.<br><br><em>No!</em> Brom mentally shouted, thought-voice voice edged with the metallic ring of a draconic roar.<br><br>And then her magic came. It poured through her hands and into her would-be mate’s unworthy chest, sank deep. In an indirect way, Brom felt himself part of that magic. He could taste the flavor or it, feel the pure iced chill cooling the liquid heat in his veins. The magic was in him, somehow, and he within it. In that moment, he wanted nothing more for the unworthy-looking man to suffer the greatest of indignities. <br><br>“Brom?” it was the elf’s voice, mellifluous and sweet as honeysuckle. <br><br>The armored man came to, the vision ending, but not the sense of power welling within. He was still drawing on that wellspring, drinking deeply and through no desire of his own; it was as though some dam had been burst, some fount unleashed. The elf was nearer now, standing protectively before Vedderkan, or so it seemed. Her hands were raised, fingers positioned like spiders – just so.<br><br>Brom tried to speak, tried to pry his lips apart, to make tongue and teeth move, but all that came was the unintelligible, fork-tongued sibilance of the elder language. <br><br>“He is touched!” several in the galley called out, not yet concerned. Such displays were rare in the extreme, but for the long-lived Dragon People, anything was possible.<br><br>“Stop this!” Vedderkan shouted, moving forward to touch, then whisper into his Voice’s ear, a command that seemed, however briefly, to trouble the slip of an elf. Nevertheless, she gathered the steel in her gaze and lifted her hands to cast an enchantment, some spell that would end Brom’s fugue and return order to the King’s court. Power swelled, dirty and disgusting compared to that fueling Brom’s newfound strength. Reaching within her tabard, the elf woman pulled forth a twisted black medallion – a blackened tree with a cauldron imprinted upon it, a piece of amber stuck within and a shard of yellowed bone trapped inside that. <br><br>Though she did not say the words out loud, somehow Brom heard them: “With the bone-shard of his father, I do bind him!”<br><br>Anger, a rage that had not been known for thousands of years, boiled up, hardening all the sweet power within Brom’s form into a single, sweltering knowing. This elf had helped Vedderkan kill his father. And she was trying to use his father against him now. This would not be allowed!<br><br>Stepping forward, once, twice, Brom bellowed and the metal of the cuirass covering his face – an ornate, if relatively simple face mask – melted open to reveal his visage: tanned flesh grown dark, eyes slits of virulent yellow ringed in angry red, and teeth too sharp, too long. Exhaling, Brom brought forth his rage before the elf could finish her incantation. White-blue fire, energy tinged with a magic that had nothing to do with dragons and everything to do with the woman in Brom’s vision, poured forth, reaching for the elf. <br><br>Screams filled the gallery, “The dragon! He wears the dragon true!”<br><br>The elf jerked her hands to the side, tossing her head and attempting to change her spell at the last minute. Energy rushed from her, through the medallion, streaking out to meet Brom’s no longer distant breath.<br><br>Too late. <br><br>Violence and gravity, not simply force, but a weight as sure as one produced by the world itself, grew in the throne room, pulling most of the attendees down to their knees. The elf, engulfed in Brom’s unexpected expulsion, stood briefly, then wavered and cried out. “I am shorn! Impotent! Rent from my magic! What have you done? How have you done it?! Tell me!” Her shrieks rose and rose, her indignation and horror filling the room.<br><br>But Brom had no answers. The visor to his helm had slammed shut and protective runes glowed across his armor, which seemed to swelter as it acted to defend Brom from an unknown attack. The plate flowed like wax, changing shape to match the new proportions of its wearer. Though Brom seemed no taller, there was a density that could not be denied. <br><br>In his chair, eyes wide, Vedderkan thought as quickly as he could. There was no way Brom could be allowed to stay now. Not with the king’s personal sorceress rendered without her magic. But this event…it could not be ignored either. Vedderkan could not murder everyone who had seen. Unless – yes! He could send Brom on an expedition, send him away to die! But where?<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Demi</strong> on <strong>11-10-2013, 09:07:45</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				The distant beckoning of sleep kept her eyes closed despite the brightening sun dancing across the coverlets twisted around her legs.&nbsp; Gloriana’s head pounded, distant ringing of voices unrecognized to her lingering in the after patterns of her dreams.&nbsp; Try as she might, she couldn’t maintain the images, her brow knitting in frustration as she lifted one arm off the mattress to pinch the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger.<br><br>She was vaguely aware of the patterned breathing of someone beside her, panic fluttering like a loose dove within her stomach.&nbsp; Weariness forgotten, she sat up with a start, cobalt eyes flashing open as she turned to glance to the side with such ferocity that brunette locks whipped against her face and neck.&nbsp; The sting seemed to bring her into reality, her face visibly relaxing as the night’s memories began to cascade in a rush through her mind.&nbsp; The wedding . . . Her eyes widened as she remembered just how her evening had ended, her fingertips still tingling with the dreadful power that had exploded from within her.<br><br>It was then that she noticed her husband’s breathing was labored, sweat was beaded thickly across his brow, his knuckles white due to the grip he had on the sheets.&nbsp; Though she hardly knew the man, she feared for a human life; one that she could have very well ended in her moment of unexpected magic.&nbsp; Almost timidly, Gloriana reached out to gently press the back of her hand against Jarin’s forehead, withdrawing immediately at the heat radiating from his flesh.&nbsp; Her first instinct was to call for help, but she knew that no one would be able to assist him in this more than she.<br><br>Steadying her own breathing, she shifted closer to him, lifting one of the bed sheets to conceal her previously exposed breasts.&nbsp; Her nakedness did not bother her in the slightest, at that moment;&nbsp; her main concern was the male in trouble beside her.&nbsp; Should he die, her father’s allegiance would crumble, Tramar believing that Jarin’s treacherous wife had murdered him in his sleep to gain the larger kingdom for her father.&nbsp; For a split second, Gloriana hesitated, unsure of whether her magic would do as she asked.&nbsp; She mentally shook herself; she’d been using her abilities since she was a child.&nbsp; That she had released something unknown was a fluke, some reflection of her uncertainty toward consummating a marriage to a man she’d only just met.<br><br>Softly, she placed the palms of her hands against him, one resting against his exposed shoulder pad, the other settling between his shoulder blades, forcing her to lean forward slightly.&nbsp; Her eyes slid closed as she drew concentration from the well of power within her, the world seeming to pause in its rotation as she focused her renewed energy into the prince before her.&nbsp; Before she could even begin to heal him, she first had to discover what was wrong, what she’d done to place him in such a state.&nbsp; The first flood of magic released itself from her core, a pleasant sensation singing along the marrow of her bones as she leaned her head back to expel a quiet moan of satisfaction.&nbsp; It was nearly the opposite of her last experience, the magic once more feeling as it always had.<br><br>The instant her magic made contact with the other being, she had to resist the urge to scream at the towering image in her mind.&nbsp; Like a creature from some childhood nightmare, the enormous male—as the figure was clearly masculine—would have easily dwarfed her height had he been in the room at that very moment.&nbsp; Despite knowing that it was only within her thoughts, she could almost feel the presence of him, her pulse quickening within her veins as her flesh heated to a temperature she’d not had the pleasure of experiencing.<br><br>With her rushed heartbeat came the reminder of the last image that had flashed before she’d drifted into sleep, the yearning that had clawed its way through her entire body, as if something deep within her was aching to be set free.&nbsp; Despite her mild fever, she shivered, her palms brushing against Jarin’s flesh to drag her, kicking and screaming, back to the unconscious man on the bed beside her.&nbsp; She attempted to focus healing energy, waves of bright light rippling across her fingertips before sinking into her husbands’ body to disappear as if they’d never existed.&nbsp; Still, the figure, the overwhelming craving to find whoever—whatever—had stood before her in that brief moment before sleep, lingered in the back of her mind.&nbsp; She <em>needed</em> to find him . . . <br><br>It seemed the magic had taken its own course in her silent revalation:&nbsp; With a gasp, Jarin woke, breath coming easily as his skin slowly lowered to a more natural temperature.&nbsp; Gloriana allowed her eyes to open, though slowly, savoring the last few seconds of her dream-beckoned vision for as long as she could.&nbsp; Her gaze met Jarin’s, watching him carefully as his eyes flicked down to her pert breasts, the hunger from the night before quickly returning to his face.&nbsp; Gloriana flushed, withdrawing her hands from him and tugging the sheets up to conceal her naked figure.<br><br>“What have you done?”&nbsp; His voice was harsh, Gloriana’s expression littered with complete and utter confusion as she watched him, her head turned slightly away from him.&nbsp; She scooted away, taking the protective sheet with her as she inched to the other side of the large bed.&nbsp; His voice sounded strained, “I cannot . . . I should be able . . .”&nbsp; His gaze dropped as he sat up, drawing the comforter across his lap as his cheeks flushed.&nbsp; “Do you despise me so that you knew this would be the only way to halt our union?”<br><br>Gloriana’s understanding was drifting further and further from her grasp, lips tightening as she attempting to process his words.&nbsp; “I would not shirk my duties, my Prince.&nbsp; The marriage must be consummated.&nbsp; I promised my father as much.”&nbsp; Her regal countenance took on a cool mask as she eyed him from across the bed, fingers still clasping the sheets tightly to the hollow at the base of her throat.<br><br>Jarin dare not ruin his pride and admit aloud that he was not sure their supposed union would ever occur.&nbsp; The moment Gloriana had released that vile magic into him, he had known that it was no more than a dream, no longer a possibility.&nbsp; Now, staring at her beautiful figure, nearly exposed and just outside of his reach, he should be stirring, aroused beyond imagination as he always had been when he saw her.&nbsp; Nothing.<br><br>His pulse quickened as disappointment, anger, and denial rippled through his abdomen.&nbsp; He would find a way.&nbsp; Surely, since the princess cast the spell, she could undo it, remove whatever curse she’d placed upon him that kept his male anatomy from responding to her sensuality.&nbsp; In time, if he convinced her to love him, perhaps she would realize how important this union was for their marriage.&nbsp; Perhaps she would come to yearn for heirs to the throne, crave him like a woman should crave a husband.&nbsp; Yes, in time, he would heal—she would heal him.&nbsp; He simply had to be patient.<br><br>All Gloriana could think of was one thing:&nbsp; She had to find him.&nbsp; The beast within her dreams--the shadowed figure who came to her only when her magic was summoned for her use--called to her from what seemed ages away.&nbsp; She wished for all the world that she could leave her father's kingdom and her new husband to discover his location.&nbsp; She wanted nothing more than to simply be near him in that moment.&nbsp; It took every ounce of restraint she had not to summon her inborn gift for one more glance at him, for one more hint of where he may be.&nbsp; First, she had to figure out how--if--she could get away from her father's kingdom and raging war.&nbsp; And how she might do such a thing without Jarin noticing.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>11-10-2013, 10:06:16</strong>
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				“I have decided that it is time for an expedition to the lands of men. There is a witch there, a hag who I believe is responsible for my Voice’s corruption.” Vedderkan sounded reasonable, though speaking for himself was never his strong suit and the intonation he applied was subtly off. It suggested to Brom that the man was lying. Unfortunately, the Voice was not there to repudiate or validate the other man’s claims. <br><br>Not that the King’s story wasn’t plausible: a witch influencing the Voice and somehow in-turn influencing the events as they’d just unfolded. Perhaps even placing some sort of curse on Brom. Brom hadn’t mentioned his insight, the fact that he’d somehow heard the Voice hint that his father was involved in the elf’s spellcasting. Bringing up such matters would only complicate things further, and Vedderkan was, no doubt, near the verge of losing his mind. His Voice had been his constant companion for years now, and had navigated the troublesome political waters of draconian politics personally. She had also been his private mage and, some said, concubine. The king’s wife was ever distant in the far away Summer Palace near the ocean, after all. <br><br>No matter how apparently earnest the king was, however, the people had decided that Brom was a living emblem of their heritage, a more-than-welcome return to the old forms and long-lost powers. Now, some were suggesting just loudly enough for Brom to overhear, their people might be able to tap into their true inheritance and ascend in their own way. To dominate or guide all the lands of the world as they choose. Ever had the Dragon People been stronger, faster, older and more militarily capable; unfortunately, their tempers and lack of flexibility - their system of unlimbering honor – and the low birth rates among their kind had kept them from daring to assert themselves. Oh, and their near universal inability to wield magic. <br><br>Some among the whisperers wanted Brom to step forward, to take the role that the divines seemed to have indicates he was always due. Vedderkan had held the seat long enough. Without his pet mage, what was he? A duel between the two was needed to settle matters once and for all!&nbsp; <br><br>Had Brom spoken up, Vedderkan would have challenged. If Vedderkan won, Brom would probably be banished or killed, depending on how the conflict went. If Brom won, he would have no choice but to kill the king – the man who’d killed his father. The move would elevate Brom above all others in their kingdom. Brom could not afford such ascension, not while under the influence of some dire curse beyond their understanding. For all their innate gifts, most Dragon People could not grasp magic. For one reason or another it was simply beyond their logic, their hands, or their tongues. None among the People could know for certain what assailed Brom, and he would not allow the assumption of rebirth dim his eyes to the possible truth, no matter what seemed convenient. <br><br>It was possible that the spellcasting Voice would have answered questions, but Vedderkan had slaughtered her moments after her attempted attack, decrying her as an abomination who had influenced his actions. <br><br>Many questioned. None challenged. <br><br>After all that had happened, it seemed to Brom that acceding to Vedderkan’s ideas made sense. For both of them. Perhaps a witch was behind it – the one in his visions, the pretty one with the stiff neck. <br><br>“I will go,” Brom said, cutting through a whirlwind of noise and whispers that had not died down, even a day after the mysterious event that had stolen the Voice’s magic and changed Brom’s visage and armor.<br><br>“And you will have allies with you,” Vedderkan decreed. “I will assign a troop of our finest to accompany you on your sojourn.”<br><br>Brom should have rejected the offer out of decorum. He should have made the sojourn alone. Instead, he said, “That would be most welcome, adopted-father. We shall travel through the rune-circle to the continent of men and seek out this witch.”<br><br>Vedderkan’s bright smile flickered, but righted itself quickly enough. He’d only been out maneuvered a small bit; Brom had given him the winning hand. Why not send a few fools, a few of the least loyal, with the troublesome brat? <br><br>“Tomorrow. At dawn,” the king announced. <br><br>If any of the assembled were surprised at the suddenness of the order, none showed it. Vedderkan failed at many things, but exercising decisiveness was not among them. <br><br>Bowing, a surprisingly smooth motion given that he was wearing full plate, Brom turned on heel and left, trusting Vedderkan to keep his word and provide him with the assembly he’d promised. <br><br>Brom retreated to his rooms, rooms that had once been his fathers, back when his father had been a mere prince. Vedderkan had ceded them to Brom as a show of respect for the bloodline. A political maneuver suggested by the Voice. <br><br>Opulent, with massive glimmer-glass windows that reflected different hues of light depending on the hour, the room felt somehow unwelcome now. His eight-post bed, ebonwood from top to bottom, the swirling motifs of heraldic dragon-kind adorning every inch, no longer looked comforting. Encased as he was, the numerous chests of drawers and towering armoires no longer held any interest; what need would he have for clothes any time soon? The beaded tapestries that lined the high-vaulted smooth stone walls, each depicting some great scene in the history of the dragon people, each woven with skill that their people no longer possessed, mocked Brom. What was this renewed heritage boiling in his veins, igniting the anger of his forbearers? Many of those tapestries depicted scenes of anger, of violence and conflict, of his people when they’d had wings and tails and fought wars for their dragon masters. Was it truly a better time, he wondered to himself as he strode to his bed.<br><br>The armor came from the masters. Runes woven into the steel used draconic magic, magic that the People could not wield, and forced it to reforge itself to suit its owner, all while providing great protections. Laying down in it, though uncomfortable, was not much worse than wearing a stiff woolen shirt to bed. Indeed, the interior radiated a soft, pulsing warmth that was somewhat comforting in the now alien room. <br><br>Brom slept, and in his sleep he saw the witch. Saw her with the human man and felt a horrible indignation. Who was this other person to touch his woman! Odd that he should feel that way, especially toward a true human with nothing special about her other than magic. Admittedly, she did look good naked, but she lacked the hard-packed fitness of a Dragon female – she had curves that, though enticing, were oddly repulsive. Where were the stone slabs that should cover her abdomen? Why were there no striations across her torso and arms? <br><br>Soft, he decided. Too soft. I cannot like her. <br><br>Brom woke early the next morning screaming in rage and something like pain. He was thrashing, limbs flailing about, clawed tips of his gauntlets rending the mattress and sheets to shreds, scoring lines in the wood. The power that had suffused him the night before was back, and this time it was different. It was a melody now, a song, and through that song he could hear the melodious voice of the witch – though he did not see her.<br><br><em>Heal</em>, that voice said. <em>Be whole again. </em><br><br>How could Brom heal, though, when he was already hale and whole? What would healing mean to one such as he? The Great Curse knew how to apply that magic, knew how to apply it in excruciatingly specific ways. <br><br>The sounds of bone snapping filled the chamber for a long moment, followed by growling cries that were a mixture of pain and anguish. By the time the incident had passed, most of Brom’s bed was in utter shambles. After a long, long moment, Brom managed to roll to his feet. The motion was different now, different in a way he could not describe. <br><br>He moved to the window and saw that it was still dark outside. If the witch was behind this, he suspected that she was in a place in the world where the sun was already up. He still had several bells to go. Groaning, certain that he’d be unable to return to sleep, the goliath of a man moved to perform his morning libations. Though he could not remove the armor, certain allowances had been made.<br><br>Once done, he walked slowly out of his room, armored hand rolling across the beads and pearls that decorated the bottoms of the tapestries he’d questioned only the night before. He might as well do something worthwhile with his time. Might as well go ensure that he had the right team for his sojourn in only a few short hours. Might as well ignore the fact that he felt new changes in his body and bearing, ones he did not know how to analyze, trapped inside his body as he was. <br><br>Might as well ignore the growing sense of hunger, of ambition and, though he was loathe to admit it, the tiny bit of fear behind it all. Brom hated being powerless. This witch would pay for her transgressions. She was far too soft for a man like Brom. Too soft by half. <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Demi</strong> on <strong>14-10-2013, 08:46:01</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Gloriana sat patiently, one of her handmaidens carefully plaiting her luxurious hair at the back of her head.&nbsp; Several shorter wisps fell forward to frame her face, giving blue eyes a startling glow amid the fair tone of her face.&nbsp; The handmaiden did not speak, working in a quiet rhythm all her own and leaving the princess to her thoughts.&nbsp; Thoughts that consisted of nothing more than a tall being who seemed not-quite human.<br><br>With a deep breath, Gloriana allowed her eyes to slip shut, timidly beckoning the image of the dream creature, as if summoning the picture in her mind would bring the male to stand before her.&nbsp; Not even the image would drift into the darkness between her eyes and lids.&nbsp; He was evasive, a fact that was beginning to infuriate the young royal.&nbsp; Her eyes flashed open in disappointment.<br><br>With a huff, Gloriana twisted her fingers into the skirts of her newest dress, one of such rich emerald tones that she felt it was modeled after the rolling hills and towering evergreens of her father’s small kingdom.&nbsp; Had she bothered to ask the seamstress, she likely would have been told as such, for a lowly dress-maker wouldn’t dare disappoint the princess.&nbsp; She itched for someone to be honest with her, to not simply tell her what they believed she wished to hear.<br><br>Noticing that the woman behind her had halted her movements, Gloriana lifted her gaze from her lap to the mirror, turning her head this way and that to examine the woman’s work.&nbsp; “Leave me.”&nbsp; No words of gratitude were spoken; the princess need not tell a lowly servant that she appreciated the work that the woman was expected to do.&nbsp; It was her job, after all, just as it was Gloriana’s duty to consummate a marriage when she knew it could not possibly occur.&nbsp; She had finally discovered, after picking through Jarin's broken sentences and unusual actions, that he was unable to perform.&nbsp; She was not distraught by this fact, especially now that she had other things to consider: The fleeting image in her mind being but one.<br><br>Rising, the princess examined herself closely in the full-length mirror, appreciating the way her newest gown displayed her slender curves.&nbsp; She dared not place her tiara on her head, knowing that her father had summoned her to the field, surely for more healing of his knights.&nbsp; Her stomach fluttered at the idea of using her magic, the possibility that she may see that image again causing an uncertain smile to dance across her lips.&nbsp; Part of her was terrified at the sight of that creature, but another part dared for him to be real, wished him to be.&nbsp; Such a towering beast couldn’t possibly exist in her world--they existed only in legends.&nbsp; Yet she still had the images in her mind to rely on, something to take her away from reality, even if for only a short while.<br><br>A soft knock came to her door, her eyes flicking away from the mirror to focus on the oaken slab that sealed her rooms away from the rest of the castle.&nbsp; “Enter.”&nbsp; She was agitated, the tone ringing through the pleasant melody of her voice as she clasped her hands before her expectantly.<br><br>Jarin strode into the room, bowing his head politely to his wife before locking eyes with her.&nbsp; “You father urgently requests your presence, Princess.&nbsp; Shall I escort you to the camps?”<br><br>Gloriana wanted terribly to deny him, to tell him that she would prefer to be alone with her thoughts, but knew that it would do no more than to further tarnish their marriage.&nbsp; Should their subjects see the newly married couple arriving at her father’s tents separately, gossip would begin, and it would be only a matter of time before that gossip spread to Tramar.&nbsp; Her father certainly couldn’t have that dangling above his head.&nbsp; “That would be kind of you, husband.&nbsp; Please, lead the way.”&nbsp; She did rather a poor job of hiding the discontent in her voice.<br><br>~~<br><br>King Merek had, yet again, sent his daughter out amongst his soldiers, begging that she embrace her gift to right what the healers could not.&nbsp; Now, she sat proudly atop her chestnut mare, surveying the filthy scene before her.&nbsp; Everywhere, men in armor, some of it broken or pierced, shards laying amid the dirt, groaned in agony as the healers tended to whatever they could.<br><br>A man, unwounded, rushed up to take hold of the chestnut’s reins as Gloriana dismounted, her hand lifting to lightly pat the mare’s neck before she strode toward one of the nearest healers.&nbsp; “King Merek requested that I see to our wounded.&nbsp; Show me those who are gravely injured.”&nbsp; The woman nodded, a quiet ‘yes, Princess,’ breathed out in exhaustion.&nbsp; She rose slowly, displaying sore joints from days of kneeling amid the muck to heal any and all that she could.&nbsp; Gloriana’s heart went out to her, knowing how draining healing could be when done every day.<br><br>The woman paused before a newly-erected tent, clearly placed to keep the weather off of the injured soldiers.&nbsp; “Here, your highness.&nbsp; I am afraid that my sisters and I are unable to help those within.”<br><br>Gloriana nodded, reaching out to press her palm to the older woman’s shoulder.&nbsp; She allowed a slight release of power, sending some of her strength into the healer, a small smile touching her face as she did so.&nbsp; “On my orders, please go to the castle and get some rest.&nbsp; I know how trying healing can be.&nbsp; You shall have a hot bath and a full night’s rest in exchange for your service to the king.”&nbsp; The woman, overjoyed, collapsed to her knees, thanking Gloriana through tears of gratitude.&nbsp; Gloriana allowed it for a moment, before stepping forward into the tent opening, pausing to glance back over her shoulder, “go.&nbsp; I will see to these men.”&nbsp; She didn’t wait to see if the woman left at that moment, instead opting to step into the dingy room and cast her eyes about in the dim light.<br><br>Groans of pure agony assaulted her ears, sounds she hadn’t noticed on the other side of the thick hides making up the tent.&nbsp; Her stomach fluttered at the familiar stench of blood, urine and feces, her throat tightening to keep from inhaling the foul odors.&nbsp; Raising a hand to cover her mouth, Gloriana released a soft cough, her eyes beginning to water as she strode further into the room, hardly able to recognize individual people through tear-blurred vision.<br><br>Using the sleeve of her gown to filter the air, Gloriana drew in a deep breath to steady herself, wiping at her cheeks with her other hand as she attempted to take in the wounded, of which there were far too many for her to heal alone.&nbsp; Most of these men would die this night if she did not tend to them; some still would, even with her aid.&nbsp; Noticing a younger man not far from where she stood, she took the few steps forward to better examine is injuries.&nbsp; One arm extended to hold her hand inches above his chest, watching it rise and fall with labored breaths.&nbsp; Embracing her abilities, she looked down, watching for his injuries just as she searched for them within his own person.&nbsp; Familiar streams of light licked her fingertips before descending toward the man, her hand coursing over his body in a slow, deliberate motion.&nbsp; One of his lungs appeared to be punctured, the pain registering in her own chest for the briefest second before she cast the sensation aside and replaced her seeking energy with that she used to heal.<br><br>The moment her thoughts turned to more specific energy, the image from earlier resumed its place in her mind, this time more clearly and defined; somehow larger than the two previous visions.&nbsp; She gasped, her knees nearly giving out at the sudden rush of unknown sensations that coursed through her body.&nbsp; Her heart fluttered, the hiccup mirrored low in her abdomen as an unfamiliar ache settled between her thighs.&nbsp; Gloriana stifled a cry, leaning forward to place her free hand against the table the man was resting on, steadying herself as she worked toward healing him.&nbsp; She attempted to cast the image and emotions aside, all of her focus on healing the wounded soldier lying before her.<br><br>The man’s breathing eased, the rasp of blood in his lungs ceasing as she knitted the tissue and muscle back together.&nbsp; He would spend days coughing up small amounts of blood, but his lungs would no longer fill.&nbsp; She could only hope that was enough to right him, to keep him from the land of the dead.&nbsp; With a deep breath, no longer noticing the acrid stench of the dead and dying, Gloriana withdrew her power and stepped back.&nbsp; The feelings that had accosted her while using her power still lingered, her legs trembling with the alien sensation in the pit of her stomach, and lower still, forcing her brow to knit together.&nbsp; She couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong with her, whether her magic had been tainted in some way . . . With that thought, she remembered the witch, the threat to her father.&nbsp; Could this, somehow, be a result of that?<br><br>Taking a few steps back on wobbly legs, Gloriana placed two fingers against her temple in thought.&nbsp; She could heal no more this day.&nbsp; To do so would likely render her unfit for days, and then she would be of no help to anyone.&nbsp; With a frustrated sigh at being unable to assist the other wounded men scattered about the tent, Gloriana turned and removed herself from the darkness, stepping out into the light of day and swiftly returning to her horse.&nbsp; She needed to speak with her father, to learn more about the witch he had mentioned the day before her wedding.&nbsp; She needed answers as to why her magic was suddenly affecting her so . . . And why she was seemingly plagued with the need to find a being that couldn't possibly exist.
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				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>14-10-2013, 13:14:02</strong>
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				Among the Dragon People, men were the warriors. That’s not to say that they were misogynistic; rather the women were relied on for other functions. They had the clear heads, the unclouded hearts and minds, and foresight. Women strategized, while men oversaw tactics. Ignoring the fact that many of the areas were ruled by men called Kings, women actually dominated much of the political landscape. Laws among the People were enacted by councils ran largely by women (though the Kings and ruling men did have a vote). It was the ruler’s duty to veto or ratify and enforce the laws those councils passed. <br><br>This political structure was reflected everywhere among the Dragon People. Men were impulsive, over-eager, and quick to jump to conclusions. Women were patient, thoughtful, and even-tempered. Men were expected to initiate courtship and bedroom play, but their idealized wives (who they mated for life) were expected to bring innovation and insatiable passion.<br>&nbsp;<br>Should an outsider venture among their People, they might claim that their culture was male-oriented and male-dominated, that strutting-bucks were given leeway to do whatever they wanted. Those outsiders would have had less than half the picture. <br><br>Brom strode through the delicate, high-arched dwellings of his people and considered himself in the perspective of what the Witch might think, once they met. He was different; a deposed Prince, in essence. He’d grown up with the expectation that he would not only make decisions with decisive force, but that he could make them with a certain veracity, independently. The lord of a realm could not always rely on a female Voice to set him straight. Yet, without his inheritance, those expectations and the training he’d received, had amalgamated to make him utterly a-typical. No doubt the Witch would be shocked at how forthright and bold he was.<br><br>Instead of choosing the men he’d bring with him and then having his mother vet them (followed by Vedderkan’s acknowledgment, of course) , Brom determined to choose his own destiny. <br><br>And that meant finding the men loyal to him before they rose and went about their assigned tasks. <br><br>First there was Culvast Demolain (http://static.splashnology.com/articles/Diablo_Universe_Artworks/Gladiator.jpg). An old, wizened warrior – one of his father’s bodyguards, now retired. Culvast was nearing two millennia old and, it was said, remembered the time before the dragons had entirely vacated the known world. His ability and experience, though without the signs that Brom’s father had bourne, and would be Brom’s greatest ally. If he could convince the grizzled man to acquiesce to the request. <br><br>“What are you doing at my house at this hour?” Bree Demolain, Culvast’s wife asked pointedly, meeting Brom’s gaze with dazzling ruby-hued eyes that would take utterly no shit from anyone. <br><br>“I need to see Culvast,” Brom said, voice echoing oddly through his mutated helm.<br><br>“You wear armor of war, Brom. You bring change. He will not come with you, no matter what signs you have. The old ways are done, as is he.” Bree, like most Dragon women, held to the old traditions. She made the final decisions in the Demolain household. It was impolite for her to have this particular discussion; normally Culvast would talk with Brom, followed by a discussion with Bree. But Bree was ancient, and age lent one a degree of eminence among the People. <br><br>“War will come, like it or not,” Brom replied. “I need Culvast to help me shape the outcome of this conflict. Of the very future of our people. Without his experience, tempered through the wisdom he’s gleaned as your husband, I will be forced to rely on my own impulses. Which, as you’ve suggested, are somewhat unusual.”<br><br>Bree snorted then shook out her mane of stark red-orange hair in a way that highlighted the tendrils of grey flowing through it. The tips brushed the slender column of her throat, then trailed down the naked curves of her firm breasts. She was, of course, naked, and as fit as a striking panther. The People were open about their bodies and sexuality within the confines of their own homes. And, to a person, blessed with supernatural fitness. <br><br>A gentleman, Brom did not stare or allow his eyes to wander, despite the opportunity afforded him by his helm. <br><br>“Your words are honeyed poison, Brom. You are your father’s son,” she said with a twist of her ripe, red lips. <br><br>“Stop flirting with the boy,” a gruff voice cut in. A hand that had been bigger than Brom’s, prior to his recent transformations, covered in scars and the fine white hairs of age, wrapped around the edge of the doorway and pulled it open, revealing Culvast.<br><br>The man wore his age in a way few Dragon People did. Over six feet tall and covered with thick slabs weathered muscle covered in an assortment of scars, Culvast Demolain had a mane of white-grey hair and a generous beard that flowed down half the length of his torso. <br><br>“Culvast,” Brom said by way of greeting. <br><br>The other man nodded, saying, “You won’t talk either of us into your scheme, boy. I’ve retired.”<br><br>Shrugging a shoulder in a loose, rippling motion, Brom reached up and pulled his helm off. What Culvast and Bree saw beneath paled their skin. Culvast’s knuckles went white and the edge of the ancient door threatened to crack. Bree’s jaw dropped. <br><br>“I...I’ll come,” Culvast said after a long moment, “But I command the troops. You can pick them, but they are mine. You are my commander, not theirs. Strict chain of authority. Your father liked to break the chain, to be…unorthodox. It was that very nature that led him to his doom.”<br><br>Brom’s lips peeled back and Bree took a step away from the door, the motion emphasizing the sleek panes of her toned thighs. He couldn’t help but wonder why the strong woman had retreated. What did he look like now? “I will do what I think is best Culvast. I am the decision maker. However, I think that we can work within your suggested structure, as long as you can be…flexible.”<br><br>“Even I have said that you should be flexible, my husband,” Bree said in a high, thready voice. She had been a Dragon Priestess before Culvast had claimed her heart. The <em>dragonsign </em>Brom wore must have rekindled her faith. <br><br>Snorting despite what he saw, Culvast muttered, “Let me get my kit together. Come inside and have some tea. It won’t be more than an hour.”<br><br>-<br>Sten Merchan (http://images.wikia.com/aion/images/9/98/Aion-elyos-male-gladiator_large.jpg) was far easier to recruit. He was in a tavern, his familial inheritance gleaming gold around his shadowy complexion. <br><br>“Why Sten?” Culvast asked as the two entered the low-key establishment. There were others in the room,&nbsp; a few dozen unwed men who had no women to act as Voices of reason for them. Brom felt a flush of surprise ripple through him at the sight of the place. Utterly disheveled, sleeping young men in various states of undress sprawled over furniture that was as old as the genesis of their species. <br><br>Nodding his chin toward the shadow-skinned youth, who happened to be wearing gleaming gold plate that made Sten’s seem rustic and grim-dark, Brom began threading past outstretched limbs. As he went, he spoke openly, “Sten is a fifth-child of the Merchan line. He could have been high-nobility himself, had he not abdicated to come here. All for the chance to see my father. All these years later, he’s still here. He’s skilled, has the most enchanted armor currently not held by a bonded-guardsman. And would have followed my father to the pits of hell. I suspect he will do the same for me.”<br><br>“And a drunk, by the looks of it,” Culvast murmured sourly.<br><br>They reached the sprawled out young man a few minutes later. Sten was tall, as most of the People were, but his most unusual trait was that shaded skin. Brom privately wondered if the gaudy gold armor was deliberate, worn to contrast and draw attention.<br><br>“Sten, wake up,” Brom said, nudging the young man’s booted foot with a toe.<br><br>Sten did not stir. Culvast casually reached down, gripped the man by the front of his neigh-indestructible armor, and lifted him from his feet. As effortlessly as one might toss an egg, the ancient warrior twisted, the motion rippling his impossible muscularity, and threw the youth into the standing barrel of iced water beside the bar, some thirty feet away. <br><br>A splash and boom of impact filled the room, followed almost immediately by an indignant roar of rage. Sten came to his feet, extending his limbs as he did, bursting the stout wooden barrel in a single motion. Eyes narrowed in murderous furor, he turned toward his tormenters. Then he saw who had assaulted him.<br><br>“Seems like you’ve still got your strength. Good. Are you ready to go on a magical journey far away from here to find and destroy a wicked witch?” Brom delivered the line somewhat wryly. <br><br>Sten’s ire fell away immediately, transformed into a perplexed blinking fit. He glanced at Culvast, who nodded slowly. “Me too, boy.”<br><br>“Oh, well, in that case, I’m in,” Sten said, stepping past the wreckage of the barrel. He casually dropped a handful of coins on the bar counter, moved to the weapons rack near the entry, and picked up his oversized polearm. “When do we start?”<br><br>Brom started to reply, but the Great Curse choked off his voice in a sudden explosion of transformation that echoed the initial blast, back in the throne room. <br><br>“<em>Let your lungs be healed</em>,” he thought he heard, visions of the witch swimming before his clouding-then-sharpening vision. She was pretty, he thought absently, before the hunger came. It was primal, an overwhelming need to possess, to take, to claim. To rule. To destroy his rival, to depose the fool who had killed his father, and establish his dominion over all others. Shuddering, bones aching with the fey fire that flooded his entire body, the pain seeming no less intense despite the armor he wore – now glowing with lambent flames of its own. The sensation expanded outward, filling his extremities with tingling magic, before returning inward. In an cresting wave, the suffering found its home in one place: his lungs. <br><br>Brom fell to his knees and gave vent to his suffering. <br><br>This time, his <em>breath </em>illuminated the entire tavern in white-blue flame. Dragon-crafted, thousands of years old, the fire of his exhalation literally scoured the roof of the building clean, renewing wood that had begun to show the barest signs of age. Regenerative healing power flowed outward from the point of impact, forming tines of lightning that sparked off, bringing resurgence to everything it struck. Coats of paint flaked. Makeshift, though smartly crafted, nails popped out and rusted away as wood expanded, filling the spaces that had previously needed mending. All was made whole. <br><br>And the men in the room, Sten and Culvast included, were bathed in the consequences of Brom’s dire exhalation. <br><br>A dozen formerly exhausted, formerly inebriated men of all ages, shook with startled awareness. One, a&nbsp; middle-agedman with a ruined face, shot to his feet and screamed out, “Brom! My prince!” even as the scars on his cheek and forehead, leading to the ruined socket of his eyes, filled in. Healing. The eye flowed back into place, milk-white core blossoming into fullness as the rest watched on.<br><br>When the fit passed, Brom found himself kneeling within a ring of men, their faces fixed with purpose.<br><br>Awe filling his ragged voice, Culvast murmured, “Are you alright?”<br><br>Nodding weakly, Brom surged to his feet. The motion was different, even moreso than it had been earlier that morning, but – like before – he couldn’t have said how. Hunger and anger that had so filled him before was gone now, replaced with….of all things…raw desire. Desire to possess the woman he’d seen, desire to hold her soft body, to make her his. To, in a way, repay the curse she’d sent to him by claiming her as a man claimed a woman. <br><br>Rape was unknown among the Dragon People; the dominance of the female Voice within their society guaranteed that. But, in the moments following this latest episode, Brom felt a cutting need that left no room for doubt.<br><br>Had she been in the room, he would have taken her before the gathered men. Taken her and felt no guilt. <br><br>“I…am fine,” Brom said, hesitating at the deep, reverberating sound of his own voice. “We should continue recruiting.”<br><br>“Recruiting?” one of the gathered men asked, the one with the new eye. “If you’re recruiting, my prince, we will follow you.” Those in the tavern, recipients of the dragon’s touch and the witch’s healing, surged forward, gesturing to indicate their allegiance. <br><br>Culvast glanced at Brom, who thoughtfully nodded. They’d need one or two more, but who better than to protect his back? Who better to believe in him than these? He’d hoped to recruit men who had served his father – and some of these were – but wasn’t it better to step out from that man’s shadow, to forge his own way, to prove that he was his own Voice?<br><br>The Witch had changed his destiny with whatever it was she’d done. Brom would not make her mistake go unrewarded.<br><br>“Rune circle in two hours. Bring the gear you own or requisition it from the armory under my authority,” Culvast said, command and authority rippling from the wizened warrior’s words. It rippled outward until it touched Brom….and became his. Though he stood next to Culvast, younger, less experienced, and did not issue the commands himself, this new Prince, this <em>touched </em>regent, did not hunch and defer to Culvast; instead, it was from his authority that Culvast was allowed to issue orders. <br><br>And all in the room knew it.&nbsp; <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Demi</strong> on <strong>15-10-2013, 06:54:57</strong>
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				Gloriana gleaned nothing of use from her father other than rumors and whispers, her mind no clearer than it had been earlier that day.&nbsp; He had mentioned that, where some believed the witch woman to be a powerful sorceress, others believed she was far more powerful; some even held the superstition that she was a descendant of dragons.&nbsp; That fact, in particular, had made Gloriana snort.&nbsp; As if someone of human base could be the long-distant relative of the majestic Dragon.&nbsp; She found herself smiling humorlessly at that thought as she pulled her braided hair loose before the mirror, watching the silken strands ripple into waves as they came free against her fingers.<br><br>It would be yet another night with her husband in her bed—their second, in fact—and she wasn’t exactly pleased with the idea of having given up her freedom and time to herself.&nbsp; So often of late, she was out amongst others—healing, conjuring, ruling in her father’s stead, or being followed about by Jarin, who had grown oddly polite toward her since their first attempted union.&nbsp; Her thoughts drifted back to earlier that day, when she’d stood in the tents with that young man, her body responding to her magic in ways completely foreign to her.&nbsp; Just at the thought, she found herself sinking ungracefully into her chair, her thighs rubbing together in an attempt to soothe the unusual throbbing coursing along the lower half of her body.&nbsp; Try as she might, she couldn't pinpoint what could possibly be causing such a reaction.<br><br>She’d been fidgety for a majority of her day after that healing experiment, even during the conversations with her father.&nbsp; Though the information he thought he was providing was mildly distracting, she still couldn’t disperse the sensation that she wasn’t entirely whole without the presence of the beast—a presence that only came with her magic.&nbsp; Was it possible that she’d summoned some other-world familiar, like witches of old?&nbsp; Gloriana eyed herself in the mirror, the cool, calculating gaze of a princess staring back at her.&nbsp; She was no witch, nor would she even consider herself such.&nbsp; True, she could wield magic of incredible strength, but it had been an ability she had been born with and simply had to tame, not one she’d <em>learned</em> through years of study.<br><br>A breeze through her open window ruffled the curtains and the flame of the lit candle on her nightstand, causing her image to waver before her.&nbsp; She inhaled, appreciating the fresh scent of the night, listening to the soft pattering of rain on the earth outside.&nbsp; It had been days since the sky had released any moisture; the slick texture was appreciated as the refreshing sensation slithered its way into her lungs.&nbsp; Gloriana could only hope that it would wash away some of the ugliness of the ceaseless battle a short distance from the castle grounds.&nbsp; With her magic having grown to be so unpredictable, she wasn’t entirely certain how long she could stand to heal the wounded.&nbsp; Without her magic, the war would be lost, and her entire kingdom would be laid to waste.<br><br>A knock at the door tore her thoughts back into the present, the experience almost painful as her eyes peeled away from the mirror.&nbsp; She had grown used to the feel of Jarin, her instincts telling her that it was her prince who stood outside the door.&nbsp; “I am decent, husband.”&nbsp; She rose from her chair, her hand dropping from waist-length tresses to rest against the back of the miniature throne as her knees wobbled.&nbsp; Inhaling another calming breath, she forced a slow, steady trickle of her own power through her figure, drawing unto herself the necessary strength to stand.&nbsp; The moment she was able to stand without swaying, she dissipated the ability, her fingers tapping lightly against the wooden back of her previous seat.&nbsp; It seemed to her that her magic had to be embraced for a certain length of time before it would divulge its dark secrets.&nbsp; Yet, she couldn’t help but embrace her curiosity.&nbsp; Had she truly summoned something from another world in her haste to learn and become better?<br><br>“Gloriana?”&nbsp; Blue eyes flashed up from the plush carpet gracing the floor at her name, her eyes locking on Jarin, confusion still written across her face at her previous thoughts.&nbsp; It was the first time he’d used her name, without a title.&nbsp; “Are you alright, my love?&nbsp; You seem . . . Distant.”&nbsp; Jarin took a few hesitant steps forward, lifting an arm to place his hand gently against her cheek.&nbsp; “I fear you have been working too hard to heal your people.&nbsp; You need rest, as well, wife.”<br><br>Gloriana nodded absently, conveniently shaking her husband’s hand off of her cheek before she strode away and toward the bed.&nbsp; Dressed in silken nightclothes, the princess shrugged off the outer robe and settled it on the chaise in the corner before climbing between the sheets and resting her head on the pillow.&nbsp; She could tell by the way Jarin looked at her that he yearned to be close to her, as a husband and wife should be.&nbsp; She could almost feel the heat of his gaze burning through her clothing to ogle the smooth flesh hidden beneath.&nbsp; A shiver coursed along her spine, one more of disgust than arousal—nothing close to the frightening yet pleasant sensations she’d experienced earlier in that day.&nbsp; Just the thought was enough to make her cheeks flush, her body rolling to face away from her husband in order to hide the sinful reaction.&nbsp; To think of another male, one that likely didn’t even exist, while lying in her husband’s bed . . . <br><br>The mattress sank as Jarin climbed in beside her, the plush material bouncing slightly as he inched his way closer to her.&nbsp; One arm draped around her middle, pulling her petite frame back to press flush against his chest and abdomen.&nbsp; She expected his arousal to be evident against her backside, but was harshly reminded that she’d somehow cursed her own husband on their wedding night.&nbsp; Nevertheless, his hand slowly slithered up her abdomen to lightly cup her breast through the sheer material of her nightdress.&nbsp; Despite how violently she wished he would stop, she couldn’t bring herself to tell her husband such.&nbsp; She swiftly found herself wondering if the male in her visions would be so timid in his actions, her heartbeat quickening slightly at the thought; a reaction she’d never expected to endure for as long as she lived.<br><br>With a brief tweak to her nipple, Jarin’s hand slid back down to her torso, endeavoring lower to brush against the curve of her hip before easing slowly upward along her inner thigh.&nbsp; So focused on her earlier visions was she, that she gasped at the unpredicted assault on the sensitive flesh, her skin prickling with magic of its own accord as it attempted to distance the unworthy male from her.&nbsp; Electricity sizzled along her nerve-endings, her skin feeling as if it were freezing and catching fire all at once.&nbsp; The image of the beast once more danced before her eyes as they squeezed shut against the torrent of untapped power, the ache deep within her core sprouting anew.<br><br>Jarin withdrew his hand with a sudden hiss, shrinking back to the opposite side of the mattress and cursing under his breath.&nbsp; Gloriana hardly noticed, her body quivering with unrecognized desire as she slid a hand up to grip at the pillow beneath her head.&nbsp; To stifle a moan that attempted to free itself from her lungs, Gloriana clamped her teeth on her lower lip, the metallic sting of blood lingering on her tongue as she finally regained control of her power.&nbsp; When her eyes opened to focus on the wall opposite, her pupils were dilated with pure, unbridled lust and the harsh flickering of the candle light burned for a fraction of a second before her eyes adjusted.<br><br>Gloriana hardly noticed Jarin’s whispered, “what in the name of all that is holy was <em>that</em>?”&nbsp; Her mind was focused on other things, her blood still pulsing hotly beneath her flesh as she worked slowly to steady her breathing.&nbsp; She pressed her cheek tighter to her pillow, not daring to look at her husband, for she had no answer to his question.&nbsp; The only hypothesis she could gather was that her magic, all on its own, had determined that her husband was not a fit mate for one with her ability.&nbsp; It was as if it was warning her, directing her somewhere . . . Toward some<em>one</em> else.<br><br>It was then that she noticed the pull was back, as if a string had been tethered to her insides and a puppeteer was lightly tugging, coaxing her to perform the dance he so wished to see on stage.&nbsp; For the first time in her life, Gloriana felt completely vulnerable and utterly exposed.&nbsp; Her magic appeared to be on its own path, one that was destined to separate her from family and duty.&nbsp; Not of her own free will, she was betraying her father’s wishes.&nbsp; That fact, on its own, was enough to summon soft, silent tears of disappointment.
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				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>16-10-2013, 10:39:35</strong>
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				Perspective is important when taking into consideration the Dragon People. They aged slowly, matured even more slowly; some scholars argued that they were effectively immortal (at least in terms of dying from being too old), though no one knew for certain. At fifty, Dragon males reached their first maturing – known as puberty among humans. Females took longer, reaching the same biological maturity at eighty. This disparity probably contributed to the relatively low birth rates among the People. By the time women reached their first fertile cycle, they were wise enough to recognize a bouncing buck for what he was. <br><br>Prior to reaching one hundred – the legal drinking age – all Dragon People were, essentially, beholden to their Feudal Lord (or Lady’s) whims. Those often included schooling and military service. Despite the fact that they came to their maturity slower than mortals, this age of training and service made each Dragon Person – already stronger, faster, and with more endurance than a typical human – dangerous in a way that would be difficult for hypothetical observers to understand.<br><br>And this excluded the military service that many of the males entered after their hundredth birthday. Such service, the equivalent of a bond with the Lord of the land, was rewarded with honor and goods, money included. Given that women held most of the decision-making positions in their culture, the vast majority of their people choose military service as a way to earn respect and a potential mate.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>Therefore, even though accepting two-dozen young drunks into his personal force was impulsive and, almost certainly, not as prudent as selecting field-tested soldiers, Brom was not making an outright mistake. Still, if he didn’t want his mother to disown him, he would need additional specialists to round out his growing team. <br><br>Malcom &nbsp;(http://www.followingthenerd.com/site/wp-content/uploads/Spartacus_Vengeance-Workout.jpg)and Daltairn &nbsp;(http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_i_N_ACjHFxg/TNZ4GZB56eI/AAAAAAAAAqk/lRLEeehe2vQ/s1600/Gladiator_Combo02.jpg)were two of the most vicious and capable hunters among the Dragon People. Nearing three centuries each, they were scouts and assassins, silent hunters who had spent most of a century living with the reclusive elves to learn their trade. Both were notorious troublemakers and pranksters; during idle times, they were known for using idle gossip to start conflicts, simply so they could ply their skills. <br><br>Brom recruited them in this way:<br><br>“You two, adventure?”<br><br>“Will there be hunting?” one said.<br><br>“Will there be women?” the other said, in sing-song harmony. They were brothers and time together had honed it to a near-supernatural level. <br><br>“Yes, and yes. We’re going to human lands to find a Witch.”<br><br>It took them all of five minutes to assemble their long-term kits, much to Culvast’s amusement. The two had been his pupils in centuries past, before they’d become the instigators they were now known for, and he still had a soft place for the both of them. Deep down, none of the Dragon Men ever lost that boyish spark.<br><br>Brom read this on Culvast’s expressive face, saw deeply, more so than he could have before the Curse began working its effects. Wait – no – seeing wasn’t the precise correct term. He could <em>smell </em>the man’s emotions through the twisting helm. Just as he could smell Sten’s approval. He and the boys had been known to share a bar brawl more than once. That relationship was one reason Brom had been confident with recruiting the brothers; the prominent members of his team all knew each other, had all shared enough time to work efficiently together. <br><br>As for the raw recruits – well, he would see. <br>-<br><br>The rune circle was a stone affair; a ring of 21 Menhir from the times before time, from when the Dragons ruled the world unopposed and their magic transcended the word. Then, in those days, the world had been a raw, molten place where the laws were not so much laws as they were strong suggestions. Menhir were a legacy of that time, a means of transportation from one place to another without the slightest hint of arcane magic. This was Dragon Magic, and knew little relationship with what men of all the races were capable of.<br><br>Dawn blossomed across the horizon, the first rays illuminating the curling carvings that wove through each massive stone object. The carvings weren’t magic, though they were an extension of what the Menhir were. As the sun rose, revealing a sky filled with puffy clouds flanked by a turbulent, encroaching darkness of distant storms, the Menhir began to gently sing. The sound was inhuman, throaty, and incomprehensible to most. It was said only the wisest, oldest women could begin to translate what was being said and to utilize the Menhir. <br><br>As Brom stood there, just outside the ring, he realized that he understood, too. The song was beautiful, a lyrical pattern that suggested paths of thought, ideas and instincts that wouldn’t have been feasible to describe with spoken language. <br><br>Vedderkan and Brom’s mother were there, standing outside the circle, along with the vast majority of the politically-minded who had been present for the events in the throne room, only a dozen hours prior. His mother was regal, wearing a blue dress that flattered her fit physique, revealing the raw, fat-free lines of her abdomen and thighs and suggesting much elsewhere. Ever had Brom’s mother been willing to use her beauty to advantage. The majority of Dragon Women were highly skilled at using their beauty as a rhetorical tool, and his mother was no different.<br><br>If she took issue with his selection, it did not show on her austere features. <br><br>Stepping into the circle, moving in time with his now armed and armored men, Brom turned to face the assembly, and spoke in the language of their forefathers. His Draconic had never been superb, but it was easy now. His mouth fit the words as though made for them.<br><br>“I go today to affirm my right. To affirm my adopted father’s claims and reassert the honor of our clan. Let each of these men with me be afforded an appropriate portion of honor upon their return, alive or dead.”<br><br>Culvast’s wife, wearing a beige sarong and a tight, low-cut top, stepped forward to face Brom and spoke, her voice ringing with clarity. “As a former priestess of the Dragon, I offer my blessings. Return with much honor.”<br><br>Brom’s mother glanced at the woman, arched a brow, then echoed, “As Queen and high priestess of the Dragon, I offer my blessings. Return with enough honor to make your heritage proud.” A bold statement, invoking the memory of her late husband, and it caused several in the crowd to shift uneasily.<br><br>Vedderkan smirked, not responding to the barb, “Go, adopted-son. Make your Lord proud.”<br><br>Before his mother could activate the Menhir, Brom raised a hand and narrowed his eyes. The pulses of transformative power were frequently too small to render a large change. He recognized, now, that each small surge was still doing something to him, but without the overtness of the larger ones. When they came, desire and clarity – of a sort – came over Brom. Thinking of these surges, feeling his way instinctively, Brom extended his will. <br><br>Extended his will across the distance and time and wrapped his will around the connection between him and the entity on the other side of the curse, and he <em>pulled</em>.<br><br>“<em>Aliante</em>!” Brom called, activating the Menhir. Light shot forth between the beams of stone, unifying them in a solid pillar of green-black fire that ate away the spaces between them.<br><br>Briefly, Brom caught a glimpse of surprise and awe on the faces of the assembly. Then the world shifted as time and space gave way<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Demi</strong> on <strong>17-10-2013, 09:30:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Held firmly in the embrace of her dreams, Gloriana’s lithe body twisted beneath the sheets, the fabric rushing across her exposed thighs like satin as she rolled to her back.&nbsp; Aware, but only slightly, of the familiar pull she’d experienced just before sleep had claimed her as its own, her lips parted to release a breathy whimper, brow furrowing as her fingers clutched at the cocoon of blankets entrapping her.<br><br>She could <em>feel</em> him, just beyond the dark recesses of her mind; the liquid sensation of being tethered to another being rippled beneath her skin, causing her back to arch in a minor display of ecstasy.&nbsp; Though still bound by the ties of her dreams, the reality of his presence—despite her lack of conscious awareness—forced her thighs to quiver with the overwhelming <em>need</em> for him.&nbsp; She drew in a sharp breath suddenly, her eyes flashing open as the bedroom wavered in rays of green light, a reflection of what she’d witnessed in those last seconds of sleep.<br><br>Rather abruptly, she sat up, placing her palm over her pounding heart, her breath forced into her lungs in ragged pants as she attempted to gather her wits.&nbsp; Despite being awake, she could still feel the steady trickle of desire for a male she could not fathom existed.&nbsp; In that moment, she knew: Real or not, she was his.&nbsp; Her magic had selected her mate, her eyes widening in the darkness as her husband shifted in his sleep beside her.&nbsp; It was beginning to make sense to her, now, and her hand began to tremble above her breast as she carefully swung her legs to the side of the bed and removed herself.<br><br>How she knew, she could not begin to understand, her legs carrying her with shaking steps toward the open window of their own accord.&nbsp; Palms resting against the sill, Gloriana leaned forward with enough determination and force that the stone bit into her fingers, her gaze lifting to the starlit sky above.&nbsp; The princess hardly noticed the pain; all she could possibly concern herself with at that moment was the male she could feel herself linked to.&nbsp; No other male would sate the growing need deep within, nor would she allow another to try.<br><br>Gloriana leaned back from the window, arms wrapping about her middle and brushing against the sweat-dampened silk of her nightdress, the sheer material clinging to her athletic physique in a way that made her crave the beast all the more.&nbsp; She shook her head, a desperate attempt at clearing unnatural thoughts, her gaze landing on the sleeping man in her bed.&nbsp; With a look of disgust, she spun toward the door, fingers curling about the collar of her cloak as she went.&nbsp; She was eager to get outside, nightdress or not, for a reason she could not quite place.<br><br>She tugged the door open just before her arms swiveled the cloak to rest it atop her shoulders; her bare feet hardly made a sound against the cool marble floor of her father’s castle.&nbsp; Her mind was a fog—even the general direction in which she was headed was a mystery to her at that moment.&nbsp; She was following a baser desire, allowing the length of thread that tied her to the creature in her visions to lead her where it may.&nbsp; Obediently, she followed, veering here and turning there until she found herself outdoors amid the castle grounds.&nbsp; The manicured grass was soothing against her heated flesh as she continued, her pace transitioning into a light jog when she saw the palace gates looming up ahead.<br><br>Somehow, Gloriana was aware that this male was no longer a figment of her imagination; the passion flooding through her veins not of her own making.&nbsp; She was linked with this beast—in what way, she couldn’t be certain, not having enough evidence presented on the situation to gain a detailed analysis.&nbsp; Nevertheless, she continued.&nbsp; Fear of the male was but a distant memory to her, replaced with the overwhelming need to present herself to him like a gift, preferably one without much wrapping.&nbsp; That thought brought a pleased smile to her lips and urged her into a faster trot.<br><br>Her breathing deepened with her increased pace, Gloriana suddenly jarred to a halt as she realized that she had been running for quite some time.&nbsp; The moon, brilliant and now high in the sky, licked her flushed complexion as she turned to glance behind her.&nbsp; She’d made it far past the castle’s ground, somehow in the direction opposite her father’s troops and the battlefield on which they remained.&nbsp; The princess sunk to her knees in the grass, her cloak slipping from her shoulders to pool in velvet waves around her figure.&nbsp; She could not run forever, especially with her father relying on her magic to help him win his war.&nbsp; Magic.&nbsp; <br><br>With a shivering breath, Gloriana’s tongue darted out of her mouth to moisten her lips as she probed timidly at the invisible rope tying her to the beast.&nbsp; Gathering all of her resolve, the princess called forth the pulsing magic deep at her core, her eyes slipping closed as she drew unto herself the image of her desire.&nbsp; The feel of the link settled some when she embraced it, her mind racing as her power entwined with the foreign line knotted somewhere deep inside of her.<br><br>In an experiment of her own, the princess tugged lightly against that thread, sending with it images of her fit figure as it was now, seated amongst nothing but nature and clothed in no more than thin, clinging silk.&nbsp; For the briefest of seconds, she opened herself entirely to him, passing along her passion, her hunger, her <em>desire</em> for him.&nbsp; The fleeting thought that she was meddling in affairs she didn’t fully understand crossed her mind, but she cast it aside, too focused and concentrated on her task to bother with such worries.&nbsp; A shiver coursed along her body as her skin began to glisten with sweat, a droplet trailing over her collarbone and seeking comfort in the valley between her breasts where it disappeared beneath the fabric of her gown.<br><br>In that moment, Gloriana could think of nothing else but the beast, her mind and soul open to him in that instant.&nbsp; In a last, desperate attempt to draw him closer, she gave a firm yank on the tether to him, passing along simple words to confirm her intent, “come to me and I am yours.&nbsp; <em>Completely.</em>”<br><br>~~<br><br>As Gloriana's eyes fluttered open to the warm light of the rising sun dancing across her bedroom, only one thought crossed her mind: <em>How could a dream feel so remarkably . . . <strong>real</strong>?</em>&nbsp; Her flesh tickled with the residue of the sensations she'd experienced while asleep, goosebumps prickling her arms as she rose to glance around the room.&nbsp; Her nightdress was indeed clinging to her figure, but her cloak still hung where she left it after returning from her conversation with her father the day previous.&nbsp; The bedroom door was closed and locked tight.&nbsp; Gloriana lifted her hands, glancing down at her palms where she was certain there should be bite marks from her brief, harsh contact with the window sill; nothing marred her smooth flesh.&nbsp; With a soft hiccup of a laugh, the princess realized: It was all just a dream, despite how authentic it felt.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>17-10-2013, 12:31:12</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>(Note: The timeline is a bit disjointed here. Assume that this event takes place on the noon of Gloriana’s next day and that travel by Menhir has created something of a temporal gap)</em><br><br>The magic of the Menhir would normally have transported a wielder to any other key magical location in the world – provided the wielder had been there before and could properly visualize it. Brom hadn’t known that; no matter how strong his instincts became, he could not internalize the wisdom of a thousand year matriarch in a night. Thus, he and his men were deposited in the closest place it could manage, based on two very conflicting ideas:<br><br><em>Send me to this woman</em>, which was associated with a specific mental image.<br><br><em>Send me to the witch who Cursed me so,</em> which was associated with magic.<br><br>The Menhir split the difference as best it could, resulting in a delay in the outcome of the sending. <br><br>Brom and his men ended up on a vast, rolling plain. Recently-thrashed wheat flanked them on all sides, and a short, eroded standing stone – just one, in this place – stood, faintly glowing with lambent magic. The quality of that magic seemed almost frantic to Brom, as though the thing had overworked itself to produce them. Though they’d left at dawn, here it was noon, the sun high above, and cooler than he’d expected. Not that his People had any difficulty with the fickle tides of the weather. A few hundred feet away, visible thanks to the recent cutting, was a wide, winding cobblestone path. Upon which there were a few dozen human men, armored, wearing colors and gear that Brom did not recognize.<br><br>“Merek has sent sorcerous assassins to our reinforcements!” a voice called out, so far that even Brom was not entirely certain what he heard. The tone, however, make it quite clear.<br><br>“Culvast, I do believe we are about to be attacked,” Brom said, shifting his stance and moving forward. Despite himself, the man felt an incredible eagerness for this. His kind had been made, as servants in the image of dragons. In his blood was their blessing, their essence, as surely as mortals carried the blood of their more primitive ancestors. <br><br>As the winding row of men and women on the road – women? That some of the soldiers wore armor clearly intended for women was horrifying! These people must be barbarians! – shuffled to turn and face the new threat, arms and armor moving into position, more shouts rang out. Thankfully, it was all in the common tongue. It seemed that the soldiers believed that Brom and his men had been sent by some “Evil King Merek and his Filthy Mage Daughter, or their Whore-Bought Allies” – whatever all that meant. Whoever these people were, they knew how to curse like dragons, if nothing else.<br><br>Culvast raised a single gloved hand, closed his fingers, and intoned, “Alam!” In the time it took the other soldiers, those on the road, to rotate, the Dragon People had formed a perfect circle, those with shields adjacent to brothers who carried none. Such maneuvering was as common as breath among their kind.<br><br>Stepping forward, holding out an armored hand, Brom shouted out, voice ringing to the ears of the newcomers. “Stop! We mean you no harm. We are here in search of a Witch!”<br><br>Uneasy murmurs came from within the ranks of the human soldiers, but a big-boned woman, easily two hundred pounds of walking fat and muscle, stepped forward. She had an odd patch on her boiled-leather breast plate. “Stranger, you’re in the wrong lands for making claims, wearing armor and weapons. Disarm, and we’ll take you in.”<br><br>Snorting, Brom retorted, “Instead, let’s not and say we never met.”<br><br>The woman glanced over her soldier. She had most of a hundred new recruits – but they were more polished than any before, with a full three years of training, and most had good bows. She did the odds. A hundred against no more than thirty, and they were a few hundred feet away, too. Time for a few shots. Enough to winnow the attackers down.<br><br>“Eh, good training material,” she muttered, then made a hand signal. “Go fuck yourselves,” she announced as the arrows flew.<br><br>Three hit Brom’s armor, bouncing off. A few more – almost double what hit Brom – struck the shining Sten, who also stood there. The rest of his men used shields and expert understanding of the bows they were against, the sort of understanding that came in a century of training against a variety of threats, to fend the first volley off. Only one man fell with an arrow to the thigh, and he barely grunted.<br><br>The sound behind him, of his man falling, of his man being struck, had Brom seeing red. Before Culvast could give the word, he was off. Running so fast that his armor seemed to blur, that the runes covering it – which had never entirely stopped glowing slightly, gave off sparks of blue-white light. A reflection of the only magic that had infused him so far: healing. Healing that had mended his body, reduced his pain, even as it brought his physique into alignment with the old ways.<br><br>Of all the types of power the person on the other side of the Curse could have used to speed his transformation along, healing was, ironically, the worst.<br><br>And it showed.<br><br>The archers didn’t have time to knock their second arrows. Brom was among them, a towering shape in black, gun metal armor. He hadn’t drawn his sword. No, such was his rage that he clawed and ripped through soft bodies, distracting the untested army to the point that it gave Culvast time to signal the rest of the men forward.<br><br>Though not as fast as Brom, not by far, they arrived mere seconds after. The reinforcements had no chance. There were no survivors. <br><br>At the end, Brom walked back to the fallen man, his leg punctured at a vital spot. The soldier would survive, but with their limited healing supplies, and no Dragon Magic to mend the man, he’d be dead weight from this moment forward. Brom’s men might have killed a hundred, but they were already down to 29, and in a foreign land. This could not be allowed to happen. Brom could not allow this to happen. Resolution and frustration lent him implacable strength.<br><br>Drawing on his breath, on the power that had filled him twice now, he attempted to exhale – to breathe the blue white fire, to draw on the power of the Curse. <br><br>Nothing happened.<br><br>“Build a travois,” Culvast said, nearby, his aged face showing an understanding that bordered on telepathy. “The next time Brom seems about to exhale the blue-white magic, put Behrand in the flame.”<br><br>Wordless, the men obeyed. <br><br>Once Behrand was on a simple wooden stretcher, Brom looked around, studying the landscape. The road ran East-West. He doubted the witch lived on either side of a massive army. Who would she be to involve herself in politics, when she had such power, to curse a distant dragon? No. And, perhaps, she had dissuaded the Menhir from obeying his commands, too. <br><br>Spying what seemed to be the beginnings of a forest and, perhaps, a swamp, to the North, Brom felt an odd sort of weak tugging in his guts. Not the tugging of his hallucinations, but it would have to do. He gestured to Culvast, who signaled the men. They’d go that way until they had a reason to believe it was the wrong direction. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Demi</strong> on <strong>23-10-2013, 06:38:59</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				The delicious velvet of Gloriana’s skirts teased the tops of her quivering thighs as she rose, fingers splaying across her lower abdomen in an attempt to calm the alien flutter dancing so deep within.&nbsp; She had been seated for most of the morning, fighting off the restlessness that was stirred with every flashing memory of her dreams, her ankles crossing and uncrossing countless times to ease the ache crawling through her core.&nbsp; Now that the audiences were over for the morning, her father would request her assistance with something. Require her to tap into her magic for some such benefit or another—a task she was all too eager to perform.&nbsp; It would bring her closer to the beast, closer to knowing the seed of her dreams and hunger.<br><br>King Merek had just opened his mouth to instruct his daughter when his face went pale with concern at the look on her face.&nbsp; Gloriana wavered, sinking against the plush seat she’d only just risen from.&nbsp; The beast’s presence was suddenly overwhelming, the heat of it raging like a wildfire deep beneath her prickling flesh.&nbsp; Toned muscles tensed as she locked her knees together against the heart of it, her head bowing forward and allowing her hair to drift past her cheeks to conceal her lips, suddenly parted in a silent cry.&nbsp; As if in mirror of her dreams, she could feel him anew, the craving for him slithering along her flesh and binding her tighter to him.&nbsp; She trembled internally, feeling the familiar, slick caress of desire as it made itself known against the insides of her thighs.<br><br>Without a word of excuse to her father, she stood, spinning on the ball of a foot and excusing herself from the throne room.&nbsp; Without thought, she was amid the people leaving her father’s presence, her eyes scanning the crowd for the source of the unyielding need pulsing relentlessly through every inch of her fit figure.&nbsp; None of them were near tall enough.<br><br>Before anyone took notice of her, she was forced to weave her way through the meandering crowd; no individual was moving fast enough to still the burning desire urging her every step.&nbsp; Each brush of a person past her felt like needles against her sensitive flesh as her heart thundered like a caged bird within her breast.&nbsp; He felt so much <em>closer</em> than before.<br><br>Finally, the patrons noticed her regal stance despite the frantic, searching look on her face and parted before her like bread beneath a blade, cramming as tightly together as possible to make room for their princess.&nbsp; Several took a knee, bowed, or offered words of warmth and greeting as she passed.&nbsp; She saw, nor heard, any of them.&nbsp; Her mind was on one thing and one thing alone: She needed to find the beast.&nbsp; Desperation clawed at her from within, demanding that she <em>feel</em> him, give herself over completely, as her dream had requested the night before.<br><br>Finally coming to the steps leading toward the gates, she couldn’t help but remember flashing images of the towering male, her eyes flicking up to a sky of like tones, step pausing for the slightest of seconds as she wondered just how much taller he stood than she.&nbsp; Shaking herself, she was once more swiftly on the move, her body carrying her forward with reasons she couldn’t quite name.&nbsp; Thinking back on the visions that teased her while she slept, Gloriana did the same thing she’d only believed she had:&nbsp; Inner ability clenching tightly around the coiled power, the princess’s step faltered as she found the familiar twinge of magic and allowed it to consume her.<br><br>She reached the gates just in time, fingers splaying across the rough-cut stone to steady herself as her knees trembled with the renewed rush of urges that drew heat to the most foreign of places on her body.&nbsp; Glancing out across the plain, Gloriana—instead of tugging or pulling timidly—yanked on the cord that linked her to the beast with a defined confidence, steady licks of her own pure desire lacing through the thread.&nbsp; Her intent was not to convey her thoughts, but she no longer had a care if they were transmitted beside the waves of power she sent through their connection; the words she forced into her magic to show her true desire.&nbsp; <em>I <strong>need</strong> him.&nbsp; Please.&nbsp; Let him come.</em><br><br>A cry escaped her parted lips as she cut off contact, her legs shaking before finally giving out with the all-consuming lust that tore through her body like an overflowing dam.&nbsp; Her head bowed as her eyes slid shut and ripples of dark hair cascaded forward to shield her face from prying glances.&nbsp; Firm, plump breasts rose and fell as she gasped, her fingers quaking against her thigh as she processed what, exactly, she’d just done.<br><br>“My love, are you alright?”&nbsp; Jarin was kneeling beside her, reaching out to run his fingers through the fall of hair, brushing it back and over her shoulder.&nbsp; “The ground is not a fitting place for a princess, my lady.&nbsp; Allow me to escort you to your rooms.&nbsp; Perhaps a short rest will put you to rights?”<br><br>All too eager to be visited by the beast in dreams yet again, Gloriana nodded her assent and allowed the prince to help her up.&nbsp; Her legs still trembled and Jarin’s arm settled easily about her slender waist to aid her toward the castle.&nbsp; Though several of her subjects stared with concern, she did not allow herself to look at them.&nbsp; Her thoughts were tortured with only one thought:&nbsp; What if he didn’t come?&nbsp; What if he couldn’t . . . Experience her the way she felt him?
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>25-10-2013, 05:50:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				They were over halfway to the forest before it hit him. Before, it had been the stuff of healing or the occasional tingles of effervescent, bubble-like power rolling through his veins. This time was something else entirely; instead of a single strand of a weave, a single note in a song, this was a full net, an entire refrain – not, he thought instinctively as the sensations came, the full potential of the Curse, not by a long shot, but something that made prior episodes seem like hiccups. There had been pain with the first time, but feelings of power, hunger, anger, and lust had overtaken it as surely as a charging stallion overshoots a limping turtle. <br><br>Now, there was pain unimaginable. <br><br>The siren note of healing and transformation was still there, but other nuances accompanied it. Brom could feel a tiny hint of decay, of the potential for necromancy, and a great hollow sensation. There was a green mote of growing things, of humus and fresh mushrooms, and it renewed him. Fire came, too – real fire this time, a sulfurous blast that would have hollowed him out had not the water, then earth, then wind come simultaneously, each cancelling the other out. But the shell housing all of those feelings – Brom’s body – took the brunt of their violence. More came, more and more; hints of mental magics, of the energy that lurks between the stars and behind the dead spaces in the universe. Within the power of the Curse, within what he felt – it was as though the person on the other end had ceased being patient and taken hold of….everything, of all potentials, and pulled them into whatever it was between them. <br><br>The realization came quickly; Brom’s last cognizant thought: The witch is trying to kill me.<br><br>To be fair, if healing power hadn’t been the first force to enter their unique bond, Brom would have died in that moment, burnt away as surely as a candlewick stuffed into a roaring bonfire. <br><br>Culvast, seeing Brom engulfed in a miasma of incomprehensible forces, knew better than to have Behrand pulled close. This was too different, and the sounds coming from within Brom’s armor were anything but pleasant. Wet popping sounds, followed by the grating rasp of metal on bone made even he, the aged veteran of hundreds of years of conflicts, wince in sympathetic pain. <br><br>“Clear!” Culvast shouted, voice ringing in a gnarled clarion that filled the space as the rest of the men turned and, despite their shared experiences, gawked. This was too new, too ancient; in Brom they were seeing a thing that should have been forever gone, eternally over. The rebirth was stunning.<br><br>Yet the elder’s orders affected them, all of them save Sten. The brash young man, his face screwed tight in a frown of consternation, reached up with his gauntlet-clad hand and pulled his visor down, concealing his flesh. He offered his polearm over to one of the men, who accepted it, then marched over to where Brom stood, body locked in a rictus. <br><br>Uncaring of the energies that wove through his leader, Sten wrapped his arms around Brom’s torso and lifted him up. The contact brought to life a myriad of whirling patterns in the armor as its nature as an ancient magical artifact stirred, protecting both itself and Sten. A low grunt came from Sten as he lifted Brom up into an approximation of a fireman’s sling.<br><br>“He’s getting heavier,” Sten murmured with a glance over at Culvast. “I’ve got him. Let’s go.”<br><br>The elder man considered Sten briefly, a look of grudging respect in his eyes, then nodded. “Nowhere else to go but after the witch. Let’s go men.”<br><br>Wary, but loyal, the remaining men formed up in a circle around Sten and Culvast, protecting them from view, then continued toward the forest. Despite their attempts to conceal it, the entourage trailed a streamer of air that shimmered and pulsed as if it were alive. Not that concealing it would have helped: Brom’s unearthly screams of pain carried for miles. <br><br>Hours later, they reached the edge of the forest. Only then did Brom finally fall unconscious. Sleep did not bring reprieve, however, for with unconsciousness came the dreams. And the witch.<br>&nbsp;<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Demi</strong> on <strong>25-10-2013, 08:05:16</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Jarin was just leading Gloriana through the doors to the castle when a faint echo of pure agony tore across the grounds, the princess stiffening beneath his protective embrace as her steps froze, azure eyes growing wide.&nbsp; “That was . . . ”&nbsp; Gloriana twisted against the prince’s arm, turning to glance back in the direction from whence she came, the luscious, athletic curves of her body completely without movement while she stared toward the castle gates.&nbsp; Something deep within her was attempting to convince her that she knew that sound, that it was somehow linked to her.&nbsp; She shook her head, shrugging off the insistent crooning in her thoughts as she turned back toward the castle.<br><br>With a look of utmost concern, Jarin reached to settle his arm about Gloriana’s hips once more, but halted partway at the burning look in her eyes.&nbsp; Regal confidence rolled off of her like waves as she took a half-step away from him.&nbsp; “I appreciate your assistance, husband.&nbsp; I believe I have recovered strength enough to find my own way, and I must speak with my father.&nbsp; Alone.&nbsp; Certainly, you have men to attend down at the camps.&nbsp; My aid to our King will resume tomorrow; please advise the healers that I may require their assistance.&nbsp; We are losing far too many men in this battle.”&nbsp; A shiver coursed harshly along her spine at the sound that tore across the grounds, the suggested familiarity creeping its way back into her gut, but she banished the feeling, tucking it away where her magic lay dormant.<br><br>Jarin bent at the waist in a half-bow, his need-induced gaze drinking in the elegant lines of her figure beneath the velvet gown as he rose.&nbsp; “As you wish, Princess.&nbsp; Until tonight, then, my love.”&nbsp; With that, Jarin turned to make his way toward the military camp bordering their enemy, each step displaying the frustration that he’d kept from his expression.&nbsp; He decided in that moment:&nbsp; The princess was his wife.&nbsp; He <em>would</em> have her.&nbsp; It was her <em>duty</em> to heal him, and he would remind her of that responsibility.<br><br>Gloriana didn’t waste time watching him leave.&nbsp; With a twirl of her skirts, the princess began making her way to the throne room, hoping her father was still nearby so she could have a brief discussion with him.&nbsp; He needed to know that she was alright, even if she wasn’t sure of that, herself.&nbsp; He would be pleased to hear the news of her decision to venture to the camp the following day, a thought that had Gloriana’s plush lips turning up in a pleasant smile.<br><br>~~<br><br>The lengthy conversation with her father had taken far longer than she’d initially wished, as he had insisted on calling a healer up from his army outpost to check on her.&nbsp; After the healer came hours of questions inquiring after the state of her fresh marriage, which was something Gloriana truly had no wish to speak of.&nbsp; Unfortunately, shrugging off her father’s curiosity was a remarkably draining experience.<br><br>Finally settled in a particularly sheer nightdress—apparently, her father had replaced all of her cotton sleeping gowns with styles that would move and entice her new husband—Gloriana pulled the covers back and settled herself atop the mattress, her eyes drifting closed without struggle.&nbsp; Her husband had sent word that he would be returning later than planned, as he was currently working out a strategy with King Merek’s commanders.&nbsp; The princess was more than eager to fall asleep before he arrived; another night of his wandering hands may not end as well as the others.&nbsp; And even those previous had ended poorly.<br><br>As sleep began to lay claim to her body, Gloriana fell into total relaxation, her mind completely and blissfully blank for the first time since her wedding night.&nbsp; Then, without warning, the urges manifested in her dreams, her body slowly writhing atop the mattress and her lips parting to drag in a shuddering breath of unkempt passion at the first flash of the beast.&nbsp; She was drowning in thirst for a man she’d yet to find, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips at the thought of <em>tasting</em> that which she hungered so fiercely for.&nbsp; A soft moan escaped her throat as she finally submitted to the pull of her dreams, giving herself over completely to whatever delicious torture had been set out for her this night.<br><br>The scene setting within her mind, the princess noticed that this dream started off much differently than the last.&nbsp; The feeling of authenticity was still there, dancing around her like a court bard, but this dream fanned the flames of passion more intensely that she thought possible.&nbsp; What she found most reeling about the entire thing was <em>where</em> she was:&nbsp; Not in her bedroom, nor in the castle or even upon the grounds, but standing just within the swampy woods on the opposite side of the rolling grassland bordering her father’s kingdom.<br><br>Dressed in the same thin gown she’d donned for bed, Gloriana spun in a circle to observe her surroundings, branching out with a thin sliver of power and determining one thing:&nbsp; She was not alone. Though she felt no chill, her flesh prickled, slender arms wrapping about her middle just below her breasts: The fear had returned.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>26-10-2013, 03:42:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Whereas Gloriana was a reflection of her true self, in the flesh, in the dream world, Brom was something else. He stood there, on the softening ground wearing the armor he was essentially melded to in the waking world, but from there on things were different. Surrounding him, moving as though in a dozen hazes – each a degree different from the next, were the translucent, tinted outlines of reptilian, winged shapes. Most seemed to be hybrids of lion and winged serpent, but some were exotic: one was crocodilian, without wings, one long and sinuous, more serpent than anything else, and with many sets of feathered wings, and one was a mere skeleton. Currently, the least transparent of the dragons was a white-blue creature with wise, concerned eyes. It perched atop Brom’s broad shoulders, wings protecting him from the buffeting currents of the others.<br><br>Each of those ephemeral dragons radiated a unique flavor of magic, and as Gloriana saw them there was a good chance she would recognize that the spark of her magic rode within each of them. It was almost as if they were child’s toys, inanimate until her breath gave them life. In this space, just how much influence the Curse had given Gloriana over Brom was evident: while it drew on her desires, anchored itself between her thighs, it had given her an equal anchor in the supernatural aura of Brom’s entire being. <br><br>Though, perhaps the Curse was not simply limited to desires; for what human magic could touch the ancient power of dragons for long and remain entirely human? <br><br>If Brom was aware of any of this, including what he currently appeared like in this land of dreaming, it did not show in his stance. Masked, cloaked in his protective armor, and free of pain, he turned toward the girl as she appeared and hissed, “Witch! You have cursed me! What is it you are attempting? Tell me now.” There was a peal of authority in his deep, sepulchral voice – a voice that seemed to ring from the mouths of each of the circling dragons, but pleading too. A discerning listener would might detect notes of raw desire, of passion, and yearning that Brom would not – could not accept. Not from his captor. <br><br>He stepped forward, moving with the boneless grace of honey over rock, and towered two and a half feet above the dream-girl, his scent like something between sandalwood and the masculine musk of a brutish man. “Tell me,” he rasped, tone threatening. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Demi</strong> on <strong>27-10-2013, 10:17:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Gloriana’s gaze swept across the wet surroundings mirroring the atmosphere between her thighs until a familiar feeling sang through her; she recognized the unique twinge of her own power, her toned figure turning until cerulean eyes landed on the beast from her visions.&nbsp; Her breath caught and her hand lifted—palm open and fingers splayed—to press against her chest above her pounding heart at the height of him.&nbsp; The ethereal creatures drifting around him had her eyes growing wide with fascination as she took a timid step toward him, equestrian-strengthened legs trembling as her instincts informed her that those very draconic beings were a form created by her magic.<br><br>The hand above her breast shook, the flesh beneath it turning slightly paler than the rest of her fair skin as she pressed her hand tighter to her chest and inhaled deeply to steady her breathing.&nbsp; The seed of her desire was finally standing before her, towering over her and looking—she knew, despite his armor—directly at her.&nbsp; Her step faltered, her balance wavering for the slightest of seconds before she regained control of her body and halted all movement to simply stare at him; to drink in everything that he was, everything he meant.<br><br>His words—with the echoes of the beasts surrounding him—cut into her like a sharpened blade to her flesh, her eyes instinctively dropping to the ground in submission at his tone as she drew her lower lip between her teeth.&nbsp; His anger was evident, and it pained her to see him so disappointed in her.&nbsp; Despite his irritated words, she knew the truth of the matters, her line-of-sight quickly flicking back up to his armor-clad visage to stare him down defiantly.&nbsp; “I am hardly a witch, good sir.&nbsp; Nor did I curse you.”<br><br>As Brom strode forward, Gloriana stepped back, her normally regal stance fading for the slightest of moments in her timid retreat.&nbsp; As he drew nearer, her mind reasoned that she could no longer back away and her movement ceased, allowing him to stand just before her.&nbsp; His scent was a fascinating contradiction to her own: Lightly feminine and laced with lilac undertones.&nbsp; His was intoxicating to her, the hand at her chest dropping to dig her fingernails into her hipbone through the wispy material of her nightgown as she lifted her chin to regain her royal composure.&nbsp; Every inch of her craved him, but she dare not allow him to see that, not with his blatant accusations and obviously wounded tone.<br><br>“I attempt nothing, sir.&nbsp; I want nothing more than to please you.&nbsp; I could not curse you if I tried.&nbsp; I want nothing more than to please you,” the fingers against her hip twitched, her eyes flicking away from him for the briefest of seconds, “but I did not curse you, nor anyone else.”&nbsp; Need quivered inside of her as she took a step forward to lessen the gap between them, her hand shivering against her thigh with want to reach out and touch him.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>30-10-2013, 03:41:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The girl’s words tormented Brom in a way that he had not anticipated. This too-fragile, too-human girl had become an object of desire for him in only a few days’ time; had she been the witch, it would have made dispatching her all the easier. Now, he realized, he would have to struggle with the reality that she was not able to offer him the surcease he was coming to crave more than anything else. To an outsider, Brom’s transformation might seem like a divine gift, a return to ancestral ways, but to the man inside the armor there was so much more to it. So far, with the emphasis on healing energies, he had not felt much of his faculties slip away. If anything, his senses had grown more acute. Layering over those senses, however, had come a predatory drive, a need that had been long ago subsumed beneath the trappings of society. <br><br>Each step down the road of some unknown, ultimate transformation threatened to ignite instincts and behaviors that Brom’s people had outgrown thousands of years prior. <br><br>Revelation shook Brom and the giant man’s entire body vibrated with it. The swirling vortex of dragons whirling around him snapped, or vented ethereal breath – some flame, some ice, some acid and so on – or grew as still as waiting cobras, coiled to strike. He looked down at the girl, the ornate, cold blue-grey steel of his helm twinkling with the runes that empowered it, and exhaled. His breath came through the solid steel that hid all but his lambent yellow-green eyes. It smelled neutral, just air, but hot. <br><br>With that breath, that release, came a sense of the man relaxing as well, his poise slipping, his warrior’s stance relenting. More warmth radiated from him now, coiling around the girl before him, and within that sense came the floating beasts. They explored through their connection, from his aura to hers. Though fueled by Gloriana’s magic, the entities were true dragons of their kind, each a unique color, each with unique and long-lost knowledge. Their touch, no doubt, threatened to mark the girl, if only internally. Could each flavor of dragon impact an aspect of old draconic magic, untold spells of power, or new ways to weave energies that mortals of all sizes and shapes had lost? Anything was possible.<br><br>Brom watched as the astral figures bathed the girl, acted as his senses. Through them he could feel the shape of her dream-flesh. It was not a texture in the way that physical, waking contact would have felt, but more intimate. He felt the girl’s desire, her hunger, her strengths and her weaknesses. He felt her nobility, and it touched him, in turn. Touched him enough that the equally-cursed Dragon Man stepped&nbsp; forward and wrapped his enshrined, armored body around hers.<br><br>The embrace was vaguely physical: overwhelming strength, unwavering pressure and possessiveness, an almost smothering warmth and intimacy. It was also more than that, conveying some sense of Brom, of his unwavering duty, his complete dedication and utterly moral (albeit highly sexual, as all Dragon people were) nature. It was a brief view into the true nature of the man himself, on his terms, but still a gift. <br><br>“Choose the magic you wield carefully,” Brom murmured, his sepulchral voice radiating through the vulnerable girl’s form, all the way to her quivering core. His arms tightened, not yet painfully so, but emphasizing his warning. “I believe we bind each other together with each use, that much is obvious. But I have every reason to believe that the type of magic you wield also matters.”<br><br>They were all the warning the warrior could manage: desire, a need to own the girl had risen in him without him anticipating it, without him seeing the danger. Pressed so tightly against her, he wanted only to rip his armor off, to bask in the unadulterated changes the Curse had wrought beneath, and take this willing, eager human woman…<br><br>And then he was shaken free of the dream. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Demi</strong> on <strong>04-11-2013, 09:43:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Being so close to him, feeling the warmth radiate off of him in waves to dance across her skin felt surreal to Gloriana, her head tilted back some to gaze up at his towering height.&nbsp; Yet, what truly thrilled her was to see the tension leak from his body as he breathed out that sigh, her own rigid posture softening as she witnessed this new side of the creature she felt so bound to.&nbsp; Then those beings, so entwined with her own magic, were drifting over and around her body, seemingly through her in some places.&nbsp; She shivered despite the warmth Brom was radiating, previously unknown abilities writhing through her mind and into the depth of her own dormant magic.<br><br>As each dragon licked across her flesh, brushing her intimately in ways she could only dream the man before her would, her eyes drifted over them, watching as they coiled around every curve of her form.&nbsp; Brom’s sudden movement forward had her head snapping back toward him, eyes wide for the briefest of moments as she wondered internally what—exactly—he was planning on doing.&nbsp; Her mouth opened to voice her questions, but quickly closed as his arms coiled around her, pulling her into that embrace.&nbsp; Her own arms, slender but toned from years of riding horses and assisting the wounded, encircled around him as best she could, her head settling against his chest.<br><br>Though the touch felt only mildly authentic, as opposed to how it would had it occurred outside of her dreams, his presence surrounding her did not--could not--go unnoticed.&nbsp; Each small flux of his personality drifted down and through her, her fingers gripping tighter, breasts pressing snugly against him, wishing she could pull him back to reality with her, to have him with her in her bed—to Hell with Jarin.<br><br>The sensation of his voice, regardless of his words of warning, caused a delicious sliver of delight to ripple through her core, her lips parting to draw in a shaking gasp.&nbsp; As his grip tightened just so, she found herself releasing a soft squeak of surprise—something completely unlike her, considering her royal upbringing.&nbsp; Yet, despite her father’s adoring hugs and Jarin’s ulterior motives, she’d never been held in such a manner, been pulled so closely, so intimately in such a commanding way.&nbsp; Gloriana found herself smiling in the possessive, protective circle of his armor-clad embrace, wanting nothing more than to stay there for much longer than she would surely be allowed.<br><br>“I understand and I will.&nbsp; I feel it, as well.”&nbsp; She paused, back arching slightly over his arms to glance up at him, her hold on him loosening.&nbsp; “The effects are . . . Staggering.”&nbsp; Silently, Gloriana wondered what his experiences put him through in contrast to her own overwhelming lust for him.<br><br>That thought made her realize that it was the feeling of completely belonging to him that spurred her desire back into gear, her knees weakening, the images wavering even as he held her and, as she came to in her own bed, she realized that the sheets beneath her were most certainly damp with the evidence of it.&nbsp; All she wanted to do was drift back off, step back into that world where she’d experienced him, but she knew she had duties to attend to.&nbsp; Though heeding the beast’s words, she could do nothing more than pray that her healing of the day would not affect him too greatly.&nbsp; As she reflected, she realized one thing:&nbsp; She hadn’t even asked his <em>name</em>.&nbsp; Suddenly, it was there, likely passed along with the knowledge he'd gifted her in those fleeting moments of being pressed so close together, and she couldn't help but purr it aloud,&nbsp; "<em>Brom</em>."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>06-11-2013, 08:46:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				“Brom, Brom we’re here,” a deep, rumbling voice came from somewhere above Brom. It took a few moments for him to realize that he was on the ground, on his back like some sort of flipped grab. The chirp of happy, mocking birds and the warmth in the air indicated that it was early morning, though Brom had no recollection of the passage of time at all. <br><br>Opening his eyes was difficult; they felt crusted over and the armor he wore made touching his face take more time and effort than it was worth. Carefully moving within his helm, he managed to batter off the worst of the crud on the interior of the armor. This was, to say the least, not a pleasant experience – he accrued quite a few scrapes along the way, and felt certain he’d gouged a chunk from one eye in the process. But, finally, after some no-doubt animalistic-seeming head shaking, his eyes cleared up enough for him to see Culvast looming above him, a massive forest framing the older man’s careworn visage.<br><br>“Water,” Brom croaked with effort, “Face and mouth both.” His voice was not his own, but it managed to get the job done. <br><br>Malcom and Daltairn, in sync, stepped forward, their tanned, surprisingly youthful faces fixed in a rictus of concern that Brom barely recognized. They poured the water he needed where he needed it, loosening the paste around his eyes, freeing his parched lips and throat of thirst. Swallowing burned enough that he felt certain he’d screamed himself hoarse at some point, though he had no memory of doing so. Sten came in, completing the circle, and pushed a folded, leathery chunk of meat into Brom’s gauntlet, muttering something about him needing to eat. To Brom’s eyes, Sten looked drawn, haggard, as though he’d been under a huge weight.<br><br>“You carried me, didn’t you?” Brom rasped between famished bites forced through the grill of his oddly mutating helm. Sitting up was difficult; the ridges of muscle in his abdomen felt like they worked differently than he remembered, or maybe like they were all just ripped out and reassembled poorly.<br><br>Sten checked himself, and Culvast broke in, “He did, Sir. You were covered in flames and dangerous to touch. His armor protected him.” Culvast broke off as Brom turned to look around, at the dense, dark forest surrounding them. Back, in the direction of the rolling hills that he could still see, he could make out deep indentations in the ground, as though an extremely heavy weight had plodded there. Seeing the recognition in his posture, if not his face, Culvast quietly nodded, signaling that Brom had the truth of it. <br><br>Standing took even longer, and felt worse, but by the time he was on his feet, he felt as though he was coming back into himself. Whatever it was that had happened, the dream and the presence in it – the woman he had desired so obsessively – it was passed. She was not the witch, and the place he’d felt her in, the landscape the dream had hinted at behind her, was not where he would locate the one who had cursed them both. Quietly, he resolved to locate the girl, whatever her name was – Gloriana, it came to him in a whisper – as soon as the witch issue was addressed.<br><br>“Any sightings or trails yet?” Brom asked quietly, looking to Culvast. The elderly man, his face even more lined than usual, nodded. <br><br>“A trail,” he said. “The boys found one,” he waved a gnarled hand over at Malcom and Daltairn, both of whom grinned impishly at the praise.&nbsp; <br><br>Malcom piped up, voice surprisingly light for a male of the Dragon People, “Wide enough for a wagon, not recently used. Smells vaguely fishy.”<br><br>“That means he thinks there’s a stink of magic on it,” Daltairn offered softly.<br><br>Nodding, feeling energized at the thought of ending this now – and then beginning his personal quest to find the young woman he longed, so longed, to claim – Brom raised a tight fist. “Culvast, move them out. I want to find this witch before dark.” <br><br>Clearly hesitant, worried even, the men in Brom’s command formed up behind their commander, clearly resolute to match whatever his labored pace might be. Quietly, they exchanged knowing glances. Brom had not seemed to sleep at all through the night; his cries and tossing had made it clear that he had been in constant, excruciating pain. Yet now he seemed vibrant, alive and as eager as the day before. His ever-changing presence, the feel of him was even more palpable now; his movements noticeably different. What was happening to their Lord was feeling less and less like a curse and more like some sort of providence. Clearly, there was Dragon Magic here, alive and renewed, and to them it felt holy – as though the future, which had been a closed door, where all the glory of the past could never happen again – was vibrant and within reach. Despite all trepidation and hope, the men pulled together behind their leader. A man who might be cursed, or who might be the return of all their dreams. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Demi</strong> on <strong>22-11-2013, 08:39:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Gloriana felt remarkably refreshed as she shifted the coverlets off of her legs to the echoing sound of her hand maiden knocking on the thick oaken door to her and Jarin’s room.&nbsp; The side of her husband’s bed was cold; the only evidence that proved he had not returned from the war tents to rest. “Enter,” Gloriana’s voice was particularly light, airy, and completely welcoming as she balanced her weight on the balls of her feet and waited anxiously for her lady to enter the bedroom.<br><br>The petite blonde that stepped into the room allowed her lips to part in a large, warm smile at the sight of Gloriana, her hands clasping at the front of her skirts as she bent forward in a curtsy to the princess.&nbsp; Gloriana bobbed her head in greeting, her own lips twitching with the obvious urge to grin.&nbsp; Lifting an arm, Gloriana began to focus her energy, drawing unto herself the familiar lick of magic, when she remembered Brom’s words and her hand flopped despairingly to her side.&nbsp; The handmaiden noticed Gloriana’s hesitation and twisted to gently push the door to latch shut, dark eyes wandering across the princess and drinking in every minor detail.&nbsp; “You look well, Gloriana, compared to last I saw you.&nbsp; How is marriage affecting you, Princess?”&nbsp; The blonde tilted her head some to the side, a slender brow arching playfully as she strode past the princess toward the wardrobe to draw out dresses for Gloriana to sift through.<br><br>“Marriage is hardly pleasant, Marjory.&nbsp; My magic is . . . Changing,” Gloriana shifted on the balls of her feet uncomfortably, intimate portions of her body seeming somehow foreign, as if they’d begun to shift and strengthen in some fashion.&nbsp; Her cheeks turned a pale shade of pink as her thoughts reflected on the dream-like beings that had so welcomed her mere moments before, and her knees trembled slightly as she forced herself to remain erect.<br><br>Marjory had paused in her efforts of selecting gowns, her back to the wardrobe and her hands on her hips.&nbsp; “I leave you for three weeks to give birth to my first child, and upon my return you inform me that your magic is changing.”&nbsp; One hand slipped from a hip, lifting to run her fingers agitatedly through golden waves, “<em>how</em> is it changing, Princess?”<br><br>Chest expanding, Gloriana drew in a healthy breath of air, her eyes slipping closed as she processed how best to explain it to one of her longest companions.&nbsp; “I believe I have been,” Gloriana’s gaze shifted to glance out the window, her eyes searching for someone she knew wouldn’t be so close at hand, “linked to someone else.&nbsp; By my magic.”&nbsp; Blue eyes flicked back to the blonde before the wardrobe, whose brow was still arched in a disbelieving fashion.<br><br>“What makes you believe that, Princess?”&nbsp; Marjory spun around, expertly sorting through fabrics as she rummaged through Gloriana’s healthy collection of dresses.<br><br>“I cannot explain how I know, but I do.&nbsp; His name is Brom.”&nbsp; With a twirl, Marjory was facing the princess, the few gowns in her hands falling to the floor in her moment of shock.&nbsp; Gloriana had never made such a claim before, without understanding what it was she was trying to explain.&nbsp; The fact that this other individual had a name made it that much more real to Marjory.<br><br>“You are a wed woman, Gloriana.&nbsp; Whoever this other man is, he cannot have you,” Marjory allowed herself to step forward, leaving the expensive garments lying on the floor for the time being.&nbsp; “Do you understand?&nbsp; It was your duty to your kingdom to marry Jarin.&nbsp; Now, it is your duty to bear him a son, as I have for my Lord.”<br><br>Had anyone other than Marjory spoken those words, Gloriana would have had them put out of the castle, perhaps even punished for their disobedience, but Marjory knew her far better than any companion she’d ever had.&nbsp; Instead, Gloriana’s gaze dropped to the floor, her fists clenching at her sides.&nbsp; With a shaking breath, the princess reflected on the few moments she’d been allowed with Brom in her dreams and thoughts; remembered the sensations that overtook her body every time she called her magic forth.<br><br>When Gloriana's eyes finally lifted back to Marjory’s face, the princess did something she hadn’t done since she was a child in response to all of the alterations spreading through her life:&nbsp; She wept.&nbsp; Marjory embraced her, like the dear friend she had grown and was expected to be, fingertips coursing through Gloriana's hair in a soothing manner, despite the utterly confused look on the handmaiden's face.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>04-12-2013, 06:05:12</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				They found quickly and with surprising ease; though it lay deep within a winding, dangerously entangled thicket, there was an old wagon path that led straight to it and through the worst of the foliage. Brom stepped into the clearing, behind Malcom and Daltairn. The two scouts turned just enough so that they could catch Brom in profile before returning their gazes to the haunted-looking dwelling before them. <br><br>Built within the bole of a massive oak tree so twisted that it appeared almost like a corded rope, the house had the appearance of a cancer. It ate into the flesh of the tree, wood and rough-stone elements dug into the bark, worked into the still-living tree. The building was canted downward, at a sloping angle, and meshed with the lower roots of the tree, presumably extending beneath the trunk and into the earth below. How the structure had not killed the tree was a mystery, but only vaguely so; black veins and pulsing tendrils of dark energy swirled up the mammoth length, hinting at the wicked arts that had sustained it. <br><br>“I do not believe anyone is alive within, my lord,” Malcom said. Daltairn nodded in time with the other man’s words. <br><br>Culvast stepped up, along with a still-exhausted looking Sten. Inhaling sharply, the wizened warrior murmured, “There may be no one alive, but that does not mean there are not dangers, Brom. I urge you to let some of our men scout this out.” Sten, haggard as he was, nodded and took a halting step forward, volunteering without thought.<br><br>Shaking his head, Brom extended a hand out, stopping Sten in his tracks. “No,” Brom said, voice a throaty growl. Coughing a few times to loosen his stiff vocal cords, he continued, “If the witch’s magic is behind this, there is a chance that I will have some innate resistance to other applications. Besides, the armor will protect me.” He paused, shot jerking motion toward Sten and added, “If you hadn’t worn yourself out, you might go too. But you will not, and that is final. Culvast, prepare the men in case there is a trap.”<br><br>Reluctantly Culvast turned away, gesturing and murmuring orders to the rest of the men, who obeyed smartly. They might have been tired, but like all good soldiers they recognized the risks of letting their guard down. A few began working on a latrine line, while others sought out solid – defensible – positions for archers. Still others drew fallen tree branches across the open road leading to the clearing, in the event that a military force (like the one they’d encountered on the way there) showed up. <br><br>As they worked, Brom made his way toward the witch’s house, determined to see if she was alive or, if not, whether or not she’d left any clues behind. There was no way he could survive this curse much longer, not and remain himself. Not and remain so far away from the woman of his dreams. Even now, in the face of terror, part of him ached to claim her all-too human flesh despite the damage he’d do. Or, perhaps, just to see how much he could make her yield to his insatiable needs. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Demi</strong> on <strong>12-12-2013, 06:01:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Morning had aged when Gloriana finally allowed herself to leave the protective confines of her room, eyes slightly pink from the hysterical outbreak she’d experienced in the comforting embrace of her oldest and closest confidante.&nbsp; As if a different being, the princess strode across the castle grounds with her head held high defiantly, the barest of smirks on her lips at the thoughts of the lustful experiences her magic had brought forth in the past few days.&nbsp; Though it was new to her, she relished the sensation as her thighs trembled with every step, feeling the dampness between her legs at the mere thought of the beast consuming her thoughts.<br><br>She had promised her father that she would tend to the wounded, and tend to them she would.&nbsp; Despite the warning of the man in her dreams, she made a commitment to her father and to her kingdom; she’d never truly met Brom, so duty would come first, until such a time as was deemed it should not.&nbsp; Jarin stood waiting for her outside of the tents, one hand draped lazily around the hilt of his sword as he watched her approach, a tired look in his eyes.&nbsp; Gloriana offered him a pleasant smile—one that did not reach her eyes—and tiled her head forward in a display of respect.&nbsp; “My prince.&nbsp; You did not return to bed last night.&nbsp; I trust you are well?”<br><br>The slightest twitch of Jarin’s brow drew attention to Gloriana’s question and the fact that it somehow irked him.&nbsp; The princess’s lips pursed just slightly in response to his mildly hidden and inquisitive expression, jaw muscles working beneath supple flesh as she resisted the urge to grind her teeth in frustration.&nbsp; This was the man that kept her from what she truly desired: A man who wasn’t entirely human.<br><br>“All is well, Princess.&nbsp; I remained awake throughout the late hours, planning with commanders on how best to proceed.&nbsp; King FeLan’s forces are moving in from the West, attempting to put our own army in a corner.”&nbsp; Gloriana’s gaze shifted to the direction mentioned, gaze cold and calculating as she considered the renewed threat.&nbsp; “Your father and I discussed this as a possibility.&nbsp; Have you any insight, my love?”<br><br>Gloriana, slightly hesitant in her response, finally drew herself back to reality in a slow turn of her head, heated gaze landing on her husband—despite the fact that he had nothing to do with the arousal coursing through her figure.&nbsp; “Retreat.&nbsp; Our enemy will not expect us to flee; he will presume that we will stand and fight; that we will exhaust ourselves against his forces.&nbsp; Draw in, closer to the castle.&nbsp; Protect our kingdom and our people.&nbsp; Should he dare to tread to close, I will see to it that he does not draw near enough for true damage.”&nbsp; In a preemptive mentality, Gloriana reached out with her abilities, drawing an invisible line around her kingdom’s perimeter.&nbsp; The energy was positive, embracing the love and adoration she held for her father and her people; embracing the need to protect all those within.&nbsp; With it, she directed her ability to heal, drawing it toward herself, embracing the spell she cast to heal all within that hidden boundary, should they become injured whilst she was absent.<br><br>Gloriana knew better than to embrace destructive magic, considering her established bond with Brom.&nbsp; Instead, she chose to strengthen the ties to duty, relishing in everything that properly awarded her the title of Princess.&nbsp; No magic was truly active in that moment, aside from the lick along her thighs to mirror the gentle wave she sent cascading to the outer skirts of her kingdom; the slightest tickle and tease that would brush each individual soldier in a wave of protective comfort.<br><br>A smile danced across Gloriana’s face as she turned toward Jarin, any words he had spoken in those seconds completely ignored and forgotten due to her concentration.&nbsp; “FeLan will not win this war, if I have anything to say of it.&nbsp; I need time, as does my father, and as do you.&nbsp; Use the time I have purchased well, as we will need all we can gather.”<br><br>For the briefest of moments, Gloriana remembered the embrace of Brom, the wickedly delicious, lingering touches of the dragons surrounding him and dancing across her flesh.&nbsp; With an in-drawn breath, she embraced the adoration for all of the creatures within her dream, and further strengthened the boundary she’d only just established.&nbsp; In that instant, her magic throbbed, pulsing within her to thunder across the land in a warning concussion toward any who dare to tread into her domain.&nbsp; She would not allow such a king to take control of her land.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>19-12-2013, 13:43:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The interior of the hut was much as one might expect of a true witch. Walls covered in the signs and bloody symbols of the craft. Gewgaws and trinkets hanging or pressed here and there, with bits of furniture and hints of magical objects littered about like discarded coinage. None of the dragon men went for the jewel-encrusted dagger on the table of the twinkling gemstones enshrined in a net of pearls dangling from the roof. Had they been mortal men, regular soldiers, no doubt they would have. But these were ancient beings whose legends and lore bespoke the dangers of such craft. <br><br>A corpse lay in the center of a rune circle, fist-sized splintered stones strewn about the blackened, blue body. She was larger than Brom would have expected, tall and had the look of strength about her, even in death. Curious, Brom made to step closer, past the clearly inert circle of magic, but a gauntlet-clad hand reached out and wrapped around his bicep, holding him fast. <br><br>“Could be a trap, my lord, “Culvast’s earthy rumble warned, the ancient warrior’s eyes on the body. Grudgingly, Brom nodded and signaled for his men to spread out and search the premises. It did not take them long to discover the cold storage below, deep within the space where the roots of the tree had once been. Enchanted still, and powerfully enough to mist breath in the air, the drained husks of dragon people and others, many others, met Brom’s flat gaze like a hammer, flattening his conflicted emotions to a chisel-thin point. <br><br>“These are important people,” Sten said as he arrived down the sloping stairs, beside Culvast and the scouts. “Key people to Vedderkan’s successes. Without them gone, he could never have ruled so lo…”<br><br>“Shut your mouth, boy. We all know what we’re seeing here,” Culvast snapped, his eyes on Brom’s still figure.<br><br>The gathering knew what they were seeing. What must have happened. What must, even now, be happening to Brom. Somehow, for some reason, Vedderkan had made some sort of arrangement for a witch. She was dead and something inexplicable was happening to Brom – the precise details of that important, key piece of the puzzle now took on a different light. Could Brom’s transformation have been the witch’s strike at Vedderkan, or could this have been some new plot by the tyrannical man?<br><br>Silence weighed heavily on the gathering as storm clouds grew in Brom’s heart. He could feel his counterpart, the woman he was bound to, open her magic gently and it was filled with love and light. Power entered him at the same time, but now his body had – finally – adjusted enough that such a gentle easement did not push him over the precipice to a new change. Her presence within him, the warmth of her, did nothing to ease his ill ease.<br><br>“My lord, troops approach!” a voice called down, one of the recruits. <br><br>Turning as one, the dragon men left the witch’s hut, disturbing almost nothing. None noticed the small, smirking smile on the corpse’s lips or the smell of warm, fresh pie that radiated from the room when they vacated it. <br><br>Exiting the tree fortress, Brom waited a breath for Culvast, who asked, “How many? How far?”<br><br>The soldier standing there, armored and young-looking, replied, “Five hundred on foot. Two miles down the road.”<br><br>Frowning, Culvast growled out, “Too many. They must think their dead allies were slain by their enemy. We may have positioned ourselves…unwisely.”<br><br>Brom snorted in wry, wicked amusement, then commanded, “Have Malcom and Daltairn find us a way out of here. If these fools wish to engage a dragon army, we’ll do so on our terms. Perhaps we can even find their enemy and merge forces for a few days. It would seem to me that the front lines must be nearby, if so many reached us so quickly.”<br><br>Culvast snapped Brom’s orders out, adding, “Prepare to hold the road until we find a way out of here!” in a loud, ringing shout. Men sprang into action, preparing for an onslaught of such proportions even they would be unlikely to survive. <br><br>Neither man exchanged a word of warning or easement. Then again, both Brom and Culvast were eerily confident. Despite the witch’s involvement, her death indicated something beyond her control was at hand. And that very well might have meant the Dragons had returned in Brom indeed. Perhaps she’d awoken them by mistake? The thought gave Culvast hope, even as it brought faint concern to Brom. There were too many moving pieces for him to consider now.<br><br>Especially since there was a good chance that moving toward the line of confrontation between these two armies might bring him closer to <em>her</em>.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Demi</strong> on <strong>24-12-2013, 09:15:35</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Despite the protective cocoon her magic wrapped around her citizens, the familiar taste of danger lingered on Gloriana’s lips as her attention returned to Jarin.&nbsp; Eyes glazed and distant, she tried her best to focus on her husband, but her body craved for her devotion to be angled toward a distant male:&nbsp; Brom.&nbsp; Her eyelids fluttered just briefly at the thought of his name before she forced herself to the present, brilliant blue clashing against the gritty scenes of the war encampment scattered around her.&nbsp; She knew not what the beast faced, only the impression of a threat somewhere nearby.&nbsp; Her heart fluttered madly beneath her breast, lips parting to draw in tiny, panting breaths as her pupils dilated.<br><br>Jarin’s hand on her shoulder jolted her to reality, her eyes flashing to him so suddenly that it was almost maddening, and his swift withdrawal was a discernable sign of his apprehension.&nbsp; One of his eyebrows raised, both with worry for himself and concern for Gloriana’s sanity.&nbsp; “Are you alright, my love?”<br><br>Gloriana’s teeth clamped down on her lower lip to keep from barking back at Jarin that she wasn’t his love; the flavor of iron danced across her tongue at the harsh contact, the palms of her hands brushing the wrinkles from her skirts to focus nervous attention elsewhere.&nbsp; “I am quite well, husband.&nbsp; Drained, from the magic I used, but otherwise well.”&nbsp; She allowed him a respectful bow and reassuring smile, her fingertips brushing against the back of his hand as she turned and prepared to dismiss herself.&nbsp; Though her heart wasn’t in her affectionate actions, she hoped it would console her husband despite the distance growing between them.<br><br>Jarin reach for her at the exact moment that panic tore through her body at the foreign sensation of being linked to a being in danger such a distance away.&nbsp; The overwhelming sense of magic near to him, and the imminent threat of something else she could not quite describe, had her knees buckling in submission to the powers raging within her body.&nbsp; Jarin’s arm tightened about her waist, catching her and lowering her slowly to the ground to keep the contact from being too jarring on her petite physique.&nbsp; Gloriana’s eyes rolled into the back of her head for the briefest of moments as her magic took her powers elsewhere, surveying the scene of battle approaching the man she was bound to.<br><br>Gloriana’s head tilted back at the scene of the army approaching the dragon-men, her lips parting to release an animalistic, almost roar-like cry from somewhere deeper than she’d ever touched before.&nbsp; Jarin was shoved away from her; Gloriana’s back met the dirt with a soft squelch against the mud, the ability to control her limbs absent in those moments.&nbsp; <br><br>She lost herself in the sensation, withdrawing inward and tapping into unknown forces, and she gave herself over to Brom completely, sending everything she could to him, for his explicit use.&nbsp; She did not send a specific spell of protection, healing, or awareness.&nbsp; No.&nbsp; Her magic, in that moment, sent every piece of her that it could possibly gather: for Brom to use as he saw fit, command as he willed.&nbsp; It would tax her, undoubtedly, but her own well-being was forgotten in that moment of his absolute danger.&nbsp; He needed that power far more than she, in that instance.<br><br>In those rare seconds as she temporarily transferred her abilities to him, she was his.&nbsp; Every secret she had ever held dear would be shared; every fantasy she had ever thought, he would see; every spell she had ever learned or dreamed, he could wield.&nbsp; She was his.&nbsp; Completely.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: By Chaos Cursed (Darius Fallenstar X Demi)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>25-12-2013, 11:25:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				His men prepared as though they’d trained centuries for this very moment. Which, in some cases, they had. The scouts were gone but moments, but it might take hours for them to find a path suitable for bulky men in armor to move without leaving tracks, or worse, injured behind. The men who’d been hurt earlier would, no doubt, be joined by others soon, especially if the reports Brom had received thus far were true. Dozens upon dozens of troops were headed in his direction. Culvast had been correct – the reinforcements who’d instigated the attack must have been close enough to real army lines to have stirred the hornet’s nest, despite how green they’d appeared. <br><br>Else, there was magic afoot. Brom paused in his inspection of the men, considering briefly whether or not the witch or, perhaps, this enemy army had access to magic that would allow them to teleport or, if not teleport, move exceptionally quickly. It was possible. Likely even. Within his visor, Brom flared his nostrils as though to catch a whiff of enemy magic but was able to discern nothing. This was not his talent; magic used him, manifested through his flesh. He was of it, but not a user of it. Not like Gloriana – the woman from his dreams. Even now, in the moments before certain conflict, Brom felt his body responding, an ache that had everything to do with how a man should want a woman.<br><br>And more.<br><br>They were connected in a spiritual sense, a way that Brom could not comprehend. There was a magical tie, a conduit. Instinctively, he recognized that she was not drawing from him, nor was he drawing from her. It must, he decided, be his heritage. Her magic was somehow being used to bore holes between the ages and reignite his heritage, bit by bit. But what could that mean? Dragons had made his kind to be servants, vessels for their power and their military on the world. He’d heard legends of his people having special powers, but nothing quite like what he felt right now. Nothing so…raw. <br><br>It must be the mingling of the two of them. Human magic was changing the way the draconic powers were manifesting. If it had been pure, another Person of the Dragon, Brom suspected that his awakening would have been far more bestial. His people in the old days had only been cowed by their masters, no one else. In that case, Brom felt reasonably certain that he would have assaulted the man who’d killed his father rather than amiably part ways with the assembly. More or less. <br><br>“Sir, it looks like they’ve got enchantments about them. There’s a few hundred and they glimmer. Probably something to make them faster and a bit more durable, based on my experience.” That was Culvast, his voice worried. As it should be. Speed enchantments were insanely dangerous in melee combat. Against men with swords and shields, a little speed could mean every edge there was. Transform the battlefield with a relatively minor sorcery. Then again, arming a few hundred troops with such armament was nothing short of High Sorcery, which told Brom something about the nature of the fight he and his men had teleported into.<br><br>No amount of experience and training could overcome this. Despair hit his chest, practically broke his heart. Not for himself, but for his men. His men, and for wonder of what might happen to the woman he was bound to. Would it hurt her if he died? Was that the witch’s plan? To simultaneously cripple not one but two kingdoms? It hinted at the woman’s insane genius if that was the case.<br><br>In the distance, thanks to his sharpened hearing, Brom heard too-fast footsteps, the clank of armor taken several pitches too high. They were enchanted.<br><br>Then the world just fucking <em>melted</em>.<br><br>It was as though he’d died so suddenly that there was no time for pain, no time for anguish, no time for agony. One moment he was alive and the next there was nothing, no one, no time. The witch had made the curse to gradually erode barriers, to awaken the being within Brom. And there was a fair chance that Brom and a few of his troops would, in fact, have survived the day. But no one had counted on Gloriana doing what she did. With her power, infused already with enough dragon magic to make her far more dangerous and capable than she already was (which was saying something), she did something no one could have anticipated: instead of poking holes and allowing draconic power through, into Brom’s body, she literally ripped the veil within him asunder. <br><br>There was a good chance that such a total tearing wouldn’t have happened for years, even if he and Gloriana had somehow made a life together. Perhaps not ever, if she’d been reasonable with her use of magic and allowed Brom to adjust, as he had been so far. What she did could have only happened now, when Brom was still unused to the experience, and with her power cresting as it was. <br><br>She was there, with him. Her magic wrapped around his ephemeral body, protecting his mind and soul from what he saw, sharing her energy and passion with him in such a way that he did not simply evaporate. Still, it was a close thing. One does not come to stand near the high vaulted ceiling of the gods of dragons and simply survive. <br><br>The world was not, as such, what Brom could have described in colors – it was <em>all </em>colors. Nor could he have described it in sensations – it was <em>all </em>sensations. But above all else there was arrogance, confidence, and shades of red. <br><br><strong>“Little mortal, why have you come here?” </strong>A voice rumbled from everywhere and nowhere. It sounded amused. <br><br>Brom hesitated, shaken, but the feeling of Gloriana, of her mind, her pride and her stubbornness reinforced his own. “I come here to claim a heritage lost to my people and more. To <strong>rule</strong>, instead of serve, on a world dragons have abandoned.” His reply was filled with certainty, amplified with magic that he could not have wielded. It was <em>Gloriana’s.</em><br><br>The tone of his voice seemed to startle the creature attending him.<strong> “No dragons on your world? This cannot be. The diaspora were intended to settle and flourish on a multitude. Are you all that is left, flawed servant?”</strong><br><br>“I am,” Brom said, and his tone implied ‘and just what are you going to do about it?’<br><strong><br>“I sense danger about you, little spirit. Impending doom. Your life is at risk. Even with the formidable magic in your soul, it feels untapped. Without the sophistication that a few thousand years of experience might add to it. Do you seek the blessings of a god to keep you and yours alive?”</strong><br><br>Almost Brom said yes. Almost he accepted the offer. But his pride, once again, would not allow it.&nbsp; He shouted the words, daring the dragon to strike him down. “I seek more than your blessing, dragon god. More than to survive. I want to bring back the glory of our kind to the world in full force, so that none might question the superiority of dragons ever again!” <br><br><strong>“Arrogance, such arrogance,” </strong>the voice said with a chuckle. And suddenly Brom knew that voice, knew it in the same way that part of his mind knew Gloriana – so intimately, her desires touching him even here, so near absolute annihilation. He was speaking to a true elder dragon, one whose life was measured not in thousands of years, but <em>millions</em>. This was not a biological being as he would understand it: this was an essence as pure and refined as dragons could become. This was not simply a dragon. It was the purist form of what a dragon could become, concentrated in the place where draconic power sprung from. <br><br>Suddenly, all of his arrogance, all of his hope, all of his stubbornness seemed idiotic. What would this creature care for him and his? No doubt it would take his soul from his body and torture him an eternity for his insolence. <br><br><strong>“I have decided,” </strong>and the voice paused meaningfully, <strong>“to give you an opportunity to prove yourself, little spirit. Power cannot be freely given. It must be challenged. Tested. I will give you a taste of what you seek. A chance to rise up above what you are. And with that uplifting will come such a trial as you have ever known.”</strong><br><br>Again, Brom simply shifted, this time back to the real world. The veil between him and the power that Gloriana had torn aside was back, the curtain now as steel. But with that transformation came…something unexpected. <br><br>“We’re going, men,” Brom said softly. Pulling on the wellspring of power, taking a single offered manifestation of draconic ability, Brom reached out with his senses and touched each and every one of his men, all the People of the Dragon within miles. And then he simply teleported him near the woman who’d changed his life so. <br><br>The group of men, now fully healed and restored, all limber and vital looking, appeared just outside the city gates, Brom in their center. The pull toward Gloriana immediately felt almost overwhelming. Almost. He had new strength now, new iron inside of him, and would not give in lightly, no matter what changes his body had been through. Not yet, anyway. There was too much to do. Too much to explore. Shifting him and his men had been the dragon presence’s parting gift, not the real one he’d been given. Brom knew that, deep down, the dragon wanted him to survive long enough for these trials to come. And just as certainly as he knew that, Brom knew that he’d need Gloriana to survive them, as it was her magic that had convinced the dragon that Brom was worthy just as much as it was Brom’s attitude.<br><br>Light skies filled with clouds churned above, forming the outline of a massive serpentine shape miles across. Brom’s men, shouting in wonder, looked up, pointed, then formed into a protective shell around their leader. Who knew where they’d come now, or what challenges they might face? <br>
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